#he no longer scraps and cuts himself so easily on “accident”

[littlepikmins]

Tim not properly treating his wounds fully because he's busy and mentally feels like he does not have the time to take care of himself, always putting case work and other matters over his own needs. So Bernard gets into the habit of checking him for new wounds after Tim comes home from patrol, and Bear will treat the wounds for him if he finds any.

Bernard being more accident prone than Tim remembers him being in high school and often hurting himself. When he does have a cut or scrape he doesn't bandage it and often picks at the scab. Tim holds his hands to stop him from picking at it and applies bandages to the usually small injuries himself.

They take care of each other when the other struggles to do so.

[cowardlybean]

MP100 Writing Scraps!!

all Reigen and Mob related, NOT ship. if you’re curious about context just shoot me an ask :3

[Context: Mob is speaking to a doppelgänger of Reigen.]

Shigeo watches passively as Reigen lights a cigarette, cupping his hand around the lighter’s flame as if to keep it out of Shigeo’s sight. Between two fingers he brings the cigarette to his lips with practiced mundanity—Shigeo knows that shishou used to smoke, and he’s well aware of the consequences of addiction, yet the sight creates a shiver that skitters up the boy’s spine and curls around his brain stem. It’s wrong, to put it plainly. Wrong.

“You don’t smoke, Reigen-shishou.” The words escape his mouth pushed out by the invasive scent of smog. A part of him—the rightful part of him, he’s sure—hates to correct its behavior. It—what’s imitating Reigen-shishou—has learned so much more from him, now only tripping over the intricacies of Reigen’s behavior. Shigeo would ignore the longer pause inbetween each blink, the way in which he’s lost his characteristic fluidity similar to cutting a video’s frame rate. Knowing it would improve with time brings no comfort.

“Noted,” it, he, Reigen-shishou—one of the three applies—responds simply. He takes another drag and the conversation is left at that.

It was impulsive to begin with, anyway, successful only in reminding Shigeo of who—what, maybe—he’d lost. He can build it back with the time and effort. Time and effort are what Shigeo’s relationships are made of, each and every one.

——————————

[Context: amnesia]

Arataka is well aware he’s lost a larger chunk of his mind than just his memories. His dreams meld with his waking mind, grand tales of spirits and inexplicable creatures expelled by bright colors blooming forth from some childish part of his mind, no doubt exposed and leaking out in viscous, syrupy waves after the fracture in his skull. For a short, short while he’d regale the nurse assigned to him with these tales, gesturing with his hands for detail despite pleas to stop, else he rip out his IV. Only in the early stages of his consciousness, of course, before the common sense had come to him that normal people don’t start conversations talking about their playfully imaginative dreams.

Instead, like an old man on the path to expiry, Arataka spins his tales to his one frequent visitor.

Mob is somewhat of an enigma himself. Only able to visit so frequently on the technicality that, while he was not related to Arataka by blood, the man was his legal guardian at the time of the accident. Arataka came up with the name “Mob” on the third day—the boy looked bland enough to deserve it—and much to his surprise it was met with some sort of hopeful enthusiasm that Arataka had remembered something. He didn’t care enough at the time to let the boy down gently, drugged up to hell and back on pain meds, and even still he was met with patient kindness.

It was frustrating at times, to be coddled like a child at the lack of his cognitive ability—especially regarding his vivid daydreams that were solely chalked up to brain damage.

Mob would listen, though. Leaning forward in his seat to listen as Arataka spun colorful stories with his tongue, it felt akin to story time in primary school. Mob would ask questions, smile at the jokes Arataka cracked, and return with stories of his day shoddily scrawled out in his own style of storytelling, easily taken off track. There’s a plethora of reoccurring names only a few of which Arataka can recall the significance of in Mob’s stories, the fault of disjointed retellings—though, Arataka supposes he’s not much better, with a severe lack of namable characters and a large variety of dramatic descriptions instead. It’s quite the contrast between the two.

“There was a boy—around your age, little younger, some school uniform that changed every time I glanced at it like I couldn’t remember the details—and he had a green balloon with him. No, wait, less like a balloon and more like a- an orb or something… not completely round but more whispy, yknow? And on it was a pretty jolly face, rosy cheeks, pinkish lips and smile lines—but he didn’t put that jolly face to good use no, no he’d sneer and frown and say all these snarky comments—now this all sounded like I was 60 feet underwater, mind you. But the kid, y’see, he was more gentle, he actually used honorifics unlike his companion, and just like his suit his voice would change too, every time he spoke it was a new kind of pitch or tone,” he’d explained once before, describing the image of two figures that had lingered in the doorway to his room—early one morning as he had still been scrubbing the sleep of his eyes, so he’d said.

——————————

[Context: it’s implied that Shigeo has just read a suicide letter. however unbeknownst to him, it’s been forged. Reigen’s alive]

“…ah?”

A small little noise, unintentionally having leapt from Shigeo’s throat, so inconceivably meek—it’s all that his feeble mind can produce from the moment his eyes begin to scan the paper thrust into his hands. A purely physical reaction, his head hasn’t quite caught up with the words on the page.

Outside of the confines of his psyche spinning down the drain, an endless carousel, Shigeo dimly registers the voices of his companions as they all begin to spiral as well. Arguing, voices choked with tears, some withdrawn, some reacting brashly, all in response to a reality that this paper seems to solidify. A reality written in Reigen-shishou’s handwriting.

A realty that Shigeo instantly wants to deny.

Shishou wouldn’t resort to such a fate, not alone, never alone. Company is where Reigen-shishou flourished—he had more than ever before, more people who loved him in each their own ways. The fact came without the man’s admission: Reigen-shishou had been lonely for a very long time. It seemed so unlike him, so unnatural to imagine a man who practically glowed in the light of the sun to go lie down in the shadows to die.

Shigeo finds himself hit with a vengeful wave of guilt at his denial, disruptive to his remembrance of Reigen in life. Who is he to deny such a sorrowful death? There must have been a deep, deep sadness in his Shishou’s heart, the likes of which buried too far down for Shigeo to uncover.

But… out of anyone, hadn’t Shigeo known Reigen-shishou the most?

There were things shishou was hesitant to share, even after years of having known each other. Not to mention the lies that Reigen-shishou had built by hand, serving to protect him irrationally. How much of what Shigeo knew as Arataka Reigen was truly him?

They never were on a first name basis. Out of respect on Shigeo’s part, quite obviously, despite claiming to no longer be a mentor he still very much so played that role. But Reigen had never called him “Shigeo”, it was all Mob and Kageyama in the early days, never “Shigeo”.

Had he wrongfully interpreted their relationship as closer than “shishou” and “deshi”?

All those times he had fallen asleep in the man’s office space, referred to Reigen as a family member for lack of time to explain to a stranger, called on the man for something as mundane as help with homework—was it all a misunderstanding?

“Get a clue.”

Having learned to speak the man’s colorful language fluently—though, not quite able to replicate it—shouldn’t he know better than to take this message at face value? It was written in shishou’s tongue, but would the man really do this?

Did Shigeo really even know him at all?

——————————

[Context: Reigen’s cursed. Like really bad. sick fic but worse. TW for sickness symptoms, blood, rotting, overall just gross. Don’t worry this one is sweet at the end.]

The door protests as it opens with a long and drawn out creak, more like a whine, opening its gaping maw that led into Reigen’s apartment. Shigeo stood still in the entrance, his shadow interrupting the beam of light that blanketed only a small part of the room. His eyes strained to catch any semblance of movement, but to no avail.

It’s per the lack of light that he does not close the door behind him, something he would normally do if not so engrossed in the moment. There’s no sign of Reigen-shishou apart from discarded take-out boxes left on the coffee table, though Shigeo cannot tell how old they are. The sour smell that strikes his senses next tells him that he does not want to know. It’s sickly, thick, and ruddy, dripping down his throat like a nosebleed.

“Reigen-shishou?” He calls out into what seems more of an abyss than a home at the moment. For a second, he’s under the assumption that there will be no answer, that silence will echo off the walls and envelop him in dread, that Reigen simply wasn’t present. But that isn’t the case.

Instead, there’s the shift of fabric, a lethargic movement accompanied by the snap of joints. On the floor, between the coffee table and the couch, as though it had rolled off and hadn’t moved since, rotting in that spot and melting into the floorboards. Shigeo can recognize a human shape, a human presence, living, in some sense of the word. He feels as though the term hardly applies as he reaches out to feel its aura with his own, frozen to the spot where he stands.

At contact, there’s familiarity, familiarity that is followed shortly after by some foreign, cancerous mass of an aura, comparable to bloodstained phlegm in the way that it pulsates sluggishly—and it’s as Shigeo recoils in horror that he finds himself hoping desperately that this is not his shishou.

It rears its head, thinning blonde hair atop it uncomfortably similar in color to that of Reigen’s. Each wheezing breath it takes seems to wrack its body with a shudder, the only sound that can be heard apart from Shigeo’s own heartbeat in his ears. There’s something viscous about the way it moves, slowly and weakly, that makes him take a step back. Dread sits like spoiled milk in his stomach.

There’s a multitude of moments he could have used to get another word in, all of which pass by like sand between his trembling fingers. The thing with a face horribly similar to Reigen-shishou’s turns, facing him with not quite focused eyes. Shigeo bristles at the sight, instinctively coiling his aura around himself tightly as if it will do anything to protect himself from the presence of something so sickening.

Mouth slack-jawed and eyes half lidded, skin sagging from the bone and blistered numerously, the thing with Reigen-shishou’s mutilated face meets his eyes. The worst of it was the rotting hole in his face, the lack of a nose and the chunks of flesh where it had stood—Shigeo gags at the sight.

He’s seen worse, worse spirits for certain, and worse corpses if he were to consider 6 months of a world that did not exist. But mimicry is what dismays him, unable to comprehend this what he’s seeing is truly Reigen and not a sinister presence in the man’s home. As such he raises a hand swathed in energy, though it shakes and he stumbles backwards in his shock and terror, falling to the floor with a hollow thud.

There comes a heavy breath from the thing before him, outlined with phlegm and ooze. Shigeo reaches from his place on the ground, level with the being, stretches his palm, and lets the energy build and build—god forbid the exorcism take more than one blow.

But he stops, breath caught in his throat, as a sound breaks his terrified stupor.

“M-o-b…” Reigen-shishou strains, the name melting thickly from his lips as would blood—but its him all the same, the cadence drenched in suffering but still his. And in that moment, Shigeo wishes to cry, guilt snuffing out his energy like candlelight and the sting of tears the residual smoke. He’d denied it in his fear, denied the notion that Reigen-shishou was sick out of nothing but his own fear of what he couldn’t—wouldn’t comprehend.

“Shishou,” he breathes, and this time the name is not a question. Reigen’s response is a weak smile, one that doesn’t quite suit him, though relief makes Shigeo’s heart ache anyway. “I’m s-sorry shishou.”

Hiccups break apart his words as hot tears begin to roll down his face, the taste of salt on his lips only reminding him of blood. Reigen’s face contorts into worry, though the expression makes him look pained, and yet he gestures to Mob despite it. On his hands and knees Shigeo drags himself over to his shishou—empathy is no gift when face to face with pain, he realizes, biting back a wince with every movement Reigen makes.

Yet despite everything, Reigen opens his arms. A slow movement, drastically contrasting the way he would usually pull Shigeo into a squeezing hug, and the boy doesn’t quite know how to react just yet.

“It’s okay,” shishou mouths, voice absent. “I’ll be alright.”

And despite the lie, Shigeo buries himself into the man’s arms, sobs now shaking both of their bodies. Comfort is a two-way street, it always has been for them. Shigeo doesn’t miss the tears that fall on his back, most surely from Reigen, wetting the fabric of his shirt—but that’s never mattered less.

——————————

[Context: double death scare!! don’t worry, this is just the comfort part.]

Small, shaking hands grasp the fabric of Reigen’s suit jacket, a welcome sign of life. Reigen grasps on just the same, once-deft hands stumbling through the simplicity of an embrace. He can feel each hiccup, each sob that wracks Mob’s body— and Reigen knows, he can feel that Mob is not frail, the boy has grown so very much over the years, yet the thought of another tragedy nags at the back of the mind. Reigen presses his hands firmly onto Mob’s back, words of care he’d surely stumble over translated into physicality. He’s thankful for his verbosity in gestures, when at times like these words fail him.

A guttural wail, so jarring against his own subdued sobs and piercing through the haze of grief. The limp body in his arms sagging in his grasp, melting, a face that could so easily be mistaken as one of peaceful rest deformed beyond recognition. Panic, fear tightening in his chest as the boy in Reigens arms melted into sticky black tar.

A hitched breath catches in Reigens throat. Its sharp exhale gently blows the hair atop his (alive) student's head, brushing Reigen’s chin where it rests upon the boy's head. It’s not uncomfortable, nor is the heat that Mob radiates in the embrace, because life breathes beneath the surface. Reigen shifts his hand upon the boy's back, rubbing small circles ever so gently.

With what Reigen had seen, had experienced, he can only hope that his heartbeat where Mob lays his head upon Reigen’ chest, and the gentle rub on the kid’s back are welcome solace. That wail, he’d come quickly to recognize, was so painfully young. Hell, Mob was so painfully young. Too young to hold the weight of such powerful psychic abilities, too young to bear witness to horrors far beyond what Reigen had seen in movies at that age, too young to…

Reigen swallowed thickly, as though the thought would go down with it. As if beckoned by his train of thought, Mob shuffled in his master's embrace. He realized shortly, that his hand had fallen still, faintly shaking in its position upon Mob's back.

Mob tilted his head, ear pressed firmly against Reigen’s heart— his tears had left a damp spot in Reigen’s suit, but he didn't mind. Reigen sighs from deep in his lungs, the weight of his student welcome against his chest— truly, it was no wonder why some people loved weighted blankets.

Much to the man’s surprise, it’s Mob who speaks first and not Reigen, a reversal of their usual dynamic. His voice is small and hoarse, laced with grief Reigen wishes he’d never have to hear from his boy.

“I thought it was my fault.”

Such a simple statement, yet sharp enough to pierce Reigen’s heart. The implications speak more than either master or student could ever— Mob, ever the kind soul he was, didn’t deserve the guilt he was burdened with. Especially not the burden of a crime (or, quite possibly, the death of someone Mob could consider family, though Reigen dares not to overstep).

—————————————————

WHEW ALL DONE. if you made it this far i’m impressed!!!! i left out a couple things that may make it into fics one day but here’s the majority :3

also. i should have mentioned these are not in recent order. or any order for that matter. the last one is the oldest though

[tcsauaskblog]

I'm not sure if you already explained this in the same story, but I'm curious, what exactly happened to Donald the day of the barn incident? (I mean what broke him mentally, I know exactly what happened, but what was the cause)

Funny enough, this was one of the few times where there wasnt a catalyst that brought the event on.

Sometimes, the bad brain juice just starts pumping for no reason, and that day, there wasn't anything to smooth out the creases in Donald's anxiety filled mind.

You could probably make the excuse that it was a bunch of little things that piled up in Donald's head, that caused him to have the meltdown he did.

The bad dream of his parents car accident the night before. The rip in his good shirt. The failed English test at school. The rainy weather. There could have been any number of reasons that added up to a mental load that Donald could no longer carry.

But sometimes, the self hate and heavy thoughts are just an arm length away, always there, without Donald having to reach far for it. And sometimes you just wake up on the wrong side of the bed, and those mean little voices that Donald tries so hard to ignore and push down every day seem a little bit more resilient than usual, and Donalds tired, so he doesn't fight them as hard as he should. So they linger, and protrude and poke and point out every flaw they can throughout the day.

Like how he isnt good enough. How he'll never be good enough. He can't live up to his parents expectations. He can't Lookout for his sister and cousins the way he should. Hes not useful or needed or wanted and hes just a big burden thats in the way.

And oh God, how hes just so, so angry, all the time. No normal person can ever be this angry right? Any what does he even have to be angry about anyway? Hes got a roof over his head, food on the table, a shirt on his back and probably the best family and friends someone like him could ever ask for so why... why does his heart race like this? Why does his hands shake, and his vision go red and his chest hurt like he'll never be able to breathe normally again?

Most the time, he can ignore it. Most the time, he can distract himself with Della's antics and Gladstone's prodding and Fethry's endless knock-knock jokes and most the time he can just let himself be buoyed along with their shenanigans and joy. Let himself be distracted from the rage thats always half cooked in the boiling pot that is his chest and ignore the mean voices in his head and forget that self hating little conga line thats on constant repeat in his heart.

But Della had stayed after school to work on a history project with a friend, and Gladstone said that he had a date to get to, and Fethry said that one of the barn cats gave birth the other day, so he wanted to hang around the kittens and take care of the mama a bit before the storm hit, and suddenly all the mean thoughts felt louder when he was left alone.

Felt louder when he actually had the time and quiet to be able to hear them.

And sometimes the rage is mind numbing, Donald often finding gaps in his memory after certain fits reach a point that his sanity can no longer account for his he just... he blanks. He blacks out and usually comes to with someone cooing soft words of reassurance to him, to relax him, to pull him back from that dark curtain blanketed over his rationality.

But sometimes... sometimes Donald is present. He's fully aware of the red blurring into his vision, of the dark cloud forming over his head. And he has to make the conscious decision that whatever it is thats about to happen, he has to be somewhere where his cousins won't easily walk in on him and somehow get caught in the crossfire.

He thinks, if he had to explain it, that it works like how a panic attack comes on. Most of the time, its just something random, something you wouldn't even think of as triggering at first, that sets it off. But once it starts, you have about a minute to compartmentalize that

1) you're having a panic attack.

2) its probably gonna be bad, so sit down in a place that you can be safe for awhile while you break down

3) if you can, let people that you trust know that you're having a panic attack and go from there

Donald can feel the anger come on like a curtain slowly falling. Hes too tired to fight it, too tired to try and ignore the pain it cause and just how right those little mean voices are sounding. So he makes the conscious effort to move, get out of the house now. Go to the empty barn, the one Fethry isn't in.

He doesn't bother shutting the barn door, he can't think that far ahead. All he manage to focus on is putting one foot in front of the other and matching a gulping breath with each step. His hands are already shaking and his eyes are going blurry with fear leaden tears by the time he reaches one of the old broken down bailers.

His heart his pounding hard enough to leave bruising when he takes an involuntary swing with his fist. His knuckles connect with something metal and sharp and red is suddenly everywhere. He sucks in a sharp inhale when an explosion of pain blooms across his hand but one of those loud voices in his head says he probably deserves it. And it sounds so convincing that Donald doesn't think twice about disagreeing before he takes another, angry swing.

And another one.

And another one.

He loses track now, but he's present for all of it. Theres a rational voice somewhere thrown in the mix that he should probably stop. That this was dangerous. That his family would be worried about the state he was in if they saw him. But its drowned out. Barely audible above all the other thoughts circling in his head.

What did it matter anyway? He was already so pathetic. This wasn't new for Donald, the kid who couldn't do anything right. A couple of punches to get some small micro aggressions out were nothing in the long run. As long as Donald didn't hurt anyone, didn't hurt or scare his family, then it was fine. He could smack around the broken farm equipment for a few minutes or an hour or two, and the few scraps and cuts and bloodstained fists along the way were nothing to worry about.

He'd wait the anger out. Let it have its way with him. Let the storm pass over and deal with the consequences of his actions later. It would be fine.

If he was the only one who got hurt, then it would all be fine.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Distractions

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: A rainy Sunday evening is spent with Draco.

Warnings: minor injury, brief mentions of blood, mentions of the dark mark, fluff

(not my gif)

It was a rather dreary Sunday evening, rain pelting fast to the ground as it had done all day. Although it wasn’t the kind of weather you’d want to be caught outside in, it was perfectly ideal for the place you were headed. The greenhouse.

You followed a pace or two behind Draco, his hand enveloping yours and a book held in your other as you walked in comfortable silence. The trip there could be done blindfolded at this point, the same path down the near unfrequented halls every Saturday and Sunday at five o’clock in the evening. It was a routine that first started halfway through fifth year, though his fondness for it dates back farther than that.

Every weekend Draco can be found tending to every plant that resided in the large glass structure, a responsibility Professor Sprout bestowed upon him without reluctance. Granted, he wasn’t very gentle or mindful of the delicate greenery and herbs in his early years, which is something he regrets looking back at it. But when he showed up unannounced outside her classroom door after hours a few years later, she had a sneaking suspicion the Slytherin wasn’t quite as insufferable as he lets on.

Despite his fondness and growing interest in the vast varieties of magical plants and the potions they can be crafted into, it’s a piece of himself he wants to be kept secret. Not that he’s embarrassed of such things, but as time goes on he finds it better to leave things of sentimental value out of the public eye. That being said, should anyone cast a lingering glance his way on his route, he’s quick to shoot them a defensive glare to stave off prying eyes.

Now, in just under a year and a half, he’s become one of the finest caretakers of her beloved plants she’s ever seen.

The moment you stepped into the greenhouse the downpour became more apparent than before, creating a steady tapping against the old glass. Condensation beaded on every windowpane it could access, and the puffy gray clouds were visible at every angle, creating the perfect ambience to read your book.

Draco set off to work almost immediately, shrugging off his robe and handing it to you with a kiss on the cheek before reading over the checklist Professor Sprout had made for him.

He started off with watering the herbs she’d listed, spraying their leaves first before watering at the base. He quickly found that to be a more effective way of doing things, giving the remaining water to the select few that could use more hydration.

It was a trick he’d seen quite a few gardeners use on his mother’s garden at the Manor, and the meticulously placed flowers and shrubbery seemed to respond well to the technique. That amongst many other things were something he observed in his days spent at home on the summer break. The acres of well manicured landscaping providing ample opportunities to escape and spend his time around something other than the four walls of his bedroom.

Once finished, he moved to clean up around the place, giving you a sweet smile any time he passed by you even if you hadn’t seen it. But the times you did catch his eye, the tips of his ears would burn a pale pink.

He picked up a couple pairs of gardening shears left out and a few brooms that lay knocked over from messy second year students, putting miscellaneous dragon-skin gloves back in their rightful cabinet with the others. Some might consider this to be rather boring, especially on a weekend where there were better things to be spent doing on the short break from schoolwork. But the distraction was something Draco needed and it was one he enjoyed, something he found he could use a bit more of lately.

Repotting mandrakes was last on the very brief list. They weren’t used very often anymore, not like they had been in second year. But if the need arised should anyone be petrified, it was good to have a few on hand for potions.

He undid the buttons on the cuffs of his white dress shirt before shoving the slightly wrinkled sleeves up to rest at his elbows. However, he seemed to have briefly forgotten the mark swirling across the pale skin on his forearm, promptly yanking that sleeve back down before grabbing the ceramic pots and a new bag of soil with a frown. He tried not to let it cloud up his train of thought and sour his mood.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to his inner turmoil you had long since made yourself comfortable perched on a vacant spot on one of the old wooden tables, book cracked open in your hands. It hadn’t taken you very long to become immersed in it, as books usually do to its readers. And you could’ve sworn you might’ve heard Draco’s voice, whether or not it was directed at you, you were unsure.

