Hello all! So, it appears that the RS fandom is, for the most part, dormant. Really makes me wish I had started writing for it when it was in its prime! Nevertheless, I intend to keep making content for it. Who knows, maybe it'll be brought back from the dead.
It was hot. Scorching. His skin burned from the inside, tingling uncomfortably as his nerves lit up.
There was darkness around him, clinging, frigid and pulling at his flesh from all directions. Shapes and colors danced before his eyes, but he couldn't focus on any of it.
Something struck him. Pain blossomed from the impact and he caught the a fleeting glimpse of stark white eyes. Familiar...but how? His vision swam, consciousness black in and out as a deep anger screamed at him. His instincts fought against him. Why couldn't he stop spinning?
Another hit. More pain. More screaming...he couldn't save them.
White.
He failed again.
White.
His mind broke, morphing into something he couldn't recognize.
White.
Safe in the confines of his own psyche, he felt his bones flex and snap beneath his own unbridled energy. It wouldn't matter anyway.
White!
He was moving...body rushing forward and he felt an unforgiving cold tear at him. His bones crunched in a sickening melody and his flesh began to sear away. He collided with world after world, utterly merciless as he zeroed in on his target. Light years spanned in mere moments, the life he'd lived coming in flashes.
Close...
Closer...then-
Maellard awoke to screaming. Squinting his eyes, he looked over to see his wife sleeping soundly beside him, simultaneously catching sight of the clock hanging on the wall.
3:42 am.
He groaned, running a hand over his face in exasperation before dragging himself out of bed and into the hall. The floorboards creaked under his weight in the same spot as always, causing him to frown. He'd paid good money to have this house built, the least they could have done is make sure the floorboard fit right. He followed the cries all the way down the hall, stopping at the last room and making his way inside. He didn't bother trying to be graceful about his entrance; too tired and far too irritated to care. Moonlight poured in through the three large windows on the opposing wall, the sheer curtains giving the room an almost eerie feel. The small music box on the dresser had long gone quiet, not that it would help at this point.
He shut the door, hoping to mute at least some of the noise echoing through the house. He dragged his feet over to the crib, minding the mobile hanging above as he peered over the edge to settle his gaze on a very displeased Pops.
He didn't need the lights on to see the wetness reflecting off the infant's face, soaking the sheets underneath him. Thankfully, his shrieking had quieted down to actual cries, but he still flailed violently.
Maellard sighed...he'd hoped this wouldn't become a pattern, the nightmares. It had been a few weeks since he'd returned from the arctic, and the time he spent out of bed in the middle of the night was becoming more frequent. What a baby had to have nightmares about, he'd never know. The real fear of life hasn't even begun yet! Yet there he lie, red-faced and distraught. The man pushed down his annoyance, reaching down to scoop the baby into his arms.
"Alright," he said, "that's enough of that. What is it this time?"
For a deluded moment, he hoped he might finally get an answer to that question. He wasn't good with emotions and he wasn't even going to pretend he knew what to do. A large part of it was so they could actually get some peace at night, but another simply desired to know. Unfortunately, but as expected, he got no answer. Pops continued to wail, though his voice had gone hoarse from the force of his outburst. Add a raw throat to the list of grievances he'd have to deal with. He frowned, balancing the infant in one hand as he bent down to retrieve the discarded blanket from the floor and moving to sit in the nearby rocker. After maneuvering the linen around the tiny body, he plucked a spare cloth from folded pile. Pops shook his head as Maellard wiped at his face, growing frustrated that he couldn't move farther away. His small hands came up in an attempt to shield himself and he whined.
"Oh, hush! You brought this on yourself with all that racket," the man said matter-of-factly, throwing the soiled cloth aside.
The baby whimpered pathetically, as if debating whether or not he wanted to continue to cry. Maellard stared down his nose at him, silently observing the alien for signs of increasing distress. He wished he could just see inside the child's mind; it would be so much easier to simply pluck the bad dreams from his psyche. Looking at him, he seemed just as fatigued as the parents he kept awake. The business man set his jaw, lazily reaching over toward the dresser and turning the key in the music box. Anastasia could coddle him all she wanted in her turns, but he certainly wasn't about to give the little creature anything extra. It was a few hours until sunup yet, this kid was going back to sleep.
"...We'll sit here all night if we have to," he spoke firmly, his arms settling into a rhythmic bounce.
So this was his life now...no sleep, constant crying, constant feeding. Weighed down in the prime of his career, all because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Truth be told, he was still debating whether or not to give up the child. There were other couples who wanted children who would jump at the opportunity, certainly. That night in the arctic, he...he'd just been caught in the moment! Nothing more. He wasn't made for this kind of living...he was a man of business! An explorer! He had his own plans and none of them included a baby. He wasn't even any good at it...
Round, wet eyes stared up at him, curiously watching his internal struggle. A tiny hand reached up to touch his nose and he was suddenly brought back to all those weeks ago. He'd tried not to think too hard about the circumstances that had brought the infant to Earth...whether it was by mere chance or that his actual parents had needed to make that decision. He still didn't even know what this thing was! No ordinary Lollilander, that was for sure! He and his wife both had first-hand experience with the boy's abilities...sometimes through play when he got a little too enthusiastic and others in anger where his tantrums would result in a few window repairs. He had also learned it was a good idea to keep a fire extinguisher quite handy in every room. Thankfully, he seemed to have a happy enough disposition to make those rare occasions.
A smirk played on his lips and he gently took the little hand away from his face, holding it and marveling at how dwarfed it was in his own. Pop's cooed, wrapping his pudgy fingers around his thumb in a grip that was slightly too tight. Maellard didn't bother to comment on it, deciding it best to just have this moment as it was in its own unconventional way. Just a man and his adopted alien baby who may or may not be a supreme deity destined to save the universe.
Shifting more comfortably in his seat, he felt his insides flutter some when Pop's snuggled more securely against him, eyes finally starting to droop. He kept a firm hold on his father's hand, taking comfort in how it grounded him. A few shuddering breaths left his mouth as the last remnants of the nightmare faded away.
Maellard tugged the blanket tighter around the infant, tucking the corners into a makeshift cocoon. He watched him slip further and further into sleep, unconsciously holding his breath for fear of undoing all his hard work. The music box was was trilling out the last of its melodic tune, sending the atmosphere into an odd surrealism as the moon dipped just below the horizon. Maybe he would take the day off tomorrow- for the sake of not getting any sleep, of course, not because he wanted to or anything. The child was still a nuisance and they'd be better off without him...but if he had to stay, Maellard supposed he wouldn't mind all that much.
Boom- work número dos done! Please continue to forgive me if my characterization is weird, I'm running on the little canon mannerisms I have and all the rest are assumptions lol. I imagine Maellard to be slightly nicer in his younger age, but still pissy enough to be recognized as Maellard. Pops is an easy one, at least until I decide to start writing one-shots with child!Pops. Oof, lawd help me. I also HC Pops with frequent night terrors of his past lives. Anyway, thank you for reading, please feel free to let me know how it holds up!