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five-rivers · 4 years ago

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Long Night in the Valley chapter 8

A young man walked in. His hair was dark, the style conservative. The only thing that stood out about him was his high-collared jacket.

Aizawa knows who this man is, for much the same reasons that Uraraka knew Skyrunner.

Fidelity had literally written the book on underground heroism. It hadn’t been published until his death.

The lights flickered. The murmuring of the shadows rose, then cut off abruptly, the shadows disappearing along with Nana. The projector screen changed. It now read:

Greetings 9’s Friends! (And teacher.)

“This was my last mission briefing before I died,” said the young man. “At least, that’s what I’d say if I was really Fidelity.”

“You��re saying you aren’t,” said Aizawa, keeping his voice level.

The screen behind him changed to read Vestiges: what you need to know.

“I am based on Fidelity. I’m also based on Railgun.”

“The hero who took down Destro?” asked Uraraka, clenching her fists and briefly floating in excitement.

Why was she not getting a better grade in history?

“Not exactly. He wasn’t actually captured until years later.”

“But you broke his charge, his army! And all by yourself!”

“Railgun did, yes. I’ve put together a little presentation for you guys. Hope you don’t mind. We all figured you wouldn’t want to go any further without an explanation of sorts.” He said this all with an enviably flat voice, despite his friendly words. His body language was controlled and to the point.

Darn Midoriya for managing to build a fantasy that was so close to what Aizawa had always imagined the man to be like.

(He was not a fan of Fidelity. Underground heroes did not have fans. It defeated the point.)

(He pointedly ignored his memories of the bootleg Eraserhead merchandise Midoriya and Yamada had snuck to Eri.)

“You’d be right,” said Aizawa.

“Cool,” said Six. “Before we begin, I want you to understand that much of what I’m going to tell you will be a lie.”

“What?” said Iida, confused. “Then what’s the point?”

“The point is, there will be enough truth in it to get you through this safely, and enough falsehood to prevent the commission from taking advantage of Nine later, should they be watching what’s happening here with a quirk we can’t detect.”

“Nine?”

“Izuku,” clarified Six.

“Who you called Nine because…?”

“If we count in order of when we were supposedly born, he’s the ninth. Although, really, he’s the first. I’ll explain in a moment.” He pointed to the screen. “We call ourselves vestiges, and, like I said, we are all based on real people. We’re part of Nine’s quirk.” The screen switched to show Midoriya with eight shadowy figures behind him. “I want to stress that Nine wasn’t aware of us until the sports festival. Specifically…”

The screen now showed Midoriya’s fight with Hitoshi, right before he broke his fingers. Aizawa recognized the image as a still from one of the cameras. Except those eight shadows were there as well, right in front of Midoriya.

“You had something to do with him breaking his fingers and getting out of Shinsou’s quirk.”

“We don’t mix well with mental quirks, apparently. Nine minds all together at once are too many, even if eight of them are fictional. It’s an interesting side effect. Speaking of which.”

The new slide was a picture. An edited picture. Of a person giving a presentation.

“Is that a meme?” asked Todoroki.

“Yes,” said Six.

The slide read, You were never in All Might’s mind. Nine was just confused.

That meme was so old Aizawa could feel himself taking psychic damage just by looking at it.

“You’ve been passing through our, the vestiges’, mindscapes. Eight is simply based on All Might.”

That would be a relief, if not for the fact that that Six had admitted he was going to lie. Also, there was something off about the whole explanation.

Iida raised his hand. “Excuse me! You claim that you are part of Midoriya��s quirk, but you haven’t explained how!”

“I’m getting to that,” said Six. “Todoroki-san, you’re the one who is always saying how similar Nine and All Might’s quirks are. Do you have any theories?”

Todoroki’s eyes lit up, even though he kept his habitual deadpan expression. “Midoriya is All Might’s secret—”

“We wish, but sadly no. Pick a different one.”

Todoroki looked devastated. He collected himself quickly, however. “Midoriya’s strength,” he said, “he got it from All Might, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Eight is a bit of a complicated case, since he’s based on someone who is alive and Nine knows personally, but in the end, he’s the same as the rest of us.”

“He said something about receiving Skyrunner’s quirk, earlier,” said Uraraka.

“And Blackwhip…” said Iida.

“You’re getting it,” said Six. “Blackwhip originally belonged to Five, incidentally.”

“He has a copy quirk,” concluded Aizawa.

Six nodded. The screen changed. “Right now, Nine has four quirks, three of which he can use freely. Superpower, Blackwhip, and Float,” he read the quirk names off the screen.

“And he’s going to get more?” asked Aizawa.

“Eventually,” said Six. “We don’t want to overload his body—This whole process only kicked off when he met All Might.”

“And why you?” asked Aizawa. “Why All Might, Skyrunner and these… Five others?”

“I would like to tell you,” said Six. He raised a finger and waved it in a circle to indicate outside listeners.

“What are the drawbacks?” asked Aizawa.

“Hm?”

“The drawbacks. I get dry eyes when I use my quirk. Present Mic is deaf. Vlad is anemic. A quirk like this one has to have a drawback.”

“What, the broken bones aren’t enough for you? Or the fact he didn’t hit on the activation conditions until he was fourteen?”

Aizawa stared, unimpressed.

A tiny corner of Six’s mouth made itself visible over the collar of his coat. “Well. I think you can make some conclusions but, again…” He trailed off. “There are a few more things you should be aware of. First, Nine had no choice in who we are, although we all fulfil certain criteria.”

“Are you all relatives?” asked Todoroki.

“Man, you never do give up, do you?” said Six. “That’s a great quality in a hero.”

“Are you all heroes, then?” continued Todoroki.

The slide on the screen changed again.

Vestiges According to History:

8. Yagi Toshinori aka All Might – Hero

7. Shimura Nana aka Skyrunner – Hero

6. Tenma Rokuya aka Fidelity/Railgun – Hero

5. Banjo Daigoro aka Lariat – Hero

4. Vigilante

3. Terrorist

2. Terrorist

1. Unknown

“Unfortunately,” said Six, “no.”

Toshinori caught sight of the feathers first. He had more experience as a hero, and, as he was no longer the primary user of One for All, the mental strain he was experiencing was much lower, comparatively. His awareness of his surroundings was better.

Stay calm. Don’t speak. Don’t run.

Hawks could receive sensory input from his feathers, though neither Toshinori nor Izuku knew how much. Better to be safe than sorry.

We need to get out of the city.

Out of the country, too, for that matter, as much as it would hurt Izuku—

They couldn’t leave all their friends behind to face Shigaraki.

A compromise could be reached. They knew a few places—An island, near—

But first, the city. The first priority was to evade pursuit.

A bus pulled into the stop ahead of them, and they got on. If they could get outside city limits, where there were fewer people, fewer witnesses, Izuku could float them away. Also, Hawks was less likely to trap his feathers on a bus.

We might be dealing with the Hawks problem earlier than thought.

Izuku slouched back on the bus seat, covering his eyes. Toshinori looked up at the ceiling. The Hawks problem. AKA, the others’ theory that Hawks had been raised as a child soldier, and Toshinori had missed the signs.

Izuku put his hand on Toshinori’s knee.

“I can’t believe it,” said one of the other passengers, a few rows ahead of them. “I really just can’t believe it. It’s like something from a horror story.”

“What?” asked someone else.

“Look!”

“Someone kidnapped All Might?”

The bus filled with chatter.

Toshinori still couldn’t believe people thought Izuku kidnapped him. The reality was closer to the opposite, honestly. He’d have to apologize to Izuku’s mother…

There was a tiny incensed gasp from Izuku, and Toshinori saw Izuku glaring up at him. Izuku made a series of gestures that could probably have been interpreted as ‘You can’t kidnap anyone, you’re All Might!’ even without the psychic link they were currently enjoying, then went into an enthusiastic tangent about how the commission was probably playing up the ‘crazy stalker fan’ angle.

Toshinori sighed, ruffled Izuku’s hair, and studiously avoided any and all thoughts about what he’d done to Aldera Middle School after Izuku had shown up to training with a black eye and bloody nose that one time.

“What?” squeaked Izuku, his eyes gone very wide.

Drat.

Out of the corner of his eye, Toshinori saw three passengers near the front of the bus stand up and felt his heart drop. One of them had an obvious eagle mutation, the second had a bulging, almost spherical, neck, and the third had broad, flat-ended fingers.

Decades of hero experience told Toshinori exactly what was going to happen next. Even before the guns came out.

“Well,” said the eagle-headed man, “with all the heroes looking for the ‘Symbol of Peace,’ I guess this is our lucky day!”

“Nobody move!” demanded the man with the round neck. “This is a hijacking!”

Izuku let out an incredulous grunt next to him, but Toshinori could literally feel his mind whirring at a thousand miles a minute, analyzing the quirks of the hijackers and possible motives.

Really. There was no way they weren’t going to help.

“By the way, not all of Nine is awake, so, out in the real world his body is operating according to consensus.”

“Consensus of…” said Aizawa, not wanting to finish the thought as he stared at the two entries labeled ‘terrorist.’

“All nine of us together, yes.”

“That’s a pretty big drawback,” said Aizawa, his voice rasping against his throat.

“Eh. It has its benefits. Besides, Three and Two lived over a hundred years ago. We didn’t even have the hero system back then. Things change.”

“Excuse me!” said Iida, raising his hand. “Why don’t the last four—the first four? —have names?”

“They asked me not to share them with you quite yet,” said Six. “Don’t call Three a terrorist though. That’s a bit of a sore spot with her.” He looked off to the side.

“And the quirks?” said Aizawa, hanging on to the very last bit of his will to live by the tips of his fingers. “The ones I’m presumably going to have to teach Midoriya how to use?”

“Right.”

Our Splendiferous Quirks

8. Yagi Toshinori aka All Might – Hero. Quirk: Superpower.

7. Shimura Nana aka Skyrunner – Hero. Quirk: Float.

6. Tenma Rokuya aka Fidelity/Railgun – Hero. Quirk: Internet Perception.

5. Banjo Daigoro aka Lariat – Hero. Quirk: Blackwhip.

4. Vigilante. Quirk: Danger Sense.

3. Terrorist

2. Terrorist

1. Unknown

Aizawa was not surprised to see the last four entries, once again, had little information attached.

“You know,” said Uraraka, “if you ignore the terrorists, this actually makes sense.”

“If you ignore the terrorists?” asked Iida, incredulous.

“I mean, think about who we’ve seen so far.”

“It is like Midoriya to have a split personality based on All Might,” agreed Todoroki. Because split personalities were going to be his go-to theory, now that figments of Midoriya’s quirk’s imagination had shot down his ‘Dadmight’ conspiracy.

“If you want to think of us as split personalities, sure,” said Six. “We really don’t interact that much with the outside, though.”

“And Skyrunner is basically supermom,” said Uraraka. “Like, if she was All Might’s mentor, it makes sense that that’s what he’d envision her as.”

“Ah,” said Iida, “so she reminds you of Midoriya-san as well?”

Aizawa noticed Six shift uncomfortably and look away but decided he honestly did not want to know.

“Oh, and you,” said Uraraka, spreading her hands to indicate Six, “are kind of like Aizawa-sensei!

“Except with more memes,” said Todoroki.

“Yeah, except with more memes,” agreed Uraraka.

Six faked a cough into his fist. “Anyway, I think that’s everything… No, wait. Hawks.”

“Hawks,” repeated Aizawa.

“Yeah. We’re pretty sure he was raised and conditioned to be a slave for the commission from a very young age.” Another pause. Six turned to face Todoroki. “Also, Dabi is probably your dead older brother, Todoroki Touya.”

“Oh,” said Todoroki.

“What,” said Aizawa.

“We’d just like someone in a position to do things with this information to have it. Even if we were sure Nine would retain all this, he, ah. The commission is doing a very good job of trashing his reputation.”

“Is this revenge?” whispered Todoroki. “Did I push Midoriya too far?”

“Kid, you could beat Nine up on a weekly basis for ten years, and he’d still barely think of revenge. Come on, I need to take you guys to Five.”

Barely, he said. Meaning, he did think about revenge. They had to get out of here fast; Bakugo’s life was in danger.

There were lives in danger. A simple robbery wouldn’t require this kind of setup. These three needed hostages for some reason.

Or… Izuku traced the direction the three villains kept looking to the college student in the corner. The young woman’s clothing was high quality, and she looked vaguely familiar.

