Archive of Our Own ^beta

Runt rested her head on her Uncle’s shoulder. Her arms wrapped weakly around his back as she grazed her thumb down the soft surface of his exposed feathers. She traced it down to the tip, then lifted her hand to smooth down the same feather over and over. Trench looked like it always did, marbled stone and houses dotting the floor and ceiling, along with small metal lifts she made years prior. Runt could do more, make more, in the future, if she made it that far. She knew how likely that was.

The small bounces of every step Uncle Threestrings took made her heart jump and her lungs shutter. When he readjusted her in his arms, the quick movement forced a gasp out of her, so ragged and frail. She held on a little bit tighter.

Threestrings crossed the bridge to his house with as much care as he could. The individual logs she used to jump across felt impossible and each gingerly step she knew he was taking to avoid extra movement rattled her core. He swung open the door, hitting the outside siding of the house. It eventually closed behind them as he brought her to her small workshop.

“We’re here, lil’ thang.” It sounded like he was forcing joy into his tone. It didn’t make her feel any more comforted, also being able to see the wetness of tears from before still not fully done from the feathers below his eyes.

Runt opened her mouth and felt razors slicing her throat before she even spoke. It had been like this for too long. “Thank—” a harsh cough immediately erupted out, making the blades slice even deeper. Her lungs burned like hellfire had torn her from life while she was still here. Barely here. She refused the tears that wanted so badly to fall because the only thing that would do is make it harder to work.

He sat her down on her chair, grabbing a pillow from his bed in the other room for her back. She nodded and smiled at him, not wanting another coughing fit to tear her apart.

She looked at the materials surrounding her. It was mostly her tools that she built and found when she was first working on the lifts. Some were upgraded since then, but Runt felt joy in using something she created so long ago. Pinch came running behind with her bag and an assortment of other metals and screws and rubber sheets she needed for her artificial lungs.

But that meant nothing if she couldn’t get the Coal to work right. Every time something was teleported with this Wondrous Coal, it would induce a reaction, proportional to the Coal used, size of object being transported, and distance it was transported. No matter what, this project required a lot of Coal to function. Perpetual motion needing to last years is neither easy nor simple. And if she couldn’t figure this out, well… it would explode.

Her mind raced with ideas to get the Wondrous Coal to not explode, but it all felt like they were slipping past her with how many were competing for attention. She barely managed to untangle one from the mess.

To get them all out of Cogtopolis, they made a Coal-Gold alloy. Something like that could stabilize the Coal here like it stabilized the structure of Reclaim. It was the best idea she got.

Runt grabbed gold and Coal from her bag and placed them on her work station. The gold was pushed off to the side for later melting as she poured a couple pieces of Coal into her mortar and pestle. She picked up the pestle, ready to crush it into finer pieces, close to gravel in consistency. As she pushed it into the Coal, it barely budged. She pushed harder, and still nothing. Her jaw tightened as she smacked a piece of Coal from a much farther distance. The Coal cracked in two, but the force coming back into her wrist made her whimper. If only her bones were normal, but having her body act like anything was normal was far too much to ask for.

She dropped the tool back into the bowl as she held her wrist to her chest, hoping the electric shock radiating outward would ease back down to her usual pain. She gently flexed her wrist, wincing slightly.

She looked back to the Coal. There was no way in hell she was doing that again. Runt silently sighed as she tried to think of what to do. It would be difficult to incorporate the two substances if one was liquid and the other was a barely broken solid. And melting the Coal itself would be a massive feat with the blowtorch she had on hand.

Runt looked behind her to see Pinch and Uncle Threestrings. It didn’t really look like they were talking. If anything, it was like they were both in their own separate worlds.

“Pinch,” she whispered, trying to avoid irritating her throat and airway as much as possible, “could you crush this up some?” A light cough was awarded to her for her efforts.

He looked up, slightly startled.

“Sure thing, kid.”

Pinch stood up from his seat and walked to her bench. Runt pointed to the mortar bowl. He nodded and began to crush it into smaller bits, looking up occasionally at her. Once it was sufficiently small to easily combine with the gold, she lightly smacked his arm with the back of her hand. She gave him a thumbs up.

He stood and watched for a moment as Runt took the blow torch and dragged the gold into its own small ceramic vessel, perfect for melting metals. She’s pretty lucky this thing fell without breaking. Or maybe someone had a shop where they made it themselves? She really couldn’t place where she got it from. It was probably a gift, considering she usually remembers exactly where she gets something on the off chance it breaks and she can’t fix it. Maybe from Doppler, but she wasn’t too positive about that.

Runt slid her welding mask on to protect her face. She preferred to skip getting any more scars. Plus, her eyes definitely needed the dimming it offered. She grabbed gloves from her bag, the ones with burn scars all over them, but have never let her down before.

With the tap of a trigger, a short blue flame burst from its nozzle. She adjusted a dial on the back to make it a bit longer. Runt didn’t want her hand anywhere near the bowl with the gold, even if her gloves are good. She did not want to find out just how good the gloves were.

In just a minute of blasting, the gold was already melted into a puddle. Keeping the blow torch in place, she mixed in the Wondrous Coal. It spiraled together, the purple and red-hot glows combining beautifully. It was art. She kept going until it was uniform again, and turned off her torch. Very carefully grabbing the crucible with tongs, she dumped it into a bath of water.

