Chapter Text
Anxiety didn’t particularly care that he couldn’t remember either of his names. He knew they existed, he could feel their pull on the magic of the world around him if he really focused. But that was far from the most important thing on his mind at all times, and he couldn’t really say for certain if he wanted to know his names in the first place. He knew his life hadn’t always been like this, wasn’t that enough to make him miserable?
He couldn’t necessarily say for certain that Real Names and Safety Names were the only ones around, but the idea that they weren’t was really just a feeling; in that saying there were only two kinds of names didn’t quite feel right. He only knew Safety Names were a thing because It had taunted him about getting to pick his Safety Name and not even giving him a new Real one. Well, that and the subtle tug he could feel from his names. But he couldn’t be sure that the feeling he got was enough to tell him that there were more than two kinds of names.
He supposed in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter. But the idea of there being more than two kinds of names was something It had never denied to him, and he therefore couldn’t refute the idea with It’s words. And Anxiety wanted to keep that. Even if it was just something small and stupid that made him feel a little bit more in control.
He might not need that anymore, though.
Anxiety’s breath shook as he sprinted through the woods, away from the pocket tucked between the lines of reality that It called home, and that he… well, that he certainly didn’t. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t stay there any longer. He kept his ears strained for any sound of “Anxiety” screamed behind him. The one side effect in his favor of not having picked his own Safety Name was that it would have even less of an effect on him than an actual Safety Name would, which was already essentially nothing. But that didn’t mean he wanted to hear It screaming the name after him.
When he made it far enough away from the place he’d left that he couldn’t feel the place’s presence or It’s presence anymore, Anxiety stopped running and took enough breaths in order to slow his heart rate down.
He was there for a while, breathing, and taking solace in the fact that he couldn’t feel anything, Safety Name or Real Name or otherwise, calling him back towards It.
Anxiety looked ahead of him and kept running.
…
There weren’t a ton of advantages to living as a magical experiment. There was the technical protection from other curses and magical creatures, but that didn’t mean much when It could play with Anxiety magically whenever and however It wanted to.
Anxiety couldn’t count how many times he’d been woken up in the middle of the night by It, hovering over his bed, usually as a storm of pure magic at that point. It would start playing with the innate magic surrounding him, trying to make him scream or squirm in the attempt to figure out what made him tick. A lot of times he was worried enough about that possibility before going to bed that he had to force himself to fall asleep, usually by exhausting the magic around him. On really bad nights, or early on when he had less control, he hid in the one hiding place in the shack, behind the cabinet doors, and tried to stay up the entire time.
At least that kind of experiment happened all of a sudden, so he didn’t have to sit and wait while It prepared something and he stewed in his worry about what would happen this time.
It had taken a while, but he was getting better at controlling the magic around him. At first, the magic had responded pretty much only to his emotions, and was almost completely involuntary. Very early on, Anxiety had snapped at It that “That’s what you get for literally infusing me with your innate magic you fucking—”
Then It would start one of the experiments meant for causing pain and shut him up pretty quickly. ‘Don’t talk back’ was one of the first lessons he learned.
Overtime, as his situation became more normal to him, the magic storming inside of him started to calm down, and he began to be able to control it a bit at a time. At that point most of his control was still fairly tied to emotion, which meant the most common experiments involved ones that directly played with them. Anger was the first one It tried, but being angry all the time was exhausting, and after a while Anxiety couldn’t even muster up the strength to get irritated. That brought the first break from experiments. He didn’t know how long it would last, but at that point he didn’t care much, and spent three days straight passed out on his bed asleep. Then he woke up hungry.
Unfortunately for him, hunger apparently counted enough as an emotion that It wanted to keep him that way for a while. He got small portions, enough to keep him alive, but not really enough for much else. At least that stage didn’t last long. It quickly realized, in a way It probably would have before trying if It was human, that hunger really just kept him too weak to do anything. It always fed him enough after that, though the fear of the food being taken away again didn’t disappear for a while.
There was a short period of time where It thought happiness might work, but as soon as It realized It couldn’t really make him happy enough to cause the effect It wanted, It moved on to depression instead, which just made Anxiety not want to do anything.
It tried fear last, which was the only one that really stuck. Being scared all the time was just as exhausting as anger, but he couldn’t try and force himself to stop being scared as easily as he could with anger. That was when It gave him his new Safety Name. He didn’t like Anxiety, but if he didn’t answer to it that would just bring something bad, and that was the only thing he had to call himself anyway, so eventually he just accepted it. Besides, the only alternative to Anxiety was… the other nickname It gave him. And Anxiety was loads better than that.
