Chapter Text
He doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt happy—or much of anything for that matter.
When he recalls his childhood, his mind is filled with memories. He remembers the emotions, and he remembers smells that would bring feelings of comfort.
(Sitting in his dad’s van with music playing, watching the snow fall as they wrap themselves in soft blankets that smell like soap. There’s a spark of happiness there, but it fades and dulls when he remembers that being with his dad just makes him feel terrible now because he has to fake being happy around him as to not concern him with his trivial matters.)
He’s numb now. There is barely any variation regardless of what happens around him. Amethyst can give him a donut, Pearl can clean up after him, Garnet can sweep him up in her arms, but his brain has forgotten how to react to those events. It leaves him feeling empty.
But, the pain, the sadness—he can still feel that. A tightness in his chest that throbs, that makes it harder to breathe, that makes his skin feel like it's pulled too tight over his body. He can’t help but soak in the melancholia because it’s the only thing left inside him. It’s comforting, almost, in that way. When there is nothing else to support him, falling back into sadness is always there for him. When he can’t feel anything, he can feel the distress, and so he welcomes the distress with open arms, even if it’s painful.
It’s wrapped up in so much that he doesn’t know how to begin to unwind it. When he tries to tug at the end of the string, it’s knotted up so tight in so many places that he’s scared to rip it all down. It may be there for a reason, supporting his insides from spilling out onto the ground. If someone else were to pull too hard, he might break apart into a thousand pieces, and there wouldn't be anything left of him at all.
For that reason, Steven chooses to be alone most of the time.
How possible that is depends on who’s around. If there are people in the house, he can’t truly be alone, but he can disappear within himself, responding only when needed to, smiling any time they come close to seeing all the things he hides from the world. Sometimes, he just goes to bed. And, sometimes, he sleeps the day away because being asleep is better than being awake.
Well, sometimes, anyway.
Sometimes, his dreams are filled with horror, of moments he never lets himself think about. His brain is begging him to unpack some of the events that have occurred in front of his eyes, but since he refuses while conscious, his unconscious takes over.
Nightmares. Many nightmares. Nightmares that aren’t real but feel so close to being real that they might as well be. Night terrors. Dreams that terrorize him.
They’re like badly made clip reels that have come to life in his subconscious. He’s usually crying, and oh—he’s so sorry, sorry to everyone—sorry about what he’s done, sorry about what She’s done.
Ugh. He doesn’t want to think about it.
If he’s lucky, he’ll fall into an empty slumber, enveloped by nothingness. This is the best state to be in because it’s as close to not existing as he’s ever managed to experience.
“Steven?”
Pearl’s voice is quiet. She’s concerned, probably because he’s been in bed all day again. He doesn’t want to move. He wants to pretend like he’s still sleeping so she won’t ask how he’s doing. He doesn’t want to lie, but he has to. He can’t burden them any more than he already has.
(He wishes he could melt into the sheets and disappear forever, but disappearing forever is impossible unless you die.)
After a moment, he groans out her name.
“Oh, you’re awake! For a second, I thought I was intruding.”
He rolls over to look at her, but he feels cold, like if he gets out from under the covers, he’s going to become frozen solid.
“It’s okay.” His voice is scratchy. It sounds like he’s been smoking a pack a day since he was born. “I just feel sick.”
He manages to find something to say that isn’t a lie. He truly feels ill. But, it’s not a physical illness that plagues him, and he knows that.
“Oh,” Pearl clucks, slowly making her way over to the side of the bed. She sits down next to him and puts her hand to his forehead. She tenses. “You’re warm.”
“I am?” He’s honestly shocked. But, now that he thinks about it, her palm feels frigid against his skin. “I just thought I was tired.”
Pearl reaches into her gem and pulls out a digital thermometer. Steven remembers it from when he was a child, when he would get sick often, probably because his gem powers hadn’t begun to fully activate yet. Since around the age of thirteen, he hadn’t been ‘human-sick’ once, allergies notwithstanding. But, now, Pearl is putting the thermometer under his tongue and giving him a troubled look when it beeps and she pulls it out.
