juice_factory | Crystal Lite AU

Crystal Lite AU

In the years since the Crystal Gems were last seen, things have gotten... interesting, in the Universe family. Monsters don't stop attacking the temple simply because its inhabitants are gone, and dangerous artifacts don't stop threatening humanity. The last remaining remnant of the Crystal Gems is one little boy, without any proper magical guidance or teachers of his heritage to show the way. What he has left to him is a handful of abandoned relics to piece together hints, and the secondhand experience of his very ordinary, very overwhelmed father.

They get by. His powers are growing, slowly but steadily. With each new ally or ability they uncover, things get a little better. It's never easy, but it's not as hard. And they've always got each other to count on, no matter what. So long as they've got that, there's nothing in the universe that can stop them.... though it does try.

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In thousands of years, there have been few punctuations in her life -- just long stretches of silence and stillness with nothing but the increasingly tangled brambles of her own thoughts.

There were three transitions that she can remember: One, on the warp pads, watching the stars wheel in the night sky. Two, drowned in a pool, the distortions of light and color occasionally wavering above. Three, thrust in a box away in the dark, able to see nothing at all. She had control over none of it, she could touch none of it. Her life was not hers to control, and in all possibility, it never would be again. With the Gems gone, with even the Crystal Gems gone . . . who was left to understand what she was?

And who would even care?

She fell into a half-sleep, wound into the unchanging isolation of her own mind, and let time fall away around her.

Until suddenly, the world is falling.

She feels the box jostle, felt the contents shift sharply . . . and then suddenly she's out in the air, nothing underneath her, freefalling towards the concrete below.

She would have screamed if she could, anticipating the shatter; this was it, this was the end. The surface of the mirror's glass flashes silver in a silent shriek.

But the end doesn't come. She's being held, pressed against someone's chest.

She's safe.

She barely hears what comes after that -- the two voices admiring her, talking about her fate. For some minutes she can only still feel that freefall, the stop . . . and mentally breathe a silent shudder of relief.

Maybe, she realizes to her own surprise, even after all this time, she still wants to live.

It's not such a bad realization.

She stares back at the faces of the man and the boy -- the humans who originally placed her into the box in the first place. They're looking at her now. Admiring her.

For one of the few times in thousands of years, she's being seen. It's another punctuation, another change.

She can't trust that it means anything.

But watching those eyes looking at her, mentally she reaches out a hand, touches it to the glass. Watches back.

They opt for tucking the mirror into the mesh pocket in the back of the chairs when not using it. Between the heaps of unwashed laundry, disorganized piles of CDs, assorted explosives, and gleaming pinkish gem bubbles inhabiting the back of the van, it would be far too easy for the mirror to get lost and damaged.

"You getting gussied up for the day, pal?"

Steven laughs as his dad ruffles his inexpertly combed hair. "I always gotta look hip and happening. You need the mirror?"

"Ahh, yeah, sure." He rubs at his chin and neck as Steven hands it off. "Could use a trim. It's gotten way easier without having to use the rearview mirror. Next thing you know, I'll start doing something with my hair." He rummages the clippers out of the glove compartment. "You sure you don't want me to drive you and Connie?"

"Nah, I got it all planned out. She's gonna be so impressed with Lion! I'll show her all the cool tricks he knows, I've been working really hard to teach him to come when I call." He hesitates, stacking juice cans into his backpack. "Do you wanna come, Dad? The movie's gonna be really cool, Connie's been telling me all about it."

Greg's brow furrows, for just a moment, and he looks back over his shoulder. "Ah, that's all right. I gotta take care of some stuff at the wash. You two have fun, call me if you need anything, all right?"

He sends Steven off with a wave. After a long moment watching him go, Greg sighs, looking down at the mirror. "He's growing up fast. Think he'll do all right?" He waits a moment for a response from his reflection. "...Yeah. Yeah, he's gonna be fine. Girls aren't so scary as monsters, huh?" He grins, and starts trimming his beard again. "If he got anything from his old man, it oughta be how to show someone a good time."

She won't lie; it's nice to be talked to.

She knows she's not part of the conversation. Not really. The human called "Dad" is talking to himself, looking at her, buzzing away some of the hair that seems for some reason to perpetually grow on his face. He seems to like to talk, conversing away with her as though she can answer.

Sometimes she has to catch herself pretending she's answering back.

Catch herself from living a daydream.