A minute or two later he finished his preparations and glanced over his shoulder at you, sighing at the sight. The earmuffs he’d asked you to put on just moments ago still sat where he’d set them down on your lap, your eyes fixed on your book as his robe sat wrapped around your shoulders to combat the chilly evening weather. He walked the few feet over to you, picking them up.

“Sometimes I think you choose to tune me out, love,” Draco says, placing your earmuffs on your head gently, smiling when you lifted your head from your book. You offer a smile as your cheeks flush a soft pink.

“Sometimes,” you remark with a soft laugh, gaze returning to find the line you left off at. Truthfully you were beginning to lose focus anyway.

He set off to the task at hand with a smile, making short work of it though there’s only so much those earmuffs can do to filter out the shrill cries of these plants. It was a dreaded detail he hadn’t forgotten in his second year, always wondering how such a small creature could produce such a deafeningly fatal sound.

You decided any quality reading wouldn’t be achievable beyond that point, especially not with the humidity curling and warping the pages you tried to read from. It definitely was not because of the blonde who stood paces away from you, the very same humidity turning his once formally styled hair to mussed waves of platinum. Regardless of the reasons or their importance, you closed your book and made your way over to him.

“Do you need a hand with anything?” You ask, looking over the vast array of greenery before looking up at him. He pondered for a moment as he set the scrap piece of parchment down and rubbed his hands together to rid them of dirt.

“Could you take those extra pots to the storage cupboard?” He asks kindly, pointing to the two spares that sat untouched. You nod, grabbing the set from the table. “Thank you, darling.”

The frequently used name had still managed to make your heart flutter, your flustered distraction having you trip on the leg of the table. The pots in your hand were sent flying unceremoniously to the ground with a clatter, cheeks reddening from your blunder as you instinctively grabbed for them. As your finger ran along a sharp edge you quickly recoil with a surprised gasp, Draco tugging you to your feet in concern of the situation before you could fully hit the ground.

“Careful, Love!” He scolds softly, pulling your arm from your chest gently to see just what kind of accident he was dealing with.

Draco was quick to rush off to a cabinet on the far end of the greenhouse, freshly stocked with medicinal potions, some of which he’d gotten to make himself. He returned shortly with a small glass bottle, and he gently blotted at the fairly superficial cut running along the length of your pointer finger.

“What is that?” You ask softly as he gingerly holds your shaky hand, depositing a few drops over it. It stung a bit unexpectedly and your eyes widen a fraction as you watch it quickly heal as if nothing was ever there, curious gaze bouncing up to Draco. You tried not to pay any mind to the blonde strand that stuck adorablely to his forehead and focus on his words.

“It’s Essence of Dittany. I’ve just made this batch last week and it seems to be quite satisfactory,” he says, a small yet proud smile on his lips as he inspects your newly healed finger.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” you say with a soft laugh.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he quips, earning himself a pointed stare as you raised a questioning brow at him. He laughs as he puts the tiny bottle back where he got it, the shards of terra-cotta easily piecing themselves back together with a simple motion of his hand. “I’m only kidding, my love.”

You settle as he pulls you close by a gentle grip on your hands, releasing one to tuck your newly frizzy hair behind your ear. It was true, you were the only person to know most everything about him. Not one person in his social circle, not even his mother, knew his ins and outs like you and the thought both terrified him and comforted him all the same. But he knew you’d never cast an ounce of judgement his way. Not even for the mark ghosting over his arm that haunted his very thoughts the moment it was formed.

His calloused hand came to rest on your cheek, thumb brushing over flushed skin as his gray eyes took in every feature. The freckles that could only been seen in a close proximity, the curve of your lashes, the natural shade of pink coloring your bare lips. Soon he dipped down and kissed you, unable to refrain from doing so a moment longer. He always finds himself unable to resist it. You seem to enchant him, stronger than any love potion or magical spell could ever manage to evoke. And while true love is a scary thought, he doesn’t have it in him fight the very grip it has on his racing heart.

He parted from you reluctantly upon the sound of unfamiliar footfalls approaching, grabbing your hand with a laugh as the two of you run off towards the other exit hand in hand. The forgotten rain came as an icy shock once you ran out into it, but such inconveniences weren’t important when he pulls you in for another rain soaked kiss.

[just-a-fangirl13]

Why s5 *might* be the season MacRiley happens

Okay so...Hear me out! I'm not crazy I promise!!

Firstly, after 5x03 (and probably 5x04) it may seem very unlikely that MacRiley could ever happen. But I thought of a few reasons why they might actually happen by the end of s5 after all.... (it gets a lil long winded and kinda complicated but just stick with me till the end!)

1. All the MacRiley moments including the ones in 5x03.

[this Mac smile could not be an accident or something that slipped through both production and post-production right?! that in itself is a whole reason!]

Every Macriley moment we have ever had- whether it's the hugs, Riley saving Mac, Mac saving Riley, the ultimate show of loyalty when Riley went after Mac during Codex or even just the looks exchanged between the two- to any outsider it would seem pretty obvious that they are dating or at least in love. Keep in mind the writers would have written each of those scenes and Lucas and Tristan have acted them out with a specific build up in mind aka MacRiley.(think about the date episode: Riley just got dumped but was still thinking about how Mac might be hungry. She didnt have to do that. She could have just shown up at his place..) I mean how can they write two people so perfectly in sync and so perfect for each other and not have them end up together? It would just be a waste of all that tension and slow burn. (not to mention all the hugs and glances)

2. They know we exist. 

The MacRiley fam is very active on twitter with the writers and while they were writing 5x01 they knew we were around. They know we are a huge group. They would not want to risk pissing 90% of the fandom off by not making MacRiley endgame.

[P.S.yes 5x03 was a bait and switch but if you were paying attention you would have noticed that neither Lucas not Tristan live tweeted or hyped up the episode. They knew we would probably hate it so they didnt publicise it too much! so in the future if you have doubts about the episode being a MacRiley one just check their stories or posts on twitter/intstagram]

3. Yes 5x03 happened. 

I really think it was an episode they HAD to write. Ok so after 4x13 they had 7 more episodes planned and were filming 4x20 (aka the finale) when the pandemic struck. So they have these 6 episodes but no finale for it. [Idk if anyone else has noticed but in 5x01 there were clearly some parts cut out. For example the conversation between Desi and Riley towards the end seemed a bit jilted. Riley asking Desi to forgive her but Desi replied with yeah we are cool (still no apology ofc) I feel like something happened during that which ended up getting cut out so it could fit with the final story.]

This makes me think that they have rewritten a few bits to tie into the new finale episode. In 5x03 when Mac asked Desi to come fishing with him which was clearly something very personal to him she was like no do better.. then we see Mac's disappointed expression. She could have easily said okay but maybe not for our first date? Or its not really my thing? Or just about anything else rather than laughing in his face like that. Eventhough MD is together they still arent compatible. Mac’s final words in 5x03 was him being desperate. I truly think he is so broken and lost that Desi is the only safe thing left, the only thing he feels like he can fix right now. Once he finds himself again and heals...then it's going to hit him like a pile of bricks!!

4. But Riley doesn't have feelings anymore...WELL doesnt she? 

When it comes to Mac, Riley is always in denial. We saw it in s4 when she tells Bozer not to make her say it. I think s5 will show her finally accepting it. Finally accepting that she is in love with her best friend and that it definitely isnt Codex adrenaline because she caught the feels when Codex wasnt even around. While Mac's arc would include realising he and Desi are never going to work and that he is unhappy and that RILEY is the one for him.

[why else would they give Riley feelings for Mac? Something has to come of it.]

5. The slow burn rule.[this point is a lil complicated] 

Now season 5 is rumoured to have 13 episodes. So here’s what I think: If MacGyver follows the pattern that most shows do when it comes to slow burns, then technically MacRIley should have happened at the end of season 4. But since the season got cut short and they didnt get to air/finish their final episode the writers had to improvise. 

From what I know, 4x19 which is 5x04 for us is the episode where Mac meets Desi’s parents and 4x20 was supposed to be the finale that was left unfinished.(they are definitely moving the timeline ahead if a pre finale episode is suddenly a mid season one.) There might have been a 4x21 or 4x22 but I haven't heard anything about those....EVER.

So what I think they have decided to do instead is extend the MD storyline a bit longer just so they dont end up scrapping all their s4 episodes where they would be together and write a new finale that ties everything together, aka MacRiley.

If you think about episode counts, s4 and s5 together would have 26 episodes which is a how long a normal season runs. Basically what im trying to say is if we follow the ‘slow burns end by s4’ and take season 5 as an extension of 4 then MacRiley should get together in the season 5 finale or maybe the episode just before. (IM REALLY TRYING TO GET SOME LOGIC INTO THIS)

This would be a typical TV thing too where the couple finds out about each other’s feelings while the main arc of the show is also at its peak, which perfectly sets up a future season where fans are hyped but still has a satisfying ending.

6. So what about MacDesi?

So far the macgyver writers have given us characters we love. Think of every character on the show apart from maybe Desi... Mac, Riley, Bozer, Jack, Matty, Leanna, Samantha, Russ and even Murdoc. WE LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. So then why is Desi such a strange character? I think shes purposely been written as an opposite to Mac or even Riley (I get she’s supposed to kinda replace Jack but Jack is really irreplaceable). 

It's not necessarily a bad thing its just not a great thing to do or have great execution. People have said things like Desi is a badass and shouldnt have to apologise or say I love you back to her boyfriend because she is a strong woman...I'm sorry but your opinion of who a strong woman is, is EXTREMELY skewed. A strong woman is someone who can make mistakes and when she does, she is ‘strong’ enough to own up to it, she is loyal and fierce and also caring while being a badass who can take down bad guys. And for GODS SAKE, RILEY DAVIS IS A STRONG WOMAN...people have called her mushy and feminine on twitter and I'm just very confused by that.....

Anyways before I go off on a rant, it seems like Desi is intentionally being written this way. Every opportunity they get to redeem her and make her more relatable or just a better person they just dont take it. While Rileys character arc is one of the best I've ever seen. Either its intentional or they’ve forgotten how to write characters...which is worrisome but ill give them the benefit of the doubt.

The writers also know we dont like Desi. The amount of times we've tagged them in the toxic posts or pointed out problematic things we can be sure they've seen at least half of those. So theres no way they dont know. RIGHT?

So why then is MD still a thing you may ask??

Well for one they cant break them up again off screen because of those unreleased s4 episodes. (not to mention the other parts of the audience who arent as invested in mac’s love life would probably be very confused.)

Secondly Mac has to be the one to pull the plug, not Desi. 4x13 made it seem like Desi was the annoyed one not Mac. He apologised to her which meant he wanted to fix things. 

Thirdly, they are opening the chpt one last time before they permanently close it. MD is going to be a stark contrast to macriley(it already is in every way possible). Every issue Mac and Desi had can be used to show how amazing macriley really is as two people who arent even dating yet.

Fourthly, MD being together is a sort of commentary on Macs mental health as well. We can see how happy he is with Riley but around Desi he becomes some one else. If the writers are doing this on purpose or subconsciously still remains to be seen.

And Yes keeping MD around for a few more episodes seems like a necessary risk right now but I have a feeling its going to be worth it later.

[I know we have had like 4 desi entered episodes already but I really think 5x04 will be the last of it since 5x05 is the Jack episode and 5x06 is Mac+Riley+Bozer episode with no mention of Desi at all!]

The writers know we are a dedicated bunch and they know that once MD breaks up for the last time the entire fandom will be waiting and watching. That's when the show will be at its peak. That will be the perfect moment to bring in MacRiley’s arc to a new start!

Congrats if you stuck with me through this whole thing! if you agree/disgaree with any of these or have other reasons why they could be endgame in s5 let me know!!

[marchivists]

macavity was not born cruel. stubborn and with a propensity for quick and cutting anger, yes, but not cruel. cruelty is a learned thing and macavity had an early education. the jellicles do not mean to be, but they are his first teachers. they so poorly mask their fear of him, their distaste for the kit who lashes out too speedily, with too much skill and too much magic. the older cats keep their distance and encourage their protégés to do the same. macavity learns to meet their expectations. after all, it is much easier to swipe at a curious nose or outstretched paw than to entertain the impossible notion that another, wiser presence will not rush to separate them the moment noses touch or paws meet. macavity does not ask himself if he deserves this, if the lessons they think fit to teach him are the lessons he ought to be learning. the answer, known and resented, is unimportant. what does it matter whether or not he is owed the same loving touches his brothers receive? he is not getting them and he will not beg. and so macavity’s family teaches him to find strength and surety in places that are not grounded in love. this is the first lesson.

the second comes about by accident. two stray toms, fighting over scraps, fail to notice as they catch macavity’s eye and draw him closer to their brawl. he watches, perfectly still, as the victor takes his reward and leaves the loser panting in the dirt. macavity sees his breathing slow and watches, awe-struck, until it stops. there is no pleasure in this first glimpse of death: just wonder overshadowed by disgust. there is something unbelievably repulsive about the thing on the ground, the way it lays, exposed, for all to see. this is the worst thing, that he has to look upon the creature’s frailty. the stink of fear and desperation that had drenched the loser as he scrambled for life clings to macavity’s fur and makes him snarl at air. all that humiliating despair, and for what? it had won him nothing but a death tainted with shame. macavity knows, can feel it as he stands over the body, what it feels like to bet and lose. his skin crawls with it. what would it be like to stand on the other side of that feeling? to take what is shameful and weak and smother it? that knowledge would come with time. here he learns that vulnerability is an ugly thing. he would not, could not, submit to it.

the third lesson is quick and soiled with blood and grime. claws meet flesh and tear wherever they find purchase. teeth close around the soft down of an exposed neck and refuse to let go. it’s over before macavity knows he’s doing it. his eyes flash with victory, his chest heaves not with effort but with adrenaline. there is nothing vulnerable about this feeling. it is satisfying and powerful and it makes his mind race with possibility and desire. but macavity is not the son of monsters; he has to work to ignore the sudden roll of his stomach. even so, he knows now what it means to bet and win. it is not a feeling he will forget.

demeter almost disrupts his education. she manages, somehow, to be soft but not weak. kind in a way that is not condescending or naive. and above it all she cares for him, genuinely. though he cares for her just as much, he cannot unlearn that first lesson, will not lie down in defeat, even for her. he pushes. how far can he go before that love turns into something more familiar and less kind? how hard must he fight before the knowing way she looks at him stops stinging? he does not want to drive her away, not really. he wants her to take everything he is and then some. some part of him wants her to push back. she tries, in her own way, and it only annoys him. why should he change? her hurt, as if he betrayed her, is infuriating. she is more idiotic than he thought she was. too weak, too foolish. and yet he fails to keep her. she runs to the family that pushed him away and they embrace her! hah! can they not see that she is as ruined as he is?

they will not keep her: she does not belong. but they do: she does.

macavity does not think about what this means. it doesn’t matter. demeter is gone but the parts of him she saw, the parts he let her see and those she discovered by herself, burn. he cannot admit all the reasons he wants her back, so he focuses on this simple fact; demeter knows him, sees him, and she carries parts of him with her as she walks among those who macavity would have know nothing of him other than the length of his claws and sharp points of his teeth. it is almost too much to stand. he will not be whole until he takes her back and is able to hold the pieces of himself he can no longer guard. until then, he seeks relief the only way he knows how. but the feeling of taut flesh under claws and the satisfaction of always moving just out of reach of those who would cage him can only soothe for so long. this is a lesson macavity has yet to learn.

he will never learn it. macavity was not born cruel, but it comes easily to him now. it is all he knows.

[hale-13]

Triple Axel

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 1 - Freezing

There’s nothing Peter loves more about winter than spending the entire season ice skating. The fact that Mr. Stark‘s lake freezes over so well just gives him the perfect excuse to hang out with his mentor, pseudo-sister and still get to skate for free.

Words: 2738, Chapters 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Morgan Stark, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Peter grew up a pretty graceless kid.

He never looked where he was going, always too excited, and tripped over air. His knees and palms were perpetually covered in cuts and scrapes in various stages of healing and he broke his glasses so often May and Ben had taken to just taping them together at the bridge of the nose instead of replacing them. Going to the community playground was an activity that was fraught with danger due to Peter’s over enthusiasm; well that and his two left feet and lack of hand-eye coordination. It was lucky that he picked up the, much safer, past time of building legos and other models with Ned at a young age.

Peter looked back on those sepia childhood memories with nostalgia and fondness now but he can remember the frustration of just wanting to do what the other kids did. He hated that he stood out because of his ridiculous coke-bottle glasses, the severe asthma attacks that kept him from participating in gym and recess. He just wanted to have fun.

And, unbelievable to anyone who knew him, the one thing that Peter Parker was inexplicably good at as a kid was ice skating.

The first time Peter was allowed to skate was when he was eight at Betty Brant’s birthday – coincidentally the first party he was invited to. May and Ben had both be overly hesitant – accident prone kids didn’t often mix well with anything slippery and sharp pointy objects – but Peter was able to wear them down eventually.

The prediction that Peter would fall flat on his face the second his skates touched the ice proved to be accurate but Peter was nothing if not stubborn so he pulled himself up and used the wall to make a shaky first lap. The longer he spent moving, the better he got and, by the end of the two hour party, he was able to make a complete circuit all by himself. His love for skating and finally, finally, being able to do something active grew from there. May and Ben were never able to afford lessons for him but they managed to scrap together enough money for season passes for him every year at the local rink.

Skating reminded him so much of the toddler ballet classes his mom had signed him up for before he had been diagnosed with asthma but so much more fun. He spent just about every weekend he could on the ice for a few hours practicing; he was never really able to do any jumps or anything too fancy but it was still so much fun. It wasn’t until after the spider bite and his life changing forever that he got really good.

It sure sucked that he couldn’t thermoregulate well anymore.

“Petey!” Morgan screamed, delighted, from where she was carefully skating closer to the edge of the frozen over lake under the watchful eye of her father. “Do another flip!”

Peter smiled indulgently and performed a perfect double axel, landing gracefully and gliding over to where Morgan was clapping next to dock. She had good balance for a five year old but the thin blades of her tiny skates still wobbled precariously on the ice due to her enthusiastic cheering.

“Not bad kid,” Tony told him from where he was seated in a camp chair on the dock and covered with blankets, a thermos of warm tea in the cup holder. He had flat out refused to test his luck with skating but, then again, his center of gravity was still off from his upgraded prosthesis.

“Thanks Mr. Stark!” Peter smiled, coming to a stop next to the other two and spraying his mentor with ice. Tony protested wordlessly but his smile let Peter know he wasn’t too serious. Peter absently rubbed his hands against his biceps to bring some warmth back into his skin – part of not thermoregulating well meant minimal to no shivering in the cold so he had to rely on friction – he was clearly not sneaky enough though because he could see the moment Tony clocked the movement and narrowed his eyes.

“Alright Johnny Weir time to go in before you freeze into a spider-sicle,” the man said as he drained the last of his tea and started packing up all of the stuff they had carted down to the frozen lake – more than they really needed in Peter’s opinion. “I promised your aunt I wouldn’t let you get hypothermia this week.”

“Aw daddy,” Morgan whined, skating unsteadily over to collide with Peter’s knees and shins and nearly knocking him off balance and onto his butt. “Five more minutes? Please?”

Morgan was attempting her very best puppy dog expression and Peter joined in when she shoved her pointy little elbow into his thigh. Tony had gotten soft in his old age and Peter could see his resolve crumbling under their combined gaze before he finally cracked with a sigh.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Five more minutes. I’m going to go brew up some hot chocolate. Can I trust you two by yourselves?”

“Yay!” Morgan screamed making Peter clutch his ears as she shakily skated off, getting just a little bolder and heading more toward the middle of the ice where Peter had been doing jumps and flips earlier. “Come on Petey!”

“I’ve got her Mr. Stark,” Peter promised before taking off after the little girl he was beginning to see as a sister, doing a perfect back flip and landing easily on the thin blades of his skates to her delight. At Morgan’s request, Peter continued to skate around her in wide circles, doing more and more elaborate jumps and laughing with her when he fell or stumbled.

“Do the hard one again!” Morgan called out from her spot about fifteen feet away from Peter, standing pretty steady for her lack of practice and Peter smiled indulgently.

“Last time and then we should probably head in before your dad comes after us,” he agreed, skating back into a wide arc before picking up speed and calculating his jump. He planned to land a few feet from Morgan because he knew it would really excite her. Things went pretty great in the beginning, his speed and takeoff were both perfect and his execution, while a little off, was passable enough for his sister.

His landing, however, needed work.

Unlike the ice rink ice he was used to, the frozen lake was pitted and rough. Peter had a little difficultly adjusting when he started but was able to compensate quickly as the afternoon wore on. Unfortunately, he was just a little too late this time to notice the divot and he hit it with his toe pick sending him sprawling onto his front about six feet from Morgan.

“Ouchies,” he muttered as he gave Morgan a thumbs up to show he was okay and started to leaver himself up.

Until he heard the cracking.

He froze immediately and looked down in horror to see the ice below him cracking and shattering. A small part of him wanted to slam his body down flat to better distribute his weight but his logical brain knew it was far too late for that all he needed to do was make sure that…

Morgan!

“I’ll help you Petey!” He heard her yell seconds before she crashed into his side and Peter, thinking fast, double clicked the panic button on his watch just as water started gushing through the cracks, pulling him under.

Morgan screamed and struggled as Peter did his best to keep as much of her as possible out of the water. His head was dunked briefly and his lungs seized from the cold. He felt the sharp blade of Morgan’s skate cut into his shoulder through his puffy jacket and he winced before clawing his way back above water with a gasp. He could hear Morgan still screaming and, gathering all the strength he had left, Peter hurled her from the water and across the ice where she slid safely away from the cracks.

“G-get dad-d,” Peter gritted out through shattering teeth as he gripped the broken edges of the ice. He could vaguely hear Morgan shuffling off the ice and up toward the cabin but his main focus was staying above the water and keeping purchase on the continually shrinking edges of the ice. His legs were completely numb and the metal of his battered skates felt heavy in the water, pulling him down deeper.

“Hang on Peter!” He heard Tony’s panicked voice from the shore before the sound of repulsers drowned out everything else and Peter looked up and made eye contact with the Iron Man suit piloted by FRIDAY. The left hand reached down and plucked him out of the water and into its arms, flying back to land on the porch steps. Peter collapsed on the ground, completely unable to hold up his own weight and feeling completely numb. “Peter!”

Tony skidded to his knees next to Peter, Morgan in his arms before he swiftly set her down on the porch. “C-cold,” Peter gritted out through clenched and chattering teeth as he tried to force his frozen body to curl up with little success. Through blurry eyes he could tell that Morgan had ditched her skates somewhere and he felt a spike of worry – he didn’t want her to get frostbite.

“I know buddy,” Tony said, propping Peter up with his vibranium arm before picking him up in a bridal carry. “I’m going to get you warm.” Peter didn’t do anything to help beyond curling closer to Tony’s chest and the body heat it emitted. The man kicked open the cracked door to the mud room and air so warm it burned cascaded over him. “Morgan go grab some blankets from the closet for Peter okay? Really quick now.” Morgan, crying silent tears and pale and shivering in her damp winter gear, ran off down the hall toward the linen closet.

