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Heckler's Secret	By : LeonardMarsupial Category: +G through L > Lilo and Stitch Views: 4677 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Lilo and Stitch. In addition, I own neither Lilo, nor Stitch, nor do I own anyone, or thing, appearing in this story. I make nothing off of this work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
Before anything else, I want to say thanks for the reviews from the previous chapters. I admit it wasn't easy making these things in the first place. When I was editing this chapter I almost lost count on how many times I had to redo this, making sure the story was believable and managed to connect the previous chapters together. Basically I wanted to keep everyone in character as much I could. I took me a long time to finish it. Although I still have little doubt whether I should put this one up. But oh well. might as well strike while the iron is hot. Can't keep you guys waiting for long.
So I hope you all enjoy this next one.

The clock struck midnight and one.
A strong, cold breeze swept through the small windows in the room, the gossamer curtains swaying along with it. Erratic breathing and quiet whimpers resonated from Heckler as his mind slipped the surly bonds of reality.
He stepped into a vast darkness. The sense of foreboding followed right behind. He didn't quite understand how he ended up here. The darkness was unnerving. Surreal, crushing, dark — he felt lost. The only thing that comforted him was the sound of his own two feet tapping on…ground? 'What is all this?'
The darkness shimmered. Hairs stood on end as the wind rushed. His paws clung to his elbows. His mind clung to sanity.
"Hello, is anyone here?" he squinted at where the shimmer had been, now an empty patch of space. 'Something is definitely out there.'

