Hiya folks! BC here with another Psychonauts fic, this one taking place after the sequel, so BE WARNED! THERE WILL BE SPOILERS FOR PSYCHONAUTS 2 IN THIS FIC. The game ripped my heart out and stomped on it, so naturally I am exploding with fics to write.
The idea of this one actually came from my friend Jaywings, who also beta-read the fic. Rocket as well beta-read the fic and edited the cover!
No real content warnings here, but as you can tell by the genre, this won't be happy. Enjoy!
Raz stepped through the door, and found himself looking at the tent.
It stretched high above him, far higher than the Aquatodome. Smaller booths selling popcorn and cotton candy sat outside it, with their invisible vendors calling out to non-existent customers. The fortune teller automation was still there, albeit looking less creepy, its movements smoother and its face brighter. Scattered all across the area were posters featuring different acts that featured in the show. Raz felt himself smile faintly when he saw the names of not just his family, but his friends, mentors, and...
His heart gave a pang, and he turned away.
Well, at least the place wasn't made of meat anymore.
This wasn't what he had come here for, anyway. Sasha had told him that he didn't need to fix up his mental world until he was ready to go on a more serious mission outside of HQ. There would be a time when he was ready for that, but it wasn't now.
He wasn't even sure he was ready for what he was about to do.
The last time he had been here, the ground was shattered erratically into the void around the edges of his world. Now, he found it surrounded by a dense forest, through which rolled a quiet fog. Glancing over the forest's edge, he spotted a narrow gap between the trees, and followed it. A dirt trail wandered through the forest, and he walked it with his head high, knowing there were no telekinetic bears or pyrokinetic cougars lurking here. Even when the sky above grew darker, he felt no fear; this was his mind, after all.
It took him little time to reach his destination: a small clearing with an equally small caravan, with a campfire illuminating the carts that surrounded it.
For a moment Raz stopped, observing the peaceful scene. The campfire wasn't as big as the one at Whispering Rock, but it made him think back to that first night visiting the camp. The thrill at having successfully located the camp, and broken into it. The joy of finding himself finally surrounded by other kids who were just like him. The excitement of meeting his...
He shut his eyes. It had only been just under a week—why did it feel like so long ago? Why did everything feel so... different?
In spite of the fire, he wrapped his arms around himself, shivering.
Assuming there's no strange interference, as you've had before, you should feel at ease in your own mental world, Razputin, Sasha had informed him before he'd borrowed the Brain Tumbler. If you don't, there may be an issue you'll need to sort out.
"Pretty sure I might have a few of those, Agent Nein," Raz muttered to himself. He opened his eyes; the fire had gone dimmer. "Well... better get this over with."
Finally he turned to one of the carts, with its six wheels supporting it and carved horses decorating the front. He mounted the stairs leading into it, and stopped.
Part of him wanted to climb back down, to run back through the forest and out to the tent. He didn't have to go here, he didn't have to do this. He could just explore his mental world and tidy it up, like Sasha had said.
The best offense is a psitanium-powered weapon, but a good defense ain't half-bad either, soldier, Oleander had said. In fact, it's probably the first thing you should look into when preparing your mind. Don't wanna let just anyone in, after all.
"...You're right, Coach," he said, swallowing. "This needs to be taken care of first."
Through the open door, he could see a hallway, far longer than the cart was wide. When he had last seen it a week ago, it had been made of pulsing, dripping meat, and lined with mental cobwebs. Now, though, it was made of the same wood as the outside, and the passage was clear. It was too long, however, to see what lay on the other side. Not that Raz didn't already know.
Drawing in a deep breath, he stepped through, and began walking down the passageway. His feet felt heavy, his heart longing for him to turn around. Or... part of it did, anyway. The other part knew he had to press forward, and the opposing desires fought within him, stopping him in his tracks.
When you've gone through a hard time, darling, you sometimes have to make hard decisions, Milla had told him gently. But trust me... you'll be much better off once you've made them.
Memories flitted through his mind of a small room he had spotted by chance, figments of young orphans surrounding long-abandoned toys, and fiery nightmares that spoke in the desperate whispers of dying children.
"I guess if anyone knows about that, it's you, Agent Vodello," Raz said, even as his stomach sank.
Finally, he passed through to the other side of the tunnel, hopping out of an identical cart and into a foggy void. He looked one way, then another, peering through the fog, but saw nothing. Swallowing, he began to march forward.
He felt the presence before he heard it.
"What are you doing here, Razputin?"
The voice was tired, and the question was asked with the air of someone who already knew the answer.
It took him a moment to reply. "I should be the one asking you that, Agent Cruller."
Turning, he saw exactly what he expected: Ford was standing behind him, as though he'd been there the entire time.
He had, hadn't he.
Ford did not answer him, and did not come closer. His back was a little more stooped than he was used to seeing, like he bore more weight on his shoulders (or had more guilt weighing on his heart). Though his eyes had always bore dark bags beneath them, they seemed even more pronounced now, if possible.
