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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It had been maybe three or four hours since the crash outside. Greg and Steven had woken in a daze, sprawled out on the mattress in the back, but realization something had crashed into the temple roused them well enough, and they ran out to investigate without pause to dress.

Dawn light has just begun to break over the ocean when there's another sound. Not another crash, nor the distant and unfamiliar thrum of the warp pad in the temple, but a deep roar. A flash of light illuminates the van's windows. A moment or two later, the van's back doors open again.

Greg has returned, a flash of pink fur around the corner indicating he's not alone. Steven, however, is nowhere in sight.

And Greg has clearly been crying.

He rummages through the mess in the back of the van, movements listless, eyes distant and unfocused. He's not really sure what he's looking for. Something. Anything. They've got to have something that could help, after everything there must be some option, he has to... has to find... something...

His eyes fall on the framed picture propped up on the side. After a moment, his shoulders begin to shake, and he pulls it off with trembling hands.

"Rose," he gasps at the picture, barely a whisper. I don't know what to do Rose, I... I'm so sorry, I... Steven, I don't know where he... our son, he's..." He breaks, head bowed as the tears flow. He'd thought he'd run himself dry while waiting at the Galaxy Warp. "I don't know wh-what to d-do, I...help me, Rose, please... please help..."

She shouldn't care.

Really shouldn't.

She's spent the last stretch of time since "Dad" revealed that they were with the Crystal Gems almost completely internal, consciousness plunging deep and shutting out most of the world around her, inert and unresponsive.

Maybe this is protection. Maybe guilt. Maybe grief.

Maybe all of them together.

The crash, though, alerts her, yanks her back to the present: Such a sound is threat, and already possessed of very deep-seated anxiety in her current form, she surfaces, hauled upward by it into light and activity.

There's not much to see; by that point Steven and "Dad" are already gone. She listens in the dark, absolutely intent, absolutely focused on the world outside the van.

Then the roar. The burst of light . . . and there's "Dad."

But he's wrong somehow. Unfocused. Raw, like his skin has suddenly been stripped away.

What's . . . happened?

Where's Steven?

Rose . . .

Rose Quartz?

He continues crying, murmured apologies and pleas unintelligible through the sobs. It's all he can think to do. He knows, knows it's pathetic, that it's wasting time, that he has to do something. He needs to act, the longer he spends huddled and whimpering like this the more trouble Steven is in, the further out he could be, the worse things could be happening to him. Still, Greg can't will himself to move. The weight of his helplessness has pinned him entirely, his lack of power or knowledge or influence freezing him in place. He's stuck here, stuck crying like a child, too afraid to save his own son.

A cheerful melody erupts through the van. The beeping little tune is soft, but it could have rocked the van with how loudly it clashed the atmosphere. Greg jumps, and instantly jumps for the lump of Steven's laundry. Steven, did Steven get to a phone, is it--

He stares at the name on the screen for a moment. Blinks a few times. Swallows, very hard. And he swipes to answer.

"Connie...? Y-yeah. Sorry, Steven stepped out for a minute, forgot his phone. Did you... did you need something?" He closes his eyes, takes another breath. The shakiness in his voice smooths out a little more. "No, everything's fine." His hand clenches into a fist, for just a moment.

"Uh... look, something--something's come up. Me 'n Steven are gonna be out of town for a while. F...Figured you should know." Breathing. In, and out. "No, no, it's nothing to worry about. It's just... I'm not sure how long we'll be gone, didn't want... didn't want you to worry." A pause, and he nods. "Yeah. I'll tell him."

Greg hangs up with the swipe of a finger, and cradles the phone in his hands for a few moments longer. Connie's too smart; she could tell something was off. He needs to get out of here before she gets roped into this too.

He straightens up, still shaking. "Only so many warp pads they can be at," he reasons out loud. "Just... gotta keep driving. They'll be somewhere." He starts rummaging again, looking for supplies. "He'll be somewhere."

It's against her better judgment.

So much against her better judgment.

But everything that's confusing, strange about these people, all that she's learned in the last few months . . . she wants answers.

Images aren't going to work here. That didn't go well last time, and he's not even looking . . .

She pulls up an image with sound instead, much like she did with the voices. Like the images, she only has bits and pieces to work with. It'll have to be enough.

This one is Steven, tilting his head and querying, turning towards Greg to ask a question. "Dad?"

A lighting strike would've gotten less reaction out of Greg. He sits ramrod straight, eyes wide and full of disbelief, hope already overflowing.

