Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

• mad scientist au!
• all the guys who got squips are being experimented on by said squip
• the squip adopted the kids (or js stole them from hospitals) to experiment
• different characteristics exist
• basically jeremy has wings and the others have different aspects to them that i'll reveal later or that i didn't understand in the og story
• michael and christine are friends (basically how jeremy and michael were in the musical)
• they do photography together

i'll add more later but yk im in class rn so im a little all over the place

Chapter Text

“Don't trip on your wings again”

Jeremy put extra focus on following the request while he followed after Squip, who was strutting down the hall about five paces ahead. The hallway, almost unnaturally quiet, was as stagnant as usual. Ivory tile, grey metal doors lining the off-white walls, and bright fluorescent lighting added to it's monochrome nature. The only thing with actual color seemed to be Jeremy’s mint green hospital gown.

Oh, and the wings.

Beginning with a soft brown, much like the 16 year old’s hair; slowly cascading into a golden brown almost glowing from it reflecting the blinding light surrounding them.

With about six rooms total, the hall wasn't very long, but each step conjured crisp echos the whole way. In the last room to the left, sat the Examination Room.

Squip pulls the door open, and waits with a look of impatience for his subject. Jeremy picks up the pace and finishes with a nervous flap, pushing himself forward the last three feet to land himself at the doors entrance. A blast of cold air from the room hits against his body, causing a small twitch.

“I made it,” Jeremy said dryly, standing a little straighter with empty pride. Squip only hummed with a small “I see,” along with a gesture to the small medical bed in the center of the room. The younger boy, well aware of this routine check-up, shuffled toward it.

To anyone else, the now-called Examination Room would come off as unsettling, or even scary. Now, however, after years of eyeing the colorless brick walls and shelves upon shelves of equipment and tools he couldn't even begin to understand, Jeremy only gets a feeling of mild discomfort. The worst of which came from the gamble of sitting in there.

Will today be a simple check-up, or some excruciating test or something in between?

He attempted to seat himself as swiftly as possible. Which was, not surprisingly, pretty clumsy. He first tries to just hop up with his back facing the cot, but ends up sitting on part of his sensitive wings before swinging back down with a wince. Squip, however, is preoccupied by scribbling something on a clipboard on the counter and a petri dish in his left hand, switching his attention between them.

Okay, take two…

This time, he was a lot more careful with the expense of grace. Looking a lot like a toddler trying to work his way on top of a too-tall bed. This whole setup was not made in his winged favor. The bed itself was small, maybe three fourths Jeremy's height off the ground, and covered with a sheet of white medical paper. Not to mention silver rolling tables nearby, holding fragile scalpels, scissors, and beakers of all kinds just asking to be knocked over. He’s halfway up now, remembering to keep his wings folded back despite the instinct to extend them. Like trying to walk on a tightrope while being forced to keep your arms wrapped around you. He finds a foothold just under the mattress, halfway up now.

This is going well. I’m not going to break something this time.

He feels his wings flutter suddenly with the hint of wobbling balance, followed by the piercing crash of glass shattering on the pristine tile.

Shit.

Squip immediately twists around with a jolt, followed by a groan when he sets gaze with the oozing liquid and glass shards on the ground.

“You’d think you would have learned by now and get accumulated to your wings. We should look into why you're not.” By “we”, Squip means himself, so why he includes Jeremy in his demented endeavor is beyond him.

“Sorry,” Jeremy can feel himself fluff up, wings curling around him unwillingly.

“Don't apologize to me,” Squip says, running a hand through wild hair. “Those were Rich's samples. And I'll need to extract more now”. The man begins to search for a broom.

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Jeremy mutters, finally settling on top of the bed with a fwump.

“Language, please! I'm not going to let you read those novels if you're only going to use them to broaden your profanities,”

“Sorry,” He's not all that sorry, though. From what he's read, saying things like that are normal for kids his age. So why can't he? Speaking of Rich, though, Jeremy decides to change the subject while Squip cleans.

“How is Rich?”

“He is well. Responding better to his treatment than I'd hypothesized,”

Jeremy rocks a little in his spot, leaning forward a little to give his extra appendages more room, although the tips of a few feathers still hang over the other edge of the bed.

“C-could, I, um, hang out with him later?” Maybe it’s not a good idea to ask right after destroying some samples, but he can't help himself. Squip freezes over the garbage bin, the glass precariously leaning over the dustpan, just millimeters from falling into the trash.

“I'd like to apologize to him… Like you said?” he adds quickly. That was true. He knows himself how badly those types of sampling can be. And to do them twice in a row… He feels his stomach churn.

“Not today. Maybe tomorrow.”

And that's the end of it. Jeremy swallows an argument, but decides better of it. Pick your battles, right?

The next minute is pulsing with stern silence. Watching Squip pull on obnoxiously blue surgical gloves, Jeremy wonders how much he'll really need them this time. He squirms in his seat, trying to unstick the sanitary paper from his thighs.

“Now,” Squip approaches the bed, now wrapping a stethoscope around his neck that seemingly came out of thin air. “You know the drill, Jeremiah,”

And he does. Squip always starts with his average poking and prodding, what Jeremy assumes is akin to a Normal Person Check-Up. He makes sure to keep himself from getting too stiff while he tries to converse some more. Squip may not be the first on his “People I Want To Talk To” list, but it's all he's got.

I don't think that list would be very long, anyway.

He waits until Squip finishes with the stethoscope, the cold metal giving Jeremy a shiver when it's pulled away from his chest.

“Um… Squip?”

“Yes?” He doesn't look up from Jeremy's skin, scanning around for any irregularities.

“Why do you call me that?”

Now, Squip pauses, brows furrowing almost unnoticeably.

“What?”

“‘Jeremiah’,” The boy continues explaining while Squip moves on to feel his feathers, pausing every moment or so to add observations to his clipboard. “Yeah, it's my name, I guess. But you don't call Rich Richard,”

“That’s true. It was either Rich or have the kid explode on me. You know his conditions,” Squip talks as if it’s a second thought, now switching on another overhead lamp, planted a foot above the wings’ surface. He moves them around gently, watching the joints move like gears.

“Well, c-could you call me Jeremy?”

Jeremy knows he's pushing it with this many requests. But the prospect of seeming more “normal” in any sense of the word is too enticing.

"Well..."

Jeremy waits as patiently he can for Squip to finish the thought.

Maybe he's thinking it over. Or he didn't hear the question.

Suddenly, a sharp pain above his shoulder blades slices across his body. The teen winces, recoiling back with a flutter.

"Ow,"

"Sorry," Squip saunters around from behind him, now holding a syringe dripping with a red, smooth liquid. "Samples,"

"...Oh,"

Another beat of silence.

How long has this checkup gone? Surely it's almost over.

"May I ask why?" Squip doesn't even look in the boy's direction while he transfers the liquid from the syringe to a glass beaker. As Jeremy watches this red fill up to the second to last tally, he can feel himself coil in realization of how much that stung, and how sore he'll definitely be later.

“Oh! Uhm…” tell the truth? “It feels more normal?”

He didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but sound like a question it did. Which gave Squip perfect opportunity to strike with a rebuttal.

“But you’re not normal,”

Jeremy wants to scream. Scream “I KNOW THAT! THANK YOU FOR SEEING THE PROBLEM!” but Squip is getting pissed enough. And if there’s one thing Jeremy’s learned in this lifetime, it’s that Squip should never be pissed off by any of his test subjects. Those words echo through his mind again: “You’d think you would have learned by now,”

“You are not normal, ‘Jeremy’,”

Squip inches closer, setting down the beaker with a soft clink. Feeling something cold press against his back, a shiver races down Jeremy’s spine, which somehow makes him feel even more guilty.

“And I can't fathom why you'd want to be. Do you know where you'd be if I hadn't taken you in? Dead. I've given you the opportunity to be amazing. Powerful. Ahead of any other human being on the planet. If I can just figure out how these additions I gave you can be replicated in genetics…” trailing off,Jeremy starts to think that could be the end of the tangent this time, and thanks every star and constellation he'd ever read about.

He'd thanked too early, though. Squip slams his fists down on the cot’s metal frame, trembling every bone in Jeremy’s body and continuing to do so even after the shockwaves are long gone.