It almost made Raz want to turn back, but he turned away again, continuing his trek through the void.
"I've been... thinking over everything that's happened."
"You wouldn't be the only one," Ford said. Raz could sense him following behind, but he was keeping his distance, and his footfalls were slow and heavy. "It's a lot to take in."
Raz shook his head. "No, I don't mean just that... there's been a lot of stuff."
"Thinkin' about how you're a Junior Psychonaut now?" It was hard to ignore the hint of pride in Ford's voice.
"Maybe a little." A faint smile crossed Raz's face.
The image of himself through Ford's eyes flashed through his mind. Even though he'd been a mere psi-cadet at the time, Ford had seen him in the green robes of a full-fledged Psychonaut, and treated him as such.
His smile faded.
"I never told you I was promoted."
Behind him, Ford faltered. "Well... you hear these things."
"In the Gulch?"
Ford didn't answer.
They pressed on, and Raz could feel himself getting closer to what he searched for. "I was thinking about the things I've learned since I left home," he went on. "The stuff I learned at camp... and here."
"Heck of a learning experience, eh?"
"I guess you could say that. You taught me a lot, but..." Feeling his throat tighten, Raz swallowed. "The thing is... the most important lesson, I didn't learn from you."
Ford's footfalls went silent.
Before them, the fog was rolling away, and nothing but the void remained. Nothing but void, except for a single, tiny object hovering over the expanse. Raz stopped before it, but looked away.
"I made a mistake," he said. "A really bad one. I think you know how that feels, Agent Cruller."
"...I do, Razputin."
"I learned... that a person's mind shouldn't be taken lightly." His gaze turned downward. "That their boundaries should be respected."
Before him hovered a badge, similar to the ones that adorned his backpack. It was a deep red, the color of the food item painstakingly stitched into it. Behind it was a thin, faintly-glowing thread that hung out over the expanse, extending into the darkness and beyond the reaches of his own mind.
More memories returned—ones of him frantically pulling out a piece of bacon when faced with a new enemy he couldn't seem to defeat, of Ford suddenly appearing at his side to deliver advice or make a quick joke, of the former Grand Head of the Psychonauts using his connection to teleport him back to his sanctuary to personally teach him new techniques.
"And I..." His voice cracked. "I learned I should set some boundaries of my own."
Raz reached out for the badge, his hand trembling, and abruptly he turned away, looking behind him.
Some part of him had hoped Ford would protest, if only to give him something to fight. But the man stood with his head bowed, and made no argument. His body heaved in a deep sigh.
"It's—" His vision blurred, and he blinked, a few tears rolling down his face. He wiped them away with the heel of his hand. "It's not that I don't ever want to talk to you again, Ford, it's just... I-I have to—"
Ford raised his head, looking him in the eye. There was no sense of anger or disappointment there; only tired acceptance. "I understand, Raz."
They stared at each other. Silence hung over them like a net waiting to be broken. Or like a strand waiting to be cut.
Raz's heart clenched.
Before he could stop himself, he whirled around, grabbed the badge, and yanked. The thread went taut. Though it was only the barest strand, the width of spider silk, it was harder to break than Raz ever could have imagined, as though it were made of steel. It had nothing to do with the strength of the thread.
More memories came to him: His older brother's furious words and insults and blame. His mother's anger toward something he hadn't asked for. His father's fear of his son's powers that made him in turn fear his own parents. The hands lurking in the water and threatening to pull him under—hands that weren't even real, that had come from the fear of a curse that wasn't real, passed down by his father and Nona by memories that weren't real.
But the real memories gave him the strength he needed.
With one final yank, the connection was severed.
Raz tumbled backward against the ground as the fog whipped up around him once again. He held up his hand, but there was nothing in his palm. Sitting upright, he looked around, and found nothing but fog and the faint outline of the caravan cart sitting in the distance.
He was alone in his mind.
Raz was still for a moment before the weight of what he had done hit him. Tears filled his eyes, and he frantically rubbed at his face, sniffling and hiccuping, his heart aching. Only days ago he'd imagined himself working on missions alongside Ford as he had back at Whispering Rock, but now…
Did I just mess everything up? Did I make it worse…?
Something nuzzled his side. Looking up, he found a teal blue, metallic face staring at him, the knob that served as its nose nudging him. Typically Raz felt the need to psi-blast or punch these things to see what lay inside… but he got the feeling he already knew what memories this vault contained. Silently he reached out and patted its head.
Wiggling in delight, the vault hopped away from him, its clanking steps leading it to the place where the badge had been moments ago. There it settled, ready to be opened if he needed to remember what happened here.
The vault's appearance, however, was enough for him. After wiping his face again, Raz rose to his feet, and made his way back to the cart. His heart was still heavy, and would be for some time.
But he knew in his heart, heavy as it was, that he'd made the right decision.