“Oh, dear. 101.3.” Her hand is pressed to her cheek in dismay. “You must have the flu.”
He wonders if it strikes Pearl as weird as it does him. Can being too sad make you sick? Steven doesn’t really have the strength of mind about him to ponder the thought for too long.
“Get some rest,” Pearl instructs with the kindest and most motherly tone she can muster. “I’ll prepare you some soup. That should make you feel better.”
Even though he’s already falling asleep as she walks down the stairs, Steven vaguely thinks that he doesn’t think soup is going to do the trick this time.
It’s the film reel again. Playing right on cue.
“I’m sorry, Spinel. I’m really sorry that Mom left you.”
“You can’t take away my pain with an apology! You deserve to suffer like I have!” Spinel looks at him from behind her scythe, eyes practically glowing with hatred until she fades into the background.
“I’m sorry, Jasper. I’m really sorry you’re corrupted because you were so upset and lonely.”
“Pink Diamond was my diamond—my diamond—and Rose killed her, Rose killed—herself?” Jasper glitches. What he knows and what she knows aren’t compatible anymore, so she yells out in pain and transforms into that monster that does not exist anymore, but the image of her corruption is seared so deeply in his brain that part of him thinks she may still be bubbled in the heart of The Temple.
“I’m sorry, Lapis. I’m so sorry that my mom started a war that you got caught up in and that you were trapped in the mirror and the ocean and on Earth—”
“Steven…it’s fine,” Lapis smiles, but her eyes are melancholic. “I might have hated you if you weren’t Steven, but you’re Steven, and I could never hate you.” The smile slips from her face when she whispers, “…Even though it still hurts.” She turns and walks away.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry, Pearl. I’m sorry that Mom made me and that she disappeared because of it. I’m sorry that you both loved her, and now she’s gone.”
Pearl and Greg look at each other.
“Oh, Steven,” Pearl begins, stepping forward even though Steven isn’t sure his form exists, “It’s not your fault. The fact that you and Rose can’t exist at the same time isn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for existing.”
“Pearl’s right, Steven. Rose made her own choices, and you aren’t responsible for them.”
This makes Steven angry because he knows it’s a lie.
“No! All I do is try to make up for Mom’s mistakes. If I’m her, then they are my mistakes! If I’m not responsible, who will be?”
Pearl looks pale. She turns to the empty spot next to her, and Garnet appears.
“Steven…”
He falls back into his script.
“I’m sorry, Garnet. I’m so sorry that Mom didn’t tell you the truth, and I’m sorry you felt betrayed because the war wasn’t what you thought it was.”
“…You can’t blame yourself for that. It wasn’t—”
“—But, all I do is blame myself! All I do is try not to think about all the things I’m to blame for—”
“Calm down, little dude—” Amethyst is suddenly beside him, a hand placed gently on his shoulder, “—you can’t let things weigh on you like that. You’ll drive yourself nuts.”
He flinches away, surprised and scared by her sudden appearance.
“I’m trying not to!” Tears are collecting in his eyes. “I really am trying not to think about it. I don’t want it to weigh me down, but it does! I don’t know how to stop.”
“Hmmm.”
Steven stops, unsure where this melodic hum is coming from. He looks around wildly. Suddenly, everyone is gone except for him.
“Maybe it’s just that—”
He sees her now, see’s her in all her glory. Her presence in his dreams is utterly terrifying.
“—you have to suffer as I would have. I’m sorry, Steven.”
Her sword is thrust through his stomach, and even though it’s not supposed to break gems, his shatters into a million tiny pieces.
Steven shoots up in his bed, and he’s screaming again because that dream always makes him scream, always makes him chilled because he’s drenched in his own sweat. He can’t let himself think about it, though, because if he does, he’s afraid it might spill over into the times he’s awake.
His head throbs. Instead of feeling better, the rest has only made him feel worse. His head feels like it’s splitting open, like his actual head is going to burst. He clutches his hands into fists, pulling at his hair, and lets out a tiny groan, knowing it won’t make much of a difference if he suffers quietly because he had just screamed, and Pearl would surely be up in a second to ask what was wrong.
But, as moments pass, it becomes clear that he is alone.