“You are so lucky, Jeremiah! I don't have to be this gentle with you!” He's yelling now, and getting so close to Jeremy, shaking with every breath and seemingly trying to mentally hold his arms back. Even between his skipping heart and frozen figure, Jeremy wonders if the others can hear what Squip is saying to him.

A firm hand snaps around Jeremy's wrist, thin in comparison to Squip. Squip’s hold on the boy is tight, way too tight and sinister for anything good. He can't help but try to get away, his wings flailing along with him as he squirms and kicks. Knowing full well it only makes Squip more furious by the second. The corners of his vision blur with either tears or just his wings trying to fold onto himself like a shield. Jeremy realizes the answer is both when he feel something watery slide off his cheek and sees a stray feather twirling away.

The older man, however, doesn't let up his grip a bit. And yanks Jeremy forward again swiftly, as a soft pop comes from Jeremy's arm, and the shock overtakes his urge to flee.

“I'll take a dead sample over disrespectful one, any day,” Squip isn't yelling anymore, but practically mumbles in a gruff voice that Jeremy's arm and face is pulled inches next to. “I could make that decision RIGHT NOW. YOU HEAR ME?! I’LL-”

And then he stops.

Everything stops.

For just a moment. Jeremy remembers reading somewhere that a moment was an actual increment of measure once in history. 90 seconds. Jeremy figures this is the tensest moment in his history.

Maybe it’s the way Jeremy looks right now, arm restrained but as far as possible, trying to hide himself inside the “organic additions” that he hates but can't seem to stop himself from becoming a part of. Maybe it's Squip concluding it's best not to scare his samples. Maybe Squip is just a psycho mad scientist having a mental breakdown. Maybe it's all three.

No matter the reason, the Squip stops his yelling there.

Jeremy counts a moment in his head while he stares at Squip, still holding the boy’s arm in his own hand like a statue. He doesn't blink, only hitched breathing every now and then from an otherwise inanimate object.

By the time he mentally counts to 65, he can see his caregiver’s face relax slightly, now with an expression of exhaustion and aggravation.

“Go into your room. And don't let me hear a word come out of the vicinity,”

Squip releases Jeremy's arm.

Jeremy doesn't wait to hear anything else before he clumsily pushes his way out the metal door.

Chapter Text

New Message!

Chris: You better be joking cause if not I'm gonna aggressively search and rescue you

Michael locked his phone, not feeling like answering his (only) friend's text. Instead, he looked out into the plethora of ghostly, thin trees, half of their autumn leaves covering the dirt on the ground. In every direction was uncharted wilderness. That is, as close to “uncharted wilderness” as a broke junior driving a PT Cruiser on its last legs can get.

There's no trace of the path he'd originally been following deeper and deeper into the woods.

Shit. Out of all the places I could've picked, I go here?! Great thinking, past me.

At the time, an abandoned forest on the outskirts of New Jersey sounded like the perfect place for this project: photograph some animals and nature for him and his classmates to throw into a half-assed collage. On top of getting some unique shots, he could also avoid the rest of Middle Borough High School’s photography students. Ninety percent of whom he was sure were flooding all the nearby parks, throwing their cameras in the faces of some unexpecting squirrels. So, Michael procrastinated on it till the day before it’s due, wasted twenty bucks on 7-Eleven snacks, and made the drive a few towns over to the acres of unkempt land the government called a park.

Now, though, he wishes he had taken up Christine's initial offer and went with her. And wonders how long it would take the cops to find him should he be stranded forever.

Carefully stepping over a fallen tree trunk, he unlocks his phone as he continues to meander aimlessly through the forest, shuffling through brush and twigs.

Me: nah ill be fine…. i think... im just gonna keep going in a direction n hope i find a way out

The phone doesn't even make it into his pocket before it buzzes: Message could not be sent.

Michael sighs, pushing his glasses back to the bridge of his nose. Shit. Dead zone…

Blindly walk forward it is!

Stuffing the phone into his back pocket with a sigh, Michael trudges forward.

For a bit, he's completely able to forget the whole “lost with no connection to humanity” factor of the journey. He forces his mind for stay focused on the project.

There's no reason to be worried.

The tactic works for a while. After getting a rad shot of a bluejay in her nest and (totally not weirdly) crawling after some sort of dark snake with his camera, however, the minutes start to stack up to an hour. He can feel the afternoon sunlight on his back, shimmering as the beams dance through swaying leaves. Then a cascading thought avalanche hits him: It’s gonna get dark soon, and I’m gonna be stranded here in the DARK and some bear’s gonna find me- wait, are bears nocturnal? Whatever, some bear’s gonna smell me and eat me, and THEN I’m gonna die alone with nobody ever even knowing I exist and-

Shaking his head, he does his best to suppress those thoughts for now.

No, STOP, Michael. Now’s not the time!

Michael’s still walking body grinds to a halt, his heartbeat’s tempo increasing with every second. There’s an eerie silence around him; nothing but the whistle of the wind. A whistling he can barely hear beyond the blood roaring in his ears, a constant reminder of I have no idea where the fuck I'm going . Despite the coolness in the air, he can feel himself sweating and heating up with worry.

No no no no no, we're not doing this today, he tells himself, plopping his backpack on the ground and hastily digging through it. Finally, he pulls out some earbuds, cursing himself for leaving his best headphones in his car, which is probably a bazillion miles away with his luck.

Within seconds of jamming the things into his ears, the world and his thoughts are drowned out by the (most likely ear-damaging) music that he pulls up onto his phone in record time.

As if by magic, the imaginary weight of the situation seems to float off of his shoulders as he catches his breath. He taps around the screen a few times with a sigh; still no signal. Not exactly comforting.

“Alright, plan 2.0,” he mumbles to himself and the fluttering mosquitos around him, “Keep moving and keep checking for a signal. Step two: GPS my ass home.”

With that, he steps along to the beat, going towards where he hopes is a path back.

The first song becomes another, and another and another. He bops his head a little as he scans the area as he walks, about a million times more calm now that he has something other than rustling trees and screaming birds to listen to. Trying to find any sign of… something. Anything.

Tree, tree, rock, bush, tree, creepy stone building, tree, tree, tree…

He stops dead in his place, staring at the supposed thing.

Creepy stone building?!

He blinks a few times.

Yep. Still there.

Michael wanders toward it.

In the back of his head, Michael knows that abandoned buildings should be somewhat high on a list of Places One Shouldn't Explore Alone. But the rest of his 16 year old impulse-filled self decides to jog closer.

The building itself looks like it’s photoshopped into the scenery, a stark grey sticking out like a sore thumb against the lush greenery and dandelions growing in between the bricks.

Michael begins to sidestep around the perimeter of it, being sure to keep his distance. He rounds the first corner. Every ten feet or so, there's small rectangular openings. Michael assumes them to be windows, although they lay just above ground level and have thick metal bars that aren't welcoming in the slightest.

“Holy shit!” The teen rushes for his camera, tugging on the straps and yanking off it's lens cover. With a simple flick of the wrist, he focuses on the new subject that's sure to earn him some extra credit (if he ever gets out of here).

Sitting just between him and the stone building is a beautiful owl, speckled brown feathers shimmering in the evening light.

On the ground.

Why the fuck's it on the ground? In daylight, too?!

Ultimately, Michael leaves the internal question unanswered because, whatever, it’s a moment that’s asking to be photographed . He falls to his knees as silently as be can, getting as close as he can without scaring it. Meanwhile, the owl stares him down, reflexively tilting its head in confusion.

“Sup,” he whispers, getting a small hoo in response. Michael stifles a laugh.

Watching with patience, Michael eagerly waits for the right moment. The creature hops some more, no longer finding the boy interesting. It reveals yet another “window” behind them, trying to see inside it with jerky movements. As hard as he tries, the boy can't see anything past the window other than a dim light flickering inside.

“What are you looking at?” he wonders aloud, immediately regretting it when the animal jumps.

With his finger just hovering over the capture, the owl jitters, slowly pulling its wings from its chest. There’s window of opportunity lasting about three seconds before the creature flew away.

Michael goes into a snapping frenzy, taking as many photos of he can of the owl lifting off. The bird thrusts upward, disturbing a few dandelions and leaving the opening it found oh-so interesting behind.