“Tony,” Peter whimpered when he was set on the floor but the man was quick to shush him.

“I know buddy,” he reassured, “I just need to get these wet clothes off okay? Just let me do all the work. FRI, have Banner and a quinjet here ASAP.” Peter spaced out as Tony whipped Peter’s frozen, wet hoodie over his head followed quickly by the t-shirt and thermals under it. “Eyes up Pete,” Tony ordered as he worked on getting Peter out of his soaked jeans and thermal pants to leave him shaking on the floor in his boxers. “Your only job right now is to stay awake, capiche?\

“Yes sir,” Peter said, willing his eyes to open and his teeth to stop chattering. Morgan slid back into the room trailing a pile of fleece blankets and the comforter off of Peter’s bed and Peter mustered up a smile for her so she wouldn’t be so scared.

“Great job Maguna,” Tony praised as he wrapped the thickest fleece around Peter’s shoulders, doing his best not to jostle him too much. “Now run up to Pete’s room and get him a pair of sweatpants and his black zip up jacket okay?” Morgan hiccuped on a sob but ran out of the room and back up the stairs. Once she was out of the room, Tony wrapped Peter in another blanket before helping him wiggle out of his icy boxers. “FRI update on Bruce?”

“Dr. Banner and Mr. Wilson are on their way, ETA seven minutes. He advises getting Peter out of his wet clothes and wrapped in warm blankets. He recommends not moving him too much.

“Thanks dear,” Mr. Starks said distractedly as he pulled Peter into his arms to provide extra warmth. “How we doing Pete?”

“Tired,” Peter answered, burrowing into Tony’s arms. “Cold.”

“I know kiddo, just hold on a second longer.”

“I got it!” Morgan said as she came back into the room brandishing Peter’s clothes.

“Good job honey,” Tony said as gently as possible as he took the clothes. “Uncle Bruce is on his way and we’re going to go visit the compound. Can you go change into your warmest PJs for me as quick as possible?” As soon as Morgan had left the room again, Tony made quick work of threading Peter’s unwilling and stiff limbs through his pants and jacket, tucking the comforter around them both to lock in the warmth.

“Tony?” Bruce called, voice urgent, from the direction of the front door.

“Mud room!” Tony called back, not moving from his position curled around Peter’s limp body. Footsteps thundered in their direction and Bruce and Sam skidded around the corner a second later both wearing their warmest loungewear and Peter felt a little guilty about pulling them away from a day of relaxation.

“Jesus,” Sam mumbled as he dropped to his knees next to the pair reaching into the blanket nest to press burning fingers to Peter’s carotid to take his pulse.

“How long was he in the water?” Bruce asked, carefully moving Peter’s hair back out of his eyes to look at his pale face. His eyes darted over to the gash on his shoulder from Morgan’s skates that was beginning to bleed sluggishly now that Peter was out of the water and warming up but ignored it for now.

“Only a couple minutes,” Tony told him, an edge to his voice, “but he had been outside for a few hours. We were about to come in for hot chocolate.” The man sounded bereft and Peter cuddled closer into his chest trying to offer some comfort.

“Okay,” Bruce said, calm. “Peter you’re going to let Tony carry you out to the jet. I don’t want you moving more than you absolutely have to so just let him do all the work. Once we get you on board I’m going to start warming you up.” His tone brokered no argument and Tony disentangled himself from the cocoon and picked Peter up. Sam left the room but Peter could hear him talking to Morgan in the kitchen, calming her down and ushering her toward the jet.

Things went a little fuzzy for Peter from there. He was vaguely aware of the quinjet taking off and Bruce and Sam starting warm IV fluid. Warmed oxygen forcing its way down his throat. But he was just so tired. He knows he promised but surely Mr. Stark wouldn’t be too upset if he just took a little nap right? He let his eyes dip closed one last time as he slipped away.

Peter can remember waking up on and off a few times. He remembers getting off the quinjet and being settled in a trauma room in the compound’s MedBay, the heated blankets that felt heavenly to his cold skin. He was out for a while after that he thinks and, when he next wakes up, he’s warmer and much more comfortable.

“Pete?” Peter lets his head fall to the side and he gives Tony a little grin. His mentor looks like shit and is sitting hunched over in an uncomfortable chair next to Peter’s bed. “Oh thank God,” he says, going to grab Peter’s hand and then aborting the motion, leaning forward to press their foreheads together instead. “If you ever scare me like that again you’re grounded until your thirty.”

Peter chuckles a little and shifts on the bed. His arms both have IV catheters in the forearm and he can see blood flowing through the lines. He follows it back to a larger machine set up next to his bed and mutters a hoarse little “what?” of confusion.

“You were too cold so Bruce started warming your blood,” Tony told him, hand reaching up to comb through Peter’s wild hair. “You’re okay now though,” he assured. “You’re on the mend. Bruce said you should be done with this in about an hour so you just need to relax right now okay Bambino?”

“Morgan?” Peter asked instead, dizzy and tired and barely clinging to consciousness.

Tony smiled down at him. “She’s just fine kiddo. You saved her you big damn hero.”

“Good,” Peter slurred, letting his eyes slip closed again. “May?”

“Happy went to get her,” Tony promised. “The roads aren’t too great but they should be here soon.”

“‘Kay,” Peter yawned.

“Take a nap buddy – you earned it,” and, warm and comfortable, Peter did.

[vicunaburger]

Some of us cool kids on our Discord server decided to have a little fun this week and create some Inferno Girls OCs!

If you wanna see more lovely ladies, gents, and NB lovelies, check out the “#infernooc” tag.

Without further ado...

Poppy “Lollipop” Remington

More information under the cut!

Name/Stage Name: Poppy “Lollipop” Remington

Year/Cause of Death/Age: 1988, sawblade to the chest, 25

Favorite Dancing Song: Dead or Alive’s “You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)” (or anything 80s synth pop/new wave)

Role in the House: Dancer/Payroll “Payment Enforcer” -Prefers dancing on stage and working behind the scenes of the club to 1-1 clientele. Very self conscious about her less than stellar appearance

Hair/Skin Color: Mauve/pink hair, mint green skin, small orange horns normally surrounded by teased hair, 5’8, plus sized and proud/ a thin scar runs from her hairline to the bridge of her nose diagonally down to the left; a giant, nasty scar runs the length of her torso from neck to navel, matching an identical scar along her back, she tries to hide them by tying corset lacing patterns every few days along the length of the wounds

Relationship with Beej?:

- Movie!Beej: - Calls him “Dead Man” or “ATM” for kicks. Enjoys him as a client because he pays well and knows just how to sweet-talk her into giving him a discount on private dances. She pretends to fuss about it, but doesn’t mind in the long run, since he always makes it worth her while. He’s much nicer than her usual clientele and doesn’t treat her like a complete ditz, despite it being her “character” during her sets on stage. He’s one of the very select clients she’ll sleep with, as she’s more akin to a “hostess” in a club rather than a prostitute. She loves the fact she can be a complete brat and snark off to him, and he just loves it. He’s also the only one she’ll drink with while on and off the job, because she is a party girl and goddamn if he isn’t a party. Beej is one of the few people outside of the other girls at the club that knows how she ended up on the other side, as she changes the story every time to keep clients from being too nosy.

-Musical!Beej: - Calls him “Honey Bunny” and nothing else. Thinks he is the cutest, most adorable demon to walk into the Inferno Room. Immediately perks up when he visits during her shifts, even more when he books private time with her because most of the time is spent making each other laugh in the middle of intimacy. They’re both very handsy when they’re together, sharing a mutual touch-starved affection with each other. Poppy doesn’t find herself on par with the other girls of Dante’s and hesitates to initiate physical contact with patrons. However, she will drop whatever she is going to at least go over and greet Beej before going back to work and considers him her special VIP client. The two of them have been spied occasionally partying outside the Inferno Room together on her nights off, often in the midst of causing mischief and mayhem upon the unsuspecting Neitherworld citizens. He was the first one to get her to “loosen up” after her untimely death.

Clothing Style:

- On Stage: bright 80s lace realness, legwarmers, tulle skirts, THE WORKS

- Working the Floor: tight athletic wear “Physical” video glam, the only fabric in the world to dance with is LYCRA

-Office/Off Duty Wear: casual 80s preppy vibe, oversized jackets with dresses, polo shirts with popped collars, handkerchief skirts

Backstory:

The summer of ‘88 was not turning out the way Poppy Remington expected.

Not only did her father temporarily cut off her only source of income, but the only way to get it back was to work a job during the summer to prove she could be a responsible adult. For a few months, at least, her father wasn’t expecting miracles. The only short-term notice job available was working the local overnight camp as a counselor, which she reluctantly agreed to take at her friends’ urging. They were all going to work there that summer.

Supposedly.

On the night before they would set off for camp, the group decided to throw one last bash before they were shackled with the responsibility of making sure children didn’t get themselves killed in some horrible accident. One of her best friends had the idea to use the yard outside of the abandoned sawmill for the party. It was out of the way with no chance of being bothered by the cops.

Which meant, naturally, that when things started to go downhill, there was no way out for the unsuspecting adults.

The 2x4 shook violently with the force of her grip, splinters digging into her palms as she shifted the weight of the weapon backwards. Ahead of her, the open door of the sawmill swung wide open as if to taunt her; beckoning her to make a run for it while the room was clear. There was no possible way the crazed “Mill Murderer” could have made it from the farmhouse to the mill ahead of her. He was knocked prone on the kitchen floor with a swift blow to the back of his masked head.

Poppy licked her chapped lips, glancing at the body of her – now ex- boyfriend, shorn in half by the supposedly broken lumber saw. She had told him to wait for her before going to check out the sawmill, but like the idiot he was, Chad decided to play macho man and go tearing through the grounds like the energizer bunny.

“Ugh, you were so cute, but so stupid.” She muttered to the body, kicking off her high heels in preparation to bolt out the door.

In a flash, Poppy sprinted toward the other side of the sawmill, focused on nothing else but reaching the running police car outside.

Of course, that meant she wasn’t paying attention to the ground, causing her to trip over some unfortunate victim’s severed arm and tumble headfirst to the ground. She managed to land on her arms but hit her head on a small pile of discarded lumber scraps. Her face felt like it was on fire, already feeling the blood seep out of the gash that spread from her hairline to her nose.

Poppy tried to stand, managing to get halfway up on her own before being helpfully pulled up and off her feet by a large, gloved hand. Screaming in anger, she swiped at the masked killer, trying to find some vulnerable part of him to attack.

Was he waiting for her to run? Did he plant the arm there as a trap?

The Mill Murderer carried Poppy by the throat as she struggled, back to a corner of the room she hadn’t explored before now. Trying to turn her head and see their destination, her eyes widened as she saw the ridiculously convenient, oversized table saw just waiting to be used. Doubling her efforts, Poppy tried to dislodge herself from his grip, and dug her nails into a bit of skin that was exposed under his gloves.

He howled in pain, tossing her away from him like an angry cat-

-right on top of the dormant sawblade.

Poppy felt the serrated, rusty blade digging into her back, unaware of just how deep the tool had impaled itself within her. Maybe it was the shock, maybe she was fueled by pure spite and an unwillingness to give up so easily, but something was keeping her alive. Even though she spit a mouthful of blood at him as he loomed above her, tilting his head as though impressed that she was lasting so long. People only bled out of their mouths like that when their lungs and esophagus were thoroughly punctured.

Not wanting to risk this angry woman gaining a second wind, he quickly slammed her torso further down onto the blade, watching it sever a line down the middle of her chest before she stopped squirming around. He waited a few moments before gathering himself and shuffling out of the sawmill: that was definitely a victim worth writing about in his journal.

--

Poppy stared angrily into the mirror, wincing as she pulled the neon pink thread through the tender skin of her chest. Just a few more stitches and she would be ready to go, already hearing the halfway mark of the performer’s show currently on stage. She was next, despite her best efforts to change to a later time slot, and now had to do a rush job on her sewing.

At least she had gotten Madame to sew up her back earlier that day. It was hell trying to stitch backwards in a mirror. Most of the other girls shied away from such a gruesome task, but she could always count on Madame to help her without complaint. It was embarrassing to even need such care and attention, and Poppy did her best to make up for her physical flaws but working extra hard behind the scenes of the Inferno Room.

Tying a cute, knotted bow at her collarbone, she snipped the thread with a pair of scissors before wrapping her lace bustier around her torso, snapping it into place. Her favorite acid-wash denim jacket was next, sliding across her shoulders like a comforting blanket. The scar on her face could be hidden with makeup and clever hair styling; small favors she had learned to appreciate the longer she performed.

Poppy leaned forward into the mirror, checking for any lipstick stains on her pointed teeth, “Just one set, and then we’re all his for the night.”

Thinking about him made all of her efforts seem inconsequential, already picking out the flaws in her stitching from under the lace of her top. She could have taken a little more care with them… and maybe she needed more volume in her hair? Tonight was a bad night for mousse. What was the point of having limp, lifeless hair when her favorite was coming to see her? Would he think she didn’t care? Or that she wasn’t good enough anymore and he would seek companionship elsewhere?

She barely acknowledged her five-minute warning, waving the stage manager off with a huff, too focused on trying to blend out part of the scar that touched the bridge of her nose.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Two: Chapter Five

(AO3 counterpart here.)

It was a few days until Mistface tripped into another conversation, though this one was at least more interesting, if not particularly helpful to the misson.

He was lazing in the sun, half-asleep and a bit bored. Greyleaf had surprisingly declined going back to see their mother with him and Beetlefoot, citing business with a few injured cats who still needed to be convinced to sit back for a few days and heal up.  Mistface and Beetlefoot had gone ahead without him and returned earlier than they anticipated, giving them the rest of the day to waste time. Beetlefoot was apparently done socializing and marched off to take a walk around the settlement. Greyleaf was, of course, still trying to politely argue with the Clast cats he was treating, so Mistface had reclined outside where it was warm to wait for him to be done.

That had been about an hour ago, and Greyleaf had not shown up from where Mistface had left him.

Now it was afternoon, and all Mistface had for entertainment was a crowd gathering around to watch that grey molly fight again. Where Mistface was lying was a slightly raised bump in the ground, with its cracked stone being split apart by earth and grass. From here, he could see the fight well enough without having to sit up. He was also next to a small pile of particularly fat prey that he was sure weren’t meant for him, which meant he could chew slowly on a rabbit while observing.

It was an engaging one, at least – if for nothing else, for the skill that molly showed off. Her opponent, a blue tom a bit bigger than her, was trying very hard to at least get a blow on her, but she hopped back easily, only to launch forward and pop him on the nose or duck around to his side and bite at his shoulder. She was essentially forcing him to constantly turn to his left or right with every move she made, and he was easier to topple over because he wasn’t able to stand solidly and charge her. Meanwhile, she was practically dancing around him too quickly for him to make a move, and that massive grin on her face must have been extremely irritating and distracting for him.

Mistface found himself nodding in approval when she grabbed one of his paws with her mouth and pulled it under him, causing him to topple over and roll onto his back. This was met with a roar of admiration from the crowd. The tom tried to laugh, but it came out more like a cough, and he raised a paw in submission. The molly’s slightly short tail waved proudly and she puffed out her chest as she parted the sea of cats and strutted…

Right to where Mistface was. Fantastic.

He tried not to make eye contact while she sniffed through the prey, but he could see her looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He gave up after a long moment of avoiding it and met her gaze with a cool and questioning expression.

“That’s just where I happen to sit, usually,” she said. “After a fight.”

“Oh.” Mistface could be polite. He rose to a sitting position. “Want your spot?”

“Nah, no need to move.” She shook her head. “The shade’s nicer right now, anyway.”

With that, she pulled out a squirrel and plopped down just in front of Mistface, leaning against a slightly raised square stone. Mistface narrowed his eyes, but he knew better than to get cranky. He simply continued eating while she tucked into her own prey.

The quiet was just within the area of “awkward”, so Mistface spoke up. “You fight mighty well for a Marish cat.”

“Oh, you can tell?” The molly looked up at him, speaking loudly and with a full mouth. “Yeah, we’re mostly fishers. I’m just a cut above the norm. What about you?”

“I don’t think I’ve tussled with anythin’ besides prey,” Mistface said, with a slightly self-depreciating smile. “And I didn’t think you Marish left your home.”

The molly swallowed her prey. “Usually, no, but I pelted it a while back. I still have to go back for my sisters, but I’ve got two moons before they’re able to travel.”

That, Mistface could appreciate, but he was curious now. “And you left without them?”

The molly shifted uncomfortably, and her voice dropped a little. “I just couldn’t be there any longer. You know how some of these families suck.”

“That I do.” Mistface could sense that there was something to that statement, but it wasn’t his business, so he steered the conversation a little to the left. “It’s just close family that matters, I’d say. I got my brother and mother, and that’s enough for me.”

“Where are they?” The molly looked relieved to turn to something else. “I haven’t seen anyone like you around.”

Mistface smiled again, this time more for internal affection. “My mother’s an hour away with the Vultures, and my brother is Greyleaf.”

He jumped a little at the bark of laughter from the molly. “No! You’re brothers with that poor dweeb?”

Mistface’s smile twitched. “I hear tell he’s real useful around here.”

“Oh, he is, he’s great, but-“ The molly laughed again. “He’s just a nervous wreck. You two don’t look anything alike. Or sound alike.”

Ah. Mistface relaxed. “So I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, it’s night and day.” The molly shook her head, still looking tickled. “I’m glad Greyleaf’s got someone here that knows him well. He doesn’t talk to anyone except Redheart and whoever he’s healing at the time- hey!”

The blue tom had approached while they were talking and started nosing through the selection of prey. He looked up in genuine surprise at the molly’s scowl.

“You go to the other pile,” she said. “You lost the bet, remember?”

The tom sighed, but stepped back. “Can I at least take that mouse? It's been taunting me for an hour.”

The molly looked back at Mistface. “What do you think?”

Mistface didn’t know why she was asking him, but he tilted his head carelessly. “Ain’t gunna miss a little mouse, long as Redheart ate already.”

“Oh, Redheart never eats first,” the tom said. “She waits until we all have something.”

Mistface blinked. “Don’t deputies usually get the prime pickin’s?”

“Generally, yeah,” the molly said. “Just not this one.”

The tom scoffed. “No top-of-the-pile prey, no StarClan-given prey. You never notice her ribs poking out a little?”

Mistface recollected his mental image of Redheart, and realized that, subtle as it was, the tom was right. “Hm.”

“All that muscle hides it,” the molly said, and returned her attention to the tom. “Go on, then, get your mouse and beat it. You’re gunna have to topple me tomorrow if you want anything better.”

The tom rolled his eyes, but obeyed, beating a hasty retreat. The molly looked back to Mistface.

“Anyway,” she continued, “good of you to be with family. A lot of cats here don’t have much in the way of that, so they come here for any scrap of bonding they can find.” Her face softened a little. “I ended up doing the same thing on accident, with an apprentice I met.”

Mistface wasn’t sure whether he was interested or not, but he decided to inquire. “You adopted one?”

“Oh, no, not quite.” The molly laughed again, a little more gently. “I’ve been sort of mentoring her until Redheart does the official ceremony. She’s a former seer apprentice from Hillock, but her mother was a real piece of work and forced her into the role. So eventually she ran away, and we met one day and decided to come here.”

Mistface had a faint memory in his head. “I met one myself that had a mother like that. At a Coterie.”

The molly gave him a scrutinizing look. “Was her name Littlepaw?”

Mistface thought for a moment before nodding. “Least, I think so.”

“That’s her, then!” the molly cried, delighted. “Right, you arrived with Laurelclaw. He met her there too. She said you were familiar, but she couldn’t remember your name.” She paused. “What is your name, by the way?”

“Mistface.”

“I’m Flyfang.” The molly grinned at him. “Small world, isn’t it?”

“Small Territory, at least,” Mistface said. “I ain’t familiar with the rest of the world.”

“We might just end up discovering its size for ourselves, if we do leave,” Flyfang said philosophically, half-gazing upwards with a wistful look. “I just hope I can get my sisters before Redheart decides to leave. I can’t leave them with the Marish.”

“Well, you can’t leave me on my own, either!”

Both adults raised their heads as a small calico came around the corner of the house they were by, curly-furred tail waving happily. She bumped heads with Flyfang and dipped her head politely to Mistface, who gave her a chin-bob back.

“Ain’t polite to be listenin’ in on conversations you ain’t a part of, tyke,” Mistface said, in about as friendly of a way as he could. Apprentices weren’t too bad, at least, and she was a nice one.

“Sorry,” Littlepaw said, sounding like she meant it. “I just heard my name and I thought Flyfang was calling me.”

Mistface tilted his head a little, giving her an amused squint. “Got away from your mother, then? Good on you.”

“Sure is!” Littlepaw brightened up even more than she already was, chest puffed out. “It’s amazing out here, away from the hills. I do kind of want to check out the rest of the Territory, but I don’t know if we’ll have time before Redheart-“

“Hang a moment, kiddo,” Flyfang said, raising a paw. “We never completely decided if we’re going with her. If she goes through with it, at least, and if she's leaving too soon.”

“She sure sounds like she’s goin’ to,” Mistface said. “Though, I don’t know if anyone’ll go with her.”

“I think it’d be cool to adventure out, at least.” Littlepaw’s front feet shifted closer together, a little meeker. “I mean, maybe. I know we’d be away from StarClan’s protection, but…”

“That alone would make me hesitant to leave.” Mistface was careful to keep his tone patient and calm. “I have no idea how bad it could be out there.”

Littlepaw nodded, eyes to the ground. She eventually rotated her head a little to look at Flyfang. “We’ll talk about it, at least?”

“We’ll talk about it,” Flyfang agreed indulgently. “Here, you want some of this?”

“She can have my rabbit if she wants.” Mistface stood up, arching his back in a stretch. “I ain’t hungry, and I should find my brother.”

“Oh! That’s-“ Littlepaw looked at him, eyes wide. “That’s really nice, thank you.”

Mistface gave her a charming smile before stepping out of the way and gesturing with his tail. She went around him and climbed onto the rise in the ground, settling down and sniffing the prey. Mistface wasn’t sure he liked how quick she was to just accept a gift from a stranger – but, then again, not too many strangers in the Territory were that dangerous. Still, he thought of the loners and rogues from outside, and wondered if she should be more cautious.

Having manners, he said nothing. He simply waved a farewell and went off in search of his brother. Flyfang, around another mouthful of food, called a goodbye, as did Littlepaw.

It was nice, he thought. Littlepaw looked a great deal happier than the last time he’d seen her. Even he could appreciate that.