In spite of the pleasure their voices bring, she's not sure yet about these humans. They seem happy and friendly and warm with each other, yes. They're so fervent in whatever they do, and they seem sincere. She's even come to appreciate the funny faces the smaller one seems to make to keep himself entertained during a longer trip; his giggle is infectious, and it sparks something in her she hasn't known in so long: The desire to share it and laugh back. She also can't deny that there's something to the fact that they haven't just stuffed her into a box again; they've given her space among them, where for the first time she's a part of life and movement.

But in spite of their warmth, their affection for each other . . . there's the not-so-small matter that the van is filled with bubbled gems.

If she'd still had a stomach, it would have twisted to a knot at the first sight of the inert gems, all floating contained in their glassy prisons. How could two humans keep so many? Did they understand what they were?

. . . Did they put them there?

Because of this, she keeps quiet, pretends to be nothing more than that they believe her to be. She waits for a sign -- some further answers to the puzzle.

Just because they're good to each other doesn't mean that they'll be good to her. She can't take the risk.

So she only listens as "Dad" talks to her, dutifully reflecting his features back to him. She watches.

She waits.

"I think we might be getting close." Greg flips down the shade, peering through the windshield. "Man, it's a scorcher out there."

"You think maybe whatever it is really is affecting the weather?"

"Could be. Gonna want that sunblock, either way."

It had been two days since they packed up the van and started the trip. Papers had blamed the constant buzz of static affecting televisions on a low-pressure system passing through the area, but the two of them had developed a pretty good knack for when something magical was acting up. Still, the two weren't mutually exclusive.

"Hey, can you reach the CD stack? I'm in the mood for--"

"Dad, look out!"

The van swerves sharply, before a deafening POP shakes the car and it tilts at an angle.

"Oh no, it got the tires... Steven!" Already, the boy has flung off his seatbelt and jumped out of the car. There's a great hissing sound, as likely from an animal as air escaping the tires. The smell of burned rubber hits Greg's nose. He's only a few seconds behind to get out of the car, a low moan in his throat.

From inside the van, there's very little to see. The occasional flash of light, accompanied by the sounds of Greg and Steven yelling to each other. It's maybe five minutes before Greg throws open the back doors, eyes wide and searching and teeth clenched against pain from the large burn on his shoulder. Behind him, a sizzling sound drowns out Steven's grunting from audible effort.

Greg's attention scans wildly over the contents of the van: the dynamite, the harpoon gun, the bags of trail mix, the--his eyes light up as they fall on the mirror. "There you are!" he gasps, snatching it up and running back out into the fray.

The sand by the side of the road has been burned into streaks of molten glass. A pale, lizardlike creature has Steven pinned in his bubble shield, keeping him from getting loose with laser blasts from its... head?

"Steven?!"

"I'm okay!" His voice is strained, but Greg's call catches the monster's attention. It swivels to face him by the van. Its gem resembles a magnifying glass, sitting in the center of wide neck frills taking in heat and energy from the blazing sunlight. With that hissing noise, it releases another shot from its laser, and Greg gets the mirror up just in time; the blast bounces back, singing a leg.

The hissing rises in pitch, and Steven takes the distraction to roll the bubble forward and knock the unbalanced monster over. It rolls with the hit, however, skittering away, keeping its weight on its five intact legs. The featureless head darts between Steven, Greg, and the mirror in his hand. Light glints in the magnifying gem, and the frills press flat against its neck before the creature darts away.

Greg runs over to Steven just as he drops the bubble, both panting hard. "D-dad, your shoulder..."

"I'm okay. You hurt anywhere?" Steven shakes his head. "Good."

"What if it comes back?"

"I think it came the worse off, it'll keep to itself." He gives a weary smile, and waves the mirror. "If not, we'll be ready with our secret weapon." Steven smiles back, just as tired. "C'mon, we better start getting new wheels on the van. Think you can work the jack?"

"Dad" and "Steven" were on some sort of journey. She could glean that they were concerned -- that something magical had cropped up some distance away. For some reason, they were making it their mission to go find it. She couldn't fathom the reasons for this -- why chase something when you could reasonably keep yourself safe? -- but in spite of her trepidation, she was along for the ride.

All seemed to be fine until the van suddenly made a POP! and veered, tilting at an angle. Thankful for the mesh pocket, she twists with it, trying very hard not to think about what happens if the entire vehicle tips over. Only at the last moment does she catch Steven darting out of the van, and "Dad" following him.

Where are they going? What are they doing? What are those sounds??

And then "Dad" flings open the doors to the van, searching, searching . . . until his eyes light on her.

Wait. Waitwaitwaitwaitwait.

He's grabbed her; he's taking her toward the nois-- WHAT IS THAT THING AND WHY IS HE POINTING HER AT--.

Light, blinding, searing hot, reflects off the glass, accompanied by a long-ago recorded shriek as the surface magnifies the laser and shoots it back towards the lizard-creature.