"Steven!" He rushes the back doors, looking for signs of his son. Of course he got away, Steven's smart, and resourceful, and brave, of course he made it home safe. "Oh thank goodness, I thought she--"

There's no one there. Greg stares at the empty beach. He was sure he heard... has he lost it entirely? It feels like it.

Not . . . exactly the reaction she was aiming for. If she'd had eyes to blink, she would be blinking back at him.

Better try this again.

Repeated a few more times in a row: "Dad? Dad? Dad? Dad?"

Same clip each time.

For a second Greg really thinks he has gone off the deep end. It's the easiest explanation.

Or, well, until he remembers the actual source. His eyes finally connect with the mirror and its repeating loop, and a great heaviness lies over him. Of course... he should have thought of that... should've known... Greg pucks the mirror up and stares at Steven's image. He looks so close.

He closes his eyes and swallows, willing himself not to break down again. Steven needs him to be thinking.

"H-hey," he greets the mirror. "You heard all that, huh?"

She doesn't bother with confirmation. Just by answering back, she'll be confirming. There's a short silence as she struggles with how to convey words -- and what she even has available to use.

Steven again, this time reacting in eager delight after Greg points out something outside the van window: "Where?!"

The tone isn't exactly right by any means, but.

Greg trembles. It hurts to see him, remember that joy and trust in contrast with the fear and desperation of those last moments before he vanished. If only he'd been faster, paying better attention, stopped her, he could have...

He does his best to keep his breathing steady--it's not a complete success, but it distracts his thoughts from despair. "I don't... I don't know. Another gem warped in from... from Homeworld, I think. There was this big platform in the ocean full of warp pads, and..."

It's his fault. It's all his fault, he panicked and she thought he was attacking, and from there it went completely off the rails, faster than he could even process, and now... "She took him. They could be anywhere on the planet, and I don't know how to find them."

The warp pads . . .

They're still working?

They're still working, but. No one came back for her.

No one came back.

For a moment the mirror's surface wipes to black, completely non-reflective, swallowing the light.

"Help."

This time it's Greg, digging through dirty shirts in the back of the van, obviously looking for something. It was part of a sentence; this word is just a fragment somewhere in the middle, with an unfinished lift to it.

That word, small and simple, surprises him. It... wants to help him? Or it wants him to help it...? It's from Homeworld, then it might have an idea about that gem, what she was doing, how to stop her...

"How?"

Can she trust him with this? Should she be proceeding?

She doesn't know. And for once doesn't stop to consider it.

"Ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut."

This is Steven, giving an idle whine, looking at the torrents of rain streaming down outside the van -- restless when he'd much rather be outside.

Again: "Ouuuuuuuuuuut."

The hairs on his neck begin to rise. This is... everything about this, it feels... dangerous. He's handling something bigger than he is, and none of the information he's gathered from his time with Rose and the rest is telling him anything about this. He's walking blind.

The trepidation only lasts a few seconds. None of that matters. Not if he can save his son.

His hands grip the sides of the mirror. "Please. Show me how."

She doesn't know if she can do this or not. But she's going to try.

She has to.

Bearing down on the image, she focuses on it as hard as she can, pushing it out through the mirror's surface: A figure turning the mirror over, grasping hold of the broken gem. Pulling.

Pulling until it snaps out of place and free.

Greg's eyes widen in dawning realization. Slowly, he turns the mirror over to look at the back.

It was right there. This whole time, the gem had been right there, and he'd never even thought about it.

He gets up, stepping out of the van and moving clear. After a few breaths, and then a few more, Greg steels himself, and begins to pull. He's put on a little muscle over the last few years, but the gem is stuck in there fast. He grunts, digs his fingers in, and redoubles his efforts. Something have to give, and it's not going to be him. Not this time.

With a wordless yell of effort, Greg finally breaks the gem out of its bonds.

The gem snaps away from the mirror base and into Greg's hand.

Immediately, two things happen: One, the glass shatters, exploding to shards. Second, the gem gleams, tugs away from his fingers, gleaming with blue light. It floats several feet away, suspended above the ground.

And then, with a burst of light, the outline of a young woman blooms from it like an unfolding flower or like a bird from an egg: Her limbs uncurl from the center, form into the delicacies of fingers and toes and deep blue hair that stirs in the air currents coming in from the ocean.

She hovers there a moment, hanging in the air . . . then whatever invisible hand that holds her releases her, sending her slumping to the earth. She collapses like a broken doll, landing hard in the dirt.

. . . She's free.

For one breathless second, Greg stands frozen at the sight of it, illuminated by morning light over the beach. It's ethereal and alien, beautiful and bewildering.

The moment ends at the same moment she collapses into the sand. Greg gives a little noise of alarm and rushes over to her side.