Leaving Michael to stare into icy blue eyes that peek out in between thick metal bars with fearful, blazing curiosity.

WHAT THE FUCK!?

“ Gah !” Michael jumps backward, nearly dropping his camera had it not been for the strap keeping it securely around his neck. His leap backward only lands him about two feet further than he was, leaning back and resting his weight on his palms behind him. The earbuds originally blasting some old school tune are yanked out of his ears. The pair of eyes fades a little more into the shadows, staying in the lowest corner of the window and shifting a little.

“Um… sorry,”

The voice, the one Michael assumes belongs to whoever’s behind those bars, is timid. As if it doesn’t know if it can, or even should be heard. Silence overcomes the space. There isn’t exactly any protocol for this type of experience Michael knows of. He catches his breath, deciding to focus on the swaying dandelions scattered about the ground.

"Uh-uhm, hello?” Is all the can choke out. The eyes are quiet. Michael can hear a soft hum, before the eyes step forward into the light, now revealing a pale nose as well, to be added to the image for this voice.

“Hi,” The Voice says curtly. “I-I’m sorry I s-scared you,”

Okay, I'm just exhausted and so devoid of civilization that I’m hallucinating now. Great!

As the wind begins to settle, he scoots closer, because despite every bone in his body wanting to run. He figures, if this voice wanted to kill me it would've done it already, yeah?

Plus, morbid curiosity is a bitch.

Now he can see a little more inside.The most he`s able to make out is the outline of some short of shelf, and one other piece of furniture he can’t quite see, and a faint swaying shape behind a body and face .

He's young, about the same age as Michael. Pale skin with light freckles dotting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.Michael wants to see beyond this kid’s face, specifically the thing behind him, but everything else is drowned in an even darker shadow once Mystery Dude reaches a thin arm out of Michael’s sight and flicks off what he figures is a light switch with a small click.

He doesn't look like he could kill me if he tried. The millions of questions that come berating into his mind are unstoppable.

“What the hell? Who are you? What the fuck are you doing in the woods? In New Jersey ?! And why'd you turn off the light? What are you hiding? A- And-”

“Slow down!” Mystery Dude interrupts. Somehow able to sound both wary and urgent.

“I’m Jeremy, I l-live here, and no ! Nothing to hide!” He flashes a clearly forced smile that Michael can't help but laugh at.

“Well, I'm Michael. And you've obviously never told a lie into your entire life!”

He doesn't know if it's the now named Jeremy’s weak chuckle or his own laughter, but he can feel everything, maybe even time itself, slow down. The thought of I'm talking to a weird teen in the middle of the woods doesn't even try to surface.

“Guilty,” Jeremy says, defeated. Michael expects him to continue, but he only bites his lip in persistent worry. This leaves the shorter boy to ramble in an effort of consolation.

“Hey, as much as your whole shady thing going on begs a ton of questions on my part, I'm not gonna ask. Just in case you're a murderer waiting for my curiosity to get the best of me,”

The thinner boy’s eyes go wide.

“I-I’m not a murderer! I promise!” he's flailing a little with balled fists. He stares at Michael a beat too long, taking in his confused and frankly concerned expression.

“You're joking!” Jeremy clears his throat and runs a hand through loose waves of hair. “I, uh… I knew that,”

Michael is certain that if this guy could, he would be trying to awkwardly punch his shoulder. For reasons he can't explain, talking to him is strangely comforting and familiar. Stuffing his phone into his pocket, he sits Indian-style on the soil.

“What brings you here?”

Michael didn't think that he'd be asked anything (why, that is, is unknown even to himself), so Jeremy's words throw him for a bit of a loop. Meanwhile, Jeremy stares past the metal bars with an unmatched level of intensity.

“I'm supposed to be working on a school project,” he makes a gesture to his surroundings with a shrug, “I'm lost now,”

“How is school?” Jeremy asks slowly, clear intent behind shaky words. Michael shifts, leaning even closer.

“Oh! Uh, fine? I’m not exactly popular, if that's what you're asking. Not that I care, though,” Michael pauses, playfully scoffing. “Unless I get transported into an alternate dimension where having a GameBoy in this era is suddenly cool,”

“Um, what’s a GameBoy?”

“ You don't know what a GameBoy is?!?!”

Jeremy gets a little frightened by the surprise noise, and Michael almost swears be can see something jerk around from behind the boy. But as soon as he notices, it delves back into the shadows once more.

“N-No?”

The response isn't even over before Michael starts on his tangent, copper eyes alight in enthusiasm.

“Oh, man! You're missing out! GameBoy is awesome! It's one of Nintendo’s old gaming systems know? And I managed to snag an original one from, get this, 1989! I bought it from this guy at Spencer’s Gifts who knows a guy who was able to hook me up with one!”

If this were someone at Middle Borough, Christine included, he would've been hasty to go into this bouncy, eccentric mode of talking about the things he likes as optimistically as he does now. Though, here, he couldn't care less that he's waving his hands around crazily and going on and on and on . It doesn't help that his audience of one looks utterly mesmerized, silently prompting him to continue. And he does.

That is, until, a muffled ping comes from Michael’s back pocket.

“ Whatthehell ?” Jeremy blurts quickly.

“Are you trying to beat me to it or something?”

With a raised eyebrow from the other teen, Michael tugs on his sweater sleeve and pulls his phone out from his back pocket. After three failed attempts at unlocking the device due to clumsy hands (that he prays Jeremy doesn't see), he notices three equally important things:

It's now 5:36, dangerously close to sunset.
He has a text from Christine, saying something along the lines of “Get the hell out of the forest before I call the authorities out of worry,”
He's got one measly but dependable signal bar, explaining the previous observation.
Jolting upright, Michael rushes to open his GPS app, barely hearing Jeremy's “What?”

“I’m not gonna be stuck in these woods forevermore!” Scrambling to his feet, Michael is too scatterbrained to catch the sheltered teen's faltering expression. He does, however, he doesn't really know how to leave. How do you say bye to someone you just met in a forest behind some creepy metal bars and had a strangely friendly conversation with? A minute passes, neither really knowing what to say.

Maybe it's best to say nothing. Leave it as a strange fantastical interaction, Michael thinks. He shuffles about two steps away, holding his phone to his chest with newfound certainty in where he's going.

“Can I ask you one more thing before you go?” Jeremy's voice is reverted back to its original meekness. The other can't see him anymore, but the sentence hits him just as hard.

“...Yeah?”

“Can you come back again, soon?”

Michael's mouth reacts faster than his brain.

“...Yeah,”

And Michael walks off.

The last few moments of daylight are waning when Michael reaches his car, now the only one in the entire lot.

He takes one last look at the trees, now knowing what it holds. There's a million regrets for a million questions he wants to go back and coax answers for.

W ho are you?

Why are you in this place?

Are you safe?

Who's with you?

How much do you know?

Michael shoots one last text to Christine before driving away in silence.

Me: I need ur opinion on something.

What are you hiding?

Chapter Text

After an excruciating hour of driving in a whirlwind of introspection, Michael stumbles into his home at midnight. Luckily, he’s able to sneak his way through the dimly lit halls of his home without stirring his parents.

He closes his bedroom door with a sigh, pressing his back against it.

What the fuck just happened?

In this state of mind, the whole ordeal feels like a dream. Maybe I tripped in the forest and now I`m dead? But then again, would I be able to realize it if that was the case? It had to be real, yeah?

All this existential “what is real” mumbo jumbo starts to pound on his brain.

Groaning, he slides down the door, letting himself fall on the messy carpet. A moment passes before he feels his phone vibrate for the umpteenth time.

Christine!

Chris : Opinion on what? Whats wrong?

Chris: Are you home yet?

Chris: Michael middle name mell I’m calling police and reporting a missing person if you dont text back?!

Michael pushes his glasses forward with a huff.

How could he explain this to Christine when he could barely explain it to himself?

He can almost hear how dumb he`d sound.

“Oh, everything’s fine, Chris! Don’t worry about it! That was just an impulse text I sent after becoming all buddy-buddy with this mysterious dude in the woods! Get this; he lives in a cell!”

But, he had to send something . The last thing he needed was a missing person report on him.

