multifandom oneshots/preferences

xii. contain--SCP-049 part two

f/c--fur color, i'll use this for both ears and tail 

Since your incident the other week with SCP-049, the plague doctor had only become more intrigued. What an interesting being you are, with your f/c ears that perk up when you're conversing with anyone else roaming the halls. 

049's heard a lot about your genuine cat-like abilities, as well. It seems you are more than the fetish that meets the eye. 

Researchers talk about you a lot near 049's cell...or maybe he just listens more closely when he hears the humans whisper your name. 

So when late one chilly fall night, when you were climbing about on the rafters in the hallways, of course SCP observed your talents. Your balance was incredible as you leapt from a rafter to light fixtures. 

Then, he is caught. 

"Hey there, 049," you chirp, parkouring from a light onto a ledge on the wall down to the floor in front of the plague doctor. 

"Hello, Y/n. Are you having a good night?"

"I guess so. Just a bit restless," you shrug. "And you?"

"It is going very slowly," 049 looks back at his table. "My experiments as of late have been failing."

"That sucks," you sympathize, scanning the cell. Notebooks and vials and tools are scattered everywhere. You swallow the anxiety that the scene conjures up for you. It reminds you of that old facility...the experiments...the constant shots and how they would hold you down...

"Y/n?" 049 taps the plexiglass to get your attention.

"Hm?" your gaze snaps back to him. 

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, just zoned out," you nod. 

"Are you sure?"

"Well, I mean, not technically, being institutionalized and all, but I'll figure it out."

"You speak like 035," the plague doctor crosses his arms. "In half truths and riddles and thinly veiled lies."

"Forgive me for not wanting to spill my traumatized guts to a relative stranger," you defend. "I don't suppose you're enthusiastic about telling me all the failures you've had lately."

"Mmm."

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for some other response that's not a hum. 

"Apologies, Y/n," the beak lowers. "I occasionally forget that not everyone is my patient."

"So you've heard some things, haven't you?" you tilt your head. "Can't imagine the incriminating things people have confessed to you on their deathbeds."

"I have been something of a therapist for many infected with the Pestilence."

A grim silence falls over the two of you as the memories flow. You're not sure how to describe it, but some inexplicable mutual bond is formed over the collective pain of your memories.

It's almost comforting to have this moment of recognizing hurt. No one is studying you, trying to monitor your behavioral patterns, or anything like that. It's just a thing that kind of happened. 

...

So apparently you and the plague doctor click and the conversation continues for another three hours. At about 2 in the morning, you're about to fall asleep and you tell 049 that you hope there can be more conversations like this one before leaving. 

It's so cute when the next thing you know, a researcher is dragging you out of your hammock, doing more tests on you, then sitting down and telling you that you're now a Euclid class anomaly because of some more observations that have been made. 

...

thanks for reading! 

i also have a question for my scp fans out there--

should i make some isaac watchthorne oneshots? i love scp sedition and as im slowly working my way through the series i just become more and more fascinated by his character so lmk if you have a request!