The laughter rose from nowhere. Childish, innocent, and yet, menacing. Footsteps, regular and terrifying, clacked from all around. 'I'm not alone.' Whispers disturbed the still air.
"Slick…you there?"
Whispers loudened. He turned, and from everywhere, random voices spoke and echoed. In the corner of his eye, a figure stood at a distance, its enormous dark eyes — seemingly lit from within — locked onto him. Heckler chanced a few steps, leaning for a clearer look. "Slick?"
His examination proved fruitful. Not one, but several entities, watched him with great interest. Heckler blinked, ensuring he cleared any lies from his eyes. They still stood. He furrowed his brow, irritated that he failed to make out any of their features.
He snarled as he planted his feet and raised his fists. He hoped they would leave on their own. When they stubbornly refused, he did his best to hide his fear. Though his voice cracked a bit, he got out his threat. "Whoever you are…I—I'm warning you, stop right there."
From somewhere— maybe above, or below, or within — a faint light grew to illuminate a mostly empty room, infinite yet constrained. Ahead, the figures were resolving. Heckler could see what had lurked in the dark. Slowly but surely, the entities were revealed to be the experiments — his cousins, his ohana. And as the light grew, they drew nearer. Soon, Heckler was mobbed with his cousins. He scanned the crowd. A few of them sported arched brows or pursed lips. Heckler tried to pick out Slick, but the boater hat was conspicuously absent.
"Hey guys, what's with the funny faces? Someone rainin' on your parade?" he jabbed to ease the strange tension he sensed. That failed.
Bonnie was the first to speak — inquisitorial and harsh. "Oh no, now first of all, you need to shut your yap. Second, we should be the one asking questions. Like…what exactly made you fall in love with a male cousin?" Bonnie smirked as the words smacked Heckler.
"Wait a sec, guys…y—you think I'm gay? You're joking, right?" A giggle bubbled up from the brew of vexation and terror boiling in his gut.
"Hey homo, you don't need to hide it anymore. Just admit you're a fag. Go ahead, get on with it," Nosy snorted, his disgust palpable.
Heckler tried his best not to look bothered by Nosy's tripe. "Now try not to get insulted here, but that nose of yours is so big, it keeps blowing itself into other people's business." Heckler adjusted his posture. "And for your information, I'm still straight as a stick."
Heckler had tried his best, and thought he had done an adequate job. Yet, as he looked over the crowd, he knew one particular experiment could ruin his fabrication. And, sure enough, the buzz tore through the group. Fibber, on Heckler's periphery, rushed to center stage, and buzzed again for good measure.
"Well then, Pants on Fire. And don't waste your breath protesting. Fibber is never wrong," declared Bonnie. "So, what to do about you, liar…."
The mob of his cousins swelled. They started shouting. The room rapidly filled with a din of denigration.
"It's purely disgusting!" cried out Gigi.
"Dirty, dirty, dirty!" Felix decreed.
It was a rarity for Heckler to be left speechless. He never told anyone about himself in that way, and he wondered how the cousins had even found out. The more he thought, the more questions were raised that he himself didn't want to answer.
He stood quiet and dumbfounded, while all of them were shouting, screaming, filling the room with noise. They clenched their hands and raised their fists. He was curious if this was what it felt like to be a criminal, to be truly and utterly despised. He had been outed, exposed, and in a matter of moments, everyone that he knew and loved had viciously shunned him.
"Looks like I have a lot to explain, but seeing that you all wouldn't understand…eh, screw y'all then!" Despite their anger, when he approached them, a path started to clear itself. A deep breath, and he entered.
He made his way through the mob. Words like "queer" and "fag" pummeled him from the onset. But, perhaps worst of all, were the ones who said nothing. The cousins who shared the title of ohana with him now looked away, turned their backs, and kept to themselves. The silence crushed him more profoundly than any word ever could.
The path was winding, and he wasn't quite sure of where he was headed. Over time, as he wandered, he realized the path had transformed into a maze. At each dead end or wrong turn, a cousin would laugh hysterically mere inches from Heckler's face. The labyrinth of mockery spun him around and ground him down.
"Jumba didn't make any gay experiments. You should have been nuked," shouted Clyde when Heckler reached the middle of the mob.
"Yeah! Stop lying and just kill yourself!" Ace added before trying to shove a gleaming kitchen knife into Heckler's unwilling hands.
Heckler dodged the knife. But he could not dodge Angel. Her haymaker of a slap left a deep welt on his cheek. "Naga isa homo!"
Heckler had barely started to rub the mark on his face before Manners stepped in front and ridiculed him in proper fashion. "You are a very ill-mannered individual. As a fellow experiment, I pity you."
The tears were nearly impossible — painful, even — to hold back. "Stop! Please stop!" Heckler demanded. "You guys don't know me! You don't understand…."
The crowd parted as a large figure bumbled toward him. Heckler was too drained to protest as Jumba halted a few feet ahead. He launched his weary body at the scientist, seeking comfort from his creator. Relief surged in his gut. He knew that the experiments, all Jumba's creations, would listen to him and his reason. But relief was premature. Heckler had just latched onto the scientist's meaty leg before Jumba kicked him off into open ground, alone.
"You are not my creation! My experiments are not f*** like you! You are a real…blech, a stinkaroo of a design!"
He had toiled through the gauntlet, only to be rejected by the gatekeeper. By his creator. Heckler finally snapped. "What! Are you kidding me!"
"I am not being kidding. If you want to be accepted as ohana, you must choose female experiment, not male." Jumba bordered on pedantic. "Is better that way for you. Trust your creator."
Heckler was aghast. His mouth hung open as he slowly backed away. The relief hardened and sunk. He felt sick. Alone in the circle, surrounded by spite, he fell to his knees and covered his face in shame.
Jumba, his creator, the one who had designed him down to the very last gene, had rejected him. Blood chilled in Heckler's veins. He shuddered as he spoke up. "Jumba…I, how could you?"
Jumba seemed to pay Heckler no mind. By now, he was prodding the rest of the experiments to action. "Come now, my little creations. Let us all be putting the hurt on him."
"Yeah, let's straighten him out." Knuckles cracked and muscles tensed. Heckler's eyes went wide.
They all erupted in terrible laughter, having been given freedom by their creator to spread infectious malice. Several experiments tossed heavy looks of disgust at him. Others unleashed curses in their native Tantalog tongue. The cacophony swelled with the mob.
"This won't end well." Heckler buckled down and prepared for the worst.
And the worst was delivered swiftly. Kixx struck first, leaving an indelible welt on Heckler's back. He refused to cry out, to satisfy his cousins' awful cravings. But, after several — many — more hits, his breathy grunts took on more substance.
His back was not alone in the suffering. When Kixx got bored, he went in front of Heckler and kicked and punched his chest and stomach. Again and again, the blows were delivered. Heckler held out for a time — he was even a bit surprised by how long it was — before his grunts devolved into screams. Like moths drawn to flame, they descended on his screams with flying fists and feet. The beating was severe, truly brutal. But Heckler refused to pass out, to give up.
Those who kept their fists to themselves still mercilessly mocked Heckler. The shouts and screeches filled his ears. Were he not being kicked in the stomach, and his back, and all over, it may have been the perfect time to put his programmed skills to use. However, even a whimper from Heckler was greeted with a hit.
But others employed their programmed skills with fervor. Sparky unleashed his electrical powers and endlessly zapped Heckler with a web of lightning. Elastico used his elastic ability to transform into a slingshot, which PJ then loaded with egg pies, dousing Heckler in filling and crumbs. The room had been empty, devoid of anything beyond the cruelty of his cousins; yet, rocks had found their ways into some cousins' hands. Heckler could hear the stones bruising his bones.
When the crowd finally — blessedly — drew back, the experiment tried not to shudder. The heap of broken bones and bruised flesh lay crumpled on the cold floor. He was cowering in sheer terror, too shocked — and too scared — to even move a muscle, numbed to the room around him.
For a well deserved cruel finale, several experiments doused the already weakened experiment with a bucket of ice cold water. Heckler could not stop himself from shivering due to the gellid temperature of the water that awashed his whole body.
'I guess it was my fault. I didn't give them much reason to think otherwise,' a voice whimpered in his head. 'Still, they could have been more patient, more forgiving, more accepting.'
All of it was too much to bear. Numbness spread along his limbs, to the tips of fingers and toes. As feeling evacuated his body, the experiments evacuated the room. One by one, they disappeared into nothing, into encroaching darkness. His vision blurred, gossamer curtains pulled over his eyes. His head, and the room, spun, faster and faster. Dizzy, ill, Heckler stayed on the ground, and let the darkness pour over him.

TO BE CONTINUED
- 2
- 3
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Heckler's Secret