Me: id rather talk abt it in person? nothing bad! just hard to explain in text

He brushes a hand through his untidy mane of hair. He didn’t even buy it. Christine won’t let him off with just a text. She’s gonna want answers. Hell, he wants answers. How did a high schooler end up hidden away in a forest reserve? In NEW JERSEY?! Michael had no idea.

But the internet might! He smiles crookedly to himself. What’s not on the internet?

With that, he stood up, hopping over clothes and trash to his bed. Sitting haphazardly on the edge of his unmade bed sits his laptop, and now himself as he kicks of his sneakers with reckless abandon. It’s not like his room can look any more like a disaster, anyway.

First, he googles buildings in new jersey parks.

Nothing.

Ok, then.

He types creepy buildings in new jersey parks.

Nada.

abandoned creepy buildings in new jersey parks.

He clicks link after link, typing search after search. Going from websites for national parks, the top ten spooky places in New Jersey, to Wikipedia pages. He switches up the keywords every once in awhile; facilities in new jersey and abandoned facilities in new jersey.

Through the rabbit hole of google searching and in the midst of tiring eyes, he finds something. One old, short article from The Jersey Journal that contained the keywords “abandoned building” and “new jersey parks,” bolded throughout the piece.

New Jersey`s Own “Mad Scientist”: Never to Be Seen Again?

It takes a minute to fully comprehend. How had he never heard of this? A certain excerpt catches his attention.

… “I want to push the limits of what people can be,” is the simply put way Doctor Eric Quantal described his propositions for a scientific experiment involving human testing and genetic modification. He brought this idea to The State Board of Mortuary Science of New Jersey in August of 1997. Being oddly well-researched for a concept, there were even suggestions for the utilization of secluded buildings in the state park of Wharton State Forest for a location that would be non-accessible to the general public.

While most of the details are unknown to public record, it is known he was publically denied by the board and met with massive backlash for violation of the Nuremberg Code of ethics.

“People need to recognize the greater good this could bring,” Quantal had said in an interview with The Jersey Journal, “Think of the future possibilities for humanity!” His statement also included a reassurance of humane treatment, with no further comments to reporters on the hypothetical treatments themselves.

Unanimously rejected for approval and fired from the Human Genetics Institute of New Jersey, the man had vanished altogether. The last record of him being a credit card purchase in 1998. It is unknown the current whereabouts of the titular Dr. Eric Quantal...

There is a paragraph left, but nothing else of value.

Michael reads through it once. Then twice.

The article was posted about three years ago as a “historical piece”. There’s no other sources to it besides a haunting photo of the man himself. It looks like a mug shot; the disheveled thirty-something looking straight on with electric green eyes that seem too bright for the rest of him. He’s sporting short curls of dark hair and an off-white lab coat.

Michael clicks off the page and flops backward onto his bed. The gears in his brain start turning once again.

If he was never heard from again, who’s to say he didn’t just… start his project himself? That would mean Jeremy…

He flops his hands into his face.

No. That’s too crazy. And stupid. I don’t have any evidence. Jeremy’s fine.

His thoughts are yet again interrupted by the chime of his phone.

Chris: I’m on my way. I highly doubt youre not asleep.

It’s 2 in the morning. On a Monday.

Michael can’t help but smirk at his friend’s mom-ness

It only takes fifteen minutes for Christine to walk over from her home down the street. She sneaks her way through the front door and into the basement Michael had now migrated to, three levels deeper in apocalypse of the damned than when he began in that short span of time. After no initial response to her entrance, she leans against the doorway with a faux aura of impatience.

“Fill me in!” she blurts, earning a impulsive a head turn from the other teen. He switches off the game system and hops of from his beanbag, offering the only other seat in the room with a quirky bow and gesture to it. She follows up on his act by a dramatic curtsy and proceeds to sit with a giggle.

“It's no big deal...” Michael starts to explain.

“No, sir!” Christine’s playful facade is over once she needs information. “I didn't drag myself here for you to avoid your issues!” she sassily waves a finger, more strands of short hair falling from her bun- if you would even call it that anymore.

“I'm not!”

“Yes, you aaaaare!” her voice is sing-songy, and not buying into any of his bullshit. Crossing her legs, Michael realizes she’s wearing entirely pyjamas- fluffy neon slippers and all.

There’s no point in prolonging the awkwardness. Besides, it’s Christine.

“Well, so y’know how i got lost today?”

“No,”

“It was for the photography project. I went-,”

“I was joking , Mike!”

“...oh,”

They both force laugh for a second. The calmness between the two of them was nice. Times like that make Michael wish he could pause life. Like a video game. That way, he could just hang out in eternal happiness without having to move on to the final boss just yet.

The feeling is quickly lost when his eyes lock with Christine’s dark charcoal ones, a look of anticipation painted across her face. He rocks on his heels, mindlessly picking at his fingernails.

“Well, I found this building, and-”

Christine immediately jumps up.

“Was it a haunted building? With ghosts ?! AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME? Helloooo, ghost hunting!”

“Nonononono,” he waves his hand, a grin escaping along the way. “No ghosts...sadly.”

“Then what was there?” Her arms are crossed now, “just a building that took up the entire night?”

Michael bites his lip and answers with a wince.

“...It was a very cool building?”

“That WASN'T EVEN HAUNTED?”

He winces again, more rushed, and grabbing Christine's shoulders, “Shhhh!” he jabs a finger upstairs. Christine answers with a gasp of her own.

“Oh. Right. Sorry! But…” She doesn't continue, but instead raises an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t haunted,” he lets go of her on “haunted” and takes a quick gulp.

Here goes nothing.

“But there was, uh, something... there,”

The sound of that makes Christine shrug in an aura of curiosity.

“What’s something ?”

Fuck.

He takes a minute to silently step around his room in a way that most would consider to be neurotic pacing. To Michael, however, the constant output of movement is calming.

“Well, it’s… hard to explain? One of those things you gotta see,”

It sounds a lot better than he’d expected his elaboration to be. The shorter teen gives a small smile with knowing roll of the eyes.

“Theeeeeeen…” she flaps her hands a little. “Show me,”

“What?”

The boy stops pacing.

“ Show me ,” she repeats, slower this time, with a chuckle. “If I have to see it, then we’re gonna see it. I don’t have rehearsals on Mondays. And you don’t have any extracurriculars We`re going after school,” A stomp to the ground cements her decision.

Michael, still scatterbrained, tries to begin a rebuttal.

“Chris, I- MMPH ”

Before he can notice, Christine’s hand covers his mouth. Smile intact, she’s somehow able to retain true happiness instead of changing to a sarcastic one.

“No. Getting. Out of it,”

Michael sighs with a semi-forced grin and the self-awareness to how much of a pushover he can be sometimes.

When Chris says there’s no getting out of it- there’s no getting out of it.

Jeremy just stood there, dazed, while the boy he now knew as Michael jogged off, staring down at his, telephone? Yeah, thats what it’s called, if he remembers correctly. Michael was now on his way home.

When you have nothing else to do except relish in your own thoughts, it’s really easy to get lost with the voices in your head. Most specifically, the one that keeps repeating you met someone. God, just thinking that was phenomenal to him.

When you are also alone to do nothing except relish in your own thoughts, it’s the only time you’re ever comfortable to get nerdily ecstatic.

He.

Met .

Someone!

“Oh my god!” Jeremy whispers to himself, jittering with every word. He can see some flashes of gold in the corners of his eyes and a slight breeze.

Sometimes it’s like his wings have a mind of their own.

But, he doesn’t care this time that his wings are flitting like crazy and there are stray feathers floating to the ground and that the cold autumn air they’re hitting against him is making him shiver a lot- because maybe he won’t be as lonely as he’s always been now that he met someone.

Someone who wasn’t squip, if you could even consider him someone he’d “met”. Who wasn’t Rich or Jenna, people who he saw more as coexisting with than ever “meeting”.

Jeremy grinned to himself even harder. Michael didn't have to socialize with him. Michael voluntarily talked to him. Just thinking the first new name he’s ever had to learn sent flutters through his body, most of which still going to his extra limbs through jerky flaps of excitement.

Michael. Michael. Michael!

He could’ve ran away. But he didn’t.

Did he want to?

Every movement of his freezes altogether.

Maybe Michael was just being nice to a random outcast.