She's temporarily dazzled, only able to catch the sound of the creature's hissing getting louder. (Louder??) She only just manages to catch the shadow of its head waving between them all before it turns tail and skitters away.

Very nearly she reveals herself there -- expresses all the anxiety and terror of the last two minutes in all the pre-recorded screams in her memories. Nononono, she doesn't want this, doesn't want to be a weapon; what was that, why did it have a gem, why are these humans fighting--

And then, suddenly, it's out -- dozens of shrieks all sounding together, a mass of voices all braiding into one.

They both jerk with shock at the sudden piercing wailing. Steven claps his hands over his ears, and Greg hurriedly looks in the direction the monster ran, thinking its come back, and grips the mirror tight. It's only as he raises it in preemptive defense that he can recognize the source.

"Wh--what the hey is going on?!"

"What is it?"

"I, I think it's the mirror!?" He peers into the glass, panicked and looking for the damage. The absolute pain and fear contained in those screams is rapidly bleeding into his nerves. "Did I... did I break it?! Oh man, oh man I didn't mean to!"

Quiet.

Quiet.

She has to be quiet, has to be calm; they've heard her, are hearing her. They know it's coming from her; "Dad" is turning her over in his hands, looking frantically at her. Quiet.

She wills herself to still, to silence. Even more strongly, there's a pang of longing for her own body -- to be able to wrap her own arms around herself, to shudder out the rest of her fear.

All she can do is quiet the voices -- though the surface of the mirror crackles sporadically in waves like static.

They lower their hands, still shaken by the sound. Neither of them can fully process the entirety of what they just heard: a misery so huge, so deep and ancient, that it drowns out all else. They've never come close to anything so sad.

"Wh... what do I..." Greg's trying to hold the mirror steady, but his hands are shaking badly.

"Let me see." Steven takes it from his father, and peers carefully into the warping reflection. He gently places one hand along its edge, as though trying to soothe a frightened animal. "It's not broken anywhere on the outside... I think you hurt it on the inside."

It's hard for him to know what to make of that diagnosis. Steven's always had a better intuition for things like this--not surprising, really. That doesn't make the idea of how to ease the hurt feelings of an apparently inanimate object easier. Steven shrugs, and jerks his head. Greg steps in closer, looking in at the mirror over Steven's shoulder.

"Uh... ahhh. Is... is that right? Is something in there?"

This isn't the strangest thing he's done, but it might be if it works.

There's a measure of relief as Steven takes the mirror; "Dad's" hands are shaking enough that she's worried about being dropped. Steven seems to understand somehow, and she eases a little, soothed by the steadiness of his fingers.

She doesn't respond to the query. It's still dangerous, too dangerous. Maybe if she's quiet, they'll let it go. Forget. Something.

Her surface stills to silence, reflecting back only their querying faces.

Silence. The two of them wait a moment longer after the surface smooths over, then give each other a look. It feels like they've missed something.

Greg chews his lip, nods to Steven, and looks again at the mirror. "All right. I won't pull anything like that again."

He hesitates a moment, caught between remorse and feeling foolish. It could be he's on the wrong track, maybe it really is inanimate and he triggered some sort of violent magical act. That doesn't change he made a mistake. "Sorry, about... that. And uh... uh, you... really helped out, back there. Thank you."

He rubs at his neck, nods to Steven again. "Put it back someplace safe. Then we can fix things up."

Thank you.

That word resonates back in her mind, sets off echoes like the touch of a fingertip setting off ripples on a pool's surface.

Sorry.

How strange, these words . . . especially with the knowledge that this time, they're meant for her. She's being spoken to -- actually spoken to -- and what's more, this time with deference.

As though she's someone to matter. As though how she felt matters.

The ripples spread across her mind's surface, cross and crisscross into shadows.

Edited 2016-05-23 19:33 (UTC)

It isn't too long before things fall back into a standard, but from that point on there's a noticeable shift. Steven talks into the mirror more often, gladly describing what Lars and Sadie were up to at the Big Donut, or the high score he got at Funland Arcade, or the pack of sea monkeys he ordered and really hopes comes soon.

Greg, by contrast, pulls back a little. It's harder for him to be frank and open when he thinks a stranger could be listening.

"Aaaall right. Last trip. You good?"

"Yep!" Steven holds the last bubbles gingerly. It's been a long day of back and forth, carrying them carefully into the temple to clear up some space in the van. Only two have been left untouched, one blue and the other red, with a deep crack over its surface.

"All righty. I'll order you up a reward pizza, but don't rush the last job for it."

