[FIC]: The Unintended Consequences of Ghost Stories; Spock, Sybok; Gen; PG
Title: The Unintended Consequences of Ghost Stories
Author: dancing_mercury
Fandom: Star Trek (XI)
Characters/Pairings: Spock(~7), Amanda, Sybok(~15)
POV: Spock
Rating: PG
Words: 1.419
Inspired by: The 5x4 square on my hurt/comfort bingo card, "ghosts and hauntings."
A/N: Short and sweet. I-Chaya is Spock's pet sehlat, Gratan is a desert spirit in Vulcan lore, sirshos'ims are soul eaters. Basically, Vulcan boogymen. :)
Crunch!
Not more than ten yards from the education center, Spock froze. Looking side to side before finally glancing down, he stepped back. The black, cracked exoskeleton of a beetle the size of his hand oozed red-purple insides onto the pavement.
He ran the rest of the way to the transport stop, where his brother was already waiting for him.
The learning bowl that afternoon had focused on ancient Vulcan history and pre-history with all its fantastical elements. Many manifestations of Ti’Vulka’ain, war gods, water goddesses, monsters that came out of the sand and gobbled Vulcan children who wandered too far from out from their homes. It was all myth and legend, not a shred of scientific evidence to support any one of these stories from the direct interpretation.
Spock knew that all of it was as “silly,” as his mother often called things that didn’t make sense (and that his father called illogical). Yet it still made the desert look a little scarier, a little less friendly, and much more than just sand, brush, and insects. And then when he asked Sybok about it on the way home, his brother elaborated on all of it like he knew what happened, and maybe he did, living out in Gol. Mount Seleya was so strange; maybe they did have lava monsters?
The night came fast after dinner. Spock took his time to finish off a giant bowl of frozen yogurt and watched his mother clean up the kitchen in the mean time. “Oh, Spock,” Mother started as she set aside mugs on a shelf. “Have you fed I-Chaya today?” Spock shook his head. “There’s some meat in the fridge-why don’t you take it out to him?”
It was dark outside. Spock said nothing, scooping out the last portions of the frozen yogurt.
“Spock?” He glanced up to see his mother looking at him, her brows together. “Something wrong?”
“No.” He slipped off the edge of the dining chair and walked over to place his bowl in the sink, and then scampered over the refrigerator unit to find the meat set aside for I-Chaya. He picked up the large bowl with the lid shut tight over it, then walked out to the back patio.
The lights weren’t on, and the chill of the evening began to settle over the patio with a slight gust that carried strange, spicy scents up from Forge and over the surrounding rocks. “I-Chaya?” Spock called out, looking around and squinting into the darkness, trying to get accustomed to it. T’Khut gave a faint glow of silver light above, but it still took time to adjust.
Spock stepped further onto the patio, looking around and then looking towards the shelter that I-Chaya usually slept in. It was empty.
The wind blew again, a little dusty and cooler than before, ruffling his bangs against his forehead and making him shiver. He clutched the bowl closer to his chest, and started walking down the steps that led off the side of the patio and onto the desert plain that flattened out below the house. Sometimes I-Chaya liked to be down here, chewing on things or rolling in the dirt.
There was a rustle in the bushes and Spock stopped, instantly remembering his days in the desert not too long ago, when it was just him and the heat and no food or water. Another rustle, and he stepped back, and the wind hissed through the desert brush with a sound that irritated him down to his core.
Suddenly, something jumped out from the bushes behind him, landing with a great thud and a slobbering exhale. The bowl dropped from his hands, the plastic clattering on the roughly-hewn stone steps, and Spock took off down towards the plains. He stumbled several times until he finally missed one of the last steps, tumbling and landing in a heap of dust at the bottom, tiny rocks and dirt in his hands and his face.
Then, he heard laughing. At first he shot back up to his feet, crouching for defense, eyes wide as he tried to take in all the light that glinted off of the minerals in the rocks and ground, but then he realized-it was his brother’s laugh, rare but familiar, and very close. A tall figure climbed down a boulder and yes, when he got closer, Spock could see his features clearly enough. Sybok stood there in informal clothes, a thin grey shirt and black-scarlet pants with the gold calligraphy at the thigh. Exercise clothes.
Spock bit at his lip, uncertain and upset, before he stepped-then ran-forward and clung to his brother, burrowing his face in his shirt and ignoring how Sybok was laughing (at him?). His arms felt strong and secure around him, and the desert not quite so lonely or dark or mysterious, just as it had all the other nights before.
“Something scare you?”
“No.” Spock denied, but the tremor was still in his voice as he murmured his answer into Sybok’s shirt. Sybok laughed again.
“Right. What are you doing down here, then?”
“I wanted to feed I-Chaya.” He grumbled, still not letting go of Sybok. “Something…something…”
“Yes?” Sybok pushed Spock away gently so that he could kneel down, reaching up one hand to brush away dirt from his cheek. They were of equal height, but Spock wasn’t looking for understanding, he was looking for protection, and he lurched forward again to throw his arms around Sybok’s neck.