The ends of his outstretched feathers press against the sides of the cement walls, only playing into the new doubts seeded into his brain.

What if he thinks I’m weird? Did he… see?

Something was burning the backs of his eyes.

No, Jeremy was not okay with crying. It was more pathetic than being isolated and happy . Too pathetic even for him. Besides, what would Squip say if he saw him crying in his barren room? Again?

The telltale creaking of the metal door effectively stuns him mid thought, catching him on his knees and slumped forward on the ground.

Speak of the devil. Wait, no, speak of the fucking devil.

His back faces the door, but he can see a bulky silhouette loom over him, exuding power.

“Jeremiah?”

“Y-yes?”

“Stop crying,”

“I’m not,”

“You were doing something,” Squip’s voice is monotone. His shadow stays unnaturally still, Jeremy’s small frame still enveloped in darkness.

“No,” the teen doesn’t know if his attempts to keep his voice unwavering work.

“... Go into the mealroom. Jenna and Rich are out, too, for a while I run some numbers in the lab,”

For the first time in his life, Jeremy did not want to leave the room. The window held all of his attention. By now, most of the autumn sunset had faded into the dim purples of twilight.

When Michael left, he took all his colors with him.

Still, Jeremy felt more connected to the outside world if he could see just this small section of it. If he got close enough, those bars didn’t even seem to be there.

“Let’s go ,” Squip taps his boot on the floor.

“...Okay,”

Rich and Jenna were the closest thing Jeremy could call “best friends”. Then again, the three were more like siblings. Never actively trying to be friendly with each other, but still had an unspoken pact of togetherness. And, as always, introductions and pleasantries are skipped as jeremy squeezes his wings through the doorway and into the space they called the mealroom.

It was the largest room in the facility, relatively speaking. And, ironically, Jeremy can’t recall ever really eating in there. Rich and Jenna sit side by side on the far end of the aluminum table. They wear the same medical gowns as Jeremy. Years of routine leads Squip to leave them be, opting to stay a few doors down in the lab. (Besides, he had enough control of the security system.)

Rich is the first to speak as the younger boy approaches.

“Look who liveth,” he says, elbows on the table with a lazy smirk.

Jeremy sits opposite the other two. Ever since his wingspan got wide enough (and two occasions where he accidentally smacked Rich off his seat) this had been their normal setup. Three freaks trying to socialize in the only way they’ve ever known how to.

“What happened to your voice?” Jeremy asks.

The shorter boy’s head darts down, his scattered freckles going, too. Even so, his smile stays intact.

“Latest ‘upgrade’,” he answers, complete with air quotes. “Thomething about my hard palate getting burned thomewhere along the line?”

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy uses a sharp inhale to show his regret for questioning.

“It’th not your fault,”

Rich’s dismissiveness is about as unpredictable as his alterations themselves. In a strange way, the taller boy is almost jealous of Rich. He had mentioned, once, that he used to live normal life. (Jeremy doesn’t dare try to bring it up again, though.) That is, until he got turned over to the Squip when he was four. Being Squip’s first delve into experimentation, he’s said his given inputs were “too ambitious” by the scientist. Meaning, his pyrokinetic abilities backfired onto himself rather than do any help. Light patches of burns came and went on his skin and clothes like clockwork, depending on how recently Squip had him undergo a performance test or his unchecked temper got the best of him.

A tender quiet takes over the room for a few minutes. Not that anyone minded. Company was enough.

Jeremy switched his gaze over to Jenna, who sits as static as always. The things he knew about Rich seemed infinite compared to the things he knew about Jenna. He did know that she came about two years ago. Squip had left her with Rich and Jeremy in the same room they sat in now. She had bright teal eyes that were constantly emoting as she lamented to them how confused she was. Rich humored her, and chatted while swiftly avoiding anything that would allude to the torture that he knew would soon fall upon her. Jeremy, however, was too preoccupied with back pains from injections to do much more than nodding every now and then. He remembers how clueless she was.

That naivete wouldn’t last long. That same night Squip started her on his intense drugging and reprogramming medications. Those teal eyes had quickly vanished as well, in favor of a glazed whiteness that held over to this day.

The only other thing he knew about Jenna was that she had omnipotence. Well, it’s what Squip was aiming for. However, Jeremy never heard more from her than quiet murmurs only audible to herself.

Jeremy is so caught up in his own head that he fails to notice an unmatched, empty face staring back.

“You spoke to someone past the bars?” she whispers.

All three of them seem to simultaneously catch their breath, Rich immediately sitting up straighter, a small pout on his face.

“You did ?”

The teen in question is unable to answer. His mouth is agape as he reflexively wraps into his wings with a small “Uhm,”

Rich, on the other hand, only gets more baffled. He darts his eyes over to his side.

“ Jenna!? ” A pale blush is blotted over his cheeks.

The other two can only watch as their peer reverts back to her usual state, blanking out, in utter ignorance of the brunette hair streaming in front of her face and the faces of shock that confront her. She does have one last piece of information she must’ve wanted to share, though, as one of her rambles are punctuated with a weak point toward the winged teen.

“Michael,”

The gasp from Jeremy causes another from Rich, his golden eyes suddenly inches away as he practically flings himself over the table. Those eyes are frantically moving from feature to feature of Jeremy’s face, becoming more self-convinced by the second.

“What?! Jeremy?” Rich’s voice has jumped an octave, now, and his words are in between deep breaths.

There’s a soft sizzling sound that catches both of them off-guard. Black whirls of smoke start to waft through the air around him.

“Gah!”

Jumping back, Rich pulls red palms towards his body, looking at the table with a frown. Jeremy follows his line of sight.

Shit.

There are two Rich-sized handprints melted into the table. The indents glow orange from the heat, and Jeremy can feel his nostrils burn from the smell. No one else seems to care. Rich only continues to sport a raised eyebrow.

In an effort to calm the room, Jeremy chokes out a hum of affirmation along with a nod.

It doesn’t.

Rich gives one of those I’m-laughing-but-it’s-out-of-overwhelming-emotion laughs. Watching him lean over the table again, Jeremy can’t help but instinctively lean back to keep the space.

“Does…” the boy tiltss his head towards the entrance to the hall “... he know?”

“N-no,”

“Can thith... Michael guy-” his eyebrows arch on Michael.

Rich bites his lip, tapping the table compulsively.

“Can he what?” He’s not really asking in search for an answer, but out of curiosity. Rich’s words are soft, almost scarily unfitting for his demeanor.

“Can he get you out?”

Squip was right down the hall. They needed to end this conversation, and fast.

“I… haven’t thought about it,”

That was true. At most, he’d wanted to form a normal friendship. Not to mention Rich, off all of them, should know it wasn’t even a consideration.

Rich, you got pretty close to getting out of here. Remember how that ended up for you?

“Rich, you-”

“I know,” his attitude is solemn, reaching over to gently place a hand over Jeremy’s arm. It’s still warm, but he tries not to flinch (Still, he can’t stop his wings from jolting).

“Who’s to say I wouldn’t end up the same?” Jeremy’s airy question is suspended in the moment.

“If I were you…”

Jenna’s abrupt interruption causes both boys to jump. Her eyes, while empty, well up with a thin lining of tears. She keeps herself from spilling them, though.

“...I’d get out of here,”

Well, I guess she’s to say.

Maybe it’s the way Jenna almost robotically silences herself, or the look of whimsy in Rich`s face, or the fluttering of his heart (and wings) at the thought of getting out.

I could be normal.

Maybe it’s all three.

Footsteps start to get louder from the hallway. There are only seconds until Squip is within earshot.

You’re going to regret it.

Fuck off.

“Would you be able to help me?”

Chapter Text

“Which way was it?”

“Chris, I don’t know,”

The two find themselves in the forest that Michael visited just that weekend. It felt different now, with Christine in tow. He thinks back to how he felt so out of place yesterday. In the midst of pristine stillness, stagnant trees and overwhelming absence of wildlife. After watching his feet stamp onto dry leaves for a while, he looks up at his friend. Christine marches a few steps ahead, hands wrapped around the straps of a neon drawstring bag.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘you don’t know?” She asks, turning to face him. She waits for Michael to catch up, staring intently as he steps over stray tree roots and sticks. There is an unspoken pause once he meets her gaze a foot away. The optimistic aura that seems to radiate around her makes Michael wonder how she does it.

