ph_logs | Crichton's wayward yellow sons

Crichton's wayward yellow sons | OTA

Who: Crichton & Open
What: His yellow son(s) have gone missing
When: July (for the length of time Runt and Yellow's players are on hiatus)
Where: Around town
Warning: Crichton is very distraught, gonna be self-indulgent sad feelings threads, CW: alcoholism

A handwritten bulletin goes up on the board in early July. It reads:

MISSING CHILD If you see a large, yellow larva with many legs, a black back, two curved horns, that answers to the name of Runt, please notify Enforcers immediately. Ask for John Crichton. [There is also a reasonably accurate sketch of Runt included on the bottom of the notice]

The First Night [Meta]
Today was supposed to be nothing out of the ordinary. Their morning routine was the same as every other day. Sure, Runt seemed a little hungrier, but he's been growing so fast. It's been in the back of Crichton's mind, all this time, that Runt will need to pupate soon. But he wasn't prepared for it to be today.

However, here it is, well past supper time, almost to true nightfall, and Runt still has not come home. Crichton called around to everyone he could think of. No one had seen the not-so-little guy around all day. No one. Not since this morning. Runt didn't even stop into Max's bakery to beg for scraps, and he does that almost daily. So... what else can Crichton think?

Still, the what-ifs haunt him relentlessly as he sits on the edge of the couch bouncing his legs and chewing his thumb to shreds, waiting for the hours to pass. If... oh god--if Runt was killed by something, then there would be no body to find now even if he looked. Surely, Runt's poor little ghost would come back home to wait, so it would be better to be here for all the comfort it could bring. But it's so damn hard to stay sitting on this sofa when what he wants more than anything is to be out there combing the wilderness.

This helpless feeling... was this how his dad felt too? How many days did he sit just like this, worrying himself sick, unable to do anything meaningful about it? How many times did he think about stealing a space shuttle to go up there and check for himself? How long did it take before he finally gave up and accepted his son was gone forever?

"Dad..." Crichton sobs into his own shoulder. "I'm sorry. I miss you." He could really use some advice right now, too.

***

That next morning, Crichton is up with the sunrise. He does the bare minimum to make himself presentable before speeding out to the constabulary. There, he grabs writing supplies and pens a missing sign for the bulletin board. He goes there, next, to hang it up.

From the square, he goes to Max's bakery. There's still been no sign of Runt, but Max offers Crichton the endless box of hot dogs to borrow as bait. It was, admittedly, a little jarring to think of luring his son out with food in a trap like a stray cartoon cat, but actually, the more he considers it, the more he wonders if that might work. Max seemed confident. So, what the hell? At least he'll have something to feed Runt if he finds him. Right before he wrings that long neck (lovingly) for worrying him like this.

Searching [OTA]
Crichton can be found all over town and the edge of the woods, carrying the box under one arm, calling out Runt's name at the top of his lungs. If he spots someone coming by, he'll rush over to ask, "Hey, have you seen Runt? You know that yellow centipede-looking kiddo I had strapped to my chest all the time? Have you seen him today?"

[FYI, I know this is sad times post, but I am so up for shenanigans involving this hotdog box. Shamelessly.]

Seeking Comfort & Friends To Hold Him [cw: alcoholism]
A few days go by; Crichton has to accept that he isn't going to find Runt by looking for him all over the island. (Not even in Paradesium, and he had looked there, too.) He has to believe that this means it's time for Runt to pupate. He can't accept any other option. But, why, oh why, didn't he have the chance to say one last farewell? Just... just in case. He thought Runt would stay nearby to do it, to stay safe. Crichton was already planning an expansion in the basement. This is all so sudden.

Though he's given up the search for Runt, a new one begins just as desperately. Runt isn't the only member of his family that's gone missing. Yellow, too, has vanished. And, unlike Runt, he doesn't seem to need to pupate. (Though, he could be wrong about that.) Could the two have gone somewhere together? It's tempting to consider. But it doesn't help answer anything. So, now all that's left is to somehow find the will to keep going. Sally and Gwen still need him. His friends still need him. His work still needs him. So, he presses on.

But if someone comes to ask him how he's doing, it won't take much before he breaks down again. "I-I-I'm trying my goddamn best not to march into a bar and order a double," he says to those he trusts most. To the rest, it's some version of, "I'm holding it together as much as I can. Thanks for checking on me," with a smile that can't reach his eyes.

[Meta: Good News, Runt's Conclusion]
It's thankfully only a week of suffering before something miraculous occurs. Crichton awakens to a knock on his door. He jolts up out of bed and races to answer--nearly yanks the door off its hinges in his haste. There, on his doorstep, is that strange fae girl, Elsie.