He couldn’t help but be exasperated. Shigaraki Tomura was running around out there somewhere, and these guys were doing… whatever this was. Causing problems. He and Toshinori would have to try and evade Hawks after this.

But exasperation wasn’t going to keep these people safe.

Eagle-head looked like the leader at first glance, but on closer inspection, he was taking cues from the man with the squared-off fingers. The man with the round neck seemed to have a body expansion quirk of some type, possibly similar to Kendo’s, considering how his joints pulsed and how his clothing was designed with extra folds.

… He’d shown Toshinori a catalogue with similar clothing, once. But Toshinori had said that the ill-fitting look added to his disguise.

In the tight confines of the bus, that would be dangerous. The best thing to do to him would be to throw him out when the bus came to a stop.

The quirk of the man with the square finger was a problem. It was probably an emitter type, rather than a transformation type. Something to do with his hands, perhaps?

Honestly, the best thing to do for all of them, at least with regards to the people on the bus, would be to toss them off and then get the driver to gun it. But then, what about people on the street? These guys didn’t have any scruple against taking hostages, obviously.

“Hey, you, hand over the briefcase,” said the man with the round neck.

Izuku glanced at Toshinori, who nodded. Coils of Blackwhip ran up and down his arms under the sleeves of his suit, much more controlled and complex than Izuku had managed to date.

Thanks for the help, Five.

He slammed the briefcase into the eagle-headed man’s beak. Toshinori hadn’t skimped on anything when stocking the hideout, and the metal made immensely satisfying contact with bone. Blackwhip shot out from near his elbow—like Sero—and wrapped around the hands of the gunmen, forcing their aim down.

The man with square fingers reacted first, raising his hand. Each fingertip emitted a flat, square pane that traveled in a straight line and got progressive larger. Izuku pulled, slamming the man into the back of his own shield, because really, that was too slow, and how similar was this quirk to Crust’s? Could the villain change the trajectory of his panels, or no?

Not the time.

The shield cracked as Izuku hit it from the other side, and Toshinori was throwing open the back door. The man with the expanding quirk—and it was an expanding quirk—seemed to finally realize what was happening, and lashed out, but Izuku was faster than he was. The spherical throat was evidently a weak point.

“Can you stop?” Izuku asked the bus driver, who, tense as he was, slammed down on the brakes, making Izuku stumble. He hauled the villains off the bus, Toshinori hopping off the back with the eagle-headed man a moment later.

Well, that had happened.

Izuku caught a flash of very distinctive red out of the corner of his eye.

Six stopped. “That isn’t good,” he said, looking slightly up. There was nothing there that Aizawa could see, except for a collection of pipes. They were travelling through a series of underground concrete passages in an effort to find ‘Five.’

“What is it?” asked Uraraka.

Six’s form abruptly flickered and vanished. Oh, that couldn’t be good.

“Sensei.”

Aizawa turned to see Midoriya standing behind them, wearing a truly godawful pinstriped suit. He held his right wrist in his left hand, an odd bracer wrapped around it.

“Is that the Full Gauntlet?” asked Uraraka. “Why-?”

Midoriya flashed a quick smile in her direction. “I’m sorry, sensei, this is really last minute, but I need you to tell me how to use your quirk.”

We absolutely can’t strike first.

They wanted to. They knew this would turn into a battle. The first strike was an advantage they couldn’t discount.

Win the battle and lose the war.

He could see the cell phones already out, held bystanders not quite broken from the habits gained in All Might’s era. Even with the Hero Commission already slandering him, this would affect the narrative. If he ever hoped to be welcomed back to hero society, or even the public’s good graces, in any way shape or form, he could not be seen starting a fight with a hero. Much less the current number two hero.

“I don’t suppose you’ll make my job easier and release All Might from your mind-control quirk,” said Hawks, tone conversational despite the fact he was standing at least two stories above them in the air.

“I don’t have a mind-control quirk,” said Izuku, reaching up to the knot of his tie.

“And I’m not being mind-controlled,” said Toshinori, loosening his mask.

Hawks actually paused. “Oh my gosh,” he said, raising one hand to his mouth like a scandalized housewife, “I didn’t realize that was you! What happened to your hair?”

“I… cut it off.”

“That’s, uh.” Hawks quickly regained control of his expression. “Terrible that this villain made you do that.”

Hawks’ heart wasn’t entirely in this apparently.

Just as apparently, that had no bearing on what Hawks was actually going to do.

“You’ve seen me use my quirk,” said Aizawa.

“I know, and that’ll be helpful, too, but how do you use it? What’s the feeling you get when you use it? How do you activate it? What’s the internal mechanism? This is important.”

“Why?” asked Iida. “What’s going on Midoriya?”

“It’s—” Midoriya’s form flickered. He took a deep breath. He was now wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. “I’m in a fight right now, and it would be useful,” he reported, calmly.

“Please tell me it isn’t with my mind-controlled unconscious body,” begged Aizawa, “or the League of Villains.”

“It isn’t.”

Thank goodness.

“I’m fighting Hawks.”

Why.

No, ask questions later. The Problem Child needed help now. To fight the number two hero.

He didn’t know how knowledge about his quirk could be useful in a fight against Hawks, but the claim was far, far too stupid to be a lie.

“When I turn on my quirk, I—”

Blackwhip unfurled from his arms like a dark version of Shouji’s quirk, tearing his sleeves to shreds and dislodging the feathers that had been imbedded there. The ends wrapped around feather after feather, splitting into dozens and dozens of pseudo-arms. Izuku was amazed.

Someday, he would be able to do this on his own.

For now—

For now, he was fighting Hawks, who had trained since childhood to fight on behalf of the commission.

For now, he was a hero student, with only a few months of practical experience.

For now, he was a fugitive, on the run and desperate.

For now, he was host and member of One for All, and collectively they had been heroes for over a hundred years.

And Toshinori had his back.

They wrapped the silk tie around his knuckles. Any protection for the bones in his hands was valuable. In the other, they adjusted the briefcase. They had only rarely used weapons in the last hundred or so years. Usually, their quirks made weapons overkill.

But before that—Before that, things were different. For a while, One and Two had used swords, of all things.

This battle was much more even than it looked.

Their victory condition: Escape with Toshinori.

Their failure conditions: Civilian injury, serious injury to Izuku or Toshinori, or capture of either Izuku or Toshinori.

To avoid the first point of failure, it was best for them to get away from the vulnerable civilians. They didn’t want to give away float so soon in the game, so…

They grabbed the edge of a building with Blackwhip and launched Izuku upwards, flinging feathers away from him. Toshinori would follow and provide the group with a second perspective.

Hawks did not expect to be joined in the air. An incredulous smile graced his lips. Izuku smiled back and catapulted himself directly into Hawks.

“You know,” he said, “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile for real!”

“What?” asked Hawks, startled. He wasn’t one to have meaningful conversations with people he was supposed to bring in, but a statement like that had to be responded to.

Even if most of his attention was on the quirk that Midoriya controlled with much more proficiency than indicated by his school records. The kid was good, had good instincts when it came to battle, but he wasn’t quite fast enough to get past Hawks’s guard, or to really close the distance between them.

“Your smile!” said Midoriya. “When I was younger, I didn’t realize it, but once I knew the truth behind All Might’s smile, I understood!”

“Did you, now?” asked Hawks.

“Underneath,” said Midoriya, “your face is a lot like Todoroki’s! It’s—”

Conversation during a battle was usually a distraction, to the person employing it as a tactic as well as the target. Somehow, though, Midoriya was subverting that rule.

“It’s actually really sad!” exclaimed Midoriya, breathless, but apparently genuine, not mocking. “Who hurt you?”

“Heh,” said Hawks. This kid knew. How? “Shouldn’t I be the one asking questions here?”

“Gotta hand it to the commission, they really did a number on you,” said Midoriya, briefly touching down on a rooftop. “Why do you keep doing their dirty work for them?”

He was using that second quirk, but not his strength. Was it a matter of ‘won’t’ or ‘can’t?’ Either way, it was something to keep an eye on.

“Why don’t you—” Hawks briefly managed to pin Midoriya by the edge of his jacket, but the boy tore free easily. “—fly free?”

“You’re one to talk,” said Hawks. “What did you trade to All for One for those quirks?” He didn’t actually believe Midoriya was in league with All for One. Even tangentially, through proxies, they’d been at odds too many times, not to mention the videos he’d been shown by the commission of Midoriya and All Might interacting. The connection there couldn’t be faked.

He’d know. He’d tried so many times.

(Was trying now, with the League of Villains.)

(Midoriya wasn’t one of them.)

But he had a job to do.

Besides. Even he had to admit the commission had a point. The quirks had to come from somewhere.

(Just because Midoriya didn’t willingly associate with All for One didn’t mean he hadn’t been forced. Didn’t mean he hadn’t gotten out.)

(All Might was protecting him. How did they know each other?)

“Wouldn’t you take any hand offered to you if the person behind it offered to make you what you always wanted to be?”

Midoriya tilted his head to one side. “Nope!” he responded, cheerfully.

On the street below, Toshinori coughed, blood splattering his sleeve. What had Izuku been doing when he was younger, to get involved with so many dangerous and disturbing people?

It wasn’t my fault!

Kid really is a trouble magnet.

Oh, heck, I think I recognized that one—

Really, with that sharp mind, and Izuku’s propensity for both curiosity, helpfulness, and, well, finding trouble, it was a miracle he’d stayed alive for so long.

Wouldn’t call it a miracle, sonny—

HAHA I can’t believe he thought that was a dream.

In his defense, a dream makes more sense than—

Guys. Focus, please?

Yes. This was not the time to discuss… that. Now… Well. Toshinori had a role he could play in this battle, even as he was, and—

Hawks and Izuku’s path over the rooftops mapped itself out in his mind.

Oh, no.

Izuku wasn’t evading Hawks.

He was being herded by him.

They tucked and rolled across the pavement, Blackwhip cocooning them and breaking their fall. This was significantly more than what Five, what Daigoro, could use back when he was alive. It took everyone’s efforts to keep everything going.

Wait for it, they reminded themselves, bouncing back to Izuku’s feet.

Izuku looked up. This… was not a good position. Hawks had forced them into the entertainment district. They couldn’t trust that the fancy facades and art instalations of the buildings would hold up to Blackwhip. Not to mention, in places like this… He glanced around.

Fourth Kind.

Kesagiriman.

Slugger.

Death Arms.

There would be more, soon. This was… less than good. Maybe they should just grab Toshinori’s body and launch themselves with Blackwhip and Float, as far as they could. They’d lose a lot of their advantage on Hawks, but at least then they wouldn’t be fighting five different heroes.

Izuku gritted his teeth in something like a smile. Five different heroes. Well. Nine on five wasn’t bad odds.

Suzuku pulled himself along the ground, trembling. He had been falling for—for ages by the time that witch woman had disappeared. Why she had disappeared, he couldn’t guess, but…

Falling.

So much falling.

And hitting the ground again, and again, and again.

You invaded our minds, said the woman, don’t complain when we counter with something psychological as well.

Something like a laugh bubbled up from his throat.

You can leave whenever you want, can’t you?

He’d show her. He’d show her and find all her secrets. Just see if he didn’t.

Fourth Kind, Kesagiriman, Slugger, and Death Arms all had very physical, straightforward quirks. Out of all of them, though, Death Arms was probably the most problematic, followed by Slugger and his long-range attacks.

None of them held a candle to Hawks, of course. Which was the reason why Death Arms in particular was so problematic.

In order to deal with Hawks’s feathers, they needed Blackwhip. But using Blackwhip and One for All’s signature superstrength at the same time wasn’t something Izuku’s body was used to. They were limiting it to small bursts. Death Arms’ own physical enhancement quirk, while miniscule compared to One for All’s current stature, was nothing to sneer at.

If Death Arms—or any of the other heroes—landed a solid blow, that could be it for Izuku.

They refused to be locked away again.

That’s when it happened.

A scene played across Izuku’s inner eye:

A frosty morning. A little boy with dark hair. A farewell. Tears.

He flubbed the landing and a sharp pain lanced through his ankle. Blackwhip wrapped it, giving it much needed support.

He started to rise, only to drop to avoid one of Slugger’s patented Home Run Pitches (tm).

The ball spun, ricocheting off the stainless steel of an art installation before drilling right through a wooden beam on a bit of scaffolding holding up part of a building that was being refurbished. Izuku let out a breath of relief (there were still people around who hadn’t learned how to run away from a dangerous fight) before they returned to the dance with Hawks’s impressively huge number of feathers.