“Something jumped and I dropped it and-and it could have been Gratan, or that thing that eats children and you say I’m still a child, and I didn’t want to get eaten, because then Mother would cry, and-and being eaten would hurt very much, or poisoned, or eaten by the desert-snakes.” Sybok was rubbing his back gently, and Spock pressed his face into Sybok’s shoulder. “I stepped on an insect today and maybe Ti’Valka’ain is angry. I apologized but maybe he does not listen and maybe it was not I-Chaya but something that was going to eat me…”
“Spock.” Sybok murmured, smoothing out his ruffled hair with one hand, and then picking him up; Spock tightened his arms around Sybok’s neck so he wouldn’t fall. “Nothing’s going to eat you out here. You passed the kahs-wan, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t get eaten then when you were alone, correct?”
“Yes…?”
“So why would Ti’Valka’ain want to eat you now, when I’m around? That would be illogical.”
“I…” Spock frowned; he could tell by the steps disappearing behind Sybok that they were going back up towards the house. “Yes. Illogical.” There was the sound of growling and the wet noise of eating, and Spock looked over his shoulder to see I-Chaya leaning face first into the large bowl he had dropped. The lid lay a few feet off to the side among some rocks.
“It seems like I-Chaya’s already got his meal.” Sybok murmured, amusement underlying his voice, but they continued up to the house, reaching the patio, and then stepping into the kitchen.
“What happened?” Mother’s concern made Spock hide deeper into the crook of Sybok’s neck, eyes closed. “Did he fall? What about I-Chaya?”
“They’re both fine,” Sybok eased her concern, walking straight through the kitchen and then out into the hall. Spock gave a peek, barely seeing his mother’s worried face before they turned the corner.
They came to the bathroom. Sybok set Spock down on the counter before turning the faucet on and soaking a wash cloth. “Give me your hands.” He said quietly. Spock stuck out his hands, and under the yellow-orange light of the bathroom he could see the dirt and debris still pressed into his skin. Carefully, Sybok took each one, wiping his palms off with the wash cloth. “…Are you still scared?”
Spock shifted uncomfortably where he sat, looking aside; he could see them both in the side mirror. “…no.”
Sybok gave him a soft smile. He folded the washcloth over and used the clean side to wipe at Spock’s face. Spock scrunched up his nose out of habit. “Do you want me to check your windows tonight?”
A tiny nod.
“And your closet?”
Another nod.
“All right, then I will.” Sybok rinsed out the wash cloth and hung it over one of the towel racks, then picked up Spock again, who clung to his neck again. “Let’s see what sirshos’im we can find in your room.”
Spock dug his heel into Sybok’s hip.
Author: dancing_mercury
Fandom: Star Trek (XI)
Characters/Pairings: Spock(~7), Amanda, Sybok(~15)
POV: Spock
Rating: PG
Words: 1.419
Inspired by: The 5x4 square on my hurt/comfort bingo card, "ghosts and hauntings."
A/N: Short and sweet. I-Chaya is Spock's pet sehlat, Gratan is a desert spirit in Vulcan lore, sirshos'ims are soul eaters. Basically, Vulcan boogymen. :)
Crunch!
Not more than ten yards from the education center, Spock froze. Looking side to side before finally glancing down, he stepped back. The black, cracked exoskeleton of a beetle the size of his hand oozed red-purple insides onto the pavement.
He ran the rest of the way to the transport stop, where his brother was already waiting for him.
The learning bowl that afternoon had focused on ancient Vulcan history and pre-history with all its fantastical elements. Many manifestations of Ti’Vulka’ain, war gods, water goddesses, monsters that came out of the sand and gobbled Vulcan children who wandered too far from out from their homes. It was all myth and legend, not a shred of scientific evidence to support any one of these stories from the direct interpretation.
Spock knew that all of it was as “silly,” as his mother often called things that didn’t make sense (and that his father called illogical). Yet it still made the desert look a little scarier, a little less friendly, and much more than just sand, brush, and insects. And then when he asked Sybok about it on the way home, his brother elaborated on all of it like he knew what happened, and maybe he did, living out in Gol. Mount Seleya was so strange; maybe they did have lava monsters?
The night came fast after dinner. Spock took his time to finish off a giant bowl of frozen yogurt and watched his mother clean up the kitchen in the mean time. “Oh, Spock,” Mother started as she set aside mugs on a shelf. “Have you fed I-Chaya today?” Spock shook his head. “There’s some meat in the fridge-why don’t you take it out to him?”
It was dark outside. Spock said nothing, scooping out the last portions of the frozen yogurt.
“Spock?” He glanced up to see his mother looking at him, her brows together. “Something wrong?”
“No.” He slipped off the edge of the dining chair and walked over to place his bowl in the sink, and then scampered over the refrigerator unit to find the meat set aside for I-Chaya. He picked up the large bowl with the lid shut tight over it, then walked out to the back patio.
The lights weren’t on, and the chill of the evening began to settle over the patio with a slight gust that carried strange, spicy scents up from Forge and over the surrounding rocks. “I-Chaya?” Spock called out, looking around and squinting into the darkness, trying to get accustomed to it. T’Khut gave a faint glow of silver light above, but it still took time to adjust.