“I mean, I don’t know how I ended up at the place,” he says with a chuckle, “I wasn’t exactly mapping my journey.”

Christine laughs softly at the thought. The glaring of sunshine against Michael’s glasses almost makes it impossible to see her motions clearly.

“40 paces north!” She yells, carelessly swiping a twig off the ground. She waves it around like a sword for comedic effect. A nearby fallen trunk, overcome with moss and shrubbery, serves as her stage as she hops on top of it.

“Aye-aye, cap’n!”

Michael can’t help but laugh.

Everything, from her short dark waves of hair to the nature around them, had a light golden glow that still grew brighter by the hour.

Christine, as much as Michael enjoys her company, is somewhat of a mystery to him. Even now, as they mindlessly wander in search for something they don’t know if they can even find, she’s on some tangent about the woods, pirates, and map-making. Still using the stick as a tool for emphasising her words. The other teen smirks to himself, trying to pay attention to her rambles as they walk.

He thinks back to the first time they met; how she’d barely changed.

---

It was two years ago, when he was a freshman, and after the realization that he had probably needed an extracurricular. Don’t colleges want you to be well-rounded or some shit? Another realization was that there was no way in hell he was going to do a sport. No thanks. That really only left him a few options left. And, one visit to the auditorium and chat with Mr. Reyes later, he’d landed a spot on the tech crew for theatre. That spot being the only spot, really. He was less of a tech crew and more of the tech boy. Even better, their actual troupe was pretty small. So, slump around in the back of the class for credit? Easy enough. No one really wanted to talk to him, anyway. As the few members of the club who cared ran over lines and others mindlessly chatted, he kept to himself. Not that he had a problem with it. Even back then, he’d all but flat out accepted his loser-ness.

About a week into “rehearsals”, the boy had already gotten to the swing of sneaking to one of the highest seats of the auditorium and flipping open his DS or phone.

“Who are you?” A voice had interrupted his almost-nap and almost-focused gameplay in the back of the class. It was sweet and chirpy.

“Helloooooooo?”

He looked up to be met with chocolate, almond eyes, too close for comfort. She was also the same height as he was. Her hair was longer and flowed down to her shoulders. Michael basically swung himself backward, taking in the girl before him, of whom was in the row in front of his, leaning over the chairs. The sight was strange. Sure, he wasn’t a complete lone wolf. People asked to copy his homework now and then. But no one ever really sought out a conversation as upfront as this kid. She flashed a smile, trying to coax out any reaction from Michael, revealing braces with bright rainbow bands.

“I’m Christine!”

“...Michael,” he smirked.

---

She would, of course, chop her hair short that summer and get her braces removed the summer before. Her cheer still, after most of high school, was somehow intact. Michael hoped she’d be able to keep that part of her forever. Another part of him hoped she wasn’t barely hanging on to it as is.

How have I changed? Besides discovering weed and towering over his friend by the end of sophomore year, he realizes he’s basically the same, too. Maybe some people didn’t change. Or maybe they’re both too stubborn to change. Despite the huge rifts between them personality-wise, the two could find connections through their silly banter, and times like this.

Getting lost in a forest is great bonding!

Now, he checks his phone before sliding it into his back pocket: 4:20pm.

He snickers and catches up with Christine.

“I, uh, think we’re getting close!” he claims, an extra spring in his step.

Okay, maybe he was just trying wanted to be as optimistic as she was.

But we can’t be that far, right?

*****

“You know the plan?” Rich hops to his feet, a cocky smile overcoming his face.

Why the optimism? Jeremy wonders, I guess some people find optimism where they can.

It’s sometime in the afternoon, and Rich, Jenna, and Jeremy find themselves back in the mealroom. Squip has, once again, returned to his lab room.

“N-no, not really,” Jeremy deadpans, “We’ve talked through it once, maybe, five minutes ago? And you came up with ninety percent of it last night,”

“ That’s the thpirit!” the shorter boy playfully punches his shoulder. His pronunciation of S ’s are still a little flawed, but no one acknowledges it this time. “Theriouthly, I’m trying to help you here. We’re trying to help you here. Trutht me on this!”

“Have you ever giving me a reason to?”

“Not important. Get in positionth!”

“Which are ?”

Jenna stifles her own laughter.

With a huff, Rich silently motions for them to follow his sneaking figure out of the mealroom. The first set of metal doors are, thankfully, propped open as the trio slowly creep out of their “mealroom” and down the hall.

Jeremy can’t pinpoint what exactly makes it so, but the halls seem… colder than usual. The tile is as pristine as usual, the walls as void as ever. Artificial light pours out of the ceiling lights, making the whole room look almost too bright and unnatural.

Oppositely, the shadows cast from his actual room ( Cell? ) are inky black, save for the small rectangles of light cast by the barred window.

“Jenna,” Rich breaks the silence, pointing to the metal entrance, “Keep watch for uth?” She nods silently, planting herself at a good vantage point with a casual thumbs-up.

Jeremy, despite this being his own escape, feels pretty useless. Like he’s only the thing that gets delivered, not a viable team member. The feeling fades, though, while he watches his shorter acquaintance shove his body into the heavy steel, pushing the door open as slowly and silently as possible. Every squeak of the metal earns a flinch. Rich leads Jeremy into his own room, clearly proud of himself.

“Alright, now, it’s time for the grandetht part of my thcheme,” Rich claps his hands together, entirely forgetting the whole “quiet” thing.

“To thove ya through that window!”

“Uh, how are you supposed to do that?”

The question results in little more than a scoff from the freckled boy. “C’mere,”

Jeremy obeys, trudging in front of Rich with his hand wrapped around his arm.

“You’re gonna get through there, and run far ath you’re thkinny little legth can take you. Got it?”

Not wanting to get into a long, loud argument, Jeremy goes along as best he can. His fingers of his left hand now rub a feather in between them apprehensively.

“So… do you want me to, uh...,”

“I got it,” Rich pushes past Jeremy, lifting the teen’s wing up and scooting underneath as if it was a totally normal thing to do. He pauses just in front of the barred window. As late afternoon becomes evening, a mosquito or two flitter between the cold, metal bars. Rich remains stiff as they flit and fly around him, as if to say, “Even we’ve got more freedom than you.”

Finally flinching, the boy runs a hand through his perpetually messy hair. Jeremy notices he looks a lot paler when under natural sun. Though, he figures that he shouldn't be one to talk, glancing down at his own skin, despite a few growing blemishes on his cheeks. Attention switching back to the shorter boy in front of him, he watches him rub his hands together before wrapping a palm around the two thick bars in the center. He can hear Jenna’s breath hitch. From what exactly, he’s unsure.

At first, he doesn’t think Rich is really doing anything. He starts to consider what kind of sarcastic comment he could make to lighten the mood. But just then, a soft hissing sound starts to grow, as well as a puff of smoke emanating from each of Rich’s hands.

He’s melting the steel!

With a fluttery hop closer (that was intended to be a step, god knows why that happened) Jeremy can see pools of red and yellow glowing between the underside of Rich’s palms and the steel.

“One… two…,” Rich whispers to himself. On three , he quickly yanks his hands back.

Four halves of metal clang against the floor. Their ends pooling and white-hot.

“Holy-” Then Jeremy sees his hands. Pink and raw, with small clumps of black lining them that Jeremy can only guess is, or was, the skin. Rich is breathing heavily through gritted teeth. He stares at the ground, his hands, and the two remaining bars on each end of the opening.

His hands, still burning from the last, twist a round the leftmost bar. A yelp of pain escapes his throat, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, it makes him press even more of his strength into the bar.

“ Rich, stop!” Jeremy glides over to him, trying to pull one of Rich’s freckled arms back frantically.

Alas, Jeremy’s strength is nothing compared to Rich’s. With one swift motion, he throws that arm back unexpectedly, throwing the slimmer teen practically across the length of the cell. He’s too shocked to yell. Paying no mind to three stray feathers, Rich pulls the next two halves of steel bar onto the ground, looking even more aggressively melted than the last ones.

“Can you fit through there?” He points to the now-open space, wincing when his fingers and palms touch.

