I recently finished Psychonauts 2, and I have several ideas for stories for this fandom, but this is the one I'm starting with because it's the shortest. This one is focused on Otto Mentallis and the rest of the Psychic Seven. Otto is the only member that was not helped by Raz's going into his mind in the game. This is me exploring that.
Otto had been credited as a workaholic by his friends, so his constant working didn't surprise anybody, not even himself. But the fervor and desperation with which he now focused on inventing new gadgets and improving all of his old ones was beginning to frighten even him. Sasha's concern was also growing, seeing as how Otto's interruptions to his own work were unpredictable and increasingly frequent. But Otto couldn't help it.
Of course, they were talking, but without him. Not once did they invite him to join in as they reconnected. That didn't mean he didn't watch them, though. Otto listened to them, hiding in adjacent rooms, watching them through the cameras, always with an obsessive hunger. He had to make sure they were there, that they were all safe, even if they never wanted to see his face again. Naturally, they wouldn't. Because Otto had failed them.
Otto shook himself out and glanced at the invention. The Thought Tuner was now calibrated, and he set it aside then rubbed his temples. He hated thinking like this. He knew there was no use dwelling on the past. But the past was now looming in front of him in the faces of his old friends. Lucy came by every once in a while to eat at the Noodle Bowl with Ford, and that always made him hurt inside. He couldn't see Lucy without seeing Maligula and remembering his greatest failure. But the others didn't see it that way. They saw it as him being the same cold, aloof workaholic they'd always seen him as.
Otto's mind suddenly burned and he groaned and swayed. Another headache was coming on, and he needed some Psyconium. He'd invented the Psytanium and Psylirium mixture for short-term relief of psychically intense headaches, but he was dependent on it by this point just to maintain himself. He didn't know what else to do or who else to turn to. He staggered to the medicine cabinet and pawed open a bottle, but it was out. He had forgotten to restock.
"Frazzle it all," Otto moaned then gave in at once and began to get ready.
He had plenty of Psytanium due to his Otto-Matics—that was one good thing about his little inventions—but Psylirium was harder to come by. He'd have to go to Green Needle Gulch and dig out some Psylirium from his hidden stash. It was the only way to get some without doing tedious amounts of paperwork. He'd use the Otto-Ban to get there and back, and hopefully he'd run into nobody.
Satisfied with his plan, Otto jumped into the Otto-Ban and zipped off toward their old stomping grounds. When he got there, he crouched, glancing around and listening hard. Nobody appeared to be around. That was excellent news. He hurried toward his old, blown-out lab and began to hum tunelessly. The headache was getting worse. He just needed some Psylirium and he could have relief.
When he had retrieved the Psylirium from his hiding spot, he quickly crushed it to drain the psychic mineral. He pulled out his bottles to mix the solution when he heard the last person he wanted to behind him.
"What are you doing here, Otto?"
"Lucy!" Otto yelped, nearly dropping the Psylirium. "I… I didn't expect to see you here. Today. Now."
Lucy gazed at him. Otto shifted, his face flushed at being caught, then he continued to mix his solution. "Well, I'll finish this. I need to get back to my lab."
"Always in lab. Is worse now than it was." Lucy leaned forward. "What is wrong, Otto?"
"Nothing, of course," he said shortly, setting aside one vial and corking two. He then tossed back the third. An instant later, he realized his mistake.
"Oh, that's not good," he said, staring at the empty Psylirium vial. He dropped it as a wave of psychic energy distorted around him.
Lucy picked up the vial and stared at the warm yellow glow that remained at the bottom. "I'll call Crully," she said.
"No!" Otto exclaimed. "No need for Ford. Just need… Sasha…"
He was going to have a rough time, he realized as he sank down to his knees. The world swam and his blood screamed with the undiluted psychic mineral. He felt a surge underneath him and he shuddered as he was moved. He was so very dizzy and he felt sick. He was grateful when he was settled on a cushioned surface. There was a clang and he was in nice, soothing darkness. He lost consciousness amidst the psychic hallucinations and awoke to a knocking sound. He groaned, covering his ears and tried to ping whoever it was. Nothing went through and everything was quiet. That's when he realized he was in a Psychoisolation Chamber. He struggled to sit up as the door opened. Sasha Nein stood there, holding up a ball of light.
"I hear you took Psylirium," Sasha said evenly.
"Sure feels like it," Otto groaned, rubbing his forehead. "You wouldn't happen to have Psyconium, would you?"
"Is that what you were trying to take?" Sasha asked, pulling a bottle out of his pocket.
"Can't remember," Otto mumbled, reaching feverishly for the medicine. "But most likely. Headaches, you know."
Sasha didn't hand over the bottle. "How much are you taking, Otto?"
"Regular doses," Otto said at once, offended.
"For how long?"