This distresses him. How long had he been asleep? Why isn’t Pearl downstairs making him soup? He surely had only been asleep for a few minutes. Maybe she went to the grocery store for ingredients?
He lays back down, staring at the ceiling, trying to will his pounding headache to go away. He really must be sick, he thinks. Almost as if they had been waiting for permission to make an appearance, chills rise up in his body, causing him to shiver. It is uncomfortable, but it also makes him relax into a muted calm, one thought to be unreachable just moments before.
(Like sadness, physical distress could also be comforting. It also relieves the numbness. He could focus on feeling close to the edge of hypothermia instead of the fact that his mother haunts his dreams like a ghost not yet put to sleep. )
I’m scared, he thinks, not knowing what he’s scared of.
I want my mom, he thinks, tears welling in his eyes. He knows distinctly that he doesn’t want his mom, that his feelings regarding his mom are as dark as ever, but the basal child instinct inside him desperately aches for the Rose Quartz that loves him unconditionally. The neglected child in him wails for a breast to suckle from, arms to be swaddled in, lips to be pecked with.
I feel neglected, he thinks. He recoils from the thought. He wasn’t neglected. He has four guardians for Star’s sake! But, he is sleeping his days away under blankets and self-loathing over things he has seen and felt and experienced, and he cannot open his mouth for the life of him because he is scared to swap rolls and be the child when he has been the adult for several years now.
I want to be taken care of, he thinks. He’s crying now, crying thick tears that roll down his cheeks and into his ears, tears that pitter-patter on the pillowcase as he tries to roll over and push himself up. He knows he wants to be taken care of because he also knows he’ll never ask for it or accept it. Maybe his mind is making his body helpless so he will need to be taken care of.
(But there’s still no one in the house.)
It is then that everything falls into place, and Steven realizes he has not actually awakened from his dream. Well, to be honest, he realizes this because he is shaken awake by Pearl’s voice once more.
“Ah-ha~” she coos happily. “Homemade chicken noodle with double chicken and double noodle, just the way you like it.”
Steven is propped up so he’s sitting in bed, many pillows supporting his neck and back. He is very thankful for Pearl’s doting, but the horrible headache and subsequent ringing ears has him staring blankly at the gem. She sets the “Breakfast In Bed” tray in front of him (he absently wonders if there’s an official term for such a thing, but his foggy brain can’t recall).
“Thanks, Pearl.”
She smiles sweetly. “Of course, Steven. Anything to make you feel better.”
Her words are as cloying as the soup is hot and salty going down his throat. It honestly does kind of make him feel better, but considering he can’t remember the last time he ate, it might have just been the instantaneous rise in blood sugar alone that soothed a layer of his discomfort.
His head still hurts, though.
(He should probably say something about it to Pearl, but something deep inside the recesses of his mind tells him to hide it away with the rest of everything else. Keep it from her because it’s easier to suffer alone than it is putting his suffering on other people.)
It’s not long before the bowl is gone. Pearl asks if he wants more, but he refuses.
“I need to sleep again. I’m so tired.”
“Alright. Well, if you need anything, I’ll be right downstairs. I’ll try to keep Amethyst and Garnet from making too much noise.”
“Thanks, Pearl.” He manages to smile a small, pained smile. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
If Steven hadn’t known any better, he might have thought that Pearl had become misty-eyed. But, that’s probably just his fever making him see things.
“You don’t have to thank me for that. I want you to feel better.”
In that split second, he considers spilling his guts on the floor, telling Pearl every Bad Thought/Bad Memory/Bad Impulse/Bad Feeling/Bad Dream, every Bad/Bad/Bad/BadBadBadBad—
He doesn’t. He can’t. The hurt is still incubating inside him. He’s not ready to let it burst out of him and burn through the wooden floor. But, it will. The hurt will consume him and everyone around him. It will turn this home into a battlefield that ruins them all from the inside.
He doesn’t know why he knows that, but he does. The premonition scares him much more deeply than any of his dreams could hope to.
Steven turns over and tries to fall back to sleep, praying that he does not have another nightmare that shakes him to his bones.