“I-I think so,” Jeremy swallows, slowly picking himself back up, “b-but, your hands-”

“My hands will be fine. Pssh, I’ve done worse. And so will you, if you get out of here now.”

Jeremy gulps. He can’t leave yet. Not in the middle of this confusion. His head falls to face the concrete floor.

“W-why are you doing this for me? Why don’t you guys come, too?”

“You know damn well Thquip would get uth. Pluth, it’s either three dead or one ethcaped and two a little banged up. Altho-altho, like we could ever get far enough in time. But you’ve got thomeone coming for you, yeah? A chance,” Rich looks at his hands and chokes back some sort of noise between a laugh and a sob. “If I can’t get all of us outta here, I want least one of us to.”

“I’m going to come back and get you guys out, too.” he sounds pretty confident for a kid who couldn’t break Rich’s grip.

Am I really? Would I be able to?

Rich laughs. Genuinely.

“I-I swear!”

“Whatever you say, wingboy,”

The moment is broken quickly, though, when Jenna begins to pipe up, a blank stare peering from her vantage point.

“You need to go, now ,”

With shaky legs, Jeremy tries to hop to the ledge the window with a boost from Rich. It’s not all that high, maybe about five feet. Awkwardly squeezing the length of his wings to fit on the surface area on his back isn’t all that easy either. They can close, but this is stretching it. Before he knows it, half of his body is outside. He’s lying on his stomach, level with the ground outside ( Outside !) yet his feet still hovering above the tile of his cell.

Halfway between hell and, comparatively, heaven.

This is a bit on the nose, isn’t it? Jeremy thinks with a giddy smile.

In his head, he then thanks whatever god that could be listening for the window being on-level with the ground outside. His senses can feel the outdoors before his brain computes it.

The dirt and grass that slide between his fingers as he hoists himself out further, digging clean nails frantically into the soil to pull himself closer and closer to salvation. The rays of the sun warming his cheeks. The wind feeling oppositely cool through his hair. It's so much and so much new. A few sorts of laughing-sighing sounds later, he’s gotten the majority of himself out.

Suddenly, the telltale thmp thmp thmp of boots on tile echo out of the facility and into Jeremy’s ears. He tries to twist his head around to see, but he can’t see anything except for the looming trees around him. His wings and body filling the rectangular window.

“Go!” Jenna screeches, louder than anyone’s ever heard her before. It’s being overlapped by a Rich’s “Hurry up! Squip’s-”

Rich doesn’t get to finish. Maybe he did, but Jeremy wasn’t able to hear him over a loud thudding that was clearly a body onto the ground. A new, sickening voice can be heard now.

“You will not believe the trouble you children are in,”

Shit. Shit. Fuck. His eyes go wide and he can’t help but freeze in place. His heart, if it weren’t for the dirt his chest is slammed against, would surely have burst free by now.

Jeremy’s mind is spinning, alternating between every curse word he knows and imagining what worst-case scenario is behind him. His body desperately tries to squirm about. still midway through the window. All he can make out beyond his wings and tears, and the window are black shapes in darkness compared to the sunlight Jeremy now finds most of himself in. There’s a small shape on the floor, contorting. A larger figure looms overhead, and quickly strides towards the window. Anything resembling Jenna, he notices, is nowhere to be seen.

“Fuck!” Jeremy squeaks, voice cracking. With one sharp tug forward, his wings are free, and he’s so close to freedom. All that’s left is to crawl his legs out and book it. Just how Rich wanted. He wants it, too.

He feels his toes graze against the small blades of grass struggling to grow against the concrete border of the window.

And he feels a gloved hand grab his ankle.

Jeremy lets out a yelp in surprise, struggling to move just the two inches it’d take to run.

He’s so fucking close. Rich is most likely going to get hell for this. Rich will probably give him hell, too, if Jeremy didn’t get out of dodge now .

“Get back inside,” Squip’s voice is almost soothing, yet it’s the kind of soothing you don’t want to hear when the owner of that voice is effortlessly pulling you backward. The grip he has on the boy’s ankle is definitely going to leave a bruise. Jeremy falls from his crawling position back onto his stomach, and he feels the earth grind against him as he’s slowly pulled closer and closer back into the facility. The world around him grows smaller and dimmer and colder. He wants to scream, but he’s too preoccupied kicking and digging his nails into the dirt in a desperate attempt to break free.

“Listen, I can forget this whole debacle never happened,” Squip monotonously says, “All you need to do is come back to me. Where did you expect to go, anyway? There is nothing out there for you,”

Jeremy feels tears sting like pinpricks from behind his eyes. If he could just run far enough, he could find something. He could find Michael! He said he’d come back. Michael wouldn’t lie. Jeremy doesn’t know why he believes that, but what else has he got to believe?

“Remember what I keep telling you? You can’t last a day out there. I can keep you safe! I do keep you safe!”

Jeremy pauses, breath hitching. Stray tears hang in his eyes.

“...okay,” Jeremy tries to match his captor’s level of calmness. For a second, all of the struggling stops. The ongoing breeze, even, seems to slow and the dandelions that Jeremy’s eyes are locked on seem to stop in time. Squip’s effortless dragging ceases. The air itself could’ve been at a standstill for all he could understand.

Squip hums.

“That’s what I thought Jeremiah.” Jeremy can almost see the smirk behind his words. Squip’s grip loosens a bit, the dark leather of his glove relaxing around Jeremy’s right ankle.

It’s not much, but it’s all Jeremy needs.

A sharp inhale and a twist to his side, Jeremy uses his left leg to kick through the window with all the strength he can muster.

He keeps his eyes forward though, towards the trees. Yet, he can feel his foot make impact on what he hopes is Squip’s face.

His suspicions are confirmed when he hears Squip yell in pain through clasped hands.

“Fuck yes!” Jeremy murmurs to himself.

And before he knows it, he’s on his feet.

It takes a moment of swaying to catch his balance from laying down for so long. Plus, the breeze, having picked up now, almost knocks him down again after filtering through outstretched wings. The wind isn’t strong, to Jeremy’s embarrassment, but a new feeling nonetheless. He can feel his pulse throbbing in his left wing, from being pinned against the ground while he was on his side.

He hears something that could almost be mistaken as a growl, and remembers the man that resides beyond the rectangular opening on the ground. It’s almost dizzying, seeing where his eye level used to be compared to being six foot something from ground level.

Then he sees Squip’s eyes, shining in the sunlight as he begins to try and crawl through the window himself.

Shit, I should’ve been running by now!

Legs pumping beneath him, he runs. To where, exactly, he’s not quite sure. But the feeling is exhilarating. A quick glance behind him shows Squip not even halfway through the opening, not having the advantage of Jeremy’s frame. He appears smaller and smaller to the boy, eyes steel blue and alight with excitement.

Sure, he’s running from a man who could kill him at any second. Yeah, his bare feet slamming against rocks and roots with every step is pretty painful. And yes, he has no idea where he’s off to. But the adrenaline rush! Jeremy never knew he could move so fast. Maybe even faster if he didn’t have these handicaps that were the wings. They are practically uncontrollable at the moment. A racing mind and body means little to no attention to be put into controlling his extra appendages. They’re at the extent of their wingspan, letting the wind flow between feathers that had been kept closed and cold for way too long. Occasionally, a reflexive jolt of a flap gives Jeremy enough air to stride across the grass and browning leaves much longer than he could otherwise.

A laugh bubbles out of him between panting breaths. Trees whiz by, becoming only a blur of oranges, browns, and yellows.

Everything is moving so fast, a nice contrast to the dull, grey life he’s always known.

He doesn’t even think about the others.

Only when he stops after running for what felt like days to him does he try and locate himself. During his sprint, he’d made sure to include some twists and turns to keep Squip off his track. Now, he stands amongst a small clearing, a patch of dandelions, and a pale golden sky surrounded by tall, looming trees. He tries to minimize his panting and huffs of breath in a feeble attempt at picking up any other running noises.

The wind against the trees give a small ambience, but that’s about it in terms of noise. Jeremy balls his fists along with a long sigh. He knows that Squip isn’t going to stop looking for him. He’s not gonna give up that easily. He’s probably close. Not to mention what’s gonna happen to the others…

Jeremy chokes back anything resembling a sob.