Blackwhip could keep up with them, barely, but Izuku was tiring. He couldn’t take much more of this.

He needed an opening to get to Toshi—

Another scene:

She couldn’t be pregnant. Not now. Not right after giving away another. The next time Sorahiko suggested drowning her troubles in sake, she was going to shove it straight up his blowholes, no matter that he was probably just as drunk as she was.

This slip almost resulted in Izuku getting his face punched in by Death Arms. Considering what he’d just learned, he’d almost welcome that fate, if it made him forget. Plus, it might have been funny for the ultimate battle of ultimate destiny, the show down between One for All and All for One, to take place between not one, but two potato-headed individuals—

There was a sharp crack from above as the damage Death Arms had done to the scaffolding made itself known.

Izuku didn’t have to think before moving.

“Alright,” said Midoriya. “I think I’ve got it. Thank you, sensei.” He looked young, now. Barely primary school age.

“I’d feel a lot better,” said Aizawa, “if I knew what you needed this information for.”

“Oh! That’s simple. You see, it’s my theory that the overlap in mechanisms between my quirk and Saito-san’s might allow for interesting emergent behaviors. Specifically, her quirk bridges a gap I’d normally have no way of crossing, although there’s certainly drawbacks. It’s like what we tried earlier, when I asked you to use your quirk. Although, I am hoping for different results than what I was looking for back then. I think, with what you’ve given me, and this processing time… Yes, this should work.” He clenched a fist. “These remnants—I can use them!”

Remnants. Vestiges.

Aizawa frowned. Something… something wasn’t right, here. The explanation Six had given them…

“Just keep going this way, for now. Six will try to get back to you as soon as possible. I have to go now! I love you guys!”

He then faded out. While waving.

“Wow,” said Uraraka. “Izuku-kun sure was a cute kid.”

Aizawa couldn’t argue with that.

“Aizawa-sensei,” said Todoroki. “You’re blushing.”

He wouldn’t lower himself to argue with that. “This conversation is illogical. Let’s go.”

“Sensei is weak to little kids,” observed Todoroki.

And if they ever discovered they could remove the ‘little’ in that sentence and have it still be accurate, he’d never live it down.

Hawks saw the eyes first, shining through the dust like two perfect green coins. Then every one of his feathers went dead, and he started to fall.

Sensation returned just in time for him to avoid hitting the ground at speed and, just as quickly, vanished again.

A breeze blew cleared the dust away.

Midoriya Izuku stood under the collapsed scaffolding, holding it up with black tendrils and sparking green arms. If this scene had been all that there was, an observer might be forgiven for wondering why he was holding up the scaffolding like that.

But Hawks knew. If Midoriya hadn’t caught the scaffolding, even he wouldn’t have been able to get those civilians out from underneath it in time. He glanced to the side, where the almost victims were standing up. Normally, he’d just trust his feathers, but…

“Is that Eraserhead’s quirk?”

“Don’t worry, I asked Eraserhead-sensei for permission, first.”

“What kind of monster—” started Death Arms.

“Don’t you dare, Mister ‘my quirk isn’t suitable.’” Midoriya shifted the scaffolding to one side and shrugged himself out from underneath it. “As heroes, aren’t you supposed to consider the civilians around you?” He laughed. “I guess we’re still a little bitter about that.”

Izuku was putting on a good show, but he was reaching the end of his endurance. Plus, he could already hear the sirens of police cars and the exclamations that followed large groups of heroes on the move.

Good thing, then, that Toshinori was about to round the corner in three… two… one… There!

To an outsider, Blackwhip wrapping around Toshinori probably looked violent. In reality, everyone operating the quirk was intimately aware of everything wrong with Toshinori’s body and did not want to add to his problems. They could have probably grabbed an egg like this.

Grabbing the newly-exposed concrete and rebar of the building behind Izuku, they launched themselves up. At the top of their arc, they activated Float. Blackwhip reeled Toshinori in, and they held onto each other as Izuku prepared to use air pressure to launch themselves forward.

He hadn’t blinked yet.

His eyes really hurt.

(And so did everything else.)

He aimed and kicked against the air, sending them soaring away.

They had escaped.

Tomura ducked behind the wall at the top of the building, glad that his party had put so many points into stealth, because he was not touching what had just happened with a ten-foot pole. He’d rather be shot again. He’d rather fight Machia for a week straight with no rest breaks. He’d rather listen to Sensei try to give him the birds and the bees talk.

What was that? Huh? What kind of a broken character build allowed for that kind of combat ability? The mods had to be asleep. If he were in charge, he’d nerf it, pronto.

That was a lie. He’d take it for himself.

Still.

“Uh, Shigaraki? Boss man? You okay there?” asked Spinner.

“No,” decided Shigaraki.

Suddenly, making all of them jump, Toga squealed. “Did you see him? Did you see Izuku-kun? He was so cute with his nose bleeding like that!”

“Hey,” said Dabi, “are we going after the green kid or what?”

“No,” decided Shigaraki, for the second time in as many minutes. And then, “Gimme the phone. We need to call the doctor to get us out of here.”

They did, but that was pretty much secondary to his primary objective, which was to cuss out the doctor concerning the cursed knowledge that was currently trying to escape his skull with a pickaxe.

“Um,” said Inko. “Aren’t you going to get that?” She pointed at the phone that had been buzzing on the table for the past several minutes.

“No,” said Garaki, pretending to sip at his tea. “You were saying?”

#bnha #boku no hero academia #fic #fanfic #long night in the valley

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gumnut-logic · 6 years ago

Text

Alan

Okay, my brain was doing weird stuff tonight and wouldn’t write what I wanted to write. So we’ve got angst and a very odd and experimental present tense (something I never do). It is also the Marks WingsAU. I have no idea why I wrote this. I have zero control tonight thanks to a zombie brain. I hope you enjoy it anyway. ::hugs:: Oh, and despite the title of this fic, it isn’t all I’m going to write about Alan in this universe. We still haven’t seen him spread his wings. So there will be more at some point about Alan. Many thanks to all of you who have been commenting on my writing. It means so much to me ::hugs you all madly::

-o-o-o-

In the soft grey silence, nothing moves. Like the aftermath of an apocalypse everything is quiet. Even his bare footsteps on gravel can barely be heard and the mist prickles his skin. Cloud caressing, taunting cool amongst the warmth, condensing in his hair.

He needs the silence.

To listen.

Beyond reality, he feels two of his brothers. John, orderly, passionate, loving and starstruck. His colours of midnight blue, silver starlight and flame orange flicker on the edge of his mind, a quiet, worried hover wanting to intrude, but respecting Virgil’s need of solitude.

The other is burning magnesium sparking, contorting and bouncing about, splashing ripples all over their mindscape. Smooth, slippery and joyous, yet muted by the same concern haunting John. Gordon is aquamarine and sunshine wrapped in love, strengthened by steel.

And himself. He wonders how his brothers see him, what splashes of colour represent his presence. What they feel when they feel him.

He is the focus. The sensitive. The eldest of the three. He knows things.

But not enough.

Because where Scott and Alan reside in his mind, there is nothing. No sense, no knowing. No colour to turn to.

Scott is their leader and his best friend. His relationship with his older brother could not be stronger, yet he senses nothing.

Alan is his littlest brother. Of all of them the one needing the most care and protection, yet Virgil senses nothing.

Not even today. Not when it had been most needed.

The grey is suddenly not enough. He needs storm and lightning, the fury of the sky to compliment his mood. He needs an angry ocean. Mountainous waves crashing against a resolute shore.

He needs his brothers.

All of them.

-o-o-o-

Jakarta.

Earthquake.

Aftershock.

Virgil is running. Thighs strong yet not strong enough. His uniform rustling in the after silence. The after collapse. The after injury.

“ALAN!!”

He is screaming his brother’s name. The sixteen-year-old had been behind him.

Now he wasn’t.

He can’t see him.

John can’t get a signal.

“ALAN!!”

Nothing.

Rubble.

More rubble.

Backtrack.

His boots scuff in the dirt.

“ALAN!!”

Distant wailing.

Silence too close.

“ALAN!!”

Scott’s in his ear. John and Gordon are hovering on the edge of his thoughts, vibrating.

Please, Alan.

-o-o-o-

He is standing on the edge of the Island. The rock falls to the ocean abruptly and decisively, but the water is lost in the fog. Only the hissing of gentle waves against the cliff can be heard in the grey.

He reaches out, stretching as he had done today, searching, knowing he should be able to do this.

And failing.

There is nothing.

Why?

Why can’t he reach his little brother? Why can’t he be there for him?

A wash of reassurance wafts through from John.

Virgil shies away.

-o-o-o-

A hand.

A small blue gloved hand.

He finds his little brother under a building.

The hiss of his hydraulics moves mountains. Scott appears from nowhere and Virgil is reaching down, his own glove shed, fingers seeking movement.

There is life and Virgil breathes again, but there is also broken bones, injuries, bleeding.

A major disaster becomes a personal disaster and he is too close to the action.

His little brother is wrapped up and taken away.

Virgil can’t go with him.

The ground shudders under his feet.

Alan is safe, but so many are not.

The world blurs and Virgil goes back to work.

-o-o-o-

He wants to scream his brother’s name into the mist. So he does, teeth grating against the two syllables.

Gordon sparks at him.

John wraps him in a mental embrace.

The mist is disturbed by silent wings, a vast swath of silver grey camouflaged, and his eldest brother emerges to alight on the rock beside him.

The man’s hair is tossed, his blue eyes catching Virgil’s as bare feet brush against the basalt. Scott is wearing little more than cut-off jeans, giving his grey span, flecked with that same blue, all the freedom it needs.

No words, but the rustle of feathers as his brother’s wings fold. A sigh as he absorbs them into his silver mark.

Still nothing is said.

Two brothers standing on the edge of the Island facing the grey of nothing.

Virgil reaches out through the virtual desperate to touch.

Nothing.

Why?!

It’s a cry into that nothing.

John flinches.

Gordon snarls.

Virgil closes his eyes.

“He is going to be okay.”

Virgil doesn’t answer.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was.”

A shift of bare feet on rock. “No, it wasn’t.”

“I should have paid more attention to what he was doing.”

“You can’t be everywhere.”

Eyes open and glaring at his brother. “I can at least be there for him.”

“You are! You were! He will recover.”

“If I had just-“

Scott is in his face, those blue eyes flashing with anger. “No, Virgil. You can’t be everything to everybody. It was his choice. It was a chance taken and it failed. You’ve done it yourself. He thought he could be in and out fast enough. He was wrong. He tried, but it didn’t work. It happens.” The glare intensified even more. “You’ve told me enough times.”

But this is Alan. He can’t say it out loud.

He must have emoted enough, because Gordon flares up in outrage.

Scott looks ready to crack. “Would you prefer he not attempt to save that little boy?!”

“No, I-“

“You would have done exactly the same thing.”

“I-“

“Admit it.”

“I-“

“Virgil!”

“Okay! Alan did the right thing. He saved that little boy. He was damned lucky they weren’t both killed. I...” A swallow. “I am damned proud of him. I just wish…” But he can’t say it. How can Scott understand?

“What?”

Virgil sighs and turns away.

Gordon is moving, determination bright and sharp.

Great.

“You better head back to Allie. Gordon is on his way to kick my ass.”

A sudden silence from his brother and Virgil looks up at the man.

Blue eyes frown at him. “Is this about your empathy thing with John and Gordon?”

“No.” It is about his lack of empathy with his other two brothers. How he can’t reach them when he is needed. How he can’t touch them.

A swirl of grey mists between them washing Scott’s expression out, disappearing him into the background. His brother is fading away from him. It is strangely appropriate to how he feels.

Without thinking he reaches out and grabs Scott’s hand as if desperate to stop him from vanishing. His brother frowns at him, but doesn’t pull away.

“Virgil, what is it?”

He presses his lips together and stares down at their hands. “I can’t feel you. I can’t find you. I searched for Allie; I did. I tried everything I could think of and I couldn’t find him.”

“You found him.”

“But how long did it take?! He could have died.”

“He could have died the moment the building collapsed.” It is sharp. It’s a slap. It is meant to be.

Scott’s eyes pin him. “I don’t have what you, John and Gordon have, Virgil, but I know...” The hand in his tightens. “I know what you mean to me. I know what I mean to you. And I know nothing will stand between either of us when needed. I don’t need telepathy to know that.”