[lymazhu]

Lingering Effects

rating: PG

pairing: Jon/Martin cw: loss of time/disorientation, accidentally being compelled to answer a question

written for Day 6 of TMAHCWeek with the prompt accident, with a bit of confusion/delirium. 

set between 159-160

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189176

The dull throbbing that filled his mind before the haze of sleep could even dissipate made it clear that today was not going to be one of his better days. It was hard to even force his eyes open. Beside him the bed was cold and empty. Jon must have made it as best he could without disturbing Martin, so it was only the sounds coming from the kitchen that pushed away the momentary fear that gripped him. No, he told himself. Their time at the safehouse wasn't just a foolish dream. If he walked out of the bedroom he would see Jon making breakfast. Jon would look up at him, and there would be a soft, fond expression on his face that he’d long ago abandoned hopes of seeing until the first time it actually happened. That was real; it was the mist of the Lonely that wasn’t. Not anymore.

Being under the covers was stiflingly hot, but as soon as he made a move to leave the warmth of the bed his skin erupted in goosebumps. He'd never had much problem with lower temperatures or dampness before, not with living in London for so long. Now, though, the chill crept so easily into his bones. Drowned out everything that had changed from normal and comforting to oppressive and overwhelming. It had been getting better the longer he was away from the Lonely, but his dreams the night before had been full of fog and Peter's voice casually speculating about whether Martin would work more efficiently if he had a little chat with the Archivist's assistants.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice broke the silence, shaking him out of a daze. Martin wasn’t entirely sure if the man sounded distant because he was still in the kitchen or if it was just the way his brain was processing sounds at the moment. He realized it was the former when Jon continued, getting louder as he drew closer. Too loud. “I’ve made you an omelette with some of the herbs we picked up the other day. It, ah, should be to your liking but if not I-” Jon’s voice faltered as he reached the doorway, and Martin forced himself to meet the other man’s eyes. A variety of unpleasant feelings twisted within him. He must look particularly awful if he made Jon stop short. He didn’t want to give Jon time to confirm it, so he forced himself to speak.

“Thank you. I’ll be there shortly.” Please leave me alone, Martin left unsaid. 

By the time he’d managed to make it to the table, having given up on trying to fix the rat’s nest his hair had become, the food Jon had put effort into making was barely lukewarm. It would probably have been delicious on another day. He managed about half of it between sips of over-brewed tea before he set his fork down. The sound of metal against porcelain was jarring enough to make him flinch, even though he was the one who’d done it.  Old guilt rose in him at the idea of letting good food go to waste, but the thought of trying to force down another bite made his throat feel tight.

“I’m not very hungry.” He didn’t add that he wasn’t very anything right now, but from the looks of it Jon knew. Part of him resented that, even though it wasn’t exactly something that would require superhuman knowledge to catch.

“Not feeling well today, I take it. I...wasn’t up for eating this morning either. Perhaps we caught something in the village.” Martin knew that on a better day he would have appreciated that olive branch. Would have agreed, or maybe even made some joke or another despite both of them knowing perfectly well that their relative states had nothing to do with the flu. Today, though, the reminder that Jon hadn’t even bothered to make himself food was the last thing he wanted. He’d noticed that there was no second plate in the sink, but he’d been trying not to think about it. Not to mention that the way Jon had avoided asking him a question spoke volumes. 

After Jon had cleared away the dishes and Martin had pretended not to see the way the man’s hands trembled or the slight sheen of sweat on his skin, they sat together in the main room. At first Jon had sat beside him, but his weight against Martin’s side didn’t have its usual comforting effect. It had been stifling, and every shift of the man’s body or sound of a  flipped page made Martin tense. At some point, Martin wasn’t sure how long after they’d sat down, Jon had pretended that he had left something in the kitchen and settled in the armchair upon his return. 

More of the day passed that way; from time to time Martin would register that the direction of the muddled sunlight coming through the windows had changed, but mostly his thoughts were faint and distant. Lost as soon as they’d registered, except for when some sound or another would cut through everything to send a stab of discomfort through him. He could feel Jon’s eyes on him. It wasn’t comforting. His skin prickled under the man’s stare, and he was about to ask him to stop when it happened. 

“What’s wrong, Martin?” Martin had long enough to look up, shocked, before the compulsion forced the words from his mouth. “I woke up this morning with Peter’s voice in my head and thought I was still in the Lonely because your side of the bed didn’t even look slept in. I don’t remember the last time I saw you eat and that scares me. I can see you’re in withdrawal and I still remember that woman who came to me describing what you did to her, every single sound and bright color and taste is overwhelming today and part of me is still waiting to find out this whole thing is the punchline to a particularly unfunny joke.” 

As everything poured out, he could hear Jon apologize, tell him in a panicked voice that he didn’t mean to. It didn’t remove the effect, though, and by the time he had control over himself again he didn’t particularly want to tell Jon it was okay. He didn’t say anything more at all before he stood and walked out of the room. Jon was still speaking, but there was nothing supernatural to his tone anymore so Martin wasn’t forced to listen or comprehend what he was saying. 

The next time he came back to himself, the sun was low in the sky. Long shadows and rich orange light stretched across the floor. His thoughts were still clouded and his body heavy, but he was at least able to move without feeling out of sync with his own body. There had to have been more to the day than the few scraps of memory he could pull out of the fog. Something more than food that turned his stomach and Jon compelling him. But what it was, he couldn’t recall.

 He remembered clearly the way it felt to have the answer forced out of him, but the actual words he’d said were another story. All he knew was that he’d been so tired and so angry. That he hadn’t wanted to listen to Jon’s desperate apologies. Part of him still didn’t, but he knew they needed to talk. He’d made his choice; being by Jon’s side, loving him, sometimes meant dealing with things that he shouldn’t have to. And Martin knew that Jon tried his best not to use his powers on him but he’d been getting weaker as the days went by. It was probably only a matter of time before he slipped, and it was better that it happened now rather than when they were out in town. That still didn’t make it okay, but he needed to look at things objectively. 

Jon was still in the armchair when Martin found him, staring out the window. Given the way he startled when Martin’s hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder, he hadn’t heard him approach. The look of shock on his face was quickly replaced by shame. “O-oh, Martin...I really am so-” “Jon.” It wasn’t unkind, but Martin’s tone left no room for interpretation. “I’m aware things are difficult for you, and I know that you’re trying, but- please never compel me again. I don’t remember what I said, but I’m sure I would have chosen my words better if they hadn’t been forced from me. I know I’ve been doing better the longer I’ve been out of the Lonely, but today was bad. Still is, really, but I can actually keep thoughts in my head long enough to be able to talk.” A sigh escaped Martin as he made his way to the couch, motioning for Jon to join him. His instincts pushed for him to soften his words a bit more, to reassure Jon that everything was fine, but it wasn’t. Drawing limits, having boundaries, that wasn’t something unacceptable. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt a bit to see how cautious Jon was as he sat down, carefully avoiding sitting too close to him. 

“You’re right. I mean, o-of course you’re right. It’s been a while since I’ve had a statement, and that tends to affect my interest in regular food. Among...other things. But that doesn’t excuse my forcing an answer out of you. Nor does the fact that I didn’t do it intentionally. I am sorry, but that doesn’t mean you need to forgive me.” 

“I know.” Martin didn’t quite feel up to smiling, not yet, but he placed his hand over Jon’s. “We can talk about it more later, work out a system. Figure things out. For now let’s just...agree that it’s on hold.” He brushed a lock of loose hair from Jon’s face, tucking it behind the man’s ear.

“I love you. That hasn’t changed.” Martin added after a few moments.  The silence that fell between them this time, as Jon leaned wordlessly into his touch, had a much different quality. If he wasn’t still oversensitive to sound, Martin might have missed Jon’s eventual response, soft and buried in his jumper as it was.

[1800gotspook]

The Death of a Millionaire

Summary: "If you were to ask Amity's teens about the house, most will tell you it's haunted. You will hear a hundred stories, a tangle of rumors about who lived there." A young resident of Amity park digs into Urban Legends and discovers the greatest mystery surrounding the town.

For the DannyMay2020 prompt “horror” although it’s probably more “creepypasta” esque.

[Read on AO3]

If you drive south down Grimme Road you'll eventually reach the end of the street. Past the City Hall, past Casper High, past the power plant. At the end of the road, turn left and keep driving. You will eventually find a road that borders the woods. Follow that road. It slowly becomes less and less structured, lacking maintenance. Cracked by the roots of trees. Littered with potholes and chunks of concrete. Any street lights left are no longer powered by the city. You will regret if you came at dark.

Driving far enough down that battered road, the trees will thin out. Ahead on the right you will find a wide open property. A tall, intricate, wrought iron fence circling a vast, overgrown yard. Rolling hills of what was probably once lush green grass, now covered in unkempt bushes and weeds, stretching over a brick driveway, even more crumbled than the road you entered on. Weeds and vines peeking up through the cracks. No sign of human intervention in at least thirty years.

Keeping you from trespassing is nothing more than a pointy steel gate. Large enough for vehicles to pass through. The chains holding it shut are probably easy to pull apart. Break the rusty links and force the long-dormant hinges to whine. But you have no interest stepping on this property.

Looking up the drive, you can see the stone path just barely through the weeds. Winding up and around the land to reach its focal point: the house. You could even call it a mansion. Elegant brick laid outside. Once expensive drapery, now bleached a sickly yellow by the sun, sits in the windows. Even the front door, although dusty and rotted, exhibits an air of refinement.

If you were to ask Amity's teens about the house, most will tell you it's haunted. You will hear a hundred stories, a tangle of rumors about who lived there. No matter how peculiar, entertaining, or sensible the stories become, they never quite answer my question:

Why would a person like this, with so much class and so much money, choose to live in Amity Park?

During my research into Amity Park records, I discovered that the house actually belonged to a once renowned millionaire by the name of Vlad Masters. For most of his adult life, he resided in an even larger home. Not just a mansion, but a castle, you could say. This original home was in Madison, Wisconsin. In 2006,he suddenly decided to move to Amity Park, shortly after his election as mayor. That's right. A completely unrelated millionaire from Wisconsin, despite never stepping foot in Amity Park, was elected mayor. This brings up some questionable thoughts, doesn't it? Was he really, legitimately elected?

After his election, it appears he took no real action for the betterment of Amity, except to establish a myriad of anti-ghost protection measures. Long after his death, he was discovered to be involved in many scandals. All the more proving that his election wasn't short of the same. But how he could pull that off? That may never be known.

Investigators never uncovered his true intentions for becoming mayor. Was he just crazy? Power hungry? Was this all a part of some big plan?

The most baffling mystery, however, is what brought Masters to his death.

He lived alone. His body was only found after his several absences from mayoral duties. Nobody was able to contact him. A poor secretary found him eighteen hours later. She said he was covered in burns all up and down his body. Face barely recognizable.

Along with those injuries, scorch marks were peppered all over the study where he was. Investigators said each burn in the room showed signs of explosion on impact, as if someone had accidentally set off a batch of fireworks indoors. However, there were no signs of combustible material anywhere. No scraps or gunpowder. No ashes, no paper shavings. No chemical traces. No debris or fuel at all. The source of the explosions entirely a mystery. If Vlad Masters was attacked, the assailant's trails were expertly covered.

It must have been deliberate. Investigators were sure of that. Despite the scorch marks all over the room, his body was most prominently burned. He was clearly the target of the explosions.

Yet the burns aren't what killed him. According to autopsy reports, his heart had stopped, independent of the little fireworks. There were also no signs of Vlad Masters having previous heart conditions, yet arrhythmia was most likely the cause.

Some detectives in the papers considered the possibility that Masters was electrocuted. It could explain some of the burn marks on his body. But that fell through, as other damages to his body and room went unexplained.

Months after the electrocution theory, more information was uncovered. Because of his bodily reaction to the injuries, they were actually discovered to be chemical burns. They still couldn't figure out what exactly had burned him, as there was no sign of residue or foreign substances to be found.

Further investigation of his injuries was cut short. Curiously, the body could no longer be studied after the initial autopsy. For some reason, each time they tried, results grew more and more inconsistent than the last. Certain burns on his body from previous tests could no longer be found. Each time they tried to study his body, there was less and less to examine. It was almost like he was reverting back. Like his body was healing.

Some say that his body was completely back to a perfect condition by the end of the week. Some say that his funeral was open casket. They say if you went to the funeral, you could walk up and feel his ice cold skin. Not a sign of the burns. If you looked at his face, you could see the hint of a smirk, forever plastered there. Unable to be broken. Unable to be moved by his muscles. They no longer carried blood. No longer kept warm by a beating heart. Stuck grinning about his own mysterious fate.

They searched his house thoroughly in an attempt to uncover anything about his death. Any hint of a struggle. Signs of an ex-friendship. A piece of hate mail. Something to give them a lead. They couldn't even find evidence of an intruder in his house. Masters had security cameras surveying the yard, yet not a single one picked up another being. Not the day of the incident, nor for weeks leading up to it.

Despite all of this security, Masters only ever monitored the outside of his home. He was clearly a secretive man if he was willing to sacrifice safety for privacy.

Investigators searched for alternative entrances to his home and made a shocking discovery. A lever in the study. When pulled, the bookcase made a click, then slowly opened inward. Behind this new doorway, a staircase to the basement. With no other apparent entrances. Some old laboratory. Banged up equipment that once had various uses. Syringes and test tubes, all sterile and unused. Large contraptions with several sleek levers and buttons, never labelled. Investigators peeled the contraptions apart to discover each one empty. Core identifying structures like computer chips and motors were removed, leaving only a shell behind. Horrifyingly, some of these shells resembled guns. But they weren't quite guns. Some resembled household appliances. One looked like a high-end toaster. Its sleek exterior in porcelain white. No power cord, but a hole in the side where a charger might go.

There were also strange containment pods and large glass boxes, fit for an aquarium. They lined the walls at one end of the spacious room, also missing any identifying features.

At the other end of the room, a gaping cavern, easily twelve feet long. Lined with steel, and a few holes at the entrance. But once again, nothing could be derived but more confusion and open-ended theories.

Computer system: destroyed. File cabinet: empty. Fingerprints: besides Master's? Nonexistent.

Acidic substances littered the floor. Broken vials and common chemicals corroding away at the sleek tile. Some substances were entirely unrecognizable.

One common theory: Masters experimented with chemicals, and got carried away, getting himself killed in the process.

But I refuse to believe that after all his misdeeds there wouldn't be someone after him. Somebody to kill him. Somebody who learned the ins and outs of his mansion, and took every precaution. Someone who wanted to destroy his lab. Whatever work he was doing, it was unlikely to be for a good cause.

The police asked Amity for help. If someone knew anything about this case, they would be grateful.

Living in what was once the most haunted town, many people wondered if ghosts were involved in the incident. Local ghost experts who were old friends of Masters decided to help. After obtaining plentiful details and performing endless studies, the ghost experts concluded that spectral entities were not involved in the incident. It wasn't possible. Ghosts always announced their misdeeds. If ghosts were the cause, Amity would have known of Masters' death instantly, and exactly who was to blame. The ghost experts could not identify the unknown substances.

Is it possible that because these ghost experts knew Masters personally, that they chose to withhold information. Yes, it is a considerable theory. But still, why would a ghost target Masters specifically? Because he conducted anti-ghost measures for the city? Even so, it's no question that Vlad Master had a ghost shield on his property. It simply isn't plausible to assume a ghost could attack him that easily.

Some argue Masters' death was his own doing, whether an accident or not. Others claim the government, or a secretive organization, chose to eliminate him. Remove Amity Park from his clutches. Would the government really be involved but create such a baffling mystery? Why would the police beg the town for answers? Yet another addition to this elaborate mystery.

Angela,

Let me know how this essay reads for you. I've been studying urban legends of the town for a while now, and I compiled a lot of stuff to write this. I want to release it to the entirety of Amity (and the world) but I don't know where to post it and if it will be taken seriously. You know how much I love this kind of stuff. I trust you. So please please please do not share.

Riley

[moonlightstars16]

Chapter 4 ~ Magic Has It’s Price

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Connie ran and ran as far as her feet would carry her. After what she saw, she couldn't bare to stay anymore. How could she expect for him to keep her word after what he had just done. She felt sick as the image of that beast of a lion sinking it's fangs into the innocent man's flesh. Her captor just so easily turning is back on them without a shred of empathy. She covered her mouth trying not to throw up as she blindly ran. Suddenly tripping and falling down into the grass beneath her.

Feeling the pain on her knee, Connie sat up and tried to regain her breathing from running so fast; looking down at her newly scrapped up knee. Not too bad but the small trail of blood had her worried. Her elbow had the same fate. Glancing around she took note of where she was, another garden. Only this particular spot area seemed different. The plants were overgrowing, except for the grass which seemed freshly cut. Just right before her was a beautiful fountain, though cracked and worn down from time. Still the waters flowed effortlessly.

"What are you doing here?!" A deep more elderly voice rang out, as Connie gasped and turned to see an older man with long dark gray hair, dressed in a brown, yet more relaxed suit, and a navy blue robe like cloak.

"I-I'm sorry I didn't mean to come here I just-"

"Wait, you don't look like the others." The man interrupted leaving Connie even more confused.

"What-?" Then it hit her, he was talking about the human's that were held in captivity. Instantly the horrific scene flashed in her mind once more. Making her shake slightly a bit more.

"Hey you look a bit pale, my dear, are you alright?" The man's voice seemed much more calm and gentle than before. Holding out his hand for her, she took it hesitantly. His friendly gesture made her feel like she could trust him. Though after everything, her cautious side kept her guard up. "I don't believe we've properly met. I'm Greg Universe, caretaker of the gardens." He smiled hopefully coming out to be more inviting than scary. Connie smiled back faintly trying her best to be polite.

"My name is Connie, and... I just arrived here about an hour ago." Her smile seemed to waiver once she was reminded of her current reality.

"Ah so you're the mysterious guest from earth!"

"More like a prisoner...." She corrected, speaking only above a whisper, just enough for him to hear. Greg's smiled disappeared upon hearing the sadness in her voice. Then he noticed the scrape on her elbow.

"Here, my dear, let me help you." He smiled offering his hand and he accepting it once more. Leading her towards the fountain. Then gesturing for her to sit as he dipped a couple small pieces of cloth, from his robe pocket, into the fountain. While she adjusted herself, lifting the hem of her skirt just enough over her knee. Then lifting her elbow, he gently pressed the cloth against her skin. Connie hardly felt the pain, but that was only the beginning of her curious questions. Eyes widening as the scrape was healed instantly, not even a small scab left behind.

"How is this possible?" Her voice full of wonder and amazement. Greg smiled while dipping the cloth again before handing it too her. Taking it as if it was made of glass, Connie barley touched her knee before the scar disappeared, just like her elbow, nothing was left behind.

"Well magic has it's place here."

"Magic?! I thought it was all just in fairytales and imagination." Greg chuckled slightly at her remarks.

"Well that is partially true. Any strong imagination can hold even the most powerful of magic on earth. Well actually anywhere that humans thrive. They just don't know it's potential. Now here they exist as if they lived in the oxygen itself." Greg was the most kind soul she met yet, well aside from Pearl. It made her feel happy to know she wasn't alone.

Still even knowing another human who could understand her, didn't change the fact that she was a prisoner. Thought flooded back to her as she gulped and gripped both her arms. "I'm sorry you had to witness what he had done." He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "I know it's hard to understand but-"

"I prefer not to understand him, he's a monster." Connie said with hidden anger in her tone. He looked up as if owning up to something terrible.

"Steven's my son." She moved her hand to her lips, realizing what had just happened.

"Forgive me, I'm sorry, I didn't realize..."

"I have no intention of justifying him. I know the things he does is terrible." He paused sighing, standing up from the fountain and continuing. "But I also know he wasn't always this way. When he was little, there was so much hope and light in his heart. Curious about the world and caring for every soul he met." Greg suddenly laughed at an old memory. "When he was little he could sing the 'Cookie-Cat' ice cream commercial jingle to memory. And since then I never regretted teaching him music."

"Wait, 'Cookie-Cat'? You lived on earth?" Her tone now more confused as she stood up and walked towards him.

"He was born there actually, and we lived in peace for a long time. Steven, myself, Pearl, Spinel, Amethyst, Garnet, Bismuth, Peridot, Lapis and...." he stopped glancing at the fountain statue. "Rose..." Connie assumed the rest were other gems but why did he look so sad? Who was Rose? As if reading her thoughts, Greg answered with a voice full of love and sorrow. "Rose was my wife and Steven's mother." She followed his gaze to the fountain and saw that the statue must've been her image.

"She's beautiful"

"She was truly the most beautiful gem I ever laid eyes upon." His words felt so sincere and full of distant longing that she ever wondered if anyone would love her like Greg had for Rose.

"Where is Rose now?" She asked hesitantly not wanting to tear him away from his memory, and yet curiosity consumed her once again.

"She died giving birth, well gave her form to him that is... it's complicated." 'It sure seems like it' Connie thought. "This fountain is a memorial for her. She had the power to heal and her healing tears flow freely forever." He said before shaking his head and smiling at Connie who was giving him the most sincere, empathetic look she could give. "You know I think she would've liked you."

"And I see this is where you've been hiding." Connie gulped as they turned to see Steven leaning against a tree amongst the shadows, arms folded across. His eyes were glowing bright though he seemed less angry than before. Still his intimidating look didn't help make her feel less anxious. "Father, it would be nice to see you spend less time in this pathetic garden and more time on your new duties."

"I know what I have to do, son." Greg fought back the urge to say more. He himself grew tired of their quarrels.

"How did you find this place?" Steven's gazed directed towards Connie's.

"It was by accident, I didn't know where I was looking-"

"Of course it happened that way." He sighed stepping out from the shadows. "Pearl has been waiting to discuss how you will present yourself to the Diamonds. If you are done wasting my time, follow me." Steven turned and began to walk away with Connie following suit. She glanced back only to give a passing smile to Greg, who returned the favor.

Though he was only a foot taller than her, his strides were very long which made her almost run to keep up with him. Suddenly he stopped, herself almost bumping into him, thankfully she avoided that. The glow in his eyes faded upon seeing her expression. He could notice her fear a galaxy away, to him she was an open book of emotions and yet so confusing. The guilt that she even saw kept gnawing away at his gut, but couldn't place why. It's not like he cared about what anyone thought.

"I'm not someone to cross with. Everyone here knows there place, one step out of line and consequences will be had. What you witnessed earlier was only a part of what I can do." Though trying to hide it, her trembling couldn't be helped. Upon seeing this his demeanor changed to a much calmer state unintentionally. Still she had to understand her place now, even if it was only temporary. "Now do you truly understand?"

"Yes" was all Connie could say. She couldn't even find the right formality to address him as. Besides monster, asshole, and a few others she would surely get killed over. However lifting her gaze to match his, expression full of anger as if to say she wasn't going to be belittled or be used as a puppet like the others. "I will obey your orders, but I want to remind you this is only temporary. Once we both hold up our ends of the deal, then I no longer will serve you." Her defiant tone and words were shocking. The strength to stand up to him gained his interest. Normally Lion would be called in and she would've been bleeding to death. Still he somehow found it amusing and quite refreshing that someone like her would challenge him. So he decided to "play" along.

"Is that so? Well while that's true, how about we add to our deal?" Her empathy and compassion for humans she never even met was remarkable to him. In fact the idea that came together was perfect for this. "Let's say this deal is done, you are free to go. However if you stay here with me, I can offer you anything you desire. I will comply to do so. In turn, you will be my companion for the rest of your life." She gasped and tried to maintain her composure though faltering slightly.