Steven laughs a little, but doesn't move as Greg turns to try and organize his music again. "...Um, Dad?" His father turns back, surprised by the tenderness in his voice. "I was thinking... is it okay if I spend tonight in the temple?"

Greg stares. "I... uh. Well..." He scratches his neck. "Sure, I guess. You uh... you remember what happened when you slept in your mom's room, though...?"

He shudders. "I know. But Amethyst's room has lots of futons and couches and stuff, it's pretty comfy once you get used to the smell, and I thought it'd..." He flushes. "I thought it might just, you know, be cool."

"...Sure. Yeah, if that's what you want. Um, you go ahead with those bubbles, I'll bring your pack up to the door later. You still want me to order that pizza?"

"That's okay. I've got a sandwich. ...Thanks, Dad."

Steven leaves, and the sun's not long after. The van's a lot darker, with nearly all the bubbles gone. A lot emptier. Greg stretches out in the van, unsure what to do with himself. He picks at a few notes on his guitar, but no melody starts to form. Eventually, he looks up at the two remaining gems hovering overhead.

"Boy, I wish you guys were here. You'd know what he needs." He huffs a small breath. "Bet the house'd be done by now, too. I'd be more used to nights like this, huh?" He picks a few more tuneless strings. "I'm sorry, Garnet. I... I'm really trying. I'm not like you, though, I... I'm just a human."

For a while the van is silent, aside from the occasional plunking note. When Greg glances up again, he blinks. Adjusted to the dark, he can see his dim reflection from across the van.

"Ooh boy. When did we get so old." He stares for a moment, before leaning in and pulling the mirror out, rubbing at his face. "Hey, what about you? You think he's holding up okay?" He chews his lip. "I know he's putting on a brave face for me, but... he talks to you. What do you think?"

He stares into the mirror. He's not sure what he's hoping for. He doesn't know that anyone's listening, or even cares, or would even bother to ease his fears, or thinks he deserves to have his fears eased. In the end, he just looks foolish, looking to anything for advice.

Finally Greg sighs, and rubs at his eyes. "Ah, hell with it. I'm gonna order that pizza."

Edited 2016-05-23 21:03 (UTC)

She's been quiet. Playing her role: Just an object. Just a mirror.

But she can't help but enjoy the time with Steven as he chatters at her. He's just so . . . happy, it's infectious, and he's talking to her -- her, as though he believes she's someone who can understand. It's silent delight every time he settles, and she absorbs everything.

"Dad," though . . . he seems almost wary of her? Or stays away.

She's not sure she can blame him. And . . . in the end, it's better that way. Isn't it?

. . . Right?

So she's surprised when he talks to her then, out of the blue -- when he stops talking to the two gems he refers to like they're one and shifts his eyes to her in the shadows of the interior.

"Hey, what about you? You think he's holding up okay? I know he's putting on a brave face for me, but... he talks to you. What do you think?"

He's worried?

About Steven?

She's silent, uncertain -- not sure what to do. With his eyes on her like that, she finds she wants to answer--

But as she hesitates, trying to decide, she's taken too long; he's turning . . . she's missed her chance . . .

On impulse she brings it up: Steven laughing in the front seat over a joke he told two days ago. It seems to genuinely tickle him; he's happy, drunk on his own humor. Greg's hand comes briefly into the frame to ruffle his hair.

Uncertain, she repeats it, just in case.

The sound of Steven's laughter startles Greg. He jumps, guitar giving a hollow, tuneless thwonng. On the second play, his full attention is on the mirror.

Greg stares into the reflection of days passed. He's seen Steven's smile an infinite number of times, taken strength and solace in that bright happiness, but somehow this feels just a little different. It's Steven from a different perspective--not just in the literal sense, but in the personal. Someone else's view.

One hand rests on the glass--now he's the one mirroring it, copying his past self's touch.

"You really think so?" His voice is a little shaky, and he rubs his eyes again. "Eheh. Ha. Th...thanks."

What's possessed her to answer him? She's only making trouble; she'll never be able to convince them that she's just a mirror after this. It's not even her business; they're not even her kind.

But . . . he liked it.

She helped him . . . in some small way. Even who she is, what she's become, she's touched something beyond herself.

She shimmers briefly, the Steven image fading, and she goes quiet, both in awe and uncertain.

The silence falls over them again, and Greg's not sure what to say next. Talking to Garnet's gems is... nice, in a deeply melancholy sort of way, but he knew it may as well be talking to himself. The mirror on the other hand, despite literally being talking to himself... if it can hear him, it's different.

"Um... Thanks for being a good listener. It can't be easy, not being able to talk back."