Because right now, Squips’ not close enough. Not yet, anyway.

I’m fine. Rich and Jenna will be fine. Rich said so.

“What’s next?” Jeremy says aloud to himself. Part of him just expected an answer to come from the forest.

He gets no response. Shocker. The wind picks up once more. This time, a few leaves flutter by as well. They seem to float over the invisible wind eloquently. Jeremy lets out another airy laugh. What about this made him want to laugh so much? Maybe it’s the novelty , he figures.

Everything around him is new. He’s an outsider. Literally. What else is there to do?

Run? Seems logical. Maybe I can wait for Michael.

Though, his body is too jittery to wait. Adrenaline still strong, he’s yet to feel the various scrapes and cuts on his arms and legs, the soreness of his feet, or notice the small rips in his gown. He wants to keep moving. His wings, that have been relaxing themselves against his back, instinctively rise again at the thought.

Besides, it’d give some more distance between him and the facility. Double besides, what else could he see before he finds Michael?

A small grin inches onto his face.

Run it is.

It’s the closest he can get to flying away.

Chapter Text

Jeremy wanted to go faster, he could hear his heartbeat through his ears. His ankle was starting to lose its mobility (he should pay better attention to where he was looking). He had wished he brought his binder, but he could always learn how to retract his wings… right? Above, Jeremy looked up to the trees. Since he couldn't fly to them, he started climbing. Somebody who's never climbed a tree before, climbing one possibly 30 feet high? Yeah. Smart idea.

It took… approximately ten minutes to become stable. He got as high as he could without his weight breaking a branch. He heard the Squips’ voice echoing through the forest. If Jeremy got caught… Fuck, he shouldnt even think about it. When he thinks about stuff that scares him, he starts to sweat, he shakes, he cries. The Squip doesn't like that. He heard a branch crack under his tree, and a flashlight pointing up towards him. He froze, paralyzed. He looked at who it was and… He couldn't see. The light was flashing way too bright, his eyes started to water.

The boy clung to the tree like it was his lifeline. Gods, it was his lifeline. The person under him lowered his flashlight, to reveal it was two. A girl and a boy. It was too dark to see who they were, but Squip was talking about night vision soon… No, he can't go back. He would… he would die. Holy shit. What was happening to his friends, were they being killed? He had promised to get back to them, to save them… He was too deep into his spiral, where his footing slipped and he started to fall. He let out a yelp, then choked back on it in hopes to save his dignity. Did he have any left? He gripped onto the branch he was sitting on, but his hands were slipping. After having such soft hands his whole life, he wasn't sure how to maneuver them in a dirty, sharp, and infected place. Oh gods, he could get infected. His hands slipped and his wings flapped in an effort to save him. They softened his fall, but he fell on one of the feathers. He muffled a cry, it was as sensitive as a cats’ tail. He looked up, and saw two people towering over him.

*****

“Hey, hey hey hey… you remember me, right?” Micheal said, lending him a hand. The boy (Jeremy? Joseph?) grabbed it, shaking. 

“I- Im sorry, I-” He said, whispering. He heard another branch creak, and a loud raspy voice yelling his name. The boy ran. Micheal wanted to run after the boy, but Christine stopped him.

She put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find him later… He’s obviously in danger. Did he have freakin’ wings?!” she said, hushed. Micheal nodded, unsure of what to do. He sat down and chatted with Christine for a while about random stuff against his better judgement. Nothing they said he had processed well, but it was nice to try and calm down. Around 30 minutes later, a guy dressed in a white coat, brown loafers, white pants, and sterile gloves with a mask came up to them.

“Hey, you two skamps. Have you perchance seen a boy, brown hair and eyes, a medical gown, and ah… play wings? About my shoulder height.” The guy seemed desperate. It was the same voice as before. Micheal took a deep breath, looking at Christine to let him do the talking. Christine (surprisingly) nodded.

“Dude, can you let us be?” He wrapped his arm around Christine’s shoulder and winked at her. She was confused but went along with it. Acting, am I right? “Give us some privacy… We, or I, saw some kid running around somewhere towards the city. Weirdo…” He whispered to Christine, just loud enough for the guy to hear. He muttered something about kids being stupid and walked away towards the city. Micheal let go of Christine as soon as he was out of earshot. “Sorryyyyy, Chris…” He said, giggling at how stupid he sounded a moment before. Christine giggled with him.

“Yeah, yeah. Now get up, I’m really excited to meet this kid!” She was jumping up and down like a little kid. Micheal smiled and stood up, lending Christine a hand. They turned on their flashlight again and went in the direction the boy really went in. They walked around the forest for about ten more minutes. Or fifteen? He wasn't sure, but they found a big burrow, obviously made for a bear during hibernation. They looked inside it, and there he was. The boy with brown barn-owl looking wings, cowering in the corner. His knees were tucked into his chest, his head on his knees, and his wings covering his body. He was shaking, the poor thing, and the light on him didn't help. He whimpered a bit, very quiet. The boy looked up at the two, his eyes red like he had been crying. Or he was high, but probably crying

*****

He was spiraling. Jeremy didn't know what to do, he was freaking out. If the Squip found him, oh boy he would be fucking dead. 

“I'll take a dead sample over a disrespectful one, anyday,” he remembered. His hands were shaking, wings too. He couldnt stop crying, gods why couldnt he stop fucking crying?! He's such a baby, he can't even be strong to himself. If Rich saw him, he would be so disappointed. Jenna too. What they sacrificed for him… He is such a baby, He should jus

He felt a light. He looked up, clutching a sharp rock in his right hand. It had started to bleed, but it didn't matter. He saw the same two people as before, but now he could see them clearly. It was the guy from before. Micheal.

“...” Jeremy stayed quiet. He was ashamed, his official first impression on Micheal was… this. A crying mess of anxiety, trust issues, and so many other bad mental side effects of his time at that establishment. Micheal inched closer, like he was going up to a hurt puppy, but his companion rushed over to him.

“Hello! Hello! What are you? What's chasing you? Are you ok-” The girl got cut off by Micheal, who put a hand on her shoulder.

He smiled softly at him “Don't.. Don't mind Christine.” he chuckled. “She's a bit.. over the top. I'm Michael?” He asked, hoping the boy might remember him. He crouched down to his level and hesitantly brough Jeremy's wing down. The boy winced in pain, and brought it down himself.

“I know. J-Jeremy.” He whispered. He wiped his eyes, chuckling. “What are- are you doing here?” Trying to act like he wasn't just sobbing his intestines out just a minute ago, wasn't easy. “And did you see any… anyone? Nearby?” He whispered even quieter, pulling his knees even more so to his chest unknowingly.

Micheal nodded. “Yeah, some random guy in a white coat.” After seeing Jeremys’ uneasiness, he shook his head. “But we sent him to the city. What was that abou-

“Yeah, what was he chasing you for?” The girl butted in. “Are you okay? What did you do? What did he do?!” She was being a bit loud, but Jeremy found it a bit funny. He chuckled softly, even though he didn't feel very… happy.

“It's… a long story.” he stopped smiling and looked at both of them. Talking to two people is hard, he never enjoyed it. More intimate conversations were his type. “I- I know it's a lot to ask… but would you be willing to help me hide? I- I really don't want to go back there. Please…” he had begged. It was a lot to ask, but wouldn't you if you were treated like him?

Christine smiled. Micheal nodded “of course, my moms are always out so they won't care. Are… can you make your wings… uh…” He tried to find a word for it. “retract?” He chuckled nervously. Jeremy shook his head.

He let his wings fall down to the floor. He was getting a better idea on how to control his wings. “I… there's something called a binder that helps?” He said, hoping Micheal would understand. “It- it puts pressure on my back, and makes my wings look like they're not there…” So basically a binder but opposite direction, he was explaining. Jeremy chuckled awkwardly. He didn't know how to talk to people well, even with Rich and Jenna he had a hard time.

“Oh, yeah I can get you a binder! We may have to… tweak it a bit.” Micheal smiled and gave Jeremy a hand. It took a minute for Jeremy to process what Micheal was doing, but once he realized he took it awfully gently. He stood up and wiped away the remaining tears, smiling. He wanted to hug Micheal, but he didn't know if that was already with him. So he didn't. Micheal smiled at Christine and led him out the cave.