"H-hey, I've got you." He reaches a hand out, but stops himself before touching her. "Are... are you okay?"

She's out. She's free.

She can feel the sand underneath her knees, under her palms, the crushed quartz nipping into her skin. The wind brushes her skin, through her hair, teases at the ribbons at her neck and the hem of her skirt, smelling of damp, of salt, of seaweed and fish. For a moment she can only breathe it in, feel it filter through her lungs and taste the tang of salt on her tongue.

She's strongly tempted to laugh -- a sudden, wild note, just because she can. If she were alone, she might have.

But he's there, and she feels his presence at her back almost as though his shadow were tangible. She does her best to push her self upward in the sand -- though her elbows wobble dangerously, threatening to dump her back to where she started. She curls her fingers into the grains, gritting out what willpower she can manage over muscles that haven't existed for thousands of years.

"It's . . . fine. I'm fine.""

Twisting over her shoulder, she seeks him out. Her eyes, too literally, are like moons -- almost shining, silvery white, completely without pupils, reflective like a mirror's surface.

"Thank you . . ." Her voice is soft, hoarse, wondering.

He may be with the Crystal Gems, and so she hesitates a little to say it, but . . . he's done what all of them have not: He's released her. Her own body in her grasp again, all things seem possible -- even dealing with a potential enemy.

He'd have been anxious under her gaze, mirror or no. He may be imagining the sensation of her gazing straight into his soul, but she's likely seen enough of him to have a good read on him regardless.

A gem. He hasn't seen one whole and sane in years, and now there's two in a spare few hours. She's been watching, waiting... for how long? Since the war? Who was she?

Greg swallows, mouth dry. "Uh... yeah. No problemo."

He holds out his hand to her. "Can you stand?"

Those moon-like eyes shift to his hand, clearly hesitant, but after a moment her fingers slip into his palm, cool as water against his warmth. For a moment they're only bird-light, but she presses down as he pulls, allowing him to tug her to her feet. Her brow puckers with concentration, as though balance has all the complexity of a math problem.

And apparently she's right in that, because standing upright lasts only a moment. Her knees twitch suddenly and buckle back beneath her, sending her back downward with a yelp.

He catches her fall, easily supporting her weight. She's so light, so frail. It doesn't matter that she could destroy him as easily as any other gem; right now, she seems so incredibly small.

"Woah there. Don't push yourself, I got you. Take some deep breaths--" Wait. No. That's not a thing gems do. "Umm. Just try and clear your head. One thing at a time."

She was fully expecting to hit the ground.

The fact that she doesn't, that she's caught . . .

It's another strange mystery in this man, who's supposed to belong to the Crystal Gems, but keeps punctuating time with her with strange kindnesses.

Including letting her out.

She steadies herself on him, using both hands to brace against his arm. She's definitely still wobbly; it takes some moments before she's anything resembling firm -- and even then her hands stay slightly out, a little extended, as though she expects to have to grab for him again.

"Thank you," she murmurs again. "It's . . . 'Dad.' Right?"

He lets her take her time regaining what balance she can, ready to reach in and catch her if she falls again. It reminds him a little of when Steven was first learning to walk.

That question catches him a little off guard. "Uh?" It takes a few seconds of brain churning to figure out that one. Steven. She's only ever heard him addressed through his son. He blinks hard.

"Oh, uh, that's--you, you can call me Greg. My name's Greg. You're...?"

She hesitates at that. Her name -- it's like giving up a piece of her in a sense. It makes him familiar with her, makes her known. In spite of all he's done, she still isn't sure if she should be doing any of this.

But she doesn't yet stop, either.

"I'm Lapis," she offers quietly. "Lapis Lazuli."

(She can't help but admit, even with her hesitation, that there's a certain thrill to giving it . . . to being known by it. Being called by her own name, having that recognition . . . not even that has been a possibility for so long.)

But again, back to the part that made her hesitate in the first place:

"You . . . set me free." There's the implicit question tucked inside it: Why?

Greg opens his mouth, pauses, and shrinks back a little. He feels, suddenly... intrusive. After so long without seeing any gems, it's flooding back to him; all the awe, all the fear. He's imagining unfathomable depths of scorn behind those eyes of hers, accusing him of meddling in things beyond his understanding, beyond his right, all these years.

"I'm sorry. I didn't... I should've figured it out sooner, I didn't realize you were... you in there. I should've..." She was right in front of his face. She was trying to tell him, and he had been too stupid to realize it.

He swallows hard. He doesn't have the right to ask anything of her, but... he has to.

"Please... can... can you really help me find Steven...?"

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