Virgil is staring, something caught in his throat.

Scott’s voice softens. “Allie knows how much you love him, Virg. He knows you’d walk through hell and back if you had to and never doubt that he or any of your brothers would do the same for any of us.” Scott’s other hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes. “Never doubt.” A small smile brightening the grey. “I never have.”

“Never doubt.” It falls as a whisper from his lips.

Something sparkles in Scott’s eyes just as a swirl of mist and crunch of gravel reveals their aquanaut brother. A bounce and he has an awkward arm around Virgil shoulders, his presence emanating confidence, pride and...love. “Hey.” A nod at Scott. “Virg being stupid again?”

Scott’s lips twist into a smirk and his eyes sparkle. In that moment Virgil knows.

He knows.

He knows what his eldest brother is thinking.

He knows what he is feeling.

He still senses nothing.

But he knows.

An incoherent sound passes his lips and the smirk disappears from Scott’s expression to be replaced by a frown. “Virgil?”

He has the sudden urge to grab his brother in a hug.

A shove from behind and he is doing just that. Scott lets out an oomph, but wraps his arms around him.

Gordon’s laugh is a rain of bright sparks across his virtual space.

Virgil’s eyes are clenched shut and Scott is wheezing under his grip.

God.

-o-o-o-

His pencil scrapes across cartridge paper, the graphite leaving its smooth trail behind and forming another strand of hair. It flicks to a missed detail in an eye before skirting back to the hair, adjusting the forehead, an eyebrow, back to the misbehaving eye.

His drawing is smiling up at him.

It is in shades of grey. It holds no colour, but there is life.

Light sparks in its eyes.

The pencil flicks to and fro, finalising bits and pieces, upping the contrast, deepening the shadows. He switches to a stick of charcoal and the shadows go black.

As do his fingers.

“I hope you’re not getting that on my sheets.” And as much as he is smiling up from Virgil’s sketchbook, he is smiling at him from the bed beside.

“Hey, Allie. How are you feeling?”

“Been better. Leg’s aching and my ribs suck, but at least you’re not double anymore.”

“Good to hear.” Standing up, Virgil walks over to the trash bin and blows the charcoal dust from the page and closes the book.

“Hey, don’t I get to see?”

Virgil stares at him a moment before flicking the page open again and showing his little brother his sketch of Alan Tracy.

“Cool! You drew me?”

“I’m concerned about the question mark at the end of that sentence.”

“Hey, no, bring it closer. I wanna see.”

He can’t help but grin at Allie’s enthusiasm. His little brother is always fascinated by his drawings and Virgil can’t help but be encouraged by his compliments.

Alan takes the book carefully, almost reverently, from Virgil’s hands and peers at the drawing, his eyes following the lines of pencil. “I still don’t know how you do this. It’s me, but it is only pencil.”

Half a laugh. “I think the human brain is designed to grab those features and add life.”

“I don’t know.” He’s tilting the book and frowning in concentration. “I’ve seen stuff that doesn’t look anywhere near as good as yours.”

It warms him inside and he’s not afraid to admit it.

“Can I keep it?”

“Don’t you already have several of my drawings of you?”

“Maybe.” A puppy dog grin.

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Sorry, bro, this time no. This one’s for me.” It was. He wanted to keep the emotion that drew it, too.

Alan throws on a pout and Virgil can’t help but laugh.

“I dibs the next one.”

“Okay, your big toe it is.”

“My toe?”

“You didn’t specify a subject.”

“Viiiirgiiil.”

“Yes, little brother?”

Alan glares at him.

“Your left ear? I particularly like that subtle curve.”

“You suck.”

A snort. “Well, in that case I’ll caricature you and post it to social media for some instant infamy.”

“Do that and I’m telling Kayo about the toys.”

“What toys?”

“The Thunderbird Shadow plushie you have stashed in your studio.”

Another snort. “Kay gave that to me. Zero blackmail power, bro.”

“Does she know about the figurine?”

Virgil froze. “What figurine?”

“The one of Kayo.”

“What the hell have you been doing in my studio? Keep out of my studio, Alan.” That broke the rules. No one was allowed in his studio.

“Haven’t been in there. Didn’t know you had a figurine. Thanks for letting me know.”

“What?”

“Hah.”

Shit. Flippin’ Gordon’s protege.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sick or something? Do that sleeping thing.” He waves a careless hand in his brother’s direction. Alan grins up at him.

Virgil can’t help but smile back.

It takes a moment, but he forces the hesitation back and reaches out for his brother’s hand.

The same hand he found in the rubble.

He squeezes it just that touch harder.

Alan is eyeing him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Connecting with my brother.”

The stare intensifies and Virgil can see the question of his sanity flickering behind those blue eyes. He smiles gently, but doesn’t let go. A frown flits across Alan’s brow, but his fingers curl around Virgil’s.

John hovers in query around the edges of his mind, a quiet starlit presence.

Gordon dances in swirls of sea green lit by sunlight, his laughter echoing.

Scott is all blue calm big brotherly love, a voice ever present.

Alan is golden shadows and an impish smile, life under his fingers.

All the colours of his brothers.

Not all sensed, but all there.

All of them.

-o-o-o-

FIN

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #virgil tracy #scott tracy #alan tracy #gordon tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #marks and wings

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huffle-dork · 6 years ago

Text

Fetch Quest (Part 2)

One of the hyenas goes running to Ouros whining and she stands abruptly from her workstation. She makes her way out to where the hyenas are circling around the two in agitation. Kneeling next to Anibase Ouros asks, “What appears to be the problem?”

Anibase snaps and yells at the two dark sides, “I DOTidU KNOW!” Tears of liquid silver burn down her cheeks in pain and it drives her to insanity. The pendant suddenly burns brightly as if being heated, and she grabs at it to take it off, but her hand retracts with a yelp of pain as a burn is left in her palm. Her mind is swimming with one phrase over and over again.

“You don't deserve it, you don't deserve it, you don't deserve it, you don't deserve it, you don't deserve it.”

Anibase’s right eye flickers in and out between reality as she realizes what's wrong. “My aCBPIHMgVC4uLg==. She's t R y I n G dG8= gain back cOnTrOl… Using what SSdN made of…”

Unreal quickly gives a sorted of freightened look to Ouros before she bends back down over Anibase, “Well shit-! What do we do?” A twinge in the back of Unreal’s head signals Huffle waking up slightly, seeing anibase in pain being too similar to seeing TeFA in pain. She winces slightly and pushes back, “Do we need to break her inside your head or something?!”

“I hope you can get us inside her head dear, that’s outside my powers,” Ouros comments while observing Anibase’s flickering eye. She motioned to one of the hyenas and it snuggled up next to Anibase.

Anibase hugs the hyena close like a stuffed animal; not too hard that it strangles the poor thing but just enough. She's sobbing by this point, her body shivering as if it was cold as the thoughts in her head finally make her way out of her mouth.

“I don't deserve this. SQ== don't deserve this. SSBkb24ndA== deserve this. SSBkb24ndCBkZXNlcnZl this. SSBkb24ndCBkZXNlcnZlIHRoaXMu”

She's completely unresponsive now to the others, just focusing on trying to get her form back in shape. She can't concentrate on her host trying to fight her down, not like this.

Unreal panics at the sight and she slaps her hand against Anibase’s face. Her eyes glow bright as she cries desperately,”Ş̰̰̩̉̉̊̀l̩͇̪͓̈́̿͛͠e��̧͓͈̳̽̊͠e̢̞̗̖̋͑́̚p̗͇̞̾̂̃͘ͅ!̢͔̱̳̓̓͆̑”

Unreal grabs Ouros’s hand in a death grip as she mumbles quickly, “We can’t let her host wake up or we’ll lose what little time we have!” The room they’re in starts to shift in color and out of focus as inky darkness starts to surround them, Unreal’s power ready to send them into Anibase’s head once she falls asleep.

Ouros stares blankly into the inky darkness and whispers, “You people will be the death of me.” She closes her eyes before the ink meets her face and opens them in Anibase’s mind. A few of the hyenas had followed their master and Ouros gestured for them to track down TeFA.

Anibase is knocked out and her body collapses onto the floor. She is nowhere to be found in the dreamscape.

TeFA however, is quietly hiding for time behind a black column her mind had conjured up, blending in within the rest of the area around her and the others. Her hands are to the ground, her face contorted in pain.

‘Come onnnn!!!’ TeFA screams mentally. ‘You're finally knocked out!!! What's taking so long for me to return to my own body???’ Then she realizes why.

‘I'm not alone here. I gotta get them out.’

Unreal and Ouros drop into the mindscape like droplets of ink before Unreal lets go of Ouros’s hand and looks around.

“We gotta find that little bratty host…” She mumbles letting her ink spread across the ground and through the air like tendrils, searching around for any sign of TeFA in the darkness. But suddenly she stops and looks back at Ouros as she draws her ink back , “Wait… i think i have an idea…..” She grins wolfishly and winks at Ouros, signally for her to follow her lead.

Unreal clears her throat and closes her eyes for second. When she opens them, they’re clear and green, Huffle’s eyes. But they still drip with ink, signally who’s really in control. She opens her mouth and calls out into the open space in Huffle’s voice, “TeFA!! TeFA where are you?!” forcing her voice to sound desperate and scared.

Ouros looks over at Unreal with her blank face and monotone voice. “I hate this,” She tells Unreal before clearing her throat, “TeFA! It’s safe now please come out!” Ouros sounded remarkably like her higher pitched host and she grimaced angrily the entire time.

TeFA’s eyes bolt open. “Oh God if they're here, Ouros and Unreal are too. They couldn't have gotten in on their own.” TeFA mutters. She silently curses under her breath and wonders if she should risk her progress to go out to her friends.

Screw it.

TeFA appears out of nowhere from Unreal and Ouros’ point of view and sees Huffle and Juri. “Oh my God…” TeFA bolts over to both of them and hugs them both. “Are you both alright?!”

Unreal forces herself to relax in TeFA’s arms to not give herself away and she uses her other hand to wipe away the ink on her face with a laugh,”Yeah, yeah, we’re fine. Stupid dark sides didn’t think we’d get out as soon as we got here!” There’s another twinge of pain in the back of her head at Huffle screaming at her in rage for her lies but Unreal shoves the thought away as she holds TeFA out in her arms, cocking her head in false concern, “Are you alright? Where’s Anibase?”

Ouros turns her face away briefly to arrange it into something vaguely concerned. She put a hand on TeFA’s shoulder, “We’re ok TeFA, are you?”

TeFA nods, a smile growing across her face. “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Stupid Anibase forgot if she possesses me, I'm stitched back together.” TeFA looks back to Huffle to answer her question with a relieved, but borderline menacing, grin. “Gone, she isn't gonna be back for a while. That's what happens when you're made of terrible memories, karma comes back and bites you, HARD.”

Huffle’s face scrunches into a glare, one so unlike her. She bares her teeth into a menacing snarl and quickly grabs TeFA by the neck, lifting her up into the air with incredible strength. An unstable terrifying laugh bursts from her lips as she squeezes.

“Let’s find a way to speed up her return, S̭̟̓̋͜͝ḥ̘̊̒̚͜ä͕̙̯́̈́̋l͈͈̳̔͑̽l͕̜̖͌̄̕ ̱̤͓̒͌̂w̢̛̼̤͗͛e̡͔̩̍̿̇?͇͉͓͗̔͠ ̺̣̯͐͘͠” Unreal giggles madly but she still looks like Huffle, just to make things worse.

“Oh good we’re dropping the act,” Ouros commented as she ‘grinned’ at TeFA, “How do you think we should start.”

She walked to Unreal’s side and stared up at TeFA, “It would be in your best interest to stop fighting.”

TeFA didn't look shocked or even concerned. She just vaguely pointed to Unreal’s hand strangling her and let's out a single laugh. “You're not even being original. Something tells me that you're hanging around Anibase too much.”

TeFA then takes her left hand and grabs Unreal’s arm, twisting it while digging in her too long nails to scratch and impale them. While doing so, she aims a quick kick with her right foot straight to Ouros’ temple.

Unreal cries out at the nails digging into her skin and pulls away letting TeFA stop to the ground. The cuts in her arm drip black and glitch with color as she growls dangerously. She gathers in ink and lets it wash over the other girls body, trapping her limbs against the ground. She strides over and leans close in front of TeFA face as she snarls, “we’re not here to play games, so I suggest you drop that false confidence and just give in.”