She holds up the bulletin he wrote and points to it. "I know where Runt is."

Crichton only waits long enough to get shoes and a shirt on, and then he rushes out the door, begging her to lead him there. She does, in her own way. Turns out he didn't really need the shoes to travel by shadow. Any other day, he'd want to unpack what just happened to him, but not today. Today, he needs to see Runt more than he needs to understand how shadow magic works.

"He is sleeping there," Elsie says, pointing to a mossy patch nestled beneath the roots of her dazzling Mother tree like it's tucked under a protective embrace. "He is growing. Elsie keep him safe."

Crichton manages to croak out "Thank you," before he collapses to his knees and bawls into the lush grass.

Elsie awkwardly shuffles away to let him have some privacy. (But others in the woods might hear and could decide to investigate if they wished.)

[ooc: Open to wildcards too!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yeah, Gaeta can't say he's at all surprised by Crichton's answer. After only a brief hesitation, he shifts his weight so he can put an arm around his shoulders.

"Let's go for a walk, all right?" he says, low. "It's cooler down by the docks than up here."

And farther from the Oak & Iron than most other places Gaeta can think up.

"I'd like that," he says with a grateful sigh as Gaeta's arm settles on him. He won't mind being a human crutch if it means keeping this much contact the whole way there. It's what he needs most.

"Be good to... clear my head."

"I think it will, too," he murmurs.

He keeps his arm around Crichton as they walk, but hardly leans any of his weight on him. Crichton's supported him plenty of times before. Now, Gaeta can try to return the favor.

"Do you want to talk about it at all?" A tiny, mostly humorless smile. "You can also tell me to frak off and we can talk about something else. I won't mind."

"I think I do," he answers after a long pause. "I might pull my hair out if I don't." It feels like the words are already fighting to break free from his chest and he knows Gaeta will listen without judgement.

"I... don't think I've ever told you that this isn't my first child, technically. Like a lot of things, it's more complicated than all that. The, uh... woman I loved was pregnant when I got pulled away. And, before that, there was another child that, well, she's genetically mine, but she'll be raised by another man never knowing her real origins." It was a happy ending for the adoptive parents, but it remains an emotional scar on his heart.

"It's just that I want to be a father so badly and I'm terrified that every time I come close... something else is going to take them away. I can't... I can't stand the thought of losing him, man." He starts to break down in tears, his back shaking from the effort of holding it all in.

"I knew this was coming, but I wasn't ready yet."

"I had no idea." Gaeta exhales, like a weight has settled on his lungs to squeeze out all the air. "Gods. I'm sorry, Crichton."

Gaeta's never really had the same drive to be a parent. (As he's half-joked on occasion: he wasn't particularly good around kids even when he was a kid.) But every rare time the number of Fleet citizens ticked upward, instead of continuing its inexorable slide toward zero, it lifted everybody's hearts -- Gaeta's included. And he's witnessed enough grieving parents over the years to grasp a shadow of their pain.

Still quiet, and gentle, "Just because something has happened before doesn't mean it's going to happen again, though. I don't blame you for worrying. Believe me. But even people who leave on the ferry come back sometimes. And if something happens to Runt while he's pupating... with the way the barrier's set up, he'll make it through eventually. You're not going to lose him."

Right? Please, gods, he thinks: let him be right. He'll never forgive himself if he ends up giving Crichton false hope.

"Doesn't usually come up at parties," he says lamely, pressing his face into one hand.

But he nods along with Gaeta's words, drawing in slow breaths and purposefully opening up his listening ears. As long as he has a friend here the despair can't claim him.

"I know you're right. I keep telling myself the same and sometimes I can even get myself to believe it. He'll pull through, I have to believe that. But, you wanna know what the worst part of this really is? Now I know what it felt like to be my dad on Earth, watching his only son disappear into space, never to see him again. I hate that I did that to my old man. And I hate that I can't ask him how he dealt with it, either."

Oh, Crichton. His heart squeezes, a little; Gaeta gives Crichton's shoulders a tiny squeeze to match.

"Well, honestly," he says, "I don't think that's the worst comparison to make. Because you know what?" A tiny smile. "You did see your dad again. Just last year. It might have taken time, but it happened."

"I did. I did see him again." He grips onto Gaeta's words like he's holding onto a lifeline.

"And now at least he knows it wasn't anything he could have predicted or prevented." No more than Crichton could have. No more than any father ever can, no matter how powerful and invincible they want to seen to their kids.