Silence, and Otto adjusted his spectacles, his lips pressed thin.
"Daily?" Sasha pressed.
"Yes," Otto said reluctantly.
"How many times?"
"Oh… a couple."
"For how long?"
Otto scoffed. "I don't see how this matters."
"You're going to get Psyconium poisoning, Otto," Sasha said. "You're most likely at the upper limit, hence why drinking undiluted Psylirium has not entirely incapacitated you."
"Then I'll invent a long-lasting solution later," Otto snapped. "Give it to me, Sasha! Now!"
There was a long pause then Sasha turned and left. "I told you he was addicted to it," he said to somebody.
"But he's Otto!" Bob exclaimed in his gravelly voice. "Mr. Perfect couldn't have problems."
Otto stiffened and gazed out at fireflies buzzing around the swamp, realizing that he'd never left Green Needle Gulch.
"Oh, come on, Bobby, that doesn't matter," Helmut scolded. "I told you before more goes on inside of him than you guys give him credit for."
Otto didn't move and Sasha came back around. "Come on, Otto."
"No," Otto snarled. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the cushioned side of his invention. "I still don't feel well. I'm staying here."
Cassie laughed from somewhere outside. "Same old Otto. Stubborn as the day is long."
"Yes, but that's served us well many times," Compton said.
Were they all out there? As if in answer to his question, Ford came around and stared at him. Otto didn't move, glaring at the ground.
"Come on," he said. "You need to eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"Don't care," Ford said. "Now get out or we'll make you."
Otto knew very well that wasn't an idle threat. He stayed still for a minute longer, wracking his brain for a way out of this. He came up with nothing so he gingerly uncurled his screaming limbs and stood up. When he passed Sasha, he slipped the Psyconium bottle out of his pocket with his telekinesis and put it in his own.
"I saw that," Sasha said blandly.
"Saw what?" Otto asked primly.
Sasha raised his eyebrows, then a smirk hovered around his mouth. "Razputin?"
"Yeah?" The boy acrobat hurried over, and Otto blinked in surprise. He wasn't used to others being able to get here.
"Perhaps we should go back to the Motherlobe and leave the Psychic Seven to talk."
All color drained out of Otto's face. "I have things to do in my lab," he argued, trying to stay calm.
"Not tonight you don't," Sasha said.
"I'll make you regret this, Nein," Otto growled.
"I look forward to it, Mentallis," Sasha replied. "Our mind games are one of the best parts of the job."
Otto wanted to scream. Sasha was so monotone that it was usually hard to tell if he'd gotten under his skin. This time, though, he knew without a doubt that he hadn't. He was being backed into a corner.
"Let's go, Razputin," Sasha said.
"Can I say bye to Nona first?" Raz asked.
"Certainly."
Sasha and Raz made their way toward Lucy's house, and Otto considered just what he was going to do to get back at Sasha for this for a minute or two. He wasn't even supposed to be at the Motherlobe. He was supposed to be at Camp Whispering Rock. It must be a break, Otto thought angrily. He and Milla always spent a couple of days recharging at the Motherlobe in between groups.
"Lucy's making stew," Ford said, placing a hand on Otto's shoulder.
Otto brushed it aside and stormed off. He pushed through his so-called friends without looking at them and headed for Lucy's house, the others following behind and murmuring to each other with curiosity.
It was a bit trickier to get around the old place than it had been, but it was considerably improved since they'd faced Maligula the last time. Lucy and Ford and the others had clearly been making an effort to clean up. Another thing he wasn't invited to participate in. He was sulking about that all the way over, but as soon as he stepped into Lucy's house, he realized she wasn't just making stew. She was making his favorite stew.
"There you are," Lucy said, stirring the big pot. "Was wondering when you would come. That nice boy said he had something that would help you."
"Of course. Would have been nice if he'd given it to me," Otto said.
"He didn't?" Lucy asked.
"No," Otto groused. He sat down and rubbed his temples. He could sense the others still talking outside. "But that doesn't mean I didn't take it."
He pulled out the bottle, wiggling it. Then he took the top off and swallowed a large mouthful without measuring. He coughed a couple times and felt much better instantly. Now he could talk with them. But as he lowered the bottle, he saw Bob gazing at him with an open mouth, Helmut's brain beside him. Otto's face suddenly burned as he realized how this looked. He was swigging out of a medicine bottle. Dear lord, is this what he was reduced to?
Bob lowered his eyes and said nothing as he came in to settle down. He was looking much better since he'd begun to take care of himself again. And he'd stopped drinking entirely. Otto thought bitterly that Bob was probably disgusted with him. A lot of former drunks looked down their nose at addicts once they were clean and sober. It wouldn't surprise Otto. He and Bob had never gotten along well.
"What is that stuff, man?" Helmut asked.