Ouros blinks as she carefully tilts her head from side to side judging the damage TeFA did to her. It didn’t hurt but she felt a bit...out of it.

“We should hurry this up dear just in case,” Ouros tells Unreal.

TeFA merely laughs again. “False confidence?! You do realize where we are right?” TeFA snaps with a loose hand and suddenly the ink turns into soft feathers, and TeFA leaps out and towers over the two. “This is MY dreamscape! I can control how I'm perceived or the area around us.” She glares down and smiles, then all of a sudden chains burst up and lock up their visible limbs, with added spikes in to boot. “Just because Anibase consists of my regrets and worse memories in life doesn't mean that I have the capacity to be bad either. Heck, really I can be bad just as you guys if I wanted to, I wouldn't care who got hurt in the end.”

TeFA yawns and takes a step back to look at her handy work. “Now what I suggest is that you two leave or I seriously might kill you here and now. Sure, it might hurt my friends, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get them back.”

Unreal struggles and pulls against the chain, yelling out in anger. She wonders why her influence in here isn’t working as well as it should, did she use up too much power pulling her stunts earlier?

“You’re bluffing, kiddo. You wouldn’t hurt your friends…” she grins slightly and tilts her head mischievously, “you’re not that cruel.”

Unreal blinks and lets her eyes fade back to Huffle’s again but something’s different this time. Her scared terrified expression seems genuine as she stumbles back and tugs on the chains, her ink tears washing away from her pure clean ones.

“T-TeFA…. dont hurt us, please!” Huffle sobs at her friend.

Ouros tugs at Juri in her mind but her host in stubborn in not coming out for reasons Ouros doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter now besides putting Ouros in a bit of a predicament.

“Quiet your blubbering,” Ouros tells Huffle as she examines her chains and ignores TeFA. Niy and Gary writhe on her skin aching to get out and bite but Ouros doesn’t have the advantage of surprise and this is TeFA’s mind.

TeFA’s eyes go deadpan and all she does is shrug and snap again. Then two sharp large object forms out of nowhere and slice off Unreal’s arms at the elbows, and the chains readjust themselves to be now suffocating her shoulders.

“Try me Inky.” TeFA spits at the ink demon and then turns to Ouros. “Don't you dare try any funny business or you’ll get the same.” Then TeFA smirks and laughs a bit to herself. “Yet again, your theme song is ‘Body.’ ‘My arms and legs, they get in the way’ and all that.”

Huffle screams bloody murder, one eye her own, the other Unreal’s. Her whole form glitches red as she howls, her blood leaking and dripping black.

Huffle bends her head down, her shoulders shaking from her fear and her tears, “T-TeFA!” She chokes, sounding heartbroken. Then the blood bubbles and pops with electricity and are drawn up to her in swirling shapes, “Y̪̹͚̓̐͠ő͚͔̯̾̃ų̙̦͛͑͆’͍͕̗́̾͐r̢̬̞͗̍̒ẹ̱͇̀̔̑ ̘̬̺̈͑̽f͇̰̝̍̄̏u̢͚̥̓̃̕c̖̩̗̄̒͝k̤͔̦͊̓͠ỉ͎̫̺̄̉n͕̺̫͌͊́g̣͉̖̑̀̒ ̢̹̪́͆͝D͈̖͈̏͊̎E͕̣̝͂̾͐A̛̻̥̟̐͗D̛͚͓͊͜͝!̨̼̗̓͗͝!̦͉͗̌͜͝ ͕̞̲͒́̓”

The ink shapes harden into jagged sharp points and all fire at TeFA at terrifying speeds and from several different directions as Unreal’s eyes burn in rage.

Ouros blinks at the savage display but merely goes back to inspecting the chain and making sure the spikes weren’t damaging her wrist cuffs. Unreal would either kill TeFA or keep her distracted while Ouros got everyone into position.

TeFA claps and all of the sharp ink freezes in time. “This trick I like, Dr. Strange inspired!” TeFA then waves them over with her hand and studies them. “Actually, thank you for these.”

TeFA walks over to Ouros and rolls up her sleeves. Then with a blink, all line up along her arms and rip up the snake tattoos by burying themselves into her skin. Once the deed is finished, they disappear into thin air. She simply looks up at Ouros and mutters, “I don't trust you.”

TeFA walks back to her original spot and sighs. “Are we done yet? Honestly you're both worse than my youngest brother right now and that takes a lot.”

Unreal shouts in rage until her voice cracks. Finally she hangs her head and grits her teeth in anger but the fight seems drawn out of her.

“We...we only wanted our friend back. We’re only doing this so we can get out of all your heads. Isn’t that what you want??! Do you think we like being shoved full of our hosts pathetic overwhelming emotions?!”

She chuckles bitterly as the glow in her eyes dim and her skin seems to dull, “you’re only opening yourselves up to further pain the longer you halt our progress, little one.” As she finishes her eyes roll up in the back of her head, making her eyes turn fully back before she crashes to the ground, slowly dissolving back into ink.

Ouros almost rolled her eyes but she refrained. “Both of you talk to much,” She commented while flicking blood off her arm, “and TeFA. I’m sorry you went and destroyed the weakest tattoos but didn’t go for the rest.” In the distance cackling starts up as the hyenas receive their commands.

“Also they explode, bye,” Ouros says as she leaves TeFA’s mind. She doesn’t want to stay to see how that will go down.

TeFA’s eyes widen, but then she sighs. “Another dream, another death. What all is new.” As the hyenas run up as close as they can, TeFA laughs a bit as they prepare to explode.

“At least it's something different this time around.”

And then blood splatters the black landscape.

#unreal #anibase #ouros #dark side trio #lauren attempts to write with friends #roleplay #tefa #juri #fetch quest #part 2 #the dark trio

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brittysaucefanfic · 6 years ago

Text

Brand New Blue

Part 27

(First)(Previous)(Next) (AO3)

Shiro wasted no time in setting up the team for battle.

Keith and Hunk were already in their lions and joining the battle. The particle barrier was up and functioning, although it felt wrong putting the pod out of commission for the time being. Now Shiro just had to get Allura in the Blue Lion.

Easier said then done.

Shiro had gotten as far as subtly guiding her to Blue's hangar while they talked battle strategy, before she figured out what he was doing. She had whirled on him so quickly it was inhuman. Then again, she isn't human in the first place.

"What are you doing Shiro?" Allura questioned. She was standing tall, her arms crossed and her eyes glaring as cold as ice down her nose at him. Despite him actually being taller, he felt small under her gaze.

"We need you to pilot the Blue Lion Allura, we can't defend the Castle with only three lions." Shiro explained, ever the patient one. Allura relented, slumping her shoulders a little as she realized he was correct.

They had no escape route. No back up from the castle and they were already down the Green Lion and her Paladin. If the Lions failed this time, Voltron was done for.

"She won't take me Shiro, I'm not her Paladin." Allura said, her voice slightly sad. She was no longer bitter about the Blue Lion's rejection, no matter how small her bitterness was.

Shiro shook his head, pressing a guiding hand to her back so he might steer her to Blue's hangar. The lion was towering over them, tall and strong and fierce even without being in battle. "Just try, please."

They looked into each other's eyes, and Allura relented to Shiro’s steady gaze. She placed a hand on Blue's particle barrier before launching backwards with a gasp. She placed a hand to her mouth to conceal her sob, and Shiro rushed to her side.

"What's wrong Allura? What happened?" He said. Allura was slow to respond, her gaze never leaving the Blue Lion.

"She's mourning Shiro." She said. Finally she looked at him, her eyes watering. "She's mourning Lance."

Shiro jerked backwards, slamming his helmet on and immediately radioing Pidge. Realization set in after Pidge curtly assured that Lance breathed before going radio silent.

Blue didn't believe Lance was going to survive.

Shiro strode to her barrier, placing a bare hand firmly down before shutting his eyes. He reached out to Black and her imposing presence in his mind. She was stable, calm and ready when he was to go to battle. But he didn't need Black, he needed Blue, and Black gently sent him flying on air to Blue's ocean shore.

In his mind, he could go no further than where sand met open sky. He couldn't touch her waves, but he was sure Lance drowned in them. So Shiro just sat down in his mindscape and touched his hands to the sand.

Her waves were rocky, like the water during hurricanes back on Earth, and Shiro could swear the drops that hit his mind were tears.

"Blue." He said, both in reality and in his mind. It was surreal, like he was in two places at once. "Listen to me Blue."

Shiro breathed through his nose as the waves retreated, and he knew she was gearing up to form a Tsunami. But he pushed out to her anyways.

"Lance still lives, and he will continue to live. My people, my race, we are not the most durable of Aliens out there. This is true, and this is unchangeable. But we are not fragile either." He continued. The waves stopped retreating for a Tsunami, and instead swallowed up some of the sand in his mind. They were now only a few feet away from where Shiro’s hand crossed from open air into ocean sand.

"Lance will pull through this, because there have been times when people, my race, had gone through far worse than what Lance is. And some made full recoveries." Shiro leaned forward, his forehead pressed against the barriers both in his mind and in reality.

"He will survive Blue, because he's a fighter, and he's stubborn. He won't abandon you. Do you trust me?" He said. He watched as the waves in his mind settled, slowly becoming calmer. They weren't still, but they weren't wild either. Briefly, a single wave crept across the sand and engulfed his hand in water.

He felt it then, Blue's emotions. They were of fear and sorrow and anger. But there was also a message Shiro read loud and clear.

Trust you, Black Cub. Trust you.

Shiro smiled, and slowly retreated from the connection to Black. He knew better than to rip away from the mental link to his lion abruptly. The only time it happened Shiro was so sick he couldn't move for two days.

When he finally drew away from the connection, only a few minutes had passed, unlike the hours he spent in his connection. He turned to Allura and gestured for her to go past the barrier. She walked forward confidently, but she hesitated moments before touching the barrier.

Shiro gently grabbed her stilled wrist and guided it forward, watching as she passed through without a problem. Blue leaned down and opened her mouth, and Allura smiled as she ran up Blue's ramp.

He waited until she had launched before making his way to Black and following after Allura. His helmet was on now, and he raced out to the desert surrounding the castle to find a battle in full swing.

Time to get to work.

Shiro and the others fought only for a few minutes before their comms were taken over by Pidge’s voice.

"Alright everyone. Listen up. I know you're all worried for Lance, so this is only time I'll have to update you." She said. Her voice was serious, not even a crack in her tone or a hesitancy in her words.

No one interrupted her.

"Lance is in pretty bad shape, but I guess that was obvious. I've pinpointed three problems that are major enough to warrant a rejection from the pod, so I'll start from the lowest point on his body and move upward." Pidge said, barely stopping to breath.

Shiro quickly interjected to order Keith to cover Hunk, who was getting swamped with fighter jets.

"First is his pancreas, and for those who might not know, it's a gland behind the stomach that produces digestive enzymes and several hormones. There is a tear in the wall of the pancreas and Coran will be doing open surgery to seal it up using fancy Altean tech." Pidge continued, before there was a slight pause of silence on the comms. "It warrants concern because if the enzymes are left to leak out of his pancreas they will proceed to digest his insides, which is a bad thing."

"Next is his chest cavity. There are three fractures in his ribs which aren't a concern for the pod, but one of his middle ribs broke and punctured his right lung, causing it to collapse. We might need to go into surgery to fix that as well, but we aren't sure how bad it is yet." She said. Shiro gripped his controls tightly as he dodged an ion blast before shooting a line in the warship. Maybe Lance was worse than he realized.

"Last but not least, his eye. His Galra one to be exact. This isn't quite a concern for the pod as it is for us. The only reason the Galra tracked us down when only Coran knew the coordinates was because of the tracker in his eye. Whoever betrayed Lance, switched his mask for a fake one, and we have been tracked down because of it for weeks." Pidge paused, and it was probably to let it sink in. Shiro cursed, forgetting his comms were on, but not caring enough to do something about it.

It made sense now.

Ever since Lance joined the team, things have just gone nonstop. Attacks, ambushes, missions. They all just started coming at them all one after another.

Shiro didn't speak agin, so Pidge picked up where she left off.

"I'm going to try and remove the tracking device now so when the castle is ready for a wormhole jump we won't be tracked again. These three procedures are extremely difficult, especially since I'm not actually trained and Coran isn't versed on human biology. So I won't be on comms until we're finished. Either when Lance is in the pod, or if he dies." There was a silence filled with grief in that moment, but he knew Pidge would never let Lance die.

