AN: written on mobile please forgive typos.
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He moved forward through the crack, feeling his insect body contort in the ways necessary to continue. If he had been wrapped in human flesh, even at this size he wouldn't have been able to get through. It took some time, but eventually he felt the open air on his flailing limbs, and dropped out of the crack in the wall. His wings caught him just before he could hit the ground, and tiny lungs gulped down air after the time in claustrophobic confines.
The room was massive, and not just because he was so small. It went on and on, and reminded him not of a treasure trove at all, but of a garage sale. True, the floores and walls were polished gold bricks, glittering and flawless, but when he looked at the stacks of antiquated items he saw nothing that could be taken for objects of value.
"Yet," he spoke out loud to himself as his wings carried him to and fro, "I get the feeling Gold would give anything to be here." He had little doubts the items had a value beyond the material. He flew closer to a discarded disc three times bigger than he was tall, with dents and rivets from being hammered into shape. As he tried to make out his reflection in it, a steady thrum vibrated across his skin and sent him flying backwards tail over head. He recovered, shook his head to clear it. Magic. He'd better be careful here.
"How am I going to find-" a soft voice sighed around him, almost making him jump out of his exoskeleton.
"W-who's there?" He cried out, then thought better and tried to repeat the question with the bold timber of a hero. He didn't get the chance before a soft feminine voice whispered back to him,
"Who's there?"
"Oh. I guess I am the intruder...my apologies for just barging in." He landed in a clear are of floor, and gave a bow, "I'm Jiminy Cricket. Please forgive my intrusion." The voice around him sighed again, a forlorn ache that did nothing to acknowledge his words.
"Who's there?" It repeated, leaving him questioning in what way to respond.
"I'm-"
"Who's there?" This time the voice sounded familar, though it had been years since he had heard it.
"It's not possible..." he breathed the words as a head of curly locks peaked at him from around a precariously balanced tower of moth-worn furniture. It was his head. When he was a boy. It was him when he was a boy.
"Not probable." He told himself, the child coming out to kneel down and peer at him. He silently hoped the child was as kind to bugs as he had been at that age, gulping at the thought of ripped off wings and legs.
"Who are you?" He asked himself again. The question had more weight to it than it ought to and the eyes looking down at him were blank reflections. A riddle? He thought about what answer was needed, only for the child himself to repeat to himself: "Who, are you?" The force of breath in the words blowing him backwards. He regained his footing.
"I...made a mistake. A long time ago." The child tilted his head.
"A mistake?"
"Some people were hurt. I'm trying to fix it." Did the child understand him?
He found a finger pointing down towards him and almost flew away, worried it might be to crush him, but it stopped short.
"Will you take their place? The people you hurt?" Would he...would he? Only peril to himself, she had said. But would the Jabber, would Imogen, let him throw his own life away? It was his to give, true, but the woman had always been...controlling. For her to suddenly leave him to something as large as this, and let it be entirely his choice? And besides, would he? Take their place?
He stood taller.
"Yes." As soon as he said it the boy-himself smiled, and he felt a sudden lack of pressure in his legs. He looked down to see a porcelain sheen to his being, one which began to spread upwards quickly.
"Are you sure?" Up to his waist, he sucked in a panicked breath and his wings gave an involuntary flutter before they drilled. Up to his chest. He forced himself to calm.
"Yes." He repeated, closed his eyes, and felt the stilling sensation reach the top of his head.
A porcelain cricket stood on the floor. Cracks riddled the China, flecks of paint missing and dull. The boy tilted his head to the other side, then flicked the figurine over. It shattered, leaving a gasping cricket in the left over bits of broken refuse.
"You are worthy." He looked up, but the child himself was gone. Instead there was what he needed. Glittering in the light. He looked around him, but saw and heard no one. It was too big to cary. His heart sank, how was he going to-?
"One side will make you small, one side will..." the mushroom. He yanked it out of the small cloth carrier. If he remembered right, Alice had some trouble with it before. He gave it a cautious lick, and instantly grew twice as tall. Still not enough. A nibble, and he shot upwards, the pit of his stomach reminded of a roller coaster jolt. He was the right size now and still had some left. Instinct instructed him, and he set the remaining mushroom down where he picked up the trinket he needed.
Once more he heard the forlorn sigh, and felt the ground move. Ahead of him, the wall began to move, the bricks pulling aside and rearranging to make a door.
"Um...thank you..." no response. He flew over and out the door, turning back in time to watch it close back up. What else was in there? He didn't want to know. The wall sealed up, and even the crack was gone.
"I...I did it! Being a hero on an adventure isn't so hard after all!" He literally jumped into the air, limbs moving into a dance of victory, cricket jaws smiling as best they were able and hinged legs gigging for joy.
"I did it, Imogen! Did you see-Imogen?" He stopped to look around and realized, she wasn't there.
"Imogen?" He flew back and forth a few paces, glanced up at the wall.
"Imogen? Did you see? I made it!" No answer came but the howling wind.
"I-Imogen?" He sank down to the ground and only dared to whisper the other name.
"Jabberwocky?"
No answer came. And no one appeared.