"As in...marriage?" the words felt almost poisonous in that moment.

"I suppose you could say that. And before you answer, let me remind you I stated I will give you anything. Including perhaps sparing the humans from the zoo, or in fact all of humanity. Hell I'll even throw in no more shattering of gem kind!" He chuckled villainously. Allowing all his words to sink into her own thoughts. Before she would've rejected him, but now he made an offer so impossible to refuse. Still the conflict inside tore her in two. Doubting that he would keep to his word.

"All of humanity?" She asked hesitantly and unsure she heard him right.

"Not a single human from now until the end of time, will I hurt. However if you refuse, then I suppose me taking a few humans while transporting them to their new location would satisfy me and my human zoo." If what he was saying was true, Connie felt the weight of her choice balance in her hands. This could save humanity from the beast that stood before her. All she would have to do is surrender her own life to him. Though she knew her answer, that sickening feeling once more overtook her at the thought of being his. Even so she had to do the right thing... just hoping it was the right choice.

"Alright... you have a deal." She said before slightly gasping, feeling herself being backed up against the wall; under his intense gaze. As if hypnotizing her into a trance like state. He advanced towards her with every step she took. Pressing his left hand against the wall next to the side of her head. Gently caressing her cheek  with his right; gloved leather fingers so supple and warm against her skin. Removing her glasses to get a good look behind her eyes.

"I-I need them too-" She began before his finger touched her lips.

"You are truly...beautiful...." He cut off, the words spoken with such a sensual tone made her silent. His eyes bore into hers as if paralyzing her soul in submission. Feeling her tremble and hearing deep breathing apparent but becoming much calmer with every passing second. Then without warning he leaned towards her and placed a gentle yet passionate kiss upon her lips. Being careful to avoid the mask touching her face. He cradled her cheek in his hand. Whimpering slightly, though muffled from the kiss, feeling something inside her twinge in pain. Once he pulled away, smirking as he watched her expression. Wiping away the single tear that fell from her cheek.

Flinching slightly Connie slowly opened her eyes. Gasping as everything suddenly became more clearer. Her glasses where still in his possession, she wasn't wearing them! As if by a miracle her sight returned in full force. She could see everything without any blur and in such intricate detail... including him. Steven watched as the moment of realization striking her. Though he despised his own mother, he did have to face the truth that he had her healing powers. However they were of his own design.

"H-how-...?" The shock was still slightly overwhelming for her to form complete sentences. He chuckled slyly as he ran his hand through her hair, twisting a single lock around one finger. Gazing into her eyes with such intensity once more.

"You belong to me....that is the price you must pay." The heaviness of those words weighed on her heart, knowing what he is now and what they had just done. Connie was paralyzed from what had just happened. 'I just let a murder kiss me... What have I done....' It was too much for her to handle in just a short amount of time. Her head suddenly felt light and darkness clouded her vision before she felt her strength being taken out from under her. Steven caught her just in time as she fainted in to his arms. Her body molded almost perfectly against his.

'Completely hopeless...' He thought as he adjusted her head to be more against his upper arm and shoulder. Walking away, barely noticed a certain long limbed gem watching in the shadows. But he did notice. Stopping in his tracks he awaited for her to speak.

"Do you really think she could love you?" Spinel's tone was full of spite. Seeing the scene laid out before her was sickening. It seemed he had feelings for the human, while else would he carry her and not let her drop too the floor. Something was definitely going on with them.

"Love?" Steven scoffed laughing "As if there is such as thing for me. No this is just a game of wits and deals. Nothing more nothing less."

"Why not add 'bet' to that name." At the subtle suggestion, he turned to face her. Spinel smirked, pleased to have captured his attention, walking forward with her hands behind her back, posture straight.

"I'm listening"

"I bet she won't hold her end of the deal. It'll be hard to do, after all, seeing your true nature earlier today. Oh and that kiss, man her face was almost priceless to see after you planted one on her." Steven maintained a powerful composure as he took in all she was laying out before him. "Anyways, she wont' last very long I can almost guarantee that. However if I loose the bet then I-"

"Will become the Diamonds playmate." Steven smiled wickedly as Spinel went silent. The Diamonds always knew Spinel was Pink's playful pet (at least that's how they saw her as). Though they had let her stay with Steven in a sense to torture him. Recently however they took interest once more in the playful gem. Seeing how they understand that Steven was never going to be Pink. Still they have there fun. Perhaps it was the nostalgia from Pink's 'sweet' days before the war. Or maybe just another obsession to hoard over, perhaps even both. But they wanted her.

However the thought of being away from Steven hardened her heart even more so. He was strong, intelligent, powerful. She craved it all. And if he were gone then she would be in control. Plus the fear for being in the Diamonds control again was far from ideal. Looking at the unconscious human in his arms made her smirk, there was no way this human will keep up her promise. 'Weak and fragile, just like all the rest of her kind.'

"Alright, but if I win, then it is me whom you must marry." Steven laughed once more at the preposterous idea. Knowing full well she never truly cared for him, but only what he had. It was truly a pathetic site. Still he couldn't turn down a bet, especially one so challenging.

"Let the games begin."

[wellhellotragic]

Dead in the Water (2/2)

Here is its guys, the epic conclusion to this fic, all inspired by @clockadile’s​ amazing work (just wait until you see her second piece!!!!). I hope you all enjoy it. I’ve had a lot of fun plotting this out with Clock, even if writing it was like pulling teeth at times. My own fault to be certain. It’s a bit strange to know this is the end of my fic writing, but I couldn’t have asked for a better event to go out on. Thank you again to @csrolereversal​ for putting this all together.

Summary:

Killian Jones may have just had the worst year of his life. The loss of his hand, of his career, and of his pride were almost more than he could take. In a bid to reclaim his life, Killian decided it was time to face his fears, and get back on the metaphorical horse, or in his case, back on the water. Only, the purchase of a haunted second-hand boat may just come at the cost of his sanity.

“The sea is like a cruel mistress. You can love her, you can hate her, but you can never trust her.” - author unknown

A/N: Just to warn readers, this is were the fic earns it’s mature rating for violence. It’s not discussed in extreme detail, but some people may find it upsetting.

Rating: M (foul language sprinkled in and some adult themes)

Also on AO3

 Fall turned to winter and winter to spring. The leaves fell, littering the streets, only to be replaced by mountains of snow, which eventually melted off leaving a mess of sludge behind. The city kept going somehow. But The Jolly remained untouched for months, still left barely tied to the dock.

 Killian hadn’t actually been out to check on her since his frightening encounter. Wasn’t even rightfully sure if she was still there. He’d been too spooked at first. Then too busy with work. 

 But by the time March came around, things at work had slowed a bit, and Killian began to wonder about that day. Months had passed and his memory just a little foggy. Had he really seen anything at all? Or had his mind just twisted something up? Like awakening from a dream and not knowing what was real or not. He’d been through so much in the year and a half before. It hardly would have been the first time he’d imagined seeing things.

 By April he was all but convinced that the entire thing had been one huge figment of his imagination and was ready to give sailing another go. Starting with just a small trip out to build his courage, Killian waited until well after sunrise, hoping the extra hours of daylight would provide a slight respite from the chill still in the air. He didn’t even bother packing food as his plan was to not go so far out that he couldn’t see the marina. 

 The Jolly was still there, something he found slightly surprising as the winter waves had been known to blow sailboats clear down the shoreline and he’d barely tossed the rope around the deck cleat. She was also a little worse for the wear. Her sails a bit dirty and tattered around the edges. Soot from the melted snow covered her decks. But she was still afloat, and really, that was the best he could have hoped for.

 He did his routine checks, making sure that she was sailable before pushing off, letting the gentle breeze guide her out to sea. He made it about a mile out, just able to still make out the apexes of the ships moored near his spot, and waited. For what exactly he wasn’t sure, but still, he waited for nearly an hour. 

 The time that passed could only be described as unremarkable. No oddities happening around the boat, no spooky sounds, and no ethereal visions. She was just a boat like any other and just as before, he’d imagined the whole thing. 

 After bringing her in and properly tying her up, he went to work on setting her to rights. Scrubbing the decks, replacing the frayed ropes, and tending to the sails. The headsail was easily salvageable, but the mainsail needed replacing after leaving it half rolled up. Water and dirt settling in the loose packing, icing over and weighing against it. He knew better, but he’d been in such a state that he hadn’t cared at the time.. He’d have to order a new one before he set out again.

 Having eased his mind a bit, the next week went by for Killian in a blur. He’d ordered the new sail as soon as he’d arrived home, and luckily the company he’d purchased from was local to Boston and agreed to let him pick it up directly from their store rather than having it shipped.

 Liam seemed a bit shocked at Killian’s previous reluctance to sail, but seemed even more surprised by his sudden determination to start up again. While he didn’t offer to go sailing with Killian again, he did insist that Killian call him before setting sail and after returning just to know that everything was ok. 

 For his part, Killian agreed, still not having told his brother of his previous difficulties with the lack of wind, nor of the ghoul he’d seen onboard. Not that it mattered much as it had all been a figment of his imagination. A haunted nightmare caused by the trauma of his past.

 As Saturday approached, Killian found himself excited for the first time in months. He’d planned a trip to Nantucket Island. He’d never been there but by all accounts it was a lovely little place. It was the Brant Point Lighthouse that had really caught his attention though. Online, it was the quintessential image of New England, and he wanted to see it in person. 

 By his estimations, it was roughly a three hour trip, a tidbit that only caused him to second guess his plan for a few minutes as the theme song to Giligan’s Island played in his head. 

  A three hour tour…

 Once he’d reclaimed a better hold over his sanity though, he finished planning his exact route, making sure to send a copy of his plans off to Liam, just in case.

 He woke up early that morning, ready to replace the mainsail himself before setting off. There was still a bite in the air that left him searching for a sweater and his trusty leather jacket. The one Liam had gifted him just before his first assignment. He even grabbed the gold compass locket from the drawer he’d hid it in after his scare, not having wanted anything around at the time to remind him of that event. Now though, knowing that he’d imagined it all, he felt it only proper to wear it for his first true journey on The Jolly.

 It was dark when he arrived to the marina, only the very first hint of light breaking over the horizon. It took longer than expected to get the old sail off, the fabric having fused to the lines over the past months. He’d had to cut some parts off, letting his hook do most of the work while his other hand just followed behind, pulling at the tattered scraps. Eventually the sun rose, the morning light turning from red to orange to yellow. 

 The sky filled with the lightest shades of blue as he worked on installing the new sail. He was just about finished tying off the last of it when he felt something, a shadow pass over him. Checking the sky above him, he found no clouds. Just an empty blue sky. He closed his eyes, willing his mind not to fail him again, to seize control over himself. But when he opened them again, the shadow was still there. A woman’s silhouette framed in the mainsail he’d just attached. Her hand pressed against it as if she was reaching out to him. 

 He swallowed thickly, willing the figure to go away, but it didn’t. He froze once again, waiting for it to pass, mentally repeating the mantra his therapist had given him for just such occasions, but no matter how long he waited, the shadow remained.

  “Who..who’s there?”

 He waited for what seemed like an eternity before he heard it again. The anguished cries, this time less distorted, but just as upsetting.

 “Get out!”

 That time he didn’t freeze; He didn’t wait for it to disappear. No. That time he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, despite cries from other people milling around yelling at him to slow down. He got in his truck and drove home just as quickly as he could, locking the door behind him and grabbing a bottle of rum he’d stashed in the cabinet above his freezer.

 Everything after that was a bit hazy. The next morning he woke to find he’d texted Liam, telling him he was sick and would be out the whole next week. Something he didn’t remember having done.

 He spent the entirety of Sunday held up in his apartment, watching bad cable tv programming, hiding from the world. Eight binge hours later, somewhere between Snapped and Homicide Hunter, Killian had a realization. If the spooks only ever happened on the boat, naturally, it stood that it must have been related to whatever happened before he bought The Jolly. It likely happened to the previous owner and that’s why he got such a deal on her.

 He had to wait until the next day to contact Ariel’s Antiquities. They were insistent that the info they’d given him before was accurate. That the ship was repossessed from the previous owner for non-payment, but when pressed for details on the who the previous owner, they dodged his questions. Something just didn’t feel right. More determined than ever to uncover the truth, Killian turned to the internet, hoping that perhaps the original owner had registered the ship somewhere. His search of Boston and greater Massachusetts provided nothing. Eventually he stumbled on a national website that guaranteed to prove a comprehensive history report for only twenty dollars. Fortyfive dollars if he wanted addresses as well.

 And that was how Killian found himself spending an indecent amount of money on a website called The Hulltruth. It took about thirty minutes before the report was emailed to him, but when it came in, he found that the boat was registered in Storybrooke, Maine and reported missing. The rest of the report was limited, just telling him that the boat hadn���t been in any previous accidents. No address, no name. Just that she was missing.

 Of course he’d allowed himself into being swindled. Who else was lucky enough to purchase a stolen boat but him? With his full wrath backing him, Killian found the auction house’s office address and stormed there, ready to raise hell over his stolen second hand haunted boat. Surprisingly, he wasn’t the only person there airing a grievance. 

 A woman was there, arguing with one of the auction curators. As it turned out, the first edition one of a kind copy of Her Handsome Hero was not the two hundred year old book the house had promised. It was actually a well crafted replica. Despite the letter from an expert that the young woman had brought with her, the staff declared that all sales were final and sent her on her way. Killian wasn’t discouraged though, knowing he had the law on his side. 

 It took time, and there were threats made, but Killian finally discovered that the Jewel of the Realm had been found off the remote coast of Kittery Point, Maine by one of the auction house’s salvagers. Apparently a number of the items sold there under than label of authentic antiques were actually salvaged on abandoned beaches. Items lost or washed to shore. 

 The auction house brought the boat back to Boston and sold it as soon as possible rather than report it as found. They tried to claim that since the boat had been abandoned, that it wasn’t technically theft. When pressed about the damage to the boat, they conceded that while the hole had been there when they found it, they were the ones that removed the guts of the boat to make it a more appealing purchase. They told him that the wood was badly stained and they didn’t want buyers poking around trying to figure out what happened. A pointed remark towards him to be sure.

 He left with no more answers, aside from the knowledge that The Jolly wasn’t stolen in the middle of the night from a different marina. Or at least so they said. Killian prided himself of behind able to read people, and while the man, Sebastian, had shown a range of emotions, he never appeared to be lying. 

 The next morning he was still unsettled, not really knowing what happened. Especially given that in her current state, the boat was unusable. He wasn’t going on it just to be frightened within an inch of his life again. The human heart could only take so much. Plus there was the added thrill of the mystery, not that he’d call what was happening a thrill in anyway.

 But he needed to know. He needed to find the previous owner, to ask them if they’d had problems too. 

 That morning Killian packed up his car and headed up interstate ninety five, ready to get his answers. The report he’d bought didn’t have an address, but considering that there was a missing boat report, the local sheriff's station seemed like a good place to start. He’d spent the three hour drive coming up with a cover story. Telling them he’d bought the missing boat wouldn’t accomplish anything. They would simply seize it from him and then cut him out.

 So instead he decided it would be best if he claimed to be a reporter, working on a story about a string of boat thefts along the northern coastline. That he was trying to see if they were connected. He’d even gone so far as to look for missing boats online while he stopped for gas. He thought of everything, was prepared for every eventuality, except for the one he got.

 Storybrooke was a small quaint town. There were a few people milling about, but as he pulled up to the station, he found himself to be the only car in the parking lot. Slightly worried that he’d find the station locked up, he was surprised that the door was in fact unlocked. The building was small, just a short hallway separating the outside from a large room housing three empty desks. Along the back wall there were two holding cells, also empty. The place seemed to be deserted until he heard a shuffle coming from around the corner.

 “Hello?”

 “Just a sec!”

 I took a moment, but eventually a tall blonde man in jeans and a button down appeared, offering him a handshake. He introduced himself as David Nolan, town sheriff. Killian gave him the reporter backstory and asked if he had some time to talk. He noticed the way the man stiffened a bit as they walked to his office, but the man made no comment. Just led him into another room where he offered him a seat across the desk from his own.

 Killian started out vague, just talking about how he was an investigative reporter out of Boston, where they’d experienced a string of boat thefts recently, and he wanted to see if they were in any way related to an uptick of reports stretching through Maine. When he was done, there was nothing but silence as Sheriff Nolan simply looked down at his desk, his hand grabbing a photo frame and clutching it closer to his chest. 

 In time, with a wrecked voice, the man finally spoke. 

 “The report you’re asking about. It wasn’t a boat theft.”

 “Come again? The report listed it as missing.”

 “There’s more than one way a boat can disappear Mr. Jones.” The sheriff gave him a sad smile, passing over the photo. It was a picture of him with another woman. “Her name is Emma. Was Emma.”

 Over the next twenty minutes Sheriff Nolan explained to Killian that Emma, a beautiful woman, was his sister. His adopted sister, but family none-the-less. She was a family lawyer in Boston, specializing in divorces and custody issues. 

 Emma’s job was extremely stressful, angry parents, threatening phone calls, so on the weekends she’d sail up the coast to Storybrooke to visit family. The alone time allowed her to decompress. To let the weight of the world fall from her shoulders.

 About a year and a half earlier, just around the same time Killian found himself waking up in the hospital, Emma disappeared. It was a holiday weekend and she’d come up to visit her brother and sister in law. She’d stayed with them for a few days before packing up and heading back. The sheriff explained how he’d begged her to stay for one more day, that there was a storm coming, but Emma had insisted that she’d be ahead of it. That nothing would happen.

 And no one ever saw her again. The ship had disappeared too and the assumption was that she’d been caught in the storm and been lost to the sea. They’d searched for weeks, David calling in every favor he could think of, but for all of the searching they never found Emma or The Jewel. The case still remained open, but only as a technicality. 

 The drive home, all Killian could think about was David, and how much pain he was in. He’d wanted to comfort the man, to tell him that his sister’s boat had been found just down the shoreline, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk losing The Jolly before he’d figured out what happened, and more than that, he couldn’t risk giving David false hope. Not after he’d seen the photograph. The flowing blonde hair, emerald eyes. Not when he knew that the woman in that photograph was the same thing that kept appearing to him.

 When he got home, the first thing he did was look up Emma on the internet. She was in fact a family lawyer at Goldman and Mills, a prestigious firm based in Boston. By all accounts she was sharp, with a high success rate. Most of the hits he found were news reports from some of her higher profile cases. 

 Finally, on page three of his search, he found an article from the Storybrooke Mirror about her disappearance. It was just as the sheriff had said. The working theory was that something had gone horribly wrong and she’d most likely tipped and sank during the storm, too far off the coast, it was assumed that Emma sunk with the ship. All of which would explain why she was now haunting the Jolly. 

 He wasn’t crazy. His mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. 

 But he did have a haunted ship to deal with.

 He waited until Thursday to return to The Jolly, giving himself two full days to build his courage. The plan was to stay ashore, unsure of what might happen. He was ready to confront Emma, or whatever it was that looked like her, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get through to her, or if she was just a demonic apparition, tied to the boat forever. He really shouldn’t have researched spirits.

 The marina was empty when he arrived. Most people were at work or already gone for the day. He supposed that may have been for the best. Killian’s ego was bruised enough without a large portion of Boston watching him scream like a young girl.

 The Jolly seemed just as empty as it had when he’d bought her, but by now he knew better. She was there, somewhere, lurking. He just wasn’t sure how to reach her. There’d never been one thing that seemed to spark her arrival. The first time he’d been stuck at sea, and the second, he’d been docked simply replacing the mainsail.

 “Emma?” Nothing “Emma Swan?”

 Still, nothing happened, so he waited, taking a seat on the deck. He waited, and waited, her ghostly form never appearing. Not until the moment the locket slipped out from behind his button up shirt.

 “That’s mine!”

 He looked up to find her, Emma, before him, hovering above a wooden plank, a small puddle of water filling the deck below her.

 “Get out!”

 She said the same words just as before, but this time it was different. Gone where the unearthly voices he’d heard echoing around him. Instead, it was just one voice. Just her.

 “Are you Emma Swan?”

 He watched as her head tilted to the side, a glimmer of recognition at the name filling her wide eyes. Then fear. Unabating fear.

 “Help me!”

 That was all she said before she collapsed onto the deck, her form turned into a cloud of smoke, blowing away into the wind leaving behind only the puddle of water. He waited for hours after that, but she never appeared again. 

 He went home, discouraged. He had no idea how to summon her. Not that he necessarily had any idea of what he was trying to accomplish. Did he want to help her move on? Did he just need to find out what happened so he could give David Nolan some closure. Did he just want his ship back?

 That night he tried to answer those questions. While it would be nice to have The Jolly ghost free, it was something more than that. He felt drawn to it, to her in a way. Finally, as he tossed and turned in bed, he realized what it was. She was in pain, just as he so often was, and while he couldn’t fully mend himself, he might be able to help her. To ease her burden in a way.

 The next morning, he went down to the docks first thing, calling for her just as he had before. Met with silence once more, he sat, trying to mull over what could possibly help him. Thinking back on his research, some people claimed that spirits were attracted to objects, but the only object he could see Emma being attached to was the boat herself. There was nothing else left on the ship that belonged to her. 

 Nothing except the locket.

 It was the first thing she’d mentioned the day before, claiming it was hers. He reached below the collar of his shirt, feeling for the chain and slowly pulling until the gold locket was fully exposed. But still, she did not appear. Desperate, he clutched the charm in his hand and chanted her name.

 “I told you, that’s mine!”

 She sounded less angry that time. Less confused as well as her feet seemed to actually touch the deck. 

 “Aye. I found it while I was repairing the boat.”

 He did his best to keep his voice low and calm, not wishing to frighten her away. 

 “Repairs?”

 “Yes. I had to replace the mast.” He watched as she scrunched her nose. “Do you remember what broke it?”

 Her entire form stiffened, her chest heaving. “No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.”

 “Emma, it’s alright. You’re safe here.”

 “Please” She just looked at him with desperation as her hand moved to her stomach. “It hurts so bad. Make it stop.”

 Drip. Drip. Drip. He heard it before he saw it, but blood began to flow down her ivory sundress, covering the deck of The Jolly. Killian leapt to his feet, trying to help her staunch the bleeding but before he could get there, she was gone, and the wood planks were dry, as if nothing had happened.

 He went out every day for the rest of the week, never taking the boat to sea, but always waiting for Emma, summoning her with the necklace. She only ever stayed for seconds to minutes, but each time she became a little more aware that something was wrong. 

 As Monday came though, he found himself stuck at work late, night after night. Dinner parties with potential clients. Drinks to celebrate newly signed clients. Liam’s company and his position kept him too busy to go down to the docks at all that week.

 It wasn’t until Saturday that he was able to see her again. This time he took the boat out to sea, hoping that maybe a change of scenery might help to bridge the gap between wherever Emma was and the here and now. Once he was about two miles out he held the compass in the palm of his hand, calling to her once more. She came to him immediately, with more solidity than ever before. He spoke with her for a while, telling her who he was. When she vanished that time it was calmly. No screams of pain, no violence, no fright. Just peacefully.