"We believe in you Pidge." Hunk said. It was the first time since Pidge gave them the run down that anyone but he or her spoke. And it relieved the tension too.

"Wish me luck guys." Pidge said. And then the rest of the team were left to protect the castle.

Anything for their Blue Paladin.

******

(First)(Previous)(Next) (AO3)

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emphoenixcat · 7 years ago

Note

I have a writing prompt if that’s okay? I’m asking different writers and would like to see your take on it. It’s that while Logan is Thomas’ Logic, he is also his anger. This has already been debunked in canon, but I still love the idea. So, all it is, is Logan hiding and suppressing his anger, thinking it is hurtful and completely bad. And it turns self destructive, and into the others finding out (the easy or the hard way? Him shouting?) and helping him through it. - 🖤🐲

^^^Interesting. I’d like to see how other people decided to write this kind of story

Warnings: Self-destructive behavior, cutting, self-hate.

Logan was well aware that the Sides were complex beings.

Nobody was just one thing.

Patton was not just happy feelings, he was the core of all feelings.

Roman was not just dreams and creation, he was nightmares and destruction.

Virgil was not just anxiety and fear, he was protection and self-preservation.

But what was Logan? Was he just Logic? Or was there something more to him than that?

Everyone else’s faults and virtues were closely linked to what their purpose was. It was like smaller aspects of personalities fighting to keep balance in Thomas’ mind, even if that balance came at a greater cost.

Logan was Logic, but he had his faults. The same as all the others, he had another side to him. Another presence that haunted his part of the mindscape.

Anger.

But why do I abet anger? Wouldn’t that be Anxiety’s burden? Or even Morality’s?

Perhaps, it was because Logan was the persona that fought the most.

While Creativity fought quite literal monsters, Logic fought for what he felt was right.

Logical arguments fueled by fire. It made him more passionate in arguments, but that also made Logic flawed.

He was faulty.

And that was the main reason why Logan hid that side of himself from the others. Not only was it a difficult thing to control, but it made him feel like a failure.

Every now and then, he would accidentally let out an aggravated shout during an argument. He would have to fight to calm himself during debates, but it was difficult to keep himself from slipping.

It had been increasingly exhausting to hold it back when they had visited Patton’s room.

Feelings, Logan thought with great distaste.

He had had to make a hasty retreat. He would have just made the situation worse if he had stayed in there any longer.

Logan was no fool though, he knew that he needed an outlet for the rage. He did not want it to harm any of the others though.

Not Roman.

Not Virgil.

Not Patton.

Not Thomas.

He thought it was best to direct it at himself.

It was his burden to carry, he couldn’t drag the others into it when they had their own responsibilities to worry about.

Nobody suspected what actually went on in the logical side’s room. They all figured that Logan didn’t like to be bothered because he was working on important projects and experiments.

In reality, Logan would rush to his room after particularly distressing discussions and the room would swirl around him. Books, papers, pencils, beakers, and flasks would fly around Logan like a tornado. Glass smashing violently against the walls.

He had looked in the mirror a few times, his eyes burned red during these scenarios.

Luckily, the Sides’ rooms were soundproof or else Logan’s secret would’ve been uncovered a long time ago.

Calm down! Calm down! Logan would tell himself.

It never worked.

He felt the fury building inside, threatening to consume all reason. Struggling to possess him.

It went on like that for awhile until Logan discovered something that would temporarily silence his rage

Pain.

It would override the other feeling enough for him to take control again.

Logan would grab a razorblade or piece of glass (whichever was nearest) and carefully cut the scars into his stomach.

He couldn’t really explain it, the irrational emotion of relief that would flood over him as he watched the blood slowly ooze out of the cuts.

Fascinating.

It was a day like any other, the Sides were taking turns choosing a fun activity. It was Roman’s turn and he wanted to take the others down to his mindscape to enjoy an afternoon of sunshine.

“It will be such an adventure! You guys really need to see the lake at this time of the year. Simply gorgeous!” the prince was saying.

Patton smiled, “Maybe we could all go for a swim!”

“What a splendid idea, Pat.”

Virgil grimaced, “I don’t care for swimming.”

“Of course you don’t” Roman rolled his eyes and turned to Logan.

“What do you think?”

Logan didn’t care for the idea at all, but he knew he couldn’t win the argument. It was Roman’s day to choose and the prince would be very pouty if he didn’t get his way.

“I guess we could all go spend time by the lake, but I’m with Virgil on this one. I am not much of a swimmer.”

“Wow, you two are just the life of the party” Roman muttered sarcastically.

In Roman’s room, they were surrounded by sweltering afternoon heat. The forest was abuzz with birds and insects, as the Sides made their way to the lake. Patton was skipping joyously ahead with Roman leading the way, Logan and Virgil bringing up the rear.

Logan glanced at Virgil, who was glumly suffering in his heavy hoodie.

“Um, Virge?”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me, I know I should take the jacket off. I’m not going to. I’m not,” Virgil said firmly.

Logan let out a huff of annoyance. I was only trying to help.

They came upon the lake, it’s surface was cool and inviting. Roman immediately conjured up some swimming gear for everyone in case Logan or Virgil changed their minds.

Patton grabbed Logan’s wrist and pulled him forward, “Why don’t you guys come and swim? It’s like over a hundred degrees here.”

The logical side withdrew from Patton, getting irritated. “No, go on without me. I am perfectly content just sitting here.”

“Please?” Patton pleaded with big, round puppy-looking eyes. “At least dip your feet in. I don’t want to see you suffering from the heat. That means you too, Virge” Patton said sternly.

Virgil sighed and obligingly zapped himself into the swim trunks that Roman had provided. His hooded jacket was still wrapped around him, he looked a bit ridiculous.

But apparently Patton approved of the anxious side’s transition. He glanced back at Logan expectantly.

Logan crossed his arms and mirrored Virgil’s actions. He kept his polo shirt and tie on as he instantly changed into the dark blue swim trunks.

Virgil sniggered at the other’s outfit.

“What are you laughing about? You look just as weird as I do.”

“Oh, but I make this work”

“I expect this out of Virgil, but not out of you. Really, what is the problem?” Patton asked.

“Nothing. I’m simply not comfortable.”

Patton frowned, “But we’re all the same.”

Logan straightened his glasses nervously, “Well, technically….”

He fumbled with his tie and smoothed down his shirt, trying not to look Patton in the eye.

Patton tilted his head, confused.

“Look, it isn’t anything we haven’t seen before, kiddo.”

Logan shook his head.

Patton sighed and they proceeded walking to the lake. Logan and Virgil sat on the edge, their legs dangling in the water while Roman and Patton jumped in.

Virgil smirked as he splashed the prince in the face. Roman retaliated much to Virgil’s dismay.

“Hey, my hoodie!”

“Your own fault” Roman chuckled.

Patton was mischievously sneaking up on Logan, he grabbed the logical side’s ankle and pulled. Logan was fully submerged.

His shirt floated up as he was dragged down, Patton let go. The moral side had a close-mouthed smile on his face as he began to resurface, but paused when he saw something. Something on Logan’s stomach.

As they both broke through the surface of the lake, Patton questioned the logical side.

“Wha–what was that?”

Logan looked exasperated as he combed the wet hair away from his face and cleaned his soaked glasses. “What was what?” he snapped.

“On your stomach.”

Logan froze.

“I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go now.”

And with that the logical side returned to his room.

Patton and the others followed.

The logical side’s room was an utter disaster and getting worse. Objects moved as if a poltergeist inhabited the residence.

Roman screamed as a book nearly struck him in the head. Virgil inched backward. Patton took a tentative step deeper into the mindscape.

“Logan?”

“Get out.”

Patton and the others shuddered at the warped voice. I thought only Virgil’s voice got like that.

“What’s wrong? Let us help you” the moral side tried again, still moving towards Logan.

Logan was rummaging around his desk for something, “You can’t help. Go.”

“But we need to know. We need to know what’s going on.”

Patton gasped in shock as the logical side turned to face him.

Logan’s eyes were completely red, no pupil to be seen. It was like it wasn’t even him. It was as if he were possessed by a demon.

The red-eyed Logan grinned, and Patton saw with dawning horror that he was holding a blade.

“Patton!” Roman yelled. “Watch out!” Virgil added as the anxious side carefully moved forward to get Patton to safety.

Instead of trying to hurt Patton though, the crazed Logan took the blade and etched a new mark on his stomach.

Everything in the room became utterly silent as the objects that had been hurtling wildly around them stopped abruptly as if the place itself was holding its breath.

Logan continued in concentration as if the others weren’t there.

His eyes were transitioning back to the way they normally were. Back to the way they should be.

As he broke out of his daze, all the items simultaneously clattered haphazardly to the floor.

Nobody spoke.

They just took in the destruction that lay around them.

In the midst of it all was Logan, still clutching the razorblade like a lifeline while streams of blood became more visible through his shirt.

“I–I’m sorry” he managed.

Virgil spoke next, “I think you owe us more than an apology. What just happened?”

Logan bowed his head in shame, “I have another side to me. I’m not just Logic.”

He glanced up and saw the confusion.

“Anger….also resides here.”

“You didn’t think that that was important information to share with us!” Roman was understandably upset.

“I thought I could handle it on my own.”

“And how’s that working out for ya?”

Logan glared at the prince, feeling like he might’ve had another flare up if it wasn’t for his fresh wounds.

“I know how to take care of it. You guys weren’t supposed to follow me.”

Patton finally spoke, “I–is that how?” He pointed to Logan’s stomach with a trembling finger.

The logical side nodded.

Roman grimaced, “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“It’s the only way the Anger will go away. I have to direct it at someone or something. I don’t want to direct it at you guys.”

“Wait? So you direct it at yourself?” Virgil asked.

“Y–yeah.”

“There has to be something else you can do….”

“No. If I do anything else, I risk being faulty logic. I have to protect Thomas from that.”

Patton was shaking his head, droplets forming in his eyes. “We’re not letting you hurt yourself again.”

Logan stared at Patton, “But I am imperfect. I have to be perfect. I have to function properly for Thomas…..and for you guys.”

Virgil, Roman, and Patton all glanced at each other.

“Lo….there’s no such thing as perfection. We’re all here just trying our best, we can’t do that if we don’t work together on things.” Patton reassured him.

“You have to trust us on this. Please tell us next time. Let us know when you’re becoming angry. When you need space or when you need comfort.”

Logan slowly nodded his head. Maybe….maybe that would work.

The Sides came together to comfort him and Logan smiled.

Maybe with their help, Logic wouldn’t be so faulty.

#sanders sides fanfic #drabble #angst #logan sanders

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lil-lycanthropy · 7 years ago

Text

Belong

Words: 5,250 (or something like that)

Parings: None??? This can be read as platonic or romantic idc

Warnings: Angst, Dissociation, Anxiety/Panic Attacks, Nightmares, Flashbacks, slight Blood (nothing gory really), slight Burns (once again, not really bad or anything), Self-Loathing, Negative Thoughts, I think that’s it?

Summary: Everyone’s trying to accept Parker, and Parker is trying hard to be accepted. But the fact of the matter is, he traumatized the sides and they’re not coping well.

Notes: This is for @parkersanders as my SAD entry. It’s late (I’m so sorry) because I’m a depressed procrastinator who has to edit things 434753947 times and rewrite all the chapters. Also sorry it’s so long I have no self control, and go big or go home so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Anyway, hope you like it! I’m in love with your verse and hope you have a happy birthday!

Disclaimer: The fic is based on @parkersanders‘s fic Silence and Duality (read here), and I use one quote from it in here somewhere, I think in the fourth part? Yeah. Enjoy.

Roman was lounging on the couch when it happened.

Everything was fine, until he thought about Parker. The new living situation wasn’t as fear-mongering as he thought it would be, yet there were still tensions. They were all still slightly worried as Parker settled in, but were trying to hold it together so they wouldn’t trigger anything.

Parker was...interesting, to say in the least. With all their history, it was surreal with him back in their lives now. Dealing with his absence for two decades to having him be sleeping next door felt unreal. It would have been unimaginable even a couple weeks ago, and yet that was their reality now.

Then there was the whole drama of Parker escaping his prison, only to put the other through the same hell he experienced—if only for a much shorter time span. Usually Roman was more than okay with drama, but the things that happened in there, only for Virgil to be the one to save him. It left him feeling very defeated in a way he hadn’t ever been before. The shame, the fear...