The smallest of smiles starts in the corner of his lips as he says, "Runt better not keep me waiting that long."

"He won't." Gaeta tries for a light joke. "How long can a clay worm pupate for, anyway? With as much as he started eating, he'll have enough energy to get it done in a week."

That finally gets a full laugh. "You know, if it weren't for John selling me those hot dogs on the cheap, he might have eaten me out of house and home. Never skipped a meal, I promise you, but I'm pretty sure he still had half the town feeding him through the day, especially at the bakery. I didn't teach him the art of begging, but someone sure as hell did. Got to the point I already started fixing up the basement for him, in case he needs the room to grow into."

Gaeta snorts, amused. "Yeah, he tried to steal my sandwich during the Cucumber Festival, then got so sad when I took it back that I ended up giving him half anyway. I couldn't say no to those eyes."

Or that sad, sad little wamp.

"Tell me about the basement, though." A distraction from the immediate pain, plus thinking ahead to a time when Runt will be back. "What've you got set up so far?"

"Heh, sorry about that." Crichton chuckles. "Learned that from his sister Gwen. You should see when the two of them team up together. We didn't have a hope of refusing them." Many, many ice cream cones were acquired this way.

Despite his worry, his expression begins to relax as he explains, "See, the thing is this won't be his last life stage change. He'll grow up into a bipedal first, and he'll stay that way for a long time, but eventually he's going to get bigger. Think, Jabba the Hutt bigger. So I'm working on making a hatch on the outside that'll be wide enough. And the floor plan is obviously going to be open. I'm not the richest man in town, so it's piecemeal, but so far I got a double bed and a sofa ready for him. I figure I'll leave the decorations and whatnot up to whatever he decides."

"Jabba the what?" Baffled. " -- never mind."

Must be another Earth thing. Anyway, he can get the gist from context. His smile grows as he watches Crichton relax into the conversation, just like he'd hoped.

"Sounds pretty perfect for a teenager's first apartment. All it needs is some movie posters." A considering pause. "Theater paintings? I don't know what the frak teenagers put on their walls if there aren't any movies or posters."

(He can't explain now, or they'll be here for hours.)

"Man..." Crichton says with slow dawning, "You're right. What do teens around her decorate with? I tell you, of all the things I really miss from Earth and from the modern era, it's television. I miss movies so much I'm tempted to invent them myself." Could he? Maybe? He has a lot of technical knowledge. Even if it isn't in that area, there's got to be some crossover.

"What was your favorite as a kid? What poster was hanging in teenage Gaeta's bedroom?"

"You know," he says thoughtfully, "I don't think I had any movie posters. I had a whole lot of other junk, though. Gods, I picked up a new hobby every other week, it felt like. Model kits, art supplies, pictures I took when I was going through a photography phase, quotes from famous scientists -- "

(If Gaeta had been born on Earth, he definitely would've had that poster of Einstein sticking out his tongue.)

" -- maybe a couple magazine covers of cute celebrities." An embarrassed laugh. "Oh, and a toy battlestar hanging from the ceiling. That stuck around no matter what. Everything else changed, but... I always wanted to fly on a battlestar someday. So I guess it wasn't necessarily stuff I liked. It was more like -- ambitions. Hopes. Dreams. That sort of thing."

"I hope I'm not putting my foot in my mouth by saying this but, at least after everything you've been through, you could still go back in time and tell that teenage version of yourself that you did it. You sailed the stars on a battlestar." Yes, the metaphorical seas were rough, and the trip was one way, but he still got that much of his childhood dream to come true.

"Me? I had a Top Gun poster and uh... an embarrassing number of pin-ups featuring Winona Ryder"

"Yeah." A little rueful, but Gaeta's still smiling. "It's bittersweet, for sure. But it's something."

Hopefully his teenage self wouldn't recoil from the rest of Gaeta's life. Not even the fall of the Colonies, really. Everything else in between. The choices he made. The harm he caused, even though he tried so hard to cause as little as possible.

He leans in a bit, the smile turning more impish. "Okay, but now you have to describe what Winona Ryder looked like so I can get an idea of your teenage taste. Spare no detail."

"Man ..." he says with a gremlin grin, "She was a goth hottie." And he only just now realizes that ladies in black and leather seem to be a recurring theme for him... whoops. that makes a lot of things make sense.

"She had one of those spiky rocker girl haircuts 'cause she wasn't like the other girls, you know. She wasn't polite and proper and, well, I guess growing up suburban catholic and the son of a national hero might'a given me some inclination for bad girls and rebelling."

"What?" says Gaeta in between snickers. "You, a rebel? A rulebreaker? No, never. Not John Crichton."