What emerged was a piece of Wondrous Gold, only a bit smaller than a cog, and lightly glowing purple. Runt grinned. She held it in her hand and felt the innate magic within and felt giddy.

Runt took the piece of Gold, and used it exactly how she learned to teleport a pen across her desk. Something to test it. Something to prove it worked. Something to show for herself.

In no time, the pen zapped across the desk.

Runt stared blankly at it.

The desk was smoldering slightly where it laid before. She blinked. And again.

“I need to try that again,” she thought. She swallowed, feeling like her throat and chest and joints were ablaze.

She set it up the same as before. It could have been a fluke. Those happen all the time.

And again, the pen teleported with a small burst in its wake.

Dread set in as she swapped the pen for something larger. Maybe something that could hold the power better would work. Plus, the lungs are bigger and would weigh more anyway.

Runt practically threw the pen off of the table and tore her design book from where it sat. She slammed it down where the pen was before and used the Wondrous Gold again. It would work this time, she knew it. She knew it with her entire being, this time it would work.

She adjusted the Gold multiple times to get it in the perfect place. She set off the teleportation again.

It teleported.

Scorch marks were left in the wood.

Runt froze again, just for a moment. She was so stupid, of course that didn't work right. Every time something with more mass was teleported, it made a larger explosion. She should use something smaller. She can adjust her design within these new constraints.

Runt opened the drawer to her right with a fervor and energy she didn’t know she still had. It hurt like nothing else had before, but the energy was there. She knew her cousin and Uncle were staring, but she was fine, perfectly fine. She tore through it, looking for a feather her Uncle gave to her years ago, a token to remind her of him if she missed him while he was away. He wasn’t even away all that often.

The feather, the Gold, the same trick once again. This was it, this one. This one was it.

And maybe she closed her eyes before initiating the teleport. Maybe she didn’t want to see the past failures again.

She peeked open her eyes. The desk…

Her face contorted painfully. Her heart shuttered and lungs exploded in agony just like everything in front of her did. She bit the inside of her lip to feel something that wasn’t her body revolting against her or her failures weighing heavier than a boulder.

She breathed in deeper than usual, knowing it would hurt twice as much, hoping that the panic flooding her system would stop if she could. Just. Breathe.

Runt was shaking. There had to be something else that she could do to fix this.

“Runt?” The voice of her Uncle startled her nearly out of her seat. “You good?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s fine, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Are… Are you sure?”

She bit her lip harder. “Yep, just— just a little hiccup.” A cough tore her way out of her lungs, clawing at everything it touched. “Nothing I can’t fix.”

“Alright.” He sat down next to her.

Runt looked at the disaster covering her desk and froze. Her eyes darted to Uncle Threestrings once, then twice, before returning to the mess. She felt her ears continuously twitching, which was annoying at best and distracting at worst.

She mechanically grabbed more Wondrous Coal from her bag. She felt the textured ridges in her hand. She felt the warmth of it sinking into her flesh. And she sat there, staring and staring at this thing that she couldn’t figure out.

“Runt?”

“I’m fucking thinking!” She exploded. A strong coughing fit took over her entire body.

Runt dropped the Coal unceremoniously onto her workbench as she unsuccessfully tried to cover her mouth. The blood flew onto her table and into her arm, splattering both like an abstract painting. The coughing lasted for multiple minutes, which left her craving air and some kind of relief.

The feeling of wetness beneath her chin was more common than she liked to admit, and roughly swiped the blood away, probably leaving a stain behind.

She looked down at the blood marring the workbench and took a painful breath. She crossed her arms in the closest thing to a hug that wouldn’t make her Uncle concerned.

“I don’t think so…” Runt murmured. It was their own personal world here and she didn’t want anyone to interrupt it. She had a time crunch with the Wonderful Trade Company and the soldiers and the Church, but it didn’t really matter anymore, did it.

“What?” Uncle Threestrings looked at her with so much concern flooding his eyes that it made her feel sick to her stomach, which was one of the few things that hadn’t been hurting most of the day.

“I—” Runt shuttered through another constricting breath— “I don’t think I’m good…”

He immediately frowned and had that same devastated look from when she had just woken up before he schooled it into a less broken expression. Still sad. Still frowning. Less destroyed. He pulled her chair right next to his and wrapped an arm around her back. His hands moved up and down like he was just strumming the banjo on any normal day.

And Uncle Threestrings, he said nothing. The ragged and wheezy breaths took over most of the sound in the room. Runt could hear the vague sounds of Pinch in the other room, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to see what he was doing. She loved him, but she wanted her Uncle.

“I don't wanna die,” Runt mumbled. She wished she were crying, crying with her Uncle right there to hold and comfort her like he did when she was much younger and much less familiar with the symptoms that decided to lay siege on her body, but it refused to do what she wished for. Typical.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he comforted.

“No it's not,” she whined. She’s not okay and it’s not fair and her life was never fair but it’s the one she had.

Uncle Threestrings paused, like he was thinking very deeply. “... I know,” He sighed a heavy, sad breath. “Ohhh, little thing. I know.”

Runt leaned further into Threestrings’ side and let him hug her as much as he wanted. She could barely think anymore, but she knew that he needed this.

"Love you."