Suddenly, Roman’s breath started coming in short pants and he could no longer feel the couch beneath him, the pillow under his head, or the clothes he was wearing. He couldn’t feel...anything.

It was like he was having an out-of-body experience, except that didn’t make sense, because as facets of Thomas personality, they were not capable of such things.

He went completely limp on the couch, not having the strength or mental presence to hold his body upright anymore. Focusing on one thing became impossible, his eyes darting back and forth without taking in any information. Roman didn’t know what was happening.

Roman...

Was that even his name? He couldn’t remember. Why did he even have to have a name? It’s not like he even existed...

Roman continued thinking everything and nothing at once, thoughts crossing his mind so quickly, little bits of nonsense that meant nothing.

After a time, Logan walked into the scene—the Prince, sitting on the couch, limp except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest and his eyes flashing a mile a minute.

“Roman?” Logan said, rushing over and kneeling down.

Roman glanced over, barely acknowledging the presence of the other side. “I-I don’t—”

Logan took a breath to steel his nerves. “May I touch you?”

Roman looked confused, then gave a jerk of his head that passed as a nod. Crouching down, Logan took one of the Prince’s hands and placed it on his chest. “Okay, we’re going to go through some grounding exercises to get you feeling calmer. Can you breathe in, as deep as you can?”

A shuddering breath, then a slower exhale.

“Good. Now, repeat.”

They carried on until Roman was breathing fairly regularly, but he was still far from his normal rambunctious self. “Roman, could you do me a favour?” Another nod. “Can you name five things you can see?”

The Prince looked anxiously around the room. “Um, you, the-the TV, the, uh, carpet, table, and-and the blinds over the window.”

“Four things you can feel, now.”

“Your h-hand, my shirt, the couch, and...exhaustion.”

Logan cracked a smile. “Yes, that I can imagine.”

They went through the grounding exercise until Roman was sitting up and didn’t look quite so pale. Logan summoned a glass of water, which Roman chugged gratefully.

“I know I’m not the best at dealing with emotions, but I am curious—do you know what exactly triggered the attack?”

Roman put his head in his hands, mumbling something incoherent.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t catch that.”

Roman raised his head and said, “Parker.”

“What about Parker? I know our situation is going to take some getting used to, but what about that would cause something this bad?”

Hands now shaking again, Roman brushed back his hair. “I was thinking about, how, y’know, we did all this horrible stuff to him, and then he put us through all that when he got out, and it was terrifying. I’m not saying we didn’t deserve it, but, god—”

“Roman, please calm down. You’re rambling, and I know you well enough to recognize when it’s not coming from a place of stability. You’re right; we have done some unacceptable things in the past. We’re all guilty—”

“Virgil’s not.”

“Well, I’m not going to contradict that statement. However, we’re trying to make things right. As for what you faced in there—Parker preyed on our fears. All of us. But fears are often irrational, and even if they’re not, almost any problem can be solved in some way. As long as you remember that, your fears will have no power over you.”

Roman gave a slightly tearful nod, trying to hide the drops through a smile.

Across the room, hidden by shadows, another figure was also trying to hide his tears. Not with a smile, though—with the sleeves of a faded hoodie and the long edges of his sandy hair.

Parker sunk out, retreating back to his room. Just another day where he was to blame.

There was no shortage of those.

A crash broke the relative silence in the mindscape kitchen as Logan dropped the coffee pot, spilling its contents all over the floor.

It was still early—only 9:00, still an hour before regular scheduled time to go to bed—but Thomas had once again decided to procrastinate on a video, so it was likely they both were going to be awake for awhile yet (Roman, too—no video could exist without his input).

Prolonging the inevitable was fruitless, so Logan decided he may as well start early and get some heavily-caffeinated bean water into his system to give him the energy he would require to get through the night.

Making a pot of coffee was pretty much second nature to all the sides by now. With the amount of times Thomas stayed up late, they had all gotten used to rapid-heart rate, shaky-hands, slightly-nauseated feeling. While drinking coffee in the mindscape was more of a habit than actually useful, they all still did it whenever Thomas would be up late. It was really the only way they would function (except Patton, who preferred hot chocolate and was bubbly around the clock).

However, sometimes things go wrong. Logan was distracted, thinking about both the video and Roman. He had been better since his his dissociative episode three days ago, but it had still bothered the analytical side. He was thinking about how Roman’s own mental state might affect the quality of the video (along with the worry for his friend, not that he would admit that) when he dropped the full pot of coffee, shattering it all over the kitchen tile.

As the coffee flooded the floor, they soaked Logan’s fuzzy socks (he was going for comfort rather than appearance. Just this once. One-time thing. Definitely). It began burning his feet, but worse than that was how Logan’s breath stopped.

Being a side meant not having to shower or bathe. It meant not having to go swimming or step in puddles or going in the rain. Being a side meant that dealing with water was a complete rarity, unless one enjoyed baths for leisure (like Virgil sometimes did. Roman had found that out one day, promised to keep it secret, then proceeded to tell Logan, Patton, and Thomas about Anxiety’s guilty pleasure). The last time Logan had been in water was...

The flashback was the only thing occupying his vision. He could vaguely take in his surroundings, but his immediate thoughts were get out you’re going to drown if you do not find a way to GET OUT YOU’RE GOING TO DROWN—

Gasping for breath was a painful affair as Logan forced his lungs to take in oxygen. He wouldn’t be able to escape unless he could think rationally and come up with a solution, but no matter where he stepped, water squelched between his toes and he knew he was still in danger.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure wearing loose clothing, a hood draped over its head. His mind immediately went to Death.

As he tried to get away, his back hit something solid. He slid down, landing in the puddle on the ground.

A wall, it’s a wall, you’re trapped and you’re going to drown and now you’re cornered—

“Logan? Logan! Can you hear me, kiddo?”

Yes, I can hear you. Who are you, though?

“Are you okay? Logan?”

Please, stop pestering me with questions. I need to think of how to escape this torturous flood.

“We’re gonna go to the couch now, okay, buddy?”

He was abruptly pulled upright, his one arm draped over someone’s shoulder. Shuffling forward, he eventually dropped onto something soft—and dry.

Dry? Soft? No water, no flooding, no walls, what—?

“Can you hear me, Lo?”

Logan looked over to see a gentle face, with worried eyes peering behind a thick pair of glasses.

“Pat-Patton?”

“Yep, I’m here.”

Logan leaned forward, placing his head in his hands. He was slowly coming back to reality, but everything still felt wrong. He was the logical side! He wasn’t supposed to succumb to irrational fears! A flashback, of all things...

But it felt so real.

“I thought I was back...in the place, the one where Parker put me when he was getting out of his own prison...”

Patton’s brow furrowed, and he placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Do you wanna talk about it? Now, I know you don’t like all this ‘emotional crap’ stuff, but I’m always here for you. As your dad.”

A small smile crept out against Logan’s will. “You’re not my dad. And no, I don’t need to talk about anything. It’s stupid.”

“Kiddo, it’s not stupid. I know you think you have to be 100%, all the time, but all of us know you have emotions. Especially me. I know you, Lo.”

Logan shook his head. “I dropped the coffee pot—oh no, it probably made a mess, I should go—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, it’s fine, we’ll get it later. No use crying over spilled milk—er, coffee, right?”

At that moment, Logan realized how much his feet hurt. “I think it burned me, and I need to go remedy that now.”

“No, let me! Be back in a jiffy!”

Someone else suddenly appeared in Logan’s line of vision.

Patton spoke up. “Oh, Parker’s here, too,” he said as he raced up the stairs

Parker looked distraught, then pulled off the hood on his dark sweater. “I’m-I’m sorry. I’ll leave now.”

Logan nodded mutely, regretting opening up and being so vulnerable, not only in front of Patton, but Parker, too (though inadvertently). He felt slightly remorseful about having Parker hear what he’d said, but he was still trying to pick up the pieces.

Parker sunk out, leaving Logan alone for only a moment before Patton popped up with a first aid kit. While he could’ve easily summoned one on his own, Patton liked to have some realism in the mindscape. Said it “made things interesting”.

He flipped the top open, bandaids spilling all over the couch. “Nice socks,” Patton said, before shimmying them off.

Logan’s feet were bright pink. Patton looked them over, but it was all superficial. He slathered on some aloe vera, and put Logan’s socks back on.

“That was one of the most unpleasant things I have ever experienced.”

“Are you talking about my first aid skills, Lo?”

“Of course. But putting my socks back on after? That was low.”

“-gan.”

“Stop.”

---

Parker reappeared back in his own room, which was still almost blank, and he threw himself on his bed. Was he being selfish, making Logic’s breakdown all about him? Of course he was. Logic was the one struggling right now, all because of him.

Guilt washed over him. Even Logic was crumbling because Parker had decided revenge was better than compromise or forgiveness. At the time, he had wanted to break them, but now...

Parker knew what he did was wrong. He wished for some way to undo all the damage.

But what’s done is done. He just has to keep trying.

A couple days later, Patton was laying in bed, looking up at the fairy lights on his ceiling. The little patterns resembled stars, which usually relaxed him. He had designed his room entirely for comfort. Patton was a homebody, and his room reflected that.

However, tonight was different. His mind was replaying Logan’s little breakdown on the kitchen floor. He’d said it was a flashback.

“Triggered by dropping the coffee and getting liquid all over my feet. Roman also might’ve helped with the intensity—he had some trouble a few days ago. My best guess is dissociation. I suppose that was on my mind, distracting my focus.”

That prospect was terrifying. The most logical, grounded side falling victim to the mind’s whims? What chance did the rest of them have?

The lights dimmed as he closed his eyes, falling into an uneasy slumber.

---

Several hours later, Parker awoke to screaming coming from down the hall.

Even with Anxiety, Thomas was a pretty chill guy. Screaming in pure terror was not a very common thing heard around the mindscape, especially not this late at night.

Heart racing, Parker leapt out of bed and threw open his door.

Morality. It was coming from Morality’s room.

Parker burst in, catching sight of Morality thrashing about wildly on the bed, tears streaming down his face from his scrunched-up eyes.

“Morality, wake up!”

Parker rushed over and began desperately shaking Morality’s shoulder. “It’s just-it’s just a dream!” Tears began to flow from his own eyes.

The Heart’s eyes flew open, and he gasped in horror, shoving Parker away with a choked gasp.

Virgil appeared behind them, pushing past Parker in an urgent, but not unkind way, and gathered Patton in his arms. Usually, he was vehemently against physical contact, but he couldn’t leave Patton like that. The moral side needed comfort, and judging from how clingy—er, loving, he always was, it was safe to assume physical contact was what he needed at the moment.

Patton clung onto Virgil, bunching up the darker trait’s shirt in his hands and sobbing into his shoulder. Virgil tentatively wrapped his arms around Patton while Parker stood off to the side, looking distraught.

“Um, I got this...I think. Can you, uh, make sure Logan and Roman are still asleep? I don’t want to overwhelm Pat right now.”

Parker left gracelessly, stumbling into the doorframe on his way out.

“Hey, Parker?”

The side reappeared at the door.

“Thank you, for trying to help him.”

Parker gave a meek nod, then disappeared from view.

Virgil turned his attention back to Patton. His tears were still coming, but his breaths were at least slowing down. “I’m s-so sorry you have to see me like this, kiddo...”

“No, it’s fine. I mean, you’ve seen me during some pretty rough times, and you’ve always helped me through it. Least I can do is return the favour, y’know?”

Patton sat back up, and Virgil summoned a glass of water. He handed to Patton, who drained half the glass in one go. “Thanks, Verge.”

Virgil gulped a little, then nodded. “So, what happened? Was it, like...a nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Patton said softly after a beat of silence.

Nightmares were nothing new to Virgil. Heck, Patton knew that. Ever since he became more comfortable with the other sides, he had still really only opened up to Patton about the nightmares. He was sure Logan and Roman knew about them, but they never brought it up. But Pat said his door was always open for Virgil, any time. So Virgil had taken to going to Patton for comfort after night terrors.

Virgil leaned back, waiting to see if Pat would open up or not. Oftentimes, all Virgil wanted was some comforting after a nightmare without having to relive it. He wondered if Patton was the same.

Eventually, Pat sighed and looked up. “It was about Parker.”

Virgil’s interest was immediately piqued. “Parker?”