But anyway, after It had managed to figure out the best way to trigger his magic, It moved on to trying to control it, which was why Anxiety started spending most of his waking hours afraid. That bled into sleep too, of course. If he spent most of his day terrified he was bound to have nightmares. The day he started making progress was a day he remembered vividly.
It had decided that since fear was the most successful at drawing out his magic, the easiest way to get him to learn to control it was to make him as scared as possible, and while It could play with the magic around him to influence his emotions, that was far less effective and far more time consuming than just finding ways to make him afraid.
“Run, Doll… keep running…”
The voices bled through the magic surrounding both It and himself, sounding different with each new word, and also happening to grow louder the closer It got to him. A large part of Anxiety wished It had never learned to speak, but It was growing and evolving just as he was. It almost had a shape most of the time. Anxiety didn’t know if It would ever have a permanent form like It wanted. Anxiety also didn’t know if he wanted It to have that.
“I’m going to catch you…” the voices teased, and Anxiety’s terrified gasps started to quicken. He dove between a set of trees, scraping his arm badly against the bark, and leapt over a stream, splashing water up to his knees as he did.
“Stop it!” he screamed, but the air around him began to blow, and he heard a storm start to pick up overhead, which was both good for It and bad for him, because that was his magic doing that.
It reached inside the magic surrounding him and quickened his heart rate further. It had to be close to do that, the idea of which only made him more panicked. Anxiety tried to push himself further, but his heart rate and breathing didn’t slow down at all.
“I’m almost there, Doll…”
“Stop it!”
“You know what you have to do if you want it to stop,” the voices hissed, much harsher and sounding close to irritated. “I told you what to do if you want the fear to stop.”
Anxiety tried again to reach out around him, but he could barely focus while knowing It was right behind him, and his heart was in his throat.
He could feel It now, It was close enough that Anxiety knew he only had a couple seconds before It was right on top of him. Four, three, two—
The ground in front of him shook and split open, and Anxiety leapt down on instinct as It flew right overhead. He scrambled back into the wall in the small hole he’d just made. A couple seconds later It solidified into a vaguely human-looking form right above him.
“Well, Doll,” the voices mused above him. “That’s a start.”
Anxiety’s breath was still coming out in shaky gasps. He pressed himself back into the wall, trying to get as far away from It as possible. The ground behind him split to allow him through, though whether that was because he told it to or because he was terrified enough that it was simply reacting to his fear, he couldn’t say.
“Come back to the shack, Doll. You can make yourself some food.”
It shifted back into a large cloud of magic and whisked away, and Anxiety collapsed on the ground. Half an hour or so would pass before he could manage to walk back to the shack. He knew better than to try and go anywhere else.
…
Anxiety had gotten better at running alongside getting better with magic. It took almost no effort to run through the forest, dodging branches and bushes and swerving if he saw signs of any animals nearby.
He had moved past the need for fear to control his powers at this point, but he felt it right now regardless. Besides, most of his magical energy was tuned in to listen for It following him, which was the only reason he wasn’t flying out of here using a tornado. Well, that, and the fact that using a tornado would be overkill and obvious, and make it far more likely for It to find him.
He wasn’t sure when he was planning on stopping or why, but he couldn’t keep running all night, no matter how good of shape consistent runs from It put him in. He needed to find shelter. If he got his first choice, some kind of shelter that could keep him away from magic, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he didn’t have forever.
Anxiety swung himself around a tree by grabbing onto a branch and landed on the ground on the other side.
Just a little farther, he lied to himself. Just a little farther.
…
Fear and pain could go hand in hand. It certainly thought so, and Anxiety had to admit that It was probably right.
Pain experiments had to be one of his least favorite kinds so far, but they did seem to increase results, which apparently meant he lost his right to complain. At least they were usually pretty short compared to experiments that only worked to slowly up his fear levels. The idea of pain was quickly terrifying, especially when Anxiety had experience with what It liked to do to cause pain. When It could sense that he was scared enough, It toyed with a knife around him, usually not touching him with it directly but bringing it close enough that Anxiety thought he might. Usually by the first time the knife touched him, Anxiety had built up enough control over his magic to blow the knife away from himself with a gust of wind.