Spock stepped further onto the patio, looking around and then looking towards the shelter that I-Chaya usually slept in. It was empty.
The wind blew again, a little dusty and cooler than before, ruffling his bangs against his forehead and making him shiver. He clutched the bowl closer to his chest, and started walking down the steps that led off the side of the patio and onto the desert plain that flattened out below the house. Sometimes I-Chaya liked to be down here, chewing on things or rolling in the dirt.
There was a rustle in the bushes and Spock stopped, instantly remembering his days in the desert not too long ago, when it was just him and the heat and no food or water. Another rustle, and he stepped back, and the wind hissed through the desert brush with a sound that irritated him down to his core.
Suddenly, something jumped out from the bushes behind him, landing with a great thud and a slobbering exhale. The bowl dropped from his hands, the plastic clattering on the roughly-hewn stone steps, and Spock took off down towards the plains. He stumbled several times until he finally missed one of the last steps, tumbling and landing in a heap of dust at the bottom, tiny rocks and dirt in his hands and his face.
Then, he heard laughing. At first he shot back up to his feet, crouching for defense, eyes wide as he tried to take in all the light that glinted off of the minerals in the rocks and ground, but then he realized-it was his brother’s laugh, rare but familiar, and very close. A tall figure climbed down a boulder and yes, when he got closer, Spock could see his features clearly enough. Sybok stood there in informal clothes, a thin grey shirt and black-scarlet pants with the gold calligraphy at the thigh. Exercise clothes.
Spock bit at his lip, uncertain and upset, before he stepped-then ran-forward and clung to his brother, burrowing his face in his shirt and ignoring how Sybok was laughing (at him?). His arms felt strong and secure around him, and the desert not quite so lonely or dark or mysterious, just as it had all the other nights before.
“Something scare you?”
“No.” Spock denied, but the tremor was still in his voice as he murmured his answer into Sybok’s shirt. Sybok laughed again.
“Right. What are you doing down here, then?”
“I wanted to feed I-Chaya.” He grumbled, still not letting go of Sybok. “Something…something…”
“Yes?” Sybok pushed Spock away gently so that he could kneel down, reaching up one hand to brush away dirt from his cheek. They were of equal height, but Spock wasn’t looking for understanding, he was looking for protection, and he lurched forward again to throw his arms around Sybok’s neck.
“Something jumped and I dropped it and-and it could have been Gratan, or that thing that eats children and you say I’m still a child, and I didn’t want to get eaten, because then Mother would cry, and-and being eaten would hurt very much, or poisoned, or eaten by the desert-snakes.” Sybok was rubbing his back gently, and Spock pressed his face into Sybok’s shoulder. “I stepped on an insect today and maybe Ti’Valka’ain is angry. I apologized but maybe he does not listen and maybe it was not I-Chaya but something that was going to eat me…”
“Spock.” Sybok murmured, smoothing out his ruffled hair with one hand, and then picking him up; Spock tightened his arms around Sybok’s neck so he wouldn’t fall. “Nothing’s going to eat you out here. You passed the kahs-wan, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t get eaten then when you were alone, correct?”
“Yes…?”
“So why would Ti’Valka’ain want to eat you now, when I’m around? That would be illogical.”
“I…” Spock frowned; he could tell by the steps disappearing behind Sybok that they were going back up towards the house. “Yes. Illogical.” There was the sound of growling and the wet noise of eating, and Spock looked over his shoulder to see I-Chaya leaning face first into the large bowl he had dropped. The lid lay a few feet off to the side among some rocks.
“It seems like I-Chaya’s already got his meal.” Sybok murmured, amusement underlying his voice, but they continued up to the house, reaching the patio, and then stepping into the kitchen.
“What happened?” Mother’s concern made Spock hide deeper into the crook of Sybok’s neck, eyes closed. “Did he fall? What about I-Chaya?”
“They’re both fine,” Sybok eased her concern, walking straight through the kitchen and then out into the hall. Spock gave a peek, barely seeing his mother’s worried face before they turned the corner.
They came to the bathroom. Sybok set Spock down on the counter before turning the faucet on and soaking a wash cloth. “Give me your hands.” He said quietly. Spock stuck out his hands, and under the yellow-orange light of the bathroom he could see the dirt and debris still pressed into his skin. Carefully, Sybok took each one, wiping his palms off with the wash cloth. “…Are you still scared?”
Spock shifted uncomfortably where he sat, looking aside; he could see them both in the side mirror. “…no.”
Sybok gave him a soft smile. He folded the washcloth over and used the clean side to wipe at Spock’s face. Spock scrunched up his nose out of habit. “Do you want me to check your windows tonight?”
A tiny nod.
“And your closet?”
Another nod.
“All right, then I will.” Sybok rinsed out the wash cloth and hung it over one of the towel racks, then picked up Spock again, who clung to his neck again. “Let’s see what sirshos’im we can find in your room.”
Spock dug his heel into Sybok’s hip.