Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today brings another day of testing low-risk anomalies for you. Site-19 is a hectic place, but the safer SCPs contained here make the stress worth it, you believe. It’s nice to get to talk to friendly folks like SCP-527 and SCP-166, and it’s a little reassuring that this site holds things like SCP-063, completely harmless objects that aren’t looking to snap your neck, make you into a zombie, or tear you to ribbons for looking at its face. You’d even heard about an all-terrain bike that stays perfectly still near the very containment site you’re working at. These less hostile SCP items helped you let go of the internal stigma that anomalies were just killing machines and murder monsters lurking in the night.

The first SCP you ever worked with, and the two you would consider your favorite SCP under the watchful eye of the Foundation, is SCP-131. The Eye Pods are the friendliest little guys you’ve met at this site, and they’ve both been fully bonded with you. The twins follow you around wherever you go, and spend a lot of time interacting with the other SCPs you research. You’ve even submitted a proposal to have 131 act as therapeutic helpers for SCP-1991, the poor thing. There’s not many that have earned your love more than these two little teardrop creatures, with you considering them some of your closest companions.

You expected today to be yet another fine day with the SCP-131 duo, maybe an interview with the Teenage Gaea or another swimming lesson for Mr. Fish. Things were going smoothly, you had just finished your lunch, when you heard the sound of a containment breach alarm. There seems to have been a full-site breach, and all of the horrible things this site holds have broken loose and are killing everybody. You already expect chaos to ensue, as everyone in the area will start rushing towards the safe zone.

As soon as you think about it, your thoughts come true and each and every person in the cafeteria stops enjoying their lunch and starts running towards the door. You take a second to throw out your cup of coffee from SCP-294 and start walking to the evacuation zone. In the hallway, you notice your burnt red friend, but realize that its sibling is nowhere to be seen. You jog over and call at the SCP-131 instance and it rolls over enthusiastically.

You pick up the little creature and start following your fellow scientists down a number of hallways, each one flooded with flashing red lights and blaring alarms. You ask the burnt red teardrop in your arms where the other 131 instance is, even though you don’t expect to understand its answer. The only thing you gleam from SCP-131-A’s babbling is that it sounds worried about its other half and is a bit overwhelmed by the breach. You honestly can’t blame the little guy, as you also feel a little set off by this event regardless of how many times you’ve had to handle one of these things.

You feel a little bit safer with a certain someone around to keep a constant watch of your surroundings as well as someone that can keep the infamous sculpture at bay. There’s also safety in numbers, and there’s quite a few people around you heading to the same place you are. You begin talking to one of your fellow researchers about 131 to pass the time, and both of you give said anomaly the attention he wishes for.

After what felt like an hour of conversation with your coworker and coddling 131-A, this trio finally makes it to the safe zone and the doors are just about to close. You walk through the extremely thick airtight sealed doors and place the red eye pod onto the floor to let him roll around for a bit. Now that you aren’t in any danger, you remember that 131-B is somewhere out in that chaotic world and could be in great danger. You walk around the safe area to see if anyone saw the second 131 instance, all of which said either no or that they saw it somewhere in the hallways but lost sight of it before they could call it over.

After questioning every person you can and getting nothing but unsatisfactory answers, you return to the eye pod you had with you to see it sitting by the door to the evacuation area, most likely waiting for its sibling to come back to it. If it could cry it would definitely be shedding a few tears right now, as you almost are. You walk to the little guy and try to reassure it that its sibling is definitely okay and it’ll be here in a few minutes, even though you’re not entirely sure things will be okay with the situation this site is in.

You decide to sit down against the wall, just like a few of your fellow personnel. After a second of thinking to yourself, you decide to call over your little buddy, who reluctantly leaves the door to come to your side. You place the rolling critter in your lap as you sit cross-legged. Even as it seems to relax with you by its side, SCP-131 turns its eye towards the door, still waiting for 131-B.

Things start looking grim as a few minutes, or maybe hours, pass by and still no sign of that mustard yellow anomaly. As time passes, 131-A gets more and more worried as it grows progressively more worried. It’s probably even worse for the little guy than it is for you, both because the two had never been separated for more than a minute or two and the fact that it likely has no proper grasp of time. SCP-131 likely experiences periods away from one another like how a puppy feels time when away from its owner.

For a minute, you think about how this weird little anomaly is a little bit like Oscar, your childhood pet dog. In fact, seeing 131 sitting in your lap like this reminds you of how that pup had slept in your lap whenever it got too tired from running around all day. You feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you as the little guy starts whirring around, as if it wants to get out.

Only then do you notice the knocking on the door, and wonder what could be trying so politely to get inside for so long. ‘It’s probably the plague doctor’ you think, as SCP-049 has tried on many occasions to get into this safe place merely by knocking on the door for an extended time. You decide to check the security camera to see who’s outside, carrying your eye pod friend with you. Your eyes widen as you notice the person on the other side as someone who works in the Anomalous Items Wing. How the hell they survived out there for so long, you’re not sure, but regardless you open the door and let your comrade in.

Even better than that, it seems that this person was taking good care of SCP-131 while they were out in the chaos of Site-19. A teardrop-shaped weight lifts off your chest as you let both the researcher and the mustard yellow eye pod into the room. Your half of the SCP-131 duo notices its sibling as well, and seems to be even more happy than you are. It seems that 131-B is unharmed, and you wonder if it helped the scientist survive.

The reunion of the pods is even more sweet than you had hoped. The two teardrops dance around in circles, almost perfectly in sync with one another. A faint smile grows on your face as the little guys celebrate their blissful reunion. It’s enough to make any man tear up in joy, and you think you feel a teardrop creep down your cheek.

You then turn your attention to the survivor, who seems to be rather exhausted by their journey through hell. The fact that everyone in the room is swarming the poor tired researcher with all sorts of questions doesn’t seem to be helping either. Rather than answering any of the questions being asked by personnel, the survivor decides to sit down and lean against the wall as you had done before letting them in. Before this, however, the researcher hands you a pair of plastic chattering teeth and tells you to take good care of it in a groggy voice.

The eye pods both roll over to where the researcher has decided to sit down and each one lays against one of their legs, pantomiming falling asleep. After you place the anomalous item into a nearby stray box, you grab your phone out of your pocket and take a picture of this heartwarming scene, one that you plan on treasuring for years.