 He took the boat back to shore, tying her up properly. He’d promised Liam and Elsa he’d spend the day with them Sunday. Liam had started to worry about him after he took the week off of work, and he knew that if he didn’t concede to family time, Liam would start poking around. He wasn’t ready to explain it to his brother yet.

  Yes, Liam. I’ve been spending all of my free time trying to talk to the ghost that lives on my boat.

 That would have gone over marvelously.

 So another week passed in full before he was able to see Emma again. Every time he saw her she was able to stay a little longer. To talk a little more. They hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room, sticking to safe topics instead. Her job. His job. She told him about some of her more eclectic clients, always using the present tense. He told her about the cougar he’d had to wine and dine the weekend before. He wasn’t sure how much control she had over herself and he didn’t want to risk upsetting her again.

 Months passed, each weekend spent as sea. It was nice, just being able to talk to someone so openly. She never seemed to judge him. In time, he found himself rather vexed by her. She had witt and spunk. Just a little bit prickly but in a good way. A kindred soul.

 It was a warm July morning when it happened.

 “Killian?”

 “Yes, love?”

 He wasn’t sure when he’d started using the term of endearment around her, but she’d never objected to it.

 “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

 He nearly choked on his coffee, not expecting it in the slightest. She’d been so upbeat for the past few weeks, as if she’d had no cares in the world. He never would have guessed that she’d been considering her mortality.

 “How long have you known?” 

 “Since the beginning maybe? I don’t know. I can just feel it, like I don’t belong here.”

 His heart broke for her. He couldn’t imagine the feeling of knowing that her life was over. That everything was finished in a way, but that she was still stuck.

 They didn’t speak. Just stood together in silence watching the horizon. His hand slid closer to hers, his pinky reaching out to caress her hand, but instead he just moved right through her. If she didn’t know before, there was no way she didn’t now.

 Emma didn’t come to him the next day. Somehow he knew that she was in mourning, that she needed time for herself. It made his heart break all over. He felt for her in a way he hadn’t felt for someone in a long time. Not since Milah. 

 It was a week before he went out again, this time bringing flowers with him. She couldn’t keep them, but he hoped it would be nice for her just to see them. To know they were for her. She was solemn when she appeared. Not surprising given the state of things. 

 The two of them exchanged pleasantries and spent the day just soaking each other in, not speaking more than a few words here and there. It was nice in a way, but he craved more. 

 She enchanted him.

 “Killian?”

 “Yes?”

 “May I ask what happened to your hand?”

 It was another question he wasn’t prepared for. It was somehow easier and harder to answer. Something he never talked about with anyone, but something he found himself willing to share with her. So she could know him better in a way.

 So he told her. He told her how he was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. How he’d risen through the ranks, dedicated his entire life to the service of his country. Of how he’d been on a routine training mission that went horribly wrong. The mine field they were doing maneuvers through was supposed to be dead, all a simulation. But one of the mines was live, and the ship exploded. He woke up in the hospital after spending an entire night clinging for dear life to a barrel. His hand was gone and so was his career. That he had night terrors and had to see a therapist because he’d lost his hold on reality.

 He left out the part about his girlfriend being so disgusted by the stump that she left him, that she took a transfer just to get away from him. 

 When he looked at Emma again, he expected to see pity in her eyes, but there was none. She just gave him a nod of understanding. 

 They watched birds fly by. The sun moved from one side of the sky to the other. Just a peaceful silence, until she spoke again.

 “I think I was murdered.”

 “That’s not what everyone said happened. The newspapers, they said it was the storm.”

 “There was a storm, but I remember a man too. It’s hazy, like an old dream. But he was there, below deck, hiding I think. I- I went down below and he was there. I remember screaming at him to get out, but he didn’t.”

 She continued to recount the details she could remember, or that she thought she remembered. Her memories of that night where muddled and she didn’t know how much of it was true.

 The man below deck was familiar, but she couldn’t quite remember what his face looked like. He smelled of wood, or maybe it was just the boat that did. She remembered being attacked, thrown against the hull, hearing a crack. There was a fight, she tried her best to fend him off, but it wasn’t enough. She remembered being thrown against the fiberglass again and again, hearing the hull fail. Glass from a mirror slicing through her stomach. The rest was a blur for her. The man was gone, and she tried to climb to the deck but her body was broken. She made it to the radio, but there was only static. Water began to fill the cabin, and it took everything she had to force herself up, to pull herself above deck as the storm raged on. Each droplet of water that fell feeling like acid against her battered skin. She told him how she held on as long as she could, and that was it. That was all she remembered. 

 She’d been murdered, just like she said. It explained the damage to the hull, why the mast had snapped, the stains on the wood the auction house had removed. 

 He had nothing to say. No words to offer her. His problems were nothing in comparison. Someone had taken her life, with purpose and malice. And now she was trapped in two worlds, belonging in neither, unable to move on. 

 He wished nothing more in that moment than to hold her. To be able to wrap his arms around her and block out all of the pain. To take away her sorrow and to give her hope. To let her know she didn’t deserve to die that way. That she didn’t deserve any of it. 

 But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do any of that. She wasn’t really there. She wasn’t solid. He’d never be able to so much as hold her hand. 

 A knife through his heart. 

 And that’s when he realized the true depths of his feelings for Emma. He was in love with her. He was in love with a ghost.

 And all he could do was to be her friend. Her confidant. 

 “Where do you go when you aren’t here?”

 It was a question that had plagued him since the beginning of their friendship, and while he was afraid to hear the answer, he needed to know that she was safe when he wasn’t there.

 “Nowhere?” She turned her head up towards the top of the mast. “I think I just stop existing.”

 That wasn’t the answer he was looking for. He was glad that she wasn’t in some realm being tortured but the idea of her just being gone? That was almost as bad. He went home that night thinking of her. Of what it would be like.

 He knew. He didn’t want to admit it, not when his feelings for her had grown so strong, but he was being selfish, calling her back to a world where she was nothing more than an apparition over and over. He needed to let her go. To help her find a way to move on. He just didn’t know how, short of finding her killer.

 She remembered nothing about the man though, only that he was a man. And Killian had no experience in investigating murders. It was a dead end.

 He continued to think on it all week at work, even through the weekend. He didn’t go out on The Jolly that weekend, or even the next, still debating if it was more cruel to leave Emma alone, or to force her to face her death again and again. 

 August passed, and into September. Still he stayed away, unable to torture Emma any more than he already had. It wasn’t until someone at work had brought up the fight she’d had with her boyfriend, how he always made the decisions for her, that he realized that was exactly what he’d done. He’d never bothered to ask Emma what she wanted. He just assumed that it was worse for her when she was with him. 

 That was enough to ignite a flame under him. He left work early, driving out to the docks. The sky was scattered with clouds but there was still enough light out for a quick trip to sea. 

 He didn’t bother with his usually checklist or sending Liam a text on where he was going, too eager to see her face again. To talk to her and find out just what she wanted. To ask how he could help her, if she even wanted help.  

 The wind had picked up significantly from the time he’d left, sending him out farther than he’d planned, but he didn’t care. Not when all he could think of was Emma. The sky a bit more grey now, a slight shower starting. 

 “Emma? Are you here?”

 He waited, clutching the compass so hard the metal around his neck snapped. He’d ripped the chain. 

 “You broke it.”

 She was annoyed, but he honestly couldn’t tell if it was from the jewelry or from him having abandoned her. 

 “I, I’m sorry. I’ll replace it as soon as I get back to land.”

 He wanted to talk to her, but she was too focused.

 “My brother gave me that when I started at my firm. He was worried I’d become a corporate stooge. He gave it to me so that I’d never get lost.”

  So you always find your way.

 “I’m so sorry, Emma.” 

 “You can’t replace it.”

 Killian wanted to cry, to scream, to go back in time and meet her before any of this started. But he’d never been a lucky man that way.

 He held his hand out, watching as small drops of water fell into the gold face. Emma walked over, letting her fingers graze over the metal. It was different that time, he could feel the weight of her hand. She didn’t simply pass through him. He watched as she took the compass in her hand, solid as could be. 

 “Swan?”

 Her head snapped up at him, completely unaware that she was real enough to hold an object.

 He reached out, letting his knuckles caress her face. He could feel the warmth of her skin. She was real. He didn’t know how, but she was real. 

 “Killian? How? How is this possible?”

 He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He nuzzled his forehead against her own, their lips only a hair’s width apart. When she didn’t pull back, he leaned in, softly pressing his mouth to hers. Just a peck. Her lips were soft. He tried to pull back but her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him tightly. 

 They may as well have kissed for an eternity. He loved the feeling of being lost in her, not caring that the light sprinkle had turned into a full on downpour. That his clothes were soaking wet. Lighting flashed, illuminating the sky, and thunder crackled above them.

 But he didn’t care. Not with Emma in his arms.

 They broke apart finally, Emma’s laugh filling the air. 

 “Emma Swan. I’m in love with you.”

 He hadn’t meant to just blurt the words out. Hadn’t meant to say them at all, but his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. Forever passed as he waited for her to say something. Anything.

 “Killian,” there was sorrow, and he knew she wasn’t going to return his feelings. “It’s not fair to you. I’m a ghost, and I can’t control anything. You, you deserve so much more than I can give you!”

 “But you’re here. I can feel you clear as I can feel my heart beating in my chest.”

 She wasn’t there though. She could sense it even if he couldn't. There was a pull on her still, from whatever place she’d come from. Even in solid form, she didn’t belong there.

 Lightening and thunder filled the sky once more, darkness all around them.

 “Killian, it’s not safe out here, you need to go.”

 He looked around, realizing for the first time just how far out the wind had blown him, would continue to blow him if he didn’t stow the sails. Emma helped his as best she could, but with the waves now throwing the boat back and forth, they had trouble controlling their movements. 

 The Jolly was still heading in the wrong direction though. Killian felt fairly confident that he could weather the storm below deck, waiting for it to pass, but the growing waves continued to batter the boat and Emma pleaded with him not to stay. Begging him to return to land. He caved, heading to the back of the boat to start up SMEE, but no matter how hard he tried, the motor wouldn’t budge. 

 Unable to do anything else, Killian headed back to the cabin, trying to call for help, but the radio wouldn't work either. It was just static on every channel. As he hit the main box, sparks flew into the air. The Jolly swayed from side to side, getting closer and closer to tipping each time. 

 They both went back above deck to see just how bad the storm was. There was only darkness as far as the eye could see. They were trapped. He was trapped. 

 Dead in the water.

 “Emma, love, I have some life vests stowed in one of the front compartments. Go grab them and I’ll try the radio again.”

 “No.”

 “What?”

 She stood at the rail, closing her eyes and breathing it all in, calm for the first time since the storm had started.

 “It’s me.”

 “I don’t understand. Just go get the life vests. We’re going to be okay.”

 “No, Killian. It’s me. All of this. The faulty electronics, The storm. I don’t understand it, but I can just feel it. It’s, I feel it in my bones.”

 “No. No. Emma-”

 “Killian, you have to let me go. It’s the only way.”

 “But I just got you. I don’t know how to let you go.”

 She smiled at him, a sad heart wrenching smile and gave him a light kiss. 

 “It’s ok.” She held out the compass. “I think I can find my way now.”

 It was the locket.

 The thing that she was tethered to. It had never been The Jolly. The boat had simply been a means for her to stay and find it. 

 “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

 “You’ll find a way.” She gave him one last kiss. “I love you too.”

 And with that, she turned back into a vision, a veil between them. One last flash of light and she was gone.

 Just as she’d said, as soon as she left the boat sprung back to life. The motor revving behind him. The waves continued to beat against the hull of the ship. He was frozen, his heart torn to shreds. But he couldn’t let that be the end. He couldn’t let her have died, again, in vain, so he pulled himself together. He used the motor to push him through, steering himself back towards land, any land.

 He was lost after that. Spending days in bed, unable to get up, to do anything but cry. Her absence haunted him in a way she never had. Loneliness followed him. Emptiness filled him. Weeks went by. Liam did his best to get Killian out of the house, to bring him back to life. He knew his brother was worried, but he just didn’t have it in him to care anymore.

 With time though the sting, still there became just a little less. The pain in his heart became a little more manageable. Everything just became less in a way, less and more. He made it out of bed. He had dinner with Liam. He even was able to go back to work. 

 He still felt her loss, but it got easier. However something still tugged at him. An inkling that something wasn’t quite finished. He was in pain, but at least he had closure. Emma did too, but her family didn’t. They still didn’t know what happened to her. 

 He debated on the best way to tell them, how to give David the details without including the part where he fell in love with the man’s sister’s ghost. Eventually, he decided that it would be best to do it over the phone. That way he could control the conversation.

 He waited until just after noon on a Monday, calling the Sheriff’s station in Storybrooke, hearing the familiar voice of David Nolan pick up. He didn’t give David his name, just that he had information of the disappearance of Emma Swan. That her boat had been found by a company named Ariel’s Antiquities. That the auction house had destroyed all of the evidence on the boat so they could sell it. 

 David tried interrupting him, asking how he knew any of it, but Killian pushed through, finally giving the man the most important part, telling David that he was sorry, but that Emma had been murdered by a man familiar to her. He apologized for not being able to give him more information and then he hung up.

 He could only hope that it was enough to give David some form of peace. That maybe it would be easier to know for sure that she was gone. Because sometimes the cruelest thing in the world was hope.

 Time continued to pass. The pain in his heart turned to an ache. He still missed her deeply and thought of her often, but she’d given him something. She’d healed him, and nothing could take that away. It had taken him a while to realize it, to accept her loss. But her death didn’t negate the fact that she’d brought him back to life, and everyday he thanked her for that. Choosing to focus on the good rather than the bad.

  A year had passed. Exactly three hundred and sixty five days without her. His plan was to head to Robin’s and have one drink in Emma’s memory before heading to the docks to take the Jolly out. She was still there, a part of her in those old wood planks. He could feel her warmth in every inch of that old boat.

 Robin’s was overcrowded though, so he skipped the drink. Emma didn’t need an alcoholic toast. So he headed straight to the Jolly instead, stepping out of the pub’s doors just before the headlines changed, the little ticker tape running across the screen blocking the bottom of the Man United pitch. 

   Woman found alive on Kittery Beach after missing for over three years.

 He missed the headlines again when he decided to stay out just a little longer, wanting to watch the sun sink below the horizon. He missed it one more time too when his phone rang. An unknown number from Storybrooke, Maine.

 He’d almost let it go to voicemail, worrying that it was David Nolan, having discovered it was him that called all of those months before. But something in his gut pushed him to answer.

 It took a second for a voice to sound on the other line after he answered, but when it did, he nearly dropped the phone.

 “Killian?”

[spaceiplier]

SPACEIPLIER: Icarus

Marks first instinct was to step in front of his crew. He pushed through them, coming to a halt inches away from Kivlithos. The Graeldur general towered above him. Taller than even Tyler. The top of Mark’s head barely scraped his chin. An impressive and intimidating form. A man that Mark had once trusted.

The last time Mark had seen him, he had been warm. Grandfatherly. He’d come to them, asking for help. Asking them to jump into the frying pan, knowing that soon they’d burn. Now he smirked at them. All the cards in his hands, and five GLE guards to back him up.

“Hello, Mr. Fischbach,” Kivlithos said, smiling down at him. Smug, self-satisfied jerk. “It is good to see you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know why.”

Mark’s eyes darted down towards where Kivlithos hands were clasped behind his back. The robotic spider. How much had it recorded? How much did they know now? About Mark’s father? About Dark going after the crystal? They knew that they had agreed to stop the GAAP, but how far did the information go?

Kivlithos continued to smile.

There was nowhere to run. They could try to run back to the pod, but then what? Go back to Nihill? They’d be easily overtaken, even if they did manage to relaunch the pods. Besides, there was no way Mark would leave his dogs with them.

He felt Amy’s knuckles against his.

“I assume that I don’t need to explain the many grievous errors and crimes committed by you and your crew,” Kivlithos said. “But let me just say, you found more than we dreamed you would ever find. You even incriminated yourself for us! You and your crew really were the perfect fit.”

Tyler shifted, and every GLE officer snapped, training their guns at him. Tyler froze.

Kivlithos waved them down, smirking at his fellow Graeldur. “Oh, he won’t attack. Not when accidents can happen.”

Tyler didn’t move.

Mark wanted to get angry and punch Kivlithos. He wanted that burning rage from the past few months. He wanted to protect his friends, and he wanted this smug bastard out of his face. This was his crew, and his damn ship. But he couldn’t do a thing. He could only glare as he felt his skin grow hot.

“Now,” Kivlithos pulled out a holo-screen. It lit up with a list. “Let’s get started, shall we? Keeping a criminal from justice. Aiding and abetting a criminal and known terrorist. Lying to the GAAP, and conspiring against them. Planning to commit treason. Working with a known arms dealer –”

“The GAAP works with him too!” Ethan blurted out before slapping his hands over his mouth.

Kivlithos looked up, locking eyes with Ethan. Mark stepped between them, blocking his view. Their eyes met, and Kivlithos chuckled.

“Always the hero, aren’t you, Mark?”

Mark glared.

“Needless to say,” Kivlithos said, looking away to deactivate his holo-screen. “These are serious charges, serious charges indeed. I’m afraid I’m going to have to arrest you. Oh, but don’t worry. I’m sure your sentence won’t be too harsh. Thirty years in prison minimum? Possibly more, if those treason charges hold up. And as for the android,” Kivlithos looked Mark dead in the eye as he smirked. “I’m sure his creator will be happy to see him back.”

Mark didn’t register what he did next until he’d already done it. With all the force he could muster, Mark swung his fist and crashed it straight into Kivlithos smug smirk.

It did nothing. Kivlithos’s hard exterior did more damage to Mark’s hand that his hand did to his face. Still, there was some satisfaction at seeing that smile drop into absolute shock.

Before the guards could rush forward, Tyler’s own fist swung over Mark’s head, crashing into Kivlithos. Now that did damage. There was a sharp CRACK as fist connected to head and Kivlithos was sent crashing down. Dazed, and still stunned. At the same time, Amy ducked around Mark, stun gun aimed and firing. She took out two guards before Kathryn was there, tackling one as Tyler took on the other. Mark jumped in to take out the last, while Ethan began to bind Kivlithos wrists together.

Dodgy stood there as the entourage fell.

Ethan stood as soon as Kivlithos was restrained, folding his arms and glaring at Dodgy. The nervous human made a move to run, but Ethan barked out a sharp, “Hey!” Dodgy froze, and Ethan shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere.”

It didn’t take long, but soon Mark was surrounded by groaning GLE officers, one dazed GAAP general, and a human who looked just about ready to shit his pants. Amy and Kathryn finished tying them together.

“What…” Tyler looked about at the mess they’d caused. “What do we do now?”

“Y-you committed a Cosmic Crime!” Dodgy squeaked. The crew turned to look at him. He swallowed hard, hands shaking. “You assaulted a GAAP general! You are resisting arrest. You attacked the GAAP! C-Cosmic C-Crime!”

“Tyler,” Mark said, trying to sound controlled and confident. A front was all he could manage now. Deep down, he was scared shitless, but it would do no good to show that. “Get all of them onto a pod and jettison it. Set it to send out a distress signal once we are far away.”

Tyler begin picking up officers, dragging them to the pod. Dodgy followed, uncertain where he should go but terrified to stay in the same room as Mark.

“Amy, Ethan,” Mark turned to them next. “Get the dogs, and get Bing. Make sure they’re okay. Then look through our supplies. See if we have enough to last a few weeks in dead space.”

The two took off running. Mark turned to the last member of his crew. Kathryn’s tail lashed, and her claws were digging holes into her sleeves as she crossed her arms.

“Kathryn, I need you to call Jack. Have him send us coordinates for the location of the nearest dead space, and then the one after that. Send the ship into dead space. We’re going dark.”

Her ears flicked and she took off running, pulling out her comm as she went. Soon, Mark was alone in the hallway. Nothing to show the crime that had been committed except for a few drops of blood from a broken nose.

Mark turned and started walking away.

This was insane.

Everything was happening so fast. Mark didn’t know what to think, or what he should think. Merely weeks ago, he had trusted the GAAP. Now he was on the run from them. Now he had officially committed treason, and on top of that, a Cosmic Crime. He was fucked.

But it wasn’t himself he was worried about. No, whatever happened to him happened. It wasn’t him, but his crew.

It was the dogs. Chica and Henry, who had been a constant source of love and devotion. Who had made coming home every day worth it. Chica, who brought so much joy to Mark’s life, and who had led him to friends he could never replace. Henry, who brought humor and love to everyone around him.

It was Ethan. The goofy, ever active android who had just recently turned seven. Ethan who looked to the stars with a dream of having his own ship. Who dreamed of taking his own helm and helping people. Ethan, who worked hard every day, and always made sure his friends were smiling.

It was Tyler. His oldest friend and trusted confidant. Tyler, who had saved his ass from fight after fight. Risking his own neck to stand up for what was right. Tyler, who saw injustice and jumped to right it. Who had Mark’s back, time and time again. Tyler, who had always been there with a new point of view and a few short words to get Mark back on track.

It was Kathryn. Sweet, competitive, wickedly smart Kathryn. The woman who had left behind everything to find adventure in the vastness of space. Steadily working day after day to keep this ship running smoothly. Kathryn, who was always there to challenge them to push farther. Whose claws and fangs protected them from any scuffle. Kathryn, who cared so deeply, and fought so bravely.

It was Amy. Amy… from the moment Mark had seen her – eyes alight and laugh alive as she beat the shit out of those purists – Mark had fallen and fallen hard. She was beautiful. She was smart and she was kind. No matter how lost Mark felt, she was always there to guide him home. He was so lucky to have found Amy, and he was so lucky to have her future tangled with his. Amy, who kept them organized and headed forwards. Amy, who kept his head on straight. She was so important to him.

These were the ones Mark was scared for. The ones who he had brought into this fight.

They had to make it out of this. Mark had to protect them.

With a groan, the ship began moving. Tyler appeared down the hall, moving towards him with a stoic expression. Mark barely looked up, so lost in his own thoughts.

“I jettisoned the pod,” Tyler said. He came to a halt before Mark, staring him down. “Are you alright? That couldn’t have felt good on your hand.”

“What?” Mark looked down at his hand. The moment he acknowledged the injury it began to sting. “Ow!” Mark shook it, as if trying to shake off the pain. “It’s nothing. Just a few bruises. Should be gone in a few hours.”

Tyler huffed out a small laugh, “I just realized. You heal that fast because you’re a Xanhull.”

Mark stopped shaking his hand. He looked down at it. The blooming yellow bruises under scrapped red skin. Scars curved slightly from the palms from where Madapriel had burned him. Already the cuts and bruises were starting to fade.

“I guess so,” Mark said. His back no longer itched as badly as it had been before. The markings were now stark white, and fully formed. He still felt hot, and he still felt something tugging at his chest, but for now everything had settled. Maybe his body had just been desperately wanting him to realize, and once he did the symptoms faded.