It would usually give an approving nod, and as Anxiety continued to get better with his magic and make the knife either blow to a specific location, or blow it away much faster, these experiments slowly started happening less often, as did the constant fear. For a small bit of time, Anxiety was relieved, but he really shouldn’t have been that stupid.
All that remained of his memories of his life before was the distinct feeling that this hadn’t always been his life. He had no idea what his old life had been like, or what had changed that resulted in this. But he hadn’t been created by It, no matter what he’d been told. Not like he would ever tell It that he knew that, but he did know it. Along with the fact that he’d had a previous Safety Name and a Real Name. He hadn’t ever expected his knowledge of his previous life to go beyond this. (Somewhere, in the part of himself that he never acknowledged, he hoped that it somehow might, but it was the part of himself that he never acknowledged for a reason.) But as soon as he had basic control over his magic, It started playing with his memory again.
It started wondering if the memories taken from Anxiety were changing the way magic interacted with him. Anxiety had his doubts about this, especially given the fact that It was the one who made magic interact with him in such a large way in the first place. But voicing any kind of objection to experiments had been another thing that he learned early on not to do.
So now, he spent most of the day that wasn’t eating or sleeping sitting on the floor of the shack as It sat in front of him and dug around in his head.
Memories flowed in and out as the hours went past, and sometimes Anxiety almost got a complete one. It was clearly more unsure about these experiments though. It didn’t even manage to hold a human form the whole time It was doing them. But they must not have been getting anywhere with It flowing the memories in and out like that, because one day Anxiety woke up tied to his bed with It hovering right nearby, not even trying to look like anything.
“Hold still,” the voices said, and that was all the warning Anxiety got before suddenly something in his head snapped, and suddenly he could remember shoving someone, and immediately after something swallowing him whole, and ow, fuck—
Magic started swirling up around him, blowing curtains and clothes and other easily movable items around the shack.
Anxiety strained against the ropes tying him down, and tried to shift himself towards It, but the next second he felt a large weight pushing him down, which was likely It, wanting him to stay in the same spot.
Anxiety grit his teeth to hold back a whimper. Fine, if It wasn’t going to let him show his pain, he damn well wasn’t going to be in pain. He reached for the pain associated with the memory, and swept it away with a mental wind. That was his memory, dammit. He got to decide whether or not it hurt.
It was silent for a moment, and after a second It gave a pleased hum. Before Anxiety could ask what that meant, the memory was suddenly stripped away again, and for the first time in a long time, Anxiety reacted.
“Hey!” he snapped. “Give it back!”
It rose up in the way that meant It was displeased. “That is not your choice, Doll,” It said, deceptively calm.
“It’s my memory,” Anxiety protested, even though he really, really shouldn’t. “You already keep me here, there could be people who miss me, who love me and you’re keeping me from them. The least you can do is—”
“The least I can do?” It said, sounding like a parent amused by their child. “Doll, I feed you, clothe you, give you a place to live, and keep you safe from a world where I can assure you that no one loves you.”
“How do you know?” Anxiety snapped.
“I made you,” It said. “No one loves my creations but me.”
“You didn’t make me. You’re keeping memories from a life before you hidden from me. That right there is proof you didn’t make me.”
“There is more than one way to make someone, Doll. I have changed you, shaped you, made you what you’ve become. I took your name and your memories from before. No one from your life before would even recognize you. I’ve made sure of that. How could they love someone so broken?”
“They must have loved me before,” Anxiety said, though it came out weak.
“Oh, Doll,” It said, forming an almost solid hand. It leaned forward and wiped away tears Anxiety hadn’t even realized were there. “That was before you became mine.”
…
Anxiety nearly tripped over a tree root when something started pulling him from off to the right. He first jumped up and leapt behind the tree, thinking it must be It, but after he waited for a couple seconds and observed the pull for a little longer, he realized how different it felt from what he was used to. What was that?
Something else tugged from behind him, in the distance. That one felt far more horribly familiar.
Anxiety started running towards the new pull. The pull itself felt stronger the closer he got to it, stronger and… slightly warm. Anxiety didn’t give himself time to question as he ran, and not less than a minute later he stumbled into a clearing in clear view of two people, one of whom he identified as the pull.