"Psyconium," Otto mumbled.
"What does it do?"
"Helps with psychically induced headaches."
"How do you make it?"
"Mixing certain quantities of Psylirium and Psytanium and diluting it with water."
"Is that why you took Psylirium?" Helmut sounded amused. "You got distracted and took the wrong one?"
"Yes," Otto sighed.
Ford, Compton, and Cassie came in as Helmut and Lucy laughed. Bob didn't react other than to glance at Otto.
"Mm, that smells good, Lucy," Compton said, breathing in deeply as he sat down.
"Will be done soon," Lucy said. "Is one of family's favorite recipes." She paused and her face fell a little. "Was Gussy's at least. Don't know anymore."
"What's so funny, Helmut?" Cassie asked, tactfully changing the subject. Lucy smiled at her.
"Otto didn't mean to take the Psylirium," Helmut said, his voice full of laughter. "He got flustered and took the wrong vial,"
"Told you so," Lucy said. "He should have taken blue-green one, not yellow. But he did not expect to see me here. Today. Now," she teased.
Otto flushed and took off his glasses to clean them. "Well, I didn't."
"Didn't expect to or hoped not to?" Compton asked.
"How's that food coming?" Otto said loudly, glancing at Lucy.
"Hoped not to, then," Helmut said.
"Oh, what does it matter?" Otto demanded. "None of you want to see me either, and I was simply hoping to have to spare you the displeasure. Sorry for my consideration!"
He stood up and went outside, leaving stunned silence in his wake. He couldn't do this and he didn't want to. Tears stung his eyes and his head throbbed as he sat down, his feet dangling above the water. He pulled out the medicine bottle again and looked at it. Then he popped the top and went to take a drink. Before he could, it was snatched out of his hands by a vine, and Otto clenched his fists. He didn't say anything as Bob padded over. There was an awkward silence for a moment before Bob sat down and took the bottle from the vine, which then grew in a way to support Bob's back as he sat there.
"Bad back?" Otto asked sympathetically.
"Too much weight, too much alcohol, too little good food and exercise," Bob muttered. Then he smiled. "But Helmut's helping me work on it. A little at a time." He paused and sniffed the bottle. "Headaches, eh? You always did get pretty bad ones. Does it help?"
"Yes," Otto said reluctantly.
"How much is a proper dose?"
"I recommend a good swallow," Otto said. He paused and tapped his fingers on the dock. "Though I also usually recommend that others drink it diluted, not straight. So…"
"Less than you're taking," Bob said.
Otto turned away in shame. "Yes, if you must know."
"Good. First step is admitting you have a problem," Bob said.
Otto scoffed. "I have a lot of problems. I've never denied that, Bob."
"The second step," Bob continued. "Is admitting you need help. And I think that one's a lot harder for you. It sure is for me." He paused then placed a hand on Otto's shoulder. Otto glanced at it but didn't shrug it off like he'd done with Ford. "Do you need help, Otto?"
"You'd never believe if I said yes," Otto muttered, his voice dull. "I was the one that was unaffected by what happened, now wasn't I?"
"I've talked to Helmut about it," Bob said. "He thinks you're hiding in your work because that's what you always do when you're upset about something." He hesitantly wrapped his arm across Otto's back. "We're here for you, Otto. And you're welcome to join us anytime. I'm just sorry it took me so long to realize why you were avoiding everybody."
Otto flushed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You've been waiting on an invitation," Bob said. "And here it is."
Otto gazed at him, realizing at once that this was how Bob had felt all those years ago, when it was just the seven of them. He'd never just joined in, and at the time, Otto had been disdainful about it. In his mind, there was no reason to feel excluded amongst them, and he'd always been a bit distrustful of Bob because of his tendency to hide and avoid. But now he was in the same spot, and it was so very lonely.
"Do you need help?" Bob asked.
"Yes," Otto whispered, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears.
"Then come back inside. Pretty sure the stew's ready," Bob murmured. "Then we can talk and get all this out. Maybe do a Mental Exam on you."
"Whatever for?" Otto asked.
"Because according to Razputin, you're the only one he didn't help. So we'll help you. Better us than a kid, trust me. He saw some things…" Bob trailed off then glanced at Otto and smiled. "Come on. I'm hungry, and Compton's a pig when it comes to good food."
Otto couldn't help but laugh at that. "Very true. But he's also an excellent chef, so we'd better not complain. Complaints to the chef can be hazardous to your health, you know."
Bob snorted then used the vine to help himself up. Then he held out a hand hopefully. Otto hesitated then took it and got up, brushing off his pants. He handed Bob the top of the Psyconium bottle, and Bob put it in place before stashing the bottle in his pocket. Then they followed the delicious smells back inside, eager for dinner, though perhaps not for what would come afterwards.