Aside from... screaming. That's pretty good evidence for why it would keep quiet until now. "I guess you've seen some pretty rough stuff, in your time." He glances out the window, to the temple looking over the beach. "The Gems never did take things easy."

He shakes his head. "I guess... this probably isn't where you expected to end up. Beard trimming and hair brushing is probably a step down from whatever magical stuff gems get up to, but I hope it's... a relaxing break, maybe." The Crystal Gems had never seen much benefit to relaxing;it wasn't exactly a Gem thing, and an object wasn't likely to feel any different. But, it was the best he could offer.

There's a lot that she wants to ask in that moment, and a lot that she doesn't know how to say. What kind of person is he, really? Does he see her as a person now, or just an object -- a mirror? How much does he know about the past? How much has she missed in the present?

Could he help her?

Could she go home if he did?

The last two questions are like reawakening nerve cells pulsing with a sudden burst of electricity; they ignite and spread, sending an ache throbbing through her mind so rich and raw, it startles her in its ferocity.

She hasn't allowed herself to think that way for so long . . . but once ignited, it spreads like wildfire, and it's hard to turn off.

The image of stars chases over the mirror's surface -- the cosmos, vast. One star in particular stands out, constant against the shifting background.

I want to go home.

Greg watches the racing cosmos, flickering over the pool of sky between his hands (man he totally ought to write a song with that line). The mirror is silent, but the image is intense. Whatever it's trying to say, it means it.

He stares at that one central star, brightest and beckoning, and after a moment its meaning comes to him.

"Homeworld."

As much as the mirror put in that image, Greg put in that word: Understanding, anxiety, uncertainty, fear.

Homeworld had wanted to do a lot of terrible things to Earth. Was the mirror part of that? Did it get used for any of those goals, does it have the same desires?

Greg glances away. "You miss it, huh."

He . . . knows Homeworld. He really does have a connection to the Gems, then -- he and Steven. Something more than just glancing.

And . . . it worries him?

Again she repeats the cosmos and the star images in response to his question, zeroing in on the constant star. Yes, she misses it.

And again, the image of Steven laughing -- though this time shortened to the moment when Greg reaches out to touch his hair, Steven still beaming under his hand.

It's meant to signify this is home. But this is the first time she's tried to communicate with anyone beyond the very first days. Trying to convey what she means in mere images, especially something so abstract, is challenging -- and will likely become frustrating quickly.

Edited 2016-05-24 19:54 (UTC)

He looks down at the cobbled together message, frowning, his remaining anxiety further muddling the intent.

Homeworld, and... Steven? Does think he belongs on Homeworld? No way. Just because he's part Gem, he shouldn't ever have to leave the planet. The idea makes his blood run a little cold.

"N-no, Steven's not... he couldn't go there, he belongs on Earth." He shakes his head. "The Crystal Gems swore to stay and protect us here, he's one of them, too."

Edited 2016-05-25 01:50 (UTC)

No -- nonono, that's not what she meant--

Wait.

Did he say Crystal Gem? That Steven is a Crystal Gem?

But.

How-- . . .

The assertion is enough to drive a wedge of fear into her gut. She's silent, absolutely still in his hands.

She keeps allowing herself to get lured -- lured by their warmth, by their occasional kindness, by her own loneliness.

But if they're with the Crystal Gems, they're dangerous. She's in enemy hands, and she's in danger of forgetting it.

She can't.

She just can't.

The silence falls between them, van dark again without the mirror's remembered light. Greg bites his lip, wondering if he said something wrong to cause the mirror to go quiet so fast. Maybe it's mad he denied it.

"...Sorry. This is our home. He's got to protect it, and I've got to protect him."

Greg can't do anything for him off of Earth. Heck, he can barely do anything for him on it.

Silence from the mirror, and in spite of his words, she doesn't respond. She can't trust. Shouldn't trust.

This is the way it has to be.

In enemy hands, she has to protect herself. She may never go home.

She drowns in the fact and is silent.

It's definitely upset. Greg decides not to push. With a low sigh, he tucks it back into its pouch. This is probably for the best. It's from Homeworld, it may be better not to get too close with it.

Still, as he opens the back doors of the van to go visit the Pizzas, he has to consider... the mirror didn't have to show him anything tonight. It didn't need to try and comfort him with the image of Steven. It didn't need to try and reveal its origin. It had kept so quiet, for so many months, and it decided to reach out to him now.

He looks back, one more time. "Um. Thanks. For showing me. I..." Greg stops himself, shakes his head. He's said enough. The van doors shut, and he leaves the mirror alone.

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Crystal Lite AU

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