“What’s the plan?” Tyler asked as the silence between them began to grow.

Mark looked up from his hands. Right. Focus on the present. “We need to get to a dead space and lay low for a while. They can’t find us there. After that, we’ll sneak back to Nihill. At this point, I don’t care if the Barrel gets stolen if we land it there. We just need to get the others and the dogs to safety. From there we can start talking about what to do about Dark and the GAAP.”

“Is this the right move?”

Mark frowned, “What do you mean?”

Tyler held up his hands placatingly. “Look, I am all for hunting down Dark and figuring out what exactly is going on with him. I’m all for protecting him from the GAAP. Paying some kind of rectification for what my species has done. But just to look at it from the other side…”

Tyler sighed, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired. “We’re Cosmic Criminals now. That means life in prison. Death penalty is a possibility if we do anything worse. I have your back, no matter what. But them…” Tyler gestured down the hall. Towards where the rest of the crew was working. “They didn’t sign up for any of this. Can we really just lead them into this fight?”

“I’m worried about them,” Mark admitted. “I’m worried about you. Everything that has happened… everything we’ve done… I don’t know anymore. I want to do what’s right, but I should be the one to do it. Not you, and not them. This is my problem. I didn’t know any of this was going to happen when I agreed to find Dark.”

“But I agreed.”

Mark looked up. Standing there was Amy, Ethan and Kathryn flanking her. At her feet were the dogs. Chica ran up to him, tumbling into his arms with all her happy goop. He knelt to hug her. At Amy’s feet, Henry’s collar beeped.

“All right Mark? All right Mark?”

“Eventually,” Mark said, hands running through Chica’s goop.

Henry whined, “Mom Amy. Sweaty Mark.”

“I’m the one who agreed to find Dark,” Amy said. Mark looked up at her, rising to meet her gaze. She gave him the familiar, tired smile. “I’m the one who said we would help. I’m the one who made the first move, not you.”

“I’m still the leader—” Mark tried to say.

“And we’re your crew,” Ethan said. “We trust you, man. Look, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go back to my creator, or go to prison, or whatever. But I’m willing to risk it if it means helping people. That’s what we do.”

“But,” Mark said, looking around at his friends. “This is dangerous. We could die.”

“We’re headed towards a dead space spot right now,” Kathryn said, holding up her comm. “I called Jack. We’re a few hours from it, but if we go fast, we should make it. I’m not sure what we’re going to do after that - or if we should even stay together - but we just need to get to safety and then we’ll talk.”

“We’re going to make it,” Tyler said, hand coming to clasp Mark’s shoulder. “We have to.”

Mark looked around at his crew. His friends.

Determination set in. This was what he was going to fight for.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now let’s get this hunk of metal moving. We’re going to have a GAAP ship on our tails any minute now. Get moving!”

The crew scattered, running to their stations. Lingering for just a moment, Amy squeezed Mark’s hand before she was gone. One last confirmation that they believed in him. That they could survive this.

They had to survive this.

.

.

“Sure, only call me when you need something. Not like I was doing something. Not like I was having a great time, catching up with old friends. Not like I was finally getting some down time. Not like I was—”

Sean muttered to himself, angrily setting his course towards the ping of the call Kathryn had sent him. It hadn’t been long. A panicked request for a dead space zone, along with the words: the GAAP found us. Jamming buttons, and flipping switches, Sean exited the smoggy atmosphere of Nihill and set off towards the Barrel.

He was angry at Mark. He was upset at the rest of the crew. There was broken trust and remnants of a crumbling friendship between them. Words that couldn’t be taken back, and actions burned into history. What had happened then had hurt Sean, and he wasn’t going to forgive them just yet.

But he would be damned if he let them get hurt because of hurt feelings.

Sean had spent so much of his life alone. Sure, he had the robots. They had been made to be companions. Made to make him less alone. They served that purpose well, and Sean cared a lot for them. Even if they were just metal and a few lines of janky programming. The robots though… they couldn’t replace what he’d been missing.

People.

People who wanted him. Who got mad at him, and who annoyed him, and who shared moments of happiness and humor. Who shared his holidays and traditions because they wanted to, not because he programmed them to. People who watched his back because of trust they’d built together. People who were real and wanted him because he was real.

The Barrel crew had made him a better person. He’d opened up and learned to trust. He’d stopped throwing himself into destructive habits. He’d seen himself become happier. Sean hadn’t been happy for so long… when he realized he had been happy it had scared him.

The trust was gone, but the bonds he shared with his friends remained.

Those people were who he’d chosen to chase across the galaxy, and those people had asses he was going to save.

“Uh, Jack?”

Sean didn’t look up. He continued muttering, focused on what was ahead of him.

“Sean.”

“... it’s not like I said that going back was dangerous. Could have been considerate and at least given me the coordinates instead of having to hack the ping. But nooooo…”

“SEAN.”

Sean looked up.

Chase was standing there, arms folded and hat crooked. JJ bounced behind him, twirling his mustache as he moved rhythmically, peaking over Chase’s alternating shoulders. The two robots watched him scowl at them, before he turned back to his controls.

“What?” Sean asked.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure those idiots make it to the dead space zone. Obviously.”

“Oh,” Chase looked back at JJ, who gestured wildly, abandoning his mustache momentarily to make his point. A few of those gestured were swears, Sean was 90 percent sure. Chase looked back at him. “JJ does make a point.”

“JJ needs his wiring looked at,” Sean said.

“Sean, this is too dangerous. And besides, they—”

“Shut up!” Sean said, turning to face them. Chase’s mouth closed with a clack of metal against metal. He looked shocked, and for a second Sean felt bad. Then he shut it down, and shook his head. “I’m helping them. I don’t care that they broke the trust. I don’t care. I mean, I do care, but that’s not the point. I’m still fucking mad at them, but I don’t care. Not right now. They’re my friends, and I’m not going to let them get hurt. Not… not again.”

For a moment, Sean and Chase stared at each other. JJ’s bounce slowing as he looked back and forth between them. A silent stare down Sean know he was going to win.

Chase finally said, “Okay. I still think this is going to end badly, but okay.”

“Good,” Sean turned around and faced the controls. “Go get Jackie ready. We need to be ready in case this is a fight.”

In the back of his head, Sean felt something itch. A dull pressure at the forefront of his mind. The all too familiar presence of ANTI as the AI took assessment of the situation.

Slowly, it slipped away.

It didn’t take long before the Barrel appeared on his radar. A small blip, but accompanied by that signal code. It was them, and they were fine.

For a moment, Sean had a felt relief. They were okay. Still far away, but they were there.

Then that relief was destroyed.

WARNING: CRIME SCENE

The blaring red letters appeared across the screen. Sean knew what it meant. Whenever he’d come across those words, he’d turn around and run as fast as he could. Those words meant that the GAAP had caught someone. Those words were a warning to civilians incase people started shooting, but it was a worse warning to Sean.

Those words meant that they’d caught them.

Sean hit the brakes, stopping his ship. He jumped out of his seat as he hit reverse, pulling back as to not enter any GAAP radar. Striding towards the door, he shouted.

“Chase!”

Chase came running as Jack strode towards the pods. “Yes, Sean?”

“Keep the ship out of GAAP radar. Head back for Nihill if you have to.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m taking a stealth pod,” Sean said. “Should be enough to slip under their radar and get on the Barrel without them noticing. I’ll get on, help them, and then I’ll be back. Stay here, keep out of sight.”

“But…”

“That is an order,” Sean shot Chase a look. The robot hesitated, then nodded. He turned and ran towards the controls, while Sean reached the pod bay. He climbed inside his only stealth pod, took a deep breath, and launched.

.

.

Their engines were gone.

Mark blinked through the haze. Colors seemed to move slower than the world, smearing together as people walked before him. Sound was echoing through his skull. Bouncing from ear to ear, soft and faded. Someone was yelling, but he couldn’t tell who.

Something throbbed on the side of his neck. Mark tried to lift his hands to brush at it, but they wouldn’t move. Something was attached to his wrists, keeping them together. When had he been handcuffed? It must have been after they shot the knock-out agent at him. The little disk, now attached to his neck and slowly feeding the toxin into him.

A blue and yellow formed moved in front of him, thrashing and yelling. Someone else - a gray form - held the blue and yellow one. Yelling and moving. It was so loud that Mark flinched. What were they yelling? They were yelling at him? Why were they yelling at him?

Their engines were gone. That was what Mark remembered. He’d been in the control pit when the GAAP ship had caught up. Loud noises, and the entire ship shook as each engine and thruster was shot out. They’d drifted before the GAAP pods had come. Officer after officer.

They hadn’t been able to fight back for long.

“—ARK!”

Mark lolled his head up. His neck felt like it couldn’t support the weight of his own head, but he had to look. He knew that voice. Who was that?

“MARK!”

Amy. That was Amy’s voice. Where was she? All the colors were blurring together. Everyone was moving too fast. He couldn’t focus long enough to find her. Where was Amy? Chica… where was Chica? He couldn’t tell. His neck started throbbing again, and his head fell.

Too much.

It was too much.

Mark felt someone grab him under his armpits and start to drag him backwards. He didn’t fight. He couldn’t. There wasn’t anything left in him, and the universe was too much. Just let it happen, and the colors blurred.

.

.

There was only so fast a pod could move. Especially a heavily modified pod with several illegal features, such as GAAP radar blockers. Sean had to sacrifice speed for stealth. He couldn’t let them know he was here. He had to have surprise on his side if he hoped to do any good.

He hoped he got there in time.

The pod was small. Large enough to fit another person or two, but not comfortable in the least. Sean’s tail was curved around, and every time he moved, he bumped into something. The tiny radar set up on his comm beeped periodically, filling the space with noise. It would have been infuriating if he wasn’t so focused.

“Just hold on,” Sean muttered under his breath. “Just a little longer.”

The comm beeped again. Nothing.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

There, just on the corner of the radar. The small blip signifying a ship. Sean steered towards it, his eyes straining to catch sight of it. There was nothing spanning the black sky. Sean was almost ready to accept it was a glitch when there it was. A small dot in the empty void. As he came closer, pushing the pod to the edge of its speed, he saw the smaller ship next to it.

The small ship was smoking. The Barrel, engines shot out and tiny next to the giant ship next to it. It was a GAAP ship, engines firing up. They were leaving.

“No…” he breathed.

Instinct kicked in before his brain did. Search for heat signatures on the Barrel, send a tracker on the GAAP ship, stay out of sight and stay low. Sean positioned the Barrel between him and the larger ship, hoping beyond hope that they were on board.

Two heat signatures. Distorted with the heat of the destroyed engines, but there were two signatures on board. There was another beep on his comm as the tracker latched on, sending the location back to him. He had to be fast, but he could get on the ship, get those who’d been left behind, and then go after the ship.

“I can do this,” Sean said to himself. Reassurance? He didn’t know. He was running on fear at this point. Hands shaking, he almost wished that ANTI would take control. Make all his problems go away. But no, he had to do this. He had to save his friends.

He had to do this.

The pod docked with the Barrel. Sean was on his feet and moving before the door opened, running inside the ship. Instantly he began to cough. Smoke filled the air. Alarms blared, and everything tinted red. It was cloudy. Impossible to see through. The ventilation was off. Where the fuck did they keep their control panel?

Distantly, Sean heard barking. The dogs!

Sean felt around the sides of the walls, trying to find the protrusion that was the control panel. Where was it? He couldn’t remember through the panic. His hands frantically slamming into the walls, trying to find it. His lungs were choking, and his eyes stinging when finally, his fingers grazed something.

The panel.

He grabbed it, bringing it close to his face. Ventilation, ventilation… there! He hit the emergency back-up. Within moments, the air was cleaner. Sean coughed, trying to clear out his throat as well.

The barking continued.

Pushing himself off the wall, Sean ran into the Barrel.

“Chica!” He shouted, running from room to room. “Henry!” Nothing. The place was trashed. All of Amy’s creations tipped over or smashed. Furniture upturned and torn apart. Supplies scattered. Sparking panels, and glitching screens. Sean knew a raid search when he saw one. They must have been making sure none of the stolen information was left behind.

“Smelly Jack! Smelly Jack!”

“HENRY!” Sean yelled, turning on his heel as he heard Henry’s call. “Where are you?”

“Dumber Mark stuck!”

“Keep talking, Henry!” Sean followed the noise as best he could. The Barrel was so much bigger than his ship, and the noises were obscured by the alarms continuing to go off. Henry kept yelling, sometimes accompanied by a Chica bark. With their help, it didn’t take long before he found them.

Running into the room, he stopped short.

Bing lay on the ground, mangled and smashed. His digital eyes glitched wildly, showing two X’s. His legs were broken, and one arm was gone. The torso was scuffed and broken open in some parts. Sparks flew from his exposed wiring.

It was just like Google.

And just like with Google, Sean saw Mark first.

Nausea rose from his gut. Sean clapped his hands over his mouth, trying not to vomit. He was fine. Bing was just broken. He could fix Bing. Mark wasn’t dead, it was just Bing. It was just Bing, and Mark was okay. Captured, but okay.

He could fix this.

“Smelly Jack!” Henry ran in circles, panicked out of his mind. “Loud Mark is gone, mom Amy is gone, bright Ethan is gone, cat Kathryn is gone, silent Tyler is gone, loud Mark is gone, mom Amy is--”

“Hey,” Sean knelt next to Henry, holding out his hands. Chica rushed into them, but Sean kept them open until Henry stopped chanting over and over. “Hey, it’s okay buddy. I’m going to fix this, okay? I’m going to get your family back.”

Henry stopped and stared at Sean. “Smelly Jack get mom Amy back?”

“Yes,” Sean smiled, slowly reaching out to pet Henry. “I promise.”

Henry whined.

“Let’s get you guys out of here,” Sean stood, picking up Bing. They’d smashed his main processor. Fixable, but for now Bing couldn’t do anything. Sean hoisted him over his shoulders, and with the dogs at his feet, he carried him back to his pod.

Henry and Chica settled into the back. Still nervous and on edge, but safe now. Jack set Bing down. The robot twitched as his wiring was jostled, then settled. Sean secured him, then turned on his comm.

“Yeah Jack?” Chase answered.

“I’m sending you my location,” Sean said, disengaging from the Barrel. The pod slowly started drifting away. “I need you to come to me. I have the dogs and a busted robot that you need to come pick up.”

“What about you?” Chase asked.

Sean scowled, hand tightening around the comm. “I’m going after that fucking GAAP ship, and I’m getting them back.

.

.

The lights stopped hurting after nearly an hour.

Mark sat on the white padded table, face in his hands. The knock-out toxin had wrecked his senses. Noises were too loud or too soft. His eyes were still having trouble focusing on anything, giving Mark a headache. Even just touching his own face felt weird. As if some parts of his skin were dialed up to eleven, while others tingled and were numb.

It would wear off, but Mark didn’t know when.

He was all alone in the room. He’d only managed to catch a few glimpses of the room before he covered his eyes. White, with several lamps about. He was sitting on what he assumed was an examination table. He hadn’t caught sight of much else.

All he knew was he was fucked.

He didn’t know where his crew was, he didn’t know where his dogs were. He was in no condition to do literally anything. The only thing Mark could think of that wasn’t another point in the Mark Is Fucked pile was that call to Sean.

Sean knew they’d been intercepted by the GAAP, and he knew they were supposed to be heading for a dead space zone. Maybe he’d know they were here. Maybe he’d followed them. Mark knew that Sean always did have a hard time just leaving things alone.

Maybe… just maybe…

Mark heard the door open. A near silence whish as the door slide, allowing several beings inside. Daring a peak, Mark looked between his fingers. There were four of them. Three in white doctors’ coats, one in the familiar gray and gold uniform of a GAAP general.

Kivlithos.

“Welcome aboard my ship,” Kivlithos said, taking a seat nearby. Mark inched away, but stopped when just that option caused pins and needles to shoot up his spine and legs. “A shame you haven’t been able to see it properly. Don’t worry, the stun agent will wear off soon. Then you’ll be back to your normal, annoying self.

“Go fuck yourself,” Mark said, his mouth dry.

Kivlithos chuckled.

There were suddenly hands on Mark’s shoulders. They pushed him back until he was lying flat on the table. He wanted to fight back, but just them touching his clothed shoulders was too much. It was when they tried pulling his hands away from his eyes that he really started fighting.

“You’ll be fine,” one of the doctors muttered next to his ear. To Mark, it could have been shout. “Hey, hey… just calm down. It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t trust you,” Mark said, yanking his hand from one of the doctors. It felt like he’d ripped every hair from his arm. “Get away from me!”

It was useless, though. Soon, they managed to pull his arms down, strapping them to his sides. The strap went across his chest, keeping him still on the table. Mark kept trying to open his eyes and see what was going on, but every time he did his vision swam and the dull pound in his head got worse.

“W-what are you doing?” He asked. There was a creaking noise as something was pulled over him. Daring a look, he saw a large metal arm hanging over him, holding a rectangular scanner.

“We’re going to scan your chest,” the doctor that had spoken to him said.

“Quite a shock,” Kivlithos said, interrupting the doctor. “Learning you are Xanhull. Learning that your father managed to survive as Xanhull in the GAAP for decades, undetected. Unfortunately, all records of him have disappeared. That hacker associate of yours – Lixian – must have wiped him from our servers. Even your brother and mother have disappeared.”

Mark sent a silent thank you to the animated hacker.

“But we have you. A half Xanhull. Some might assume your kind would be rare, but we have found others. The half Xanhulls often don’t even know who they are, much like you. That makes them weak. Easy to find and catch. A shame, that no half Xanhull has retained the regenerative abilities of their parentage. Maybe you will prove to be the outlier, Mark Fischbach.”

Mark took a deep breath as the machine above him began to whir.

Noises followed. The doctors muttering to each other. The scratch and squeak of feet walking around him. The tapping of pens against holo-boards. The occasional whir as the machine started up again. As they worked, Mark’s senses started settling. He managed to open his eyes, and everything was clear. Colors were still a bit blurry, but he could watch them walk around him without pain.

A doctor – different than the first one – finally turned to Kivlithos, showing him a holo-board. “He’s like the others. See, here is the Xanhull orb. Right next to his heart. It’s too small to be able to fully regenerate a new body. I and my associates presume that it’s too small to even allow him to regenerate on his own. It has caused faster healing, but back from death? Not possible.”

Mark didn’t know if he should feel relieved or terrified.

“So, he would be useless to take in for study,” another doctor said, still not the one that had spoken to him. “We could, but it would be pointless. He is free to face the justice system.”

Was there a word that meant relieved and terrified at the same time? Because Mark was feeling that.

“Well then,” Kivlithos turned to Mark, a slightly disappointed look on his face. “I suppose you’re just like everybody else.”

“Guess so,” Mark said, trying not to show how scared he really was.

“Take him to the cells,” Kivlithos said, opening the door and speaking to a guard standing just outside. The guard came in, waiting until the doctors undid the straps. The last one – the doctor who had tried to be nice – helped him stand. His feet still felt like the floor was ice. Wobbling over, the guard took his arm and escorted him out.

Not another word from anyone. Just the silent departure as Mark was taken away.

Mark was nearly shaky with plain relief alone. His legs were wobbling, but not just from the toxin now. After every memory from Madapriel about the horrors of a GAAP research lab, he was relieved that he had avoided it. It was terrifying, knowing he had been that close to becoming a lab rat. He would have rather died.

But now he was stuck on this ship. They manipulated him and his crew into doing their dirty work, and thus breaking the law. They knew too much. They wouldn’t let them go. With a Cosmic Crime as well, they were facing life in prison.

Sean might know they were captured by the GAAP, but what could he do at this point? This was a high security ship. A battle reinforced cruiser with top of the line engineering. Sean couldn’t break onto this with a few lines of code and a homemade welder. Even if he could, he’d be caught in seconds.

The only way off this ship was in cuffs.

“Where are we going?” Mark asked the guard.

“Inner System.”

Mark frowned. “The Inner System is kind of big. Could you be more specific, pal?”

No response.

“Great. Thanks. Real talkative there, aren’t you?”

Still no response. Mark sighed, looking around. The halls of this ship were clean and white. A few janitor robots wandered, keeping everything spotless. The halls also kept a steady stream of people, walking about and doing their jobs. Some of them met his eyes, smiling. A few even said hello.

They didn’t know he was a prisoner.

Soon, the halls become emptier. They entered a lift, taking them down into the belly of the ship. Exiting there, Mark was hit with a wave of cold. It was no longer as pristine as the upper ship. Exposed pipes ran along the walls. The sounds of the engines echoed throughout the halls. The guard guided Mark through them, coming to a half before a barred door.

“Tyler!”

Tyler’s head snapped up. Relief washed across his features as he jumped up, rushing the door. The guard took a nervous step back as Tyler slammed into it, testing the true strength of GAAP prison bars.

“Mark! Oh, thank god you’re okay. What did they do to you? Did the stun thing wear off? Where are the others?”

“G-get back,” the guard ordered.

Tyler ignored him, opting to stay as close to Mark as he could.

“That is not a suggestion!” The guard barked, finding a trembling but slightly more imposing voice. “Get back against the far wall. Hands up.”

Tyler gave the guard a nasty look, backing up with his hands raised.

The guard opened the iron bars, watching Tyler carefully with a hand on his stun gun. Mark was shoved forwards, stumbling into the cell. The door shut behind him with a clang. With one final humph, the guard walked away.

Tyler was on Mark in an instant, wrapping him in a hug that should have cracked his bones. Mark squeaked, waving his hands as the air was forced from his lungs.

“You’re… killing… me…”

Tyler let go. “Sorry! I just… you were gone, man. They took you away, and we didn’t know where you went. Then they separated us. I think Kathryn and Amy are together. I don’t know where Ethan is. I’m sorry, I tried to keep us together but there were so many and I—”

“Hey,” Mark said, shaking his head. “Not your fault. You did what you could. None of us could have fought off an entire battleship. They caught us; that is nobody's fault.”

Tyler walked backwards until he hit the wall. He then slide down, collapsing in a heap. Mark had never seen Tyler so… defeated. His hands hung in his lap, his eyes vacantly staring at nothing.

“I meant it you know.”

Mark moved to sit next to Tyler. “Meant what?”

“Back when we were kids. You and your brother having all those ‘how far down the stairs can I jump down’ challenges. Or the ‘how far out the gorge can I jump’ challenges. Or the ‘how many beeys can I have on my body at one time’ challenges. Or the—”

“Okay I get it,” Mark said, shoving Tyler with a huff.

“Every time you would do one of those stupid challenges, I always ended up being the one who took you to the hospital. Didn’t matter what, but you always got the short end of the stick. Broken arm, scraped knees, and chipped teeth. I always stuck you on my hov-bike and took you to go see your mom at the hospital.”

Tyler looked down at Mark. Mark never truly appreciated just how tall Tyler was until he was right up next to him. A giant of a person, who somehow managed to look small as he talked of their childhood.

“I always told you I’d be there to take you wherever you needed to go. The hospital, usually. But I tried to always be there, and now… now I can’t.”