“Well, not Parker exactly,” Patton rushed to clarify. “Just...going through that prison again, and the others’, too. Like a mix of the nightmares Parker made for all of us. Logan and Roman told me about what they went though, so it was like a...mega-terror-extravaganza thing. I can’t really figure out why theirs were in there, I don’t exactly have the same fears as them or anything.”

“It’s because you’re an empath, Dad.”

Patton smiled at him. “Thanks, son.”

“I’m notcha son,” Virgil said, hiding a smirk behind his hand.

“Ok, whatever you say.”

The tension was broken, and even though Patton still had drying tear tracks on his face, the twinkle that was usually in his eye had returned.

But not everyone could recover so easily from emotional turmoil.

Stupid. You should’ve done better. Helping people is easy when you’re a good person, which is why you’re still struggling with it. You only ever bring bad things to the table. What’s even the point in trying to help if everyone’s just trying to push you away?

Parker curled up as his mind realized how hopeless he was. No matter how hard he tried, he would never measure up to the other sides. That’s why they locked him away in the first place, wasn’t it? He contributed nothing. Even Anxiety had a purpose, to keep Thomas safe from harm. Thomas definitely didn’t need another side helping with that.

What exactly was Parker’s purpose now? How could he make it up to the other sides and prove he belonged?

Virgil was having a bad day.

This in itself wasn’t unusual. With him being the embodiment of anxiety, he was always feeling as if his emotions were heightened in a negative way—which is why he was almost always on edge. Then there was the messed up sleep schedule, unhealthy eating habits (whether it was a “physical” feeling or just a placebo effect, the sides all felt happiest when they stuck with somewhat healthy eating, along with cookies where Patton’s involved), and a reliance on caffeine.

He was not exactly a role model regarding self care.

Since a few months ago, after they did “Accepting Anxiety,” he did feel like he belonged with the group more. They made an effort to make him feel welcome, and it did help.

However, that didn’t mean Virgil never had issues anymore.

Today was one of the days his “issues” were making themselves known. He hadn’t slept in over 36 hours, and in that time, had been drinking coffee almost non-stop. Even his body, ever used to being heavily caffeinated, was struggling. His pulse was racing and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

The worst was that Virgil’s mind refused to stay focused, and turned to negative or intrusive thoughts rather than the task at hand. He had been flitting around all day as a result of the caffeine, but he still felt completely drained.

He remembered how Patton would cook or bake while stressed, as a way to take his mind off things.

And that’s how Virgil ended up standing at the counter, trying to slice up a red bell pepper with a giant santoku knife for his homemade ratatouille (alright, yes, he was thinking of the movie the entire time).

But shaky hands and large knives don’t mix. One wrong move, one second of attention being elsewhere, is all it took for Virgil to miss the pepper and instead slice straight into his thumb.

Blood began to flow out of the wound, dripping onto the counter. Virgil stared at it, fixated on the deep red colour.

He looked like Thomas, in a demonic sort of way. His hair was dark, yet paler than when they were young. His skin was tinted blue and the shadows danced around him like a hazy mirage. His nails were long and black like they belonged on a monster’s hand, not his. His eyes were the scariest: black where the whites were supposed to be, the pupils a deep red instead of black.

The same crimson colour that currently flooded out of Virgil’s hand.

Panic overtook him, spiralling him into the all-too-familiar anxiety attack. This one was worse than any he had ever experienced. Along with the rapid heart rate, the growing pressure on his chest, and his throat closing up, he began to feel lightheaded at the sight of the blood.

The red that looked so much like Parker’s eyes when they first met again after fifteen years...

Tears pricked at his eyes, and every time he tried to catch his breath, it was knocked out of him again as if he had been punched. He collapsed to the floor, wheezing, desperately trying to breathe. When he couldn’t, that just made him more distressed.

It was a never-ending cycle when he got like this. Alone, Virgil was powerless to stop it. His breathing would become more useless until he passed out and his body reset itself. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except when his attacks were that severe, it usually incapacitated him for days while he tried to recover.

Passing out never did seem like a good option in these times of distress. His primordial reaction was to get out of the situation, which would make sense except he couldn’t move, he couldn’t escape the situation, he was helpless on the ground. Thoughts of death always crossed his mind because he couldn’t breathe...

A slight whimper came out against his will, using up what little oxygen he had left. He was truly, undeniably going to die like this.

“Anxiety, please, breathe!”

A voice. A voice belonging to a person. Someone familiar, maybe.

Virgil turned over and was greeted with the face of Parker.

Despite Parker’s appearance being drastically different than when they first saw him a few weeks ago, it was still him. And at that moment, him was a threat.

Rather than hyperventilating, Virgil’s breathing screeched to a dead halt. A tiny part was saying Parker’s fine, Parker’s safe, Parker’s changed for the better, the larger, instinctive part was screaming danger. Absolute danger.

“No, no, no, no, no, please breathe, don’t stop, don’t—”

“What’s happening?” a new voice boomed.

“He—he—”

“What did you do to him?! Never mind, just get out and let me deal with this!”

A face appeared in Virgil’s line of vision, close to the ground. “Verge, bud, I’m gonna wrap this towel around your hand and I need you to take some deep breaths. What’s that little pattern you do? 4-6-8?”

Virgil jerked his hand away as...Roman? Roman bundled up Virgil’s hand, holding the towel in place.

“Sorry, but I need to stop the bleeding, and...Ah! 4-7-8! We’re gonna do that, okay, Finding Emo? Copy me; in for four...”

Roman counted as he took an exaggerated breath, and Virgil followed, choking a bit at four.

“Good, Verge, now hold,” Roman said, silently counting.

“And out.”

They repeated it several more times, and Virgil slowly sat up. He clutched his hand with the towel still on it close to his chest, blood soaking through the fabric.

With a flourish of Roman’s hand, a first aid box appeared next to the pair. Roman popped it open, pulling out some antiseptic, gauze, a butterfly bandage, and the medical tape.

He held out his hand, and Virgil hesitantly placed his own in it.

Roman got to work, applying some antiseptic and the butterfly bandage to hold the edges together. He wrapped it in gauze and finished by taping the edges down.

As he was putting everything back in the kit, Virgil spoke up for the first time.

“You shouldn’t have yelled at him.”

“Who?”

“It’s ‘whom’, and—”

“Ok, I’m going to have to ask you to stop hanging around Logan so much.”

“Anyway. Parker. You shouldn’t have yelled at him. He didn’t do anything wrong; he just wanted to help.”

The Prince huffed out a sigh. “Yeah, I know. I’ll go apologize to him in a bit.”

Looking displeased, but too tired to argue, Virgil nodded his assent.

After being shoved out of the kitchen, Parker had sprinted up the stairs back to his room. His knees buckled and he pitched forward onto his bed, his weak resolve crumbling. Great, heaving sobs made their way out, his chest clenching painfully.

Everyone hated him. He made everything worse, and everyone was suffering because of his actions.

The grief was too overwhelming, and Parker didn’t know what to do. His body shut down, and he fell into a deep sleep.

---

As soon as he was unconscious, Parker’s mind flashed back to all the damage he’d inflicted.

Not only on the other sides, but his host, too. He had almost gotten Thomas killed because he couldn’t control his fear. Then, after escaping his prison, forced him to go though those horrible hallucinations when Thomas had done nothing wrong.

Pitting Creativity against an unbeatable enemy, making him think Virgil was in danger, coating the prison in blood.

Giving Logic a problem with an impossible solution, drowning him in cold water with no escape.

Putting Morality through emotional turmoil, which would be so much worse for the Heart, then falling for eternity.

And Virgil...

Virgil had stood up for him. He had refused to put up a wall, and the other sides had just thrown him in with Parker. Torturing him for five long years, going through unimaginable horrors. Virgil escaping, then having to go through that same hell again to rescue the other sides.

They all hated him now. His purpose, originally to protect Thomas and give him courage, was abolished. He had changed, going from Fear to Sadness.

In reality, he was a traumatized kid that didn’t know what he did wrong, so he was punished for it. His revenge for that had been petty and cruel.

No wonder they never wanted him around.

Parker awoke with a jolt, an unbearable pressure on his chest. He wasn’t breathing, he couldn’t breathe, he didn’t deserve to breathe.

In his mind, he was straddling the border between sleep and consciousness. Enough that he could see is surroundings, but not make sense of what was happening.

He couldn’t feel his arms, or his legs, and even the vice on his chest began to seem less important than before. It was like he was floating away from his body, back into the prison, reliving all the pain he had inflicted on himself and others. The hellish hallucinations swirled around him in his mind, feeding his panic.

It was as if he was still in a dream—no, a nightmare. He wanted to disappear, and he already felt like he was fading away, being stretched too far by regret.

A voice permeated his thoughts, but they sounded muffled for some reason.

“Parker, can I come in?”

He gave no answer. He could give no answer.

“I know you’re in there, I just wanted to, ah, apologize for my un-princely behaviour. If you need your space, I’ll go, but—”

Parker let out a gasp as he choked on air, he didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t think, and suddenly his door was being pushed open by the frantic hands of Creativity.

It was like Parker was watching things happen from an outside perspective. He could hear Creativity calling his name and shaking him, but he couldn’t respond.

“Parker, c’mon, stay with me here—Pat!”

Someone thumped down the hall, and Morality appeared at the door. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, I walked in and he was like this!”

Tears poured out of Parker’s eyes and he was trembling even harder. His mouth open and closed like a fish, but nothing came out.

“Oh, crap, Parker, honey, can you hear me?” Patton grabbed one of Parker’s hands. “Can you squeeze my hand?”

Parker continued to heave, making no move to squeeze Patton’s hand.

“Shoot. Can you get Logan, please?”

Roman raced off, then returned with a slightly dishevelled Logan in tow. “What’s going on?”

Logan caught sight of Parker on the bed. “Oh dear. No, that’s not good.”

“What do we do?”

Suddenly, Virgil popped up at the door. “Geez, Princey, you were just supposed to say sorry to him, what could you have possibly done—”

He was cut off when he saw the situation. Parker was spasming in bed because of how hard his muscles were shaking, his face turning blue (due from lack of oxygen, not as an illusion), and he was barely breathing. The other sides were huddled around him, with Patton holding one of his hands.

“Guys, what the heck?” Anxiety said as he rushed over. “Parker, listen if you can; we’re gonna sit you up because, believe me, laying on your back makes it harder to breathe when you’re like this.”

Parker couldn’t respond, he still felt as if he was dying, and no one was trying to do anything to help. They were going to let him die.

Two pairs of hands gently hoisted him up so he was against the headboard of the bed. The pressure eased somewhat, but his body began falling forward.

“Verge—”

“I’ve got him,” said Patton.

The emotional side wormed his way in next to Parker and slipped an arm around his shoulders, holding him up. Morality’s thumb moved back and forth in mini circles, attempting to soothe Parker’s distress. Creativity grabbed one of Parker’s hands and squeezed it, trying to ground him. Logic did the same on the other side.

Slowly, Parker came back to himself, fresh tears spilling from his reddened eyes. He sobbed, utterly exhausted and full of loathing. He took his hands away and buried his head in them, his shoulders shaking with every cry. He mumbled something through the noise, then curled in even further.

“What was that?” Anxiety asked softly.

“I-I’m so sorry. F-for everything. I was h-horrible to you, to everyone, to Thomas,” he gasped out. “I’m sorry.”

Morality wrapped both arms around him. “We forgive you, kiddo. Always.” Logic and Creativity both nodded in agreement.

Anxiety grabbed both of Parker’s hands, gently pulling them away from his face. “Look at me.”

Parker glanced up, fear in his eyes.

Anxiety placed his hands on either side of Parker’s face, and brought their heads together. They rested for a minute as Parker continued to cry silently.

“We forgive you, alright? All of us. We’ve all made mistakes, we’ve all done crap we shouldn’t have. Hell, it was a mistake on these guys’ part to lock you away, and mine for not helping you get out when I did. It’s in the past, okay? And we’ll work things out. Got it?”

“Got it,” Parker sniffled.

“And we’ll always need you. You’re not unnecessary, you’re not evil, you’re not a burden. You’re you, and that’s all we could ever ask for.”

Parker began crying harder, and Anxiety placed a kiss on his forehead. The other four wrapped themselves around them, forming a cocoon of safety.

Creativity, Morality, Logic, Anxiety, and Sadness.

Roman, Patton, Logan, Virgil, and Parker.

Wanted. Good. Loved. Safe.

Enough.

#sanders sides #fanfic #quasimodo speaks #fandom #silence and duality

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