Both of them turned to face him at the sound of someone running through the woods and stumbling into their clearing. They were setting up some kind of glowing security around what looked to be a fairly large house, much larger than the shack at least. One of them, the one without the pull, was wearing a dark outfit, ridiculously fancy for Anxiety’s admittedly limited taste. Anxiety could barely see anything of his face in the dark, other than a twirled mustache. He had a large morningstar slung over his shoulder that he looked like he should be more careful with. The other, the one the pull was coming from, was wearing a long dark cloak, leaning on a cane and holding a lantern. The lantern lit up half of his face, which looked badly scarred. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t look thrilled to see a stranger desperately running towards them from the woods.
“Help,” Anxiety gasped. “Please, help me. I can’t— I can’t let It get to me, please. Please, help.”
“Ah, of course,” the one with the pull said. “Why would I not help a stranger who shows up in the middle of the night, clearly on the run from something dangerous?”
“Dee,” the other one said. “He looks really scared.”
“And what are we supposed to do about that?”
“I can— I can help you,” Anxiety stammered, stepping forward and pointing at the glowing security field. “That— that’s magic right? I’m good with magic.” He reached his hands out and pulled clouds closer, stopping them just outside the house and letting them fill up with rain. Before either of them could question what he meant, he set off a thunderstorm, blowing dangerously strong wind and rain through the trees, but stopping it firmly a couple feet before the security field.
The one with the pull looked vaguely impressed. “Showy, but effective I suppose,” he mused. “Though I don’t think you’d particularly like staying behind a field that wards off magic.”
Anxiety’s eyes widened. “No, no, that’s perfect!” he exclaimed. “I’m running from a creature made of pure magic!”
“Wait,” the one without the pull said. “A creature of pure magic? You wouldn’t be referring to the magic creature we’re fighting, would you? The one who experiments with all kinds of magic?”
“You… you know It?” Anxiety asked.
The two exchanged a glance. The one with the pull finally sighed and nodded. “Fine. Let a strange, incredibly powerful creature, likely made by the very thing we’re fighting, inside the house in the middle of the night. What could possibly go wrong?” With that, he turned and walked back towards the house.
Anxiety turned to the other one, who sighed. “Don’t mind Dee,” he said, shutting off an area of the field and letting Anxiety walk through. “He’s just cranky when he’s tired.” He turned the field back on as soon as Anxiety was through, and something in his chest loosened as he did.
“So, welcome to our humble abode!” he called, throwing an arm around Anxiety’s shoulders. “Nice to have ya. Can I get your Safety Name?”
“Um… Anxiety?”
“You sure about that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Anxiety didn’t know quite what to say.
“Safety Name’s Duke, by the way,” Duke said. “Thanks for the wicked powerful storm.”
“Thanks for letting me stay,” Anxiety whispered, slumping a little.
Duke looked at him. It was too dark for Anxiety to make out his expression. “You okay? You seem really freaked.”
“Fine,” Anxiety muttered. “Just… well, It is…” He shook his head. “Nevermind. Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay, but I’m gonna get it out of you eventually,” Duke said with a grin. “I have a special talent for getting things out of people.”
Well, from the look on “Dee’s” face, he wasn’t going to get to stay more than a night, but maybe Duke just hadn’t caught on to that yet.
Duke opened the door to the house and waved Anxiety in. Anxiety took a minute to feel for any other presences. It wasn’t anywhere.
He let out an inward sigh of relief, and walked past Duke into the house.
…
It wasn’t often gone for a long period of time, but since Anxiety had gotten his magic under control, far past the extent It was happy with, the experiments had started to slow. Anxiety wasn’t stupid enough to be relieved again.
His suspicions of It never getting any better were proven right when one night It told him that he was going to have tasks to do soon.
“And I can now trust you not to run off while doing these tasks,” It said casually. A second later It reached inside Anxiety’s magic and sped up his heart rate. “I can trust you not to run off while doing these tasks, right, Doll?”
Anxiety nodded, and It moved backwards with a satisfied hum. His heart rate started to slow. “Good. Then first thing tomorrow, you’ll be helping me find some new experiments.”
Anxiety’s heart rate sped up again. But he didn’t voice dissent. Instead, he made a quiet decision and nodded like a good magical experiment. Minutes after, It whisked off after tying Anxiety down with magic, which had always been enough in the past to keep him from escaping.
But Anxiety was not as stupid or weak as It believed, and there was no way he was going to do to others what It had done to him. He waited for half an hour after It left, then dismantled the magic tying him down, leapt up, and ran.
He was not stupid, or weak. He did not belong to It. He was not impossible to love. It was wrong.
And Anxiety was going to prove it.