Chapter Text
Grant groaned as he slouched forward, head cradled in his hands as his elbows rested on his desk. Fingers massaging his temples, he forced himself to look down at the bill that had been sent in after Joey had bought all the parts for the Ink Machine. Just looking at the price made him feel lightheaded—from anger or exasperation he didn't know.
To be fair, he could've gotten this out of the way earlier—the mail had been dropped off at 3pm after all. But Grant knew better. He knew if he looked at the bill that had been dropped off at his desk by Wally, he was going to get angry—angry enough to at least storm out of his office and find Joey. Which is why he saved opening the bill until he had all of his leftover work done from when he had been in the hospital and everyone was gone though... while everyone was gone, he was practically delirious from sleep deprivation. What was this? His second... third night without sleep?
Tax season was the fucking worst.
After taking a moment for his sleep addled mind to process just how much Joey spent on building that infernal, positively useless Ink Machine, he could feel rage violently bubbling underneath his skin. He took in a shuddering breath, dragging his hands down his face before shoving his chair back from his desk forcefully, fully intending to get up and pace the room, however when he turned to do so he froze, all muscles locking into place.
Across his office, sitting atop a pile of papers he had angrily thrown an hour or two back was a spider. And not just any spider: it was a huge spider.
His tired brown eyes went wide behind his glasses as his mouth flapped open and closed silently. Surprisingly, he didn't scream unlike all the other times—which was annoying, because he screamed all the other times when there were actually other people in the building though it was probably the reason no one would come to help him since the building was empty now. Instead of his signature high-pitched scream, the whispered words of: "Why...? Why do you exist?" fell from his mouth.
The thing was probably the size of half his palm but there was no way in hell he was going to confirm that. It was everything he feared in a spider: long legs, relatively big in size, and just the right color that it could easily blend in with the wooden boards if it moved off the paper. Worse yet, the people who normally came in to his office to hill the spiders—Wally, Thomas, or Shawn—were all gone until morning. He was going to have to do this himself.
Keeping his eyes on the spider, he deduced the best—and quickest—way to kill it. A tissue wasn't going to cut it for any spider, let alone one this big; there was no way in hell he was getting that close to that creature with a flimsy piece of condensed paper pulp. He would probably be able to feel it squish if he did that. The thought alone was enough to make him shudder.
He vaguely considered throwing an inkwell at the arachnid but thought better of it. Firstly there was still ink in there and he didn't want to destroy any papers he had over there (not like he'd ever touch those papers again after that spider was on it). Second of all, if he missed and it startled the spider enough to bolt then he'd lose track of it eventually and he'd never be able to step foot into his office again.
He had only one option.
He crouched down awkwardly, keeping his eye on the spider while wedging his finger in his shoe and popping it off. Armed with his shoe in one hand, he slowly crept closer to the spider. Now he'd have to wait for the spider to crawl off the stack of papers—those were important; he couldn't have spider guts all over that. Or... he could...
He edged as close to the eight-legged thing as he was mentally comfortable with (which was admittedly much closer than he'd ever allow if someone else could kill it for him), refusing to let the spider out of his sight for a moment as he inched the shoe closer and closer to the stack of paper shakily, halting every now and then when the spider twitched. He stopped for a moment, muscles tensing as the spider crept forward a bit. After the movement had been made, he found it impossible to continue with his task.
Come on.... Just reach a little further and move the paper... then you can smash it.... What are you: ten? Remember: it's more scared of you than you are of it... It's just a little, itty-bitty, completely harmless—
He flicked a paper a little ways behind the spider up by the corner with the shoe. The spider skitted forward, spindly legs pumping as the creature raced forwards. Grant screamed, falling back and scrambling backwards to the safety of his desk as the spider moved towards him. He ended up slamming into the furniture, back and head striking the wood painfully. He shrieked as the spider kept moving in his direction, pulling himself up and crawling onto the desk. His eyes barely caught the flash of brown passing underneath the desk.
His heartbeat had rocketed from the sudden movement of the spider and his breathing had picked up significantly, growing heavy as he gasped. His hands trembled violently, threatening to drop the shoe in his hand. Every time he blinked, an image of an eight-legged creature was conjured, making him cower and swallow hard, his spine pressed uncomfortably against the wall. He swore he could feel spiders dancing along his body, the sensation causing him to writhe and bring his free hand up to scratch at the phantom touches. His eyes remained glued to the spot where he saw the spider last, body tense as he waited for the creature to emerge from its hiding place.
Minutes ticked by slowly as Grant held onto his shoe for dear life, waiting for the arachnid to crawl out from under the desk, eyes scanning the wood intently for any inconsistency in the brown floorboards. In that time, his breathing and heartbeat evened out back to their normal pace, and his muscles relaxed. The overwhelming fear had faded into more of a feeling of anticipation and anxiety.
Ignoring his near death experience, Grant knew what he had to do—the spider was too cowardly to reveal its fanged, eight-eyed face after he had so heroically attacked it, so he was going to have to be the bigger animal.
Swallowing hard, he swung his feet over the edge of the desk and pushed himself as far away from under the desk as possible before whirling around, shoe raised above his head—
What—
He squinted and searched the brown boards for any unusual spots. There was no spider under the desk.
What the fuck—
He checked cautiously under the desk. Nothing.
Where...?
He shimmied the desk away from the walls and checked the side of the desk. No spider.
Where did it go!?
He searched every inch of his office—floor, walls, ceiling, under stacks of papers, out in the hall—and found nothing.
Nope. No. Can't do this. Not today. Not tomorrow. Never. Never ever. I'm too tired for this. How am I supposed to sleep in my office with that... that... monstrosity hiding somewhere in the building, ready to suck my blood out like a straw—
As fast as he could, Grant gathered up his things—shaking off every paper and shaking out his jacket—and left. He slept for the first time in days at his own house, even if it was only for two or three hours.
He never did find out where that spider went.