“We’re going to be fine,” Mark said. He grabbed Tyler’s arm, trying to reassure him. “We will be fine. I… I don’t know if I’ll get out of this, but I’m sure you and the others can. They’ll let you go. And life in prison isn’t so bad. You guys can still come visit me, and once you get out then you can go back to Felix. Either stay with him or go after Dark. You guys will make it out of here.”

“Why do you always have to be the hero, Mark?” Tyler asked.

Mark winced. “I’m not trying to be. It just keeps happening! Do you think I wanted to go to prison? No, of course not! But it’s better if I go, and the rest of you go free. I’ll plea. Make a bargain, and get you all out.”

“I won’t take that deal,” Tyler said, frowning and folding his arms. His fingers dug into his sleeves.

“Too bad, you’re taking it,” Mark shot back.

Tyler rolled his eyes. “You’re so stubborn.”

“Stubborn? I’m not stubborn! I’m right! The best outcome to this is that I take the fall, while you and the others make it out of here. Get new identities, or some shit. Make new lives.”

“None of us want that, you know. We came with you for a reason.”

“Yeah, well, life is a bitch,” Mark said, looking away from Tyler. He stared at the bars, remembering all those years ago. That stupid kid who dropped out of school and ran away. That person would have never thought this is where life would leave them. Yet here he was.

What could he have changed? At what moment did everything start going wrong? Was it when they’d accepted the GAAP’s offer? Or when Mark had hurt his arm, bringing Madapriel back to life? Was it when they’d gone to Felix, or was it when Mark had gotten so in his own head about his life that he’d dropped out of the academy?

Mark didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. He couldn’t change the past.

“If,” Tyler started, holding up a finger. “If, and only if, that situation plays out, then I’ll do it. I’ll take everyone far away and I’ll protect them. I’ll keep them safe for you.”

Mark swallowed, trying to keep his emotions down. “Thanks, Tyler.”

The noises of the engine slowly lulled Mark and Tyler to sleep. The day had been long, and the night was eternal in space. The future was uncertain, and the past was set into motion. All that was left was to sleep and rest before their fates were decided.

.

.

Felix watched as the robots filed into his office. Fingers steepled, he carefully took stock of each one. Even after knowing Jack for years now, he had never met his creations. He’d done a damn good job on them, considering his overall lack of training. One obviously needed a replacement core, and another was smashed, held in the arms of the tallest red robot, but a decent job nonetheless.

On leashes, held by the companion robot, two dogs accompanied them into the room. A cyborg dog, whose collared kept beeping out, “Mom Amy.” A much larger green Dulcosi bounded behind him, running up to everyone and whining.

Edgar grunted in his lap.

On the screen, Lixian’s animation was frozen, backed by the sound of frantic typing. Marzia stalked the edge of the room, talking quietly to someone on her comm. Brad and Sive walked in and out of the room, bringing information to Marzia, who would take a moment to respond to them, then continue her comm conversation.

“Brad,” Felix said. Brad looked up from where he was flipping through a holo-file, walking over. Felix leaned in towards him, gesturing at the robots. “Get them set up with a storage room, and get a mechanic for that busted one. Also, please arrange for a caretaker for the dogs.”

Brad nodded. “Will do. They also brought this message from Jack with them.”

“Put it up,” Felix said.

Brad tapped a few buttons on his comm. The screen wavered, a small box popping up with Jack’s face. The sound of Lixian’s typing paused briefly, but not for very long. Jack ran a hand through his hair. He looked hopped up on adrenaline, eyes wild and teeth bared. Soot covered his face, and a line of grease stained his cheek.

“The GAAP captured the Barrel crew,” Jack said. Behind him, the broken robot was being sniffed by the dogs. “They fucked up the Barrel. Engines are shot, thrusters destroyed. It’s drifting out around the Sceifarr 2.054 sector. Shouldn’t be hard to find, the GAAP warnings are still signaling all over the place. They left behind the dogs, destroyed the robot. Also, all their computer systems were raided and destroyed. They left behind nothing. There is no way to replace it. I’m going to go after them.”

Felix’s eyes widened.

“Call me if you want to help, but don’t try and talk me out of this,” Jack said. “I’m not coming back until I get them back.”

The call went dead.

“Sive!” Felix said, the masked man leaning back to appear in the doorway, his arms full of files. “Get in contact with the niners in the Inner System. I want all of them undercover, looking for what is going on. Civilians and GAAP, I don’t care who. All of them on alert.”

Sive nodded and ducked away.

“Brad, start bringing me schematics of every prison in and surrounding the Inner System. I also want schematics of the Justice Hall.”

“Right,” Brad said, running after Sive.

“You have a call incoming from the Hall of Representatives,” Lixian said, animation briefly coming to life.

“Pull it up,” Felix said, sitting up straight and flicking a bit of lint off his jacket. Leveling the screen with an unimpressed glare, he watched as his GAAP contact appeared. The nearly unbearable little Urashi, glowing like a dying star.

“Good Morning Mr.—” the contact tried to say.

“Why are you calling?” Felix said, interrupting. He’d worked too hard and too long to get where he was to take the pleasantries from some snotty kid who’d gotten where he was because of daddy's money.

The contact sniffed. “We are just calling to inform you that despite some recent, ah, revelations the GAAP still values your business and will not be taking further actions against you or your people. Provided, of course, that all this just blows over and none of this particular information is slipped outside these calls.”

Felix smiled tightly, “Oh don’t worry. I know how to toe a line.”

“Excellent,” the contact said. “Thank you for your business.”

The line went dead.

“I got rid of all the GAAP bugs. No little robots or tapped lines. We are free to speak without their interference now. I also hacked their system,” Lixian said as soon as the contact was gone. He was staring straight at Felix in a way that made his heart sink. There was a genuine sadness in the animation’s eyes, and a tenseness in his shoulders. The way he stared, hands still for once. It was nerve-wracking. “I found something. It… it’s not good.”

“What is it?” Felix asked.

“It’s about Mark.”

.

.

Mark lost track of the days. The meals were never at the same time, and the lights were always dim. Tyler and Mark slept in shifts, never letting the other be unconscious without someone to watch their back. Through their own system, it must have been nearly a week, but Mark couldn’t tell.

After what felt like days, they were taken to a larger cell. There, they reunited with the others.

“Are you all alright?” Mark asked, looking them over as he hugged Amy.

“We’re fine,” Kathryn answered. “Do you know where we are?”

“No idea,” Tyler said.

���You’re okay?” Mark said softer, pulling back slightly to look at Amy. She nodded, giving him a small smile.

At that moment, several guards appeared. Letting go of Amy, they faced them as they entered the cell. Each produced a set of cuffs, going to each person and restraining them. Kathryn’s reached down to her feet, not allowing her to use her stronger agility. Tyler’s were connected to a collar, keeping his arms bent as his wrists were kept near his neck.

“Where are we?” Ethan asked. “Where are you taking us?”

“Get in line,” one of the guards said, ignoring the questions. “Single file. Walk this way.”

They lined up, walking out of the cell. A few guards flanked them, guiding them down the halls. There was no one else there, the halls clear of any other life forms. Soon, they reached a port, leading off ship. Mark, taking the back, watched as they walked through the port and reached a small room that separated off in other small rooms.

“Take a room,” a guard said. “Undress and put on the uniform. Slide your clothes through the slot once you are done. Then step through the scanner that will open up on the far end. Walk through until you get to the end. Once you reach there, place your hands on your head and wait to be cuffed again.”

Mark stepped inside. The door closed behind him, the cuffs disappearing. He was left in a room with no windows. On the far end he saw the outline of a door with no handle. In a corner, a camera was pointed at him. Sitting on a shelf was a neatly folded gray suit, a pair of shoes and socks next to it.

“Mind turning that off?” He asked the camera.

No response.

Shrugging, Mark undressed and put on the jumpsuit. It wasn’t especially comfortable, obviously made for someone with slightly smaller shoulders than him. The fabric was rough, and the shoes pinched his toes. The moment he finished dressing, leaving his own clothes in a heap on the floor, the door on the far end slide open.

Mark slowly walked through. The air buzzed for a second as it searched his body, but no alarms went off. Reaching the far end, he saw the others waiting for him, already cuffed. They were already being taken away. Without him.

“Wait,” Amy was saying. “Where is Mark?”

“What’s going on?” Mark asked, looking around confused. He made a move to follow them, but a guard stepped in front of him.

“Come this way,” the guard said, ushering in the opposite direction of the others.

Panic filled Mark. He tried pushed through, trying to run after them. It was no use. They were stronger than him, holding him back as he tried desperately to reach for them.

“I’ll find you!” Mark yelled after them.

“Mar—!”

The door shut behind them before Amy could call his name.

“This way,” the guard shoved him back. Mark stumbled, giving them a glare before turning and walking where they wanted him to go. Down a tunnel until he was brought to a small cell at the end of the hall. The door was barred, but the rest was solid and blocked off.

“What’s going on? Why are you separating us?” Mark asked. He walked inside, the door shutting behind him. The guard took his cuffs off as Mark stuck his hands out. Confliction crossed the guards face as Mark pleaded for an answer.

Looking either way and seeing no one, the guard faced Mark with a wince. “You’ve been charged with treason.”

Mark blinked. “W… what? We haven’t even had a trial yet!”

“There was one held a few days ago. Smaller, with just a few representatives. I’m not even supposed to know about it. I just overheard Kivlithos talking about it. They’re charging you and your crew with treason. Since you’re the leader…” the guard swallowed. “I’m sorry. Since you’re the leader, you’ve been given the death penalty. Three days.”

For a moment the room was spinning. Mark’s knees felt weak. Nothing made sense as those words registered. The guard almost tried to jump forwards as Mark stumbled back. The death penalty. They’d tried and charged him, and he was going to die. He… he was going to die in three days.

Wait.

“What about my crew?!” Mark said, grabbing the bars. “What about them? What is going to happen to my friends?”

“They’ve also been sentenced with treason, but have been sentenced to life in prison. That’s where we are now,” the guard said. “GAAP Central Prison. They’ll be held here.”

Mark walked back, going to sit on the slab bed protruding from the wall. The guard gave him one last pitying look before leaving. Mark buried his face in his hands.

At least his crew was going to be okay.

That was what Mark focused on as he sat in the cell. His friends were going to be safe. Stuck here, but they were alive.

Mark had always known that if he was going to die, he would be fine with it. He had done the best he could, and as long as his family was taken care of then he could die and be done with. The universe was so big. The galaxy filled with extraordinary people. He was just one in billions. Sure, he had done things. Good things. He’d helped people, and he had saved lives. He had put himself on the line to make sure that he left behind a galaxy that was better than the one he had grown up in. He had done that. He’d started the cogwheels to making a better place. Others knew about Madapriel. Others could pick up where he left off. That was what Mark had told himself his whole life.

If he died, then he had done his best and he could die in peace.

But as he was faced with death, he felt scared. Perhaps it was just the anticipation. Three days to sit alone and think about his imminent demise. It was one thing to accept his theoretical death, and it was another to just die. But to sit there, knowing he would die soon and being powerless to do a thing about it… it was terrifying.

He would miss his friends. He’d miss Chica, who had brought so much joy into his life. He’d miss Tyler, Kathryn, and Ethan who had become some of his closest friends. He’d miss his mom and his brother. He’d miss Sean, and hell he’d even miss the robots. He’d miss Amy, who had become so important to him.

They were safe.

That was all that mattered.

Pulling his hands away, Mark saw that they were shaking.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He didn’t want to be scared. He wanted to be at peace with what fate had given him. He didn’t know how to stop this. It was unjust, and it was cruel, but that was just where he had landed. There wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. Break out? How? He had no tools, no friends who could help. He was alone.

Even if Sean had seen them get caught nearly a week ago, how could he help? This prison was the highest security prison in the galaxy. Since its creation, only one being had escaped, and they had escaped because they jettisoned themselves into space, dying instantly. There was nowhere to go. The nearest planet days away. The nearest space station was GAAP, and just as high security as this place.

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to go.

Mark was going to die in three days.

Three days, and he hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to his family.

.

.

Sean had begun planning the moment he had gotten the call from Lixian and Felix.

Lixian had uncovered plans to sentence the crew of the Barrel with treason, making an example out of Mark and handing him the death penalty. They hadn’t been official, but then Lixian had hacked a camera into the trial. Consisting of only four representatives out of hundreds, the trail had lasted barely five minutes as the sentence was carried out. This was a cover up, and they were moving quickly.

Sean reached the prison a day after the crew did. Two days left, and not nearly enough time or resources.

Lixian found schematics of the prison, but they were more daunting than helpful. Check-stations, cameras, heat sensors, motion sensors, facial recognition, everything. Even some things Sean had never heard of. Each prisoner had a tracker placed not only on their clothes, but even the guards were tracked. There were scheduled patrols, and random patrols. Prisoners were allowed out into the yard or kept in their cells on a randomly algorithm generated schedule. Not to mention the entire surrounding area was impossible to get into without permits and pre-scheduled visits. The easiest way would be with produce for the kitchen, or through the garbage chutes, but those were scanned thoroughly.

Just looking at the complicated mess of a floorplan, Sean felt hopeless.

That wasn’t just the worst part. He was all alone in this.

Only one niner was planted on the GAAP Central Prison. Only one, and they were a low-level guard who was mostly there to keep an eye on things. Marzia couldn’t make it in time. It would take her a week to travel there, and by that time Mark would be dead. He’d called Robin, and even he couldn’t help.

He was completely alone, and his friend was going to die in twelve hours.

“This isn’t going to work,” Felix said, setting down the glass of whiskey he’d been nursing. “I’m sorry, Jack, but we would need months of planning at least to even have a chance at breaking in. Months of infiltration, setting gears into motion, manipulating the system in our favor. Right now, we could get you inside, but that’s about it.”

“That’s all I need,” Sean said, avoiding looking at the little comm screen showing Felix.

“No, it isn’t, you idiot,” Felix said, shooting him a look. “ANTI cannot save you from this. You can’t even save yourself from this, much less another person.”

“Then what do you recommend?” Sean said, throwing up his hands. “What do I do, Felix? I cannot just watch as Mark dies. I fucking refuse.”

“I… I don’t know,” Felix admitted. “But I do know that if you go in there you will die. Then there will be two people dead.”

“Just do what we planned,” Sean said, checking his guns. “I’ll do the rest.”

Felix sighed. “I don’t want to lose a friend, Jack.”

“Then if it makes you feel better, don’t call me a friend. I’ll just be another body doing a job, and this will just be another mission.”

“You’re not…”

“Just shut up already!”

Sean was breathing hard. His hands were clenched. ANTI flickered at the back of his mind, warily watching. Ready to jump in. Sean took one breath in, and one out. Vision wavering with angry tears, he looked at the comm screen. Felix was watching him with surprise, concern, and fear.

“I have to do this.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what Mark would do,” Sean said. “Stupid, impulsive, head up his own ass Mark would jump in and save his friends. Because that’s what people with friends do. They care about each other. They try and help each other. I haven’t had friends in so fucking long, and now that I have them, I have one chance to try and do this one thing right.”

“You’re not Mark.”

“No,” Sean agreed. “I’m not Mark. I don’t want to be Mark. I’m my own fucking person.  But I’ve changed. I’ve tried to change into someone better. So much of that was me. I tried to become someone better. But Mark and his crew helped. I want to be a better person, and the Jack I was when I met them would leave them to rot. I want to be the kind of person who helps.”

For a moment Felix just stared at him. Then he shook his head. “Fine, I’ll get you inside. I’ll have my niner on the inside ready with an escape pod. But that is literally all I can do with this amount of prep time.”

“Thanks,” Sean said. “Honestly. Thank you.”

Felix glared. “You make it out alive.”

Sean cocked his gun, “I’m getting us both out alive.”

.

.

The room was white. A single window at the back, showing several GAAP representatives and generals. Kivlithos among them. A camera crew was setting up across from a white chair. A doctor stood in a corner, prepping a needle. Mark, dressed in simple gray clothes, was led into the room. Hands and feet shackled. They brought him to the chair, taking off his chains and letting him sit. Once he sat, they strapped his wrists and ankles to the chair.

“Are you comfortable?” One of the guards asked Mark.

He snorted, “Am I comfortable? I’m going to die.”

The guard flinched, backing away with the other.

Mark hated that they were broadcasting this. They had to make an example of him. An example of the ones who stood at the cliffs edge and dared to fly. Don’t cross the government. Don’t make the mistakes he did.  It was a warning to his friends. It was a warning to the galaxy. It was a warning to Madapriel.

Don’t challenge them. Don’t fly towards that early grave.

“Are we ready?” The doctor asked the camera crew.

Thumbs up. The camera trained on one of the generals – a Reponere – holding a list of Mark’s crimes. They nodded, and the cameraman held up a hand.

3

2

1

They went live.

.

.

Amy didn’t look away. She owed it to Mark to not look away.

Everyone in the women's wing of the prison was watching. They didn’t know that the two women, huddling in the back corner of the room knew the man about to die. They didn’t know that Amy’s world was crumbling around her. They didn’t know.

Kathryn was hugging Amy. Amy was hugging Kathryn. They were holding each other, and Amy was staring straight ahead, watching the screen broadcasting the stream of Mark. A general on screen. He was reading off a list of crimes. Amy wasn’t listening. Her eyes were searching for Mark. Any glimpse of him.

She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.

That one fact clawed at her chest. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to the one person who mattered the most, and now she was going to watch him die.

Kathryn grabbed Amy’s organic hand, squeezing it. Her cyborg arm had been taken away, replaced with a simple plastic one. It was useless. It bent at the elbow, and only if Amy moved it. A safety precaution, but Amy felt even more helpless. She had always had to fight tooth and nail for what she wanted.

Now she couldn’t even write her own name.

The charges were finishing up. Amy sat up straighter, waiting for that one last look at Mark. The general finished. The screen changed. Amy’s breath caught in her throat as sudden tears overtook her.

Mark sat, strapped down to a white chair, definitely staring into the camera. Daring his audience to pity him. Daring his audience to hate him.

Even with only minutes left of his life he was trying to say something. Trying to convey some message to the universe. He wasn’t going down without a fight, no matter how small that fight was. He was daring the universe to see him as he was, and see what had been taken from him.

Amy started crying silently, tears running down her face.

She wasn’t going to stop fighting. Not now. She was losing too much.

“Goodbye,” she whispered.

.

.

Lost in a crowd, Ethan looked up at the screen.

He was all alone. His friends had been taken from him, one after another. First Mark, then Amy and Kathryn, then Tyler. One by one they were taken away until Ethan was left in a crowd of other prisoners.

He stood in the center of them, watching the screen.

Ethan had never felt jealous of an organics ability to cry. It was messy, and it was gross. Fluids coming out of multiple orifices, and heaving convulsions from their chests. Once they started it was almost impossible to stop. Ethan had been a shoulder to cry on several times, mostly for Kathryn when her world got too much. He’d never wanted that.

Mark came on screen.

He looked serious. Angry. It reminded Ethan of the time an anti-android protester had tried to convince Mark to sell Ethan. To get rid of him. That look on his face as Mark calmly explained that Ethan was his friend… it was the same face. That quiet defiance that the world he was seeing wasn’t right, and he dared it to prove him wrong.

Ethan had never wanted to cry, but now the only thing he wanted more than anything was to find some way to express how he was feeling. Just how much he wanted that physical ache organics could feel. He experienced every emotion. Every despairing sorrow. Ethan knew what he was feeling.

But that dull ache described to him by his friends… he couldn’t feel it. Even as Mark’s eyes looked into his with that determination and fear, all Ethan wanted was to feel that ache.

But he couldn’t. He wasn’t made to do that. So, he watched, and wished he could cry.

.

.

CRASH!

Tyler slammed into the wall. He turned, running at the opposite wall with a roar.

CRASH!

He slammed into that one. He turned and faced the wall. He ran, repeating the same motion he’d been doing since they’d put him in here.

CRASH!

He’d tried fighting them. Tyler had tried fighting his way through every guard and wall in his wall to get to Mark. Once he’d heard the announcement, he’d turned away from Ethan and run at the guards with fury in his eyes.

It hadn’t taken long to take him down.

So now he ran at the walls, screaming himself hoarse as he tried to crush the walls. Tried hard as he could to save Mark.

CRASH!

Dents were beginning to form. Cracks running along the concrete walls. They would budge. They would break until his rage. But not soon enough. Tyler knew that. He knew that he could slam his body into a mountain and eventually, it would fall. But the years he would need to fell a mountain could not make up for the moments until Mark would die.

As Tyler ramming himself into the walls, over and over, all he could remember was the words he’d spoken so long ago. The words he’d promised Mark. A promise he’d broken.

“I really showed them, eh?” Mark asked, laughing.

Tyler started to chuckle too before he noticed Mark buckle in pain.

“Broken ribs,” Mark said, smiling tensely at Tyler. “The nanobots are still working at fixing them.”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days,” Tyler shook his head, half-teasing. The other half seriously worried that Mark would one day get himself killed.

“No, I won’t,” Mark countered. “You won’t let me.”

Tyler roared.

He ran at the wall.

CRASH!

He turned, breathing hard. Tears building up in his eyes, he ran at the wall.

.

.

“Right! Right, Jack!”

Sean stopped in his tracks, turning around and going right. He had no idea how he’d made it this far into the prison. After climbing through the garbage chute, he’d somehow managed to make his way through the halls. It must be because of Mark. The galaxy was focused on this event. Guards must have been laxer.

The hallway was quiet. In the distance he could hear the jeers and shouts of a crowd of prisoners, watching the broadcast. Keeping close to the walls, he ran along them. Keeping low, keeping out of sight. In his ear, Felix and Lixian talked him through the maze of the prison.

“They’re showing Mark,” Lixian said, a forced calm in his voice. “Hurry up.”

“Guard ahead,” Felix said. “There is a vent to your left, just before the turn. Take that.”

Sean ducked into the vent, carefully taking off and replacing the cover. Once inside, he crawled as quietly as he could.

“How much time do I have?” Sean muttered, freezing as he heard someone passing by.

“Not long. Five minutes or less,” Lixian estimated.

Sean started crawling. He’d make it.

He had to make it.

.

.

“Thanks for the dinner, Wade.”

Wade smiled over at Mandy and Bob, picking up the remaining dishes alongside his wife, Molly. The four of them in his dining room, enjoying their weekly get together. “Thank Molly,” he said. “Do you think I could cook this well on my own?”

Molly laughed and took the dishes from him, disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing with a small chocolate cake. It was a normal routine that Bob and Wade had kept up since graduating the Academy, finding their own jobs in the GAAP and creating their own families. A small get together every week to stay in touch.

It wasn’t much, but it was fun.

Before slices of cake could be handed out, the holo-screen turned on. With a high-pitched beep, the screen turned to a recording of a GAAP general, greeting the audience.

“Did you know about this?” Bob asked Wade.

Wade shook his head. He hadn’t heard anything about a mandatory screening. The general went on and on, talking about the importance of security, and how the GAAP had been founding on bringing the galaxy together. He recounted the history of the founders, going over the ideals their government was founded on. The usual speech.

“Wha…” Molly looked over at Wade, before looking back