Yeah, that's all he can manage before the laughter completely takes over.

"Yeah, yeah," his voice drips with amused sarcasm. "Who'd ever expect that outt'a me?" Literally everyone.

"You know... I have a feeling that's gonna come back to bite me when Runt finally does come home. If he's a chip off the old block, then I'm in for it, aren't I?"

Completely straight-faced, Gaeta says:

"He's going to come back with his horns dyed black and wearing a spiked collar. The stage after pupation is 'goth teenager.'"

"He'd look pretty sick like that," Crichton says with a snort. "Hell, maybe I'll give my black leather duster to him. He'd probably rock it harder than I do."

"And then all you need," says Gaeta, "is a couple pictures of Winona to stick on his wall."

He bumps Crichton's shoulder with his own.

Crichton laughs the kind of laugh that feels like release, and shakes his head affectionately.

"Yeah, or whatever the equivalent of that is here. I'm sure he'll have plenty of his own ideas, too."

Crichton can't wait to find out what they are.

On a balmy evening, late enough that the fireflies are out and the forest is veritably buzzing with life, a peculiar shape emerges wearing nothing but the the yellow of his flesh and the blue-black of his carapace. The tilt of his head is natural only to himself. At the Mother Tree, where the last of his larval Flesh remains in a pocket under the roots, he looks up into the branches with a sleepy expression. His hand lifts to touch the bark and a sound like a plucked guitar string accompanies it with a subtle vibration of the air around him. He waves, bidding a wordless farewell to Elsie. She had been his caretaker when he'd cone to ground after all. He would not forget her here.

He walks, unsteadily at first, new legs and higher-than-normal perspective shift making the world feel like it's swaying just a little bit as Runt, the missing Wayne, travels the familiar paths back into the middle of the village. He may not stand out much here, until he opens his mouth, and lets out a lower-pitched wamp. Someone might be able to point him toward home; he's looking for Crichton. Then he can look for some pants.

Edited 2025-08-01 23:49 (UTC)

Crichton is an entire block away, but when he hears that faint womp his heart skips several beats. He hastily ends his conversation with a local and sprints in the direction he heard it come from. When he comes around the corner, he lets out a half-sob of pure relief, then shouts louder, "Runt!"

That's his son, he knows by looking. The slight tilt of his horns is new and mildly concerning, but he has no way to know if it's really a problem. Right now, all that matters is that his adoptive child has returned to him fully grown and healthy enough by the looks of it. He's a beautiful sight for this dad's tired eyes.

"Runt, thank god you're back," he says again as he rushes to sweep the newly formed wayne into his arms. "God, you're so tall now."

Runt's head swivels in the direction of his name, and the sound that he makes is quickly compressed into something of a quack when he's wrapped up in that tight, protective embrace. He smiles reflexively and rests his cheek against Crichton's forehead. His arms are free enough that they can wrap around his shoulders in turn.

Up close, he looks marbled in the sunlight, with more earthen tones rippling through his yellow. After all, this world's dirt isn't like that on his homeworld, so of course it wasn't going to change him in quite the same ways. He definitely looks younger than the grown Wayne that Crichton had known, and is a little softer to the touch, though not in that way that enzyme breakdown caused his predecessor to be. He's just freshly extruded!

As soon as the grip on him slacks just enough, he puts his hands on Crichton's shoulders, and looks down at himself. He may be tall, taller than dad by at least a cranium's length, but he's fairly slim, body featureless outside of the scars rippling up his sides from his shed legs.

"Need pants," he finally manages to spit out, though it still sounds a little garbled as he gets his tongue around it.

This is Runt's first hug as a wayne, and his first words! Crichton's trying not to get emotional in 5 new ways about it. He's already given up on any pretense of not crying from the relief. But they turn into wet laughs once he fully parses what Runt said and why. He looks down and just... goes into hysterics.

"Y-yeah, buddy. You sure do, now. Come on, let's go find some, huh?"

Now that the panic has dissolved inside his chest, Crichton can let himself get a better look at his freshly extruded son. The differences are notable, but probably nothing to be too worried over, right? He hopes that's right.

"How do you feel? Are you hungry?"

Wayne uses the space put between them to put his hands on Crichton's face and smooshes it gently, beaming back at him. Dad might be on an emotional roller coaster, but Runt is feeling fresh and funky and ready to take on the world from a slightly higher vantage point.

So he wamps enthusiastically, putting his hands on narrow hips like a man with all the confidence in the world, and looks around toward the busiest part of the village where he knows that there's a lot of food that he can pack in.

Now he just can't end up like a possum in a jelly donut box. Alas.

Crichton soaks it all in with the most radiant of smiles. Runt's touch, his new voice, and fresh confidence are a magnificent sight to behold.

"Look at you," Crichton whispers in awe. His pride and joy growing up so big and so full of wonder for the world. Crichton knows right here and now that he'll do anything to keep that joy alive.

He shakes himself out of his reverie and laughs again, "Yeah, that's what I thought. Today's a special day, so let's go big, huh? Pants first, then we can do a tour of the town, and pick something to eat from every place. Sound fun?"

Runt's smile can't get any bigger, as he beams back and clasps his hands in front of him, briefly trying to figure out his fingers then pointing off toward home. Now he can actually point!

Ignore the excited little bit of Will that manifests with a tiny guitar pluck at the ends of his fingers.

Crichton can't take his eyes off of every adorable motion. It's endearing watching Runt figure his new form out. Man, there's going to be no keeping him out of the cookie jar now, is there? (He notices that faint guitar pluck and feels a small tingle of worry over how learning that skill is going to go, but for now he doesn't let that show. That's a future problem.)

"Good, you still remember which direction our house is. I have a surprise waiting for you there. I think you'll like it."

What's worse, there will be no stopping him from getting into absolutely everything and helping Gwen to do the same. He can reach the high shelves, grab the cookies, and hide them where only the two of them would know. Downside: he can no longer be picked up and held like a football, and that kinda sucks.

He makes a sound that sort of approaches the two syllable word, but alas, tongues are hard to figure out on the fly. He'd get it eventually.

Crichton is already drawing up mousetrap blueprints in his head to protect the cookie jar from this soon-to-be menace duo, but he knows in his heart he won't be able to stop them.

"Good first try. We can work on your pronunciation together, okay?"

Runt looks down at his hands, flexes his fingers, then puts up a thumbs-up. Hell yeah, he's so ready to do normal person things. On the walk through the village, he will periodically make a sound, figuring out mouth movements, arm movements, how not to roll his ankle on a curb.

"Wwwem. Mom." The tone is a little concerned, a little questioning: how are they going to react to this change?

"That's my boy," Crichton answers proudly while returning that thumbs up.

Crichton has to remind himself not to hover roughly two dozen times on the short walk. He's got to let this growing wayne figure it out on his own. Damn, it's hard.

"They'll both love you just as much," Crichton answers, seeming to read Runt's mind as only a parent can. "They are going to be so excited about how tall you are. You can give Gwen piggy-back rides. She'll love it."

Communities of Waynes have custodians when they're still larvae. This time, it's the other way around, with a single Wayne raised by a village. How exciting.

Runt can't help but wamp his approval of the idea of getting to big brother Gwen, carrying her around and helping her get into mischief. They would be unstoppable. Sorry Crichton.

He's already mentally cataloging all the ways his life is about to become so much more complicated. At least with humans there's some stages of life between baby and big enough to reach the top of the refrigerator, but not for Runt.

"You'll both love it, I know you will. I want you to mind what Sally says, too, okay? She gets the final word in what Gwen is allowed to do. In fact, they both might be coming to live with us pretty soon. Would you like that?"

At least in addition to his new size Runt has had the chance to learn from those around him, thanks to the nature of how the larvae learn. He's not totally mature, no, but he's at least smarter than your average newly upright kid!

Reassuring Crichton with a small sound, Runt flashes him the cheeriest double-thumbs-up. He has no reason not to listen to Sally, especially since she's the one that brings around Gwen. Briefly he wonders about the other little girl that has come to see Gwen and Sally on occasion, but he would bring that up when he has more words to inquire about Louise too.

Now as they move, Crichton is going to hear Runt verbalizing, getting his mouth around some sounds that get close to words here and there. He'd be teaching Gwen swear words in no time.

"Good, I'm so glad to hear that." And relieved. Having everyone under one roof would make the job of babysitting easier, even if his living room might end up looking like a daycare center at certain times. He doesn't really mind that either; he's always wanted a house full of kiddos.

"I told you I was making you your own bedroom in the basement, right? I've got most of it put together now, but I thought I'd leave decorating it up to you." Like he was telling Gaeta, he used to hang posters on the wall as a teen, and Runt will be encouraged to do the same.

"That's sounding pretty good, by the way, you really are a fast learner. Can you try... well..." his face is just a touch flushed, "Could you try calling me 'Dad?'"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Crichton's wayward yellow sons | OTA

seeking comfort

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moving toward wrap?

yeah, here seems good <3

Wildcard: Runt's Return

Re: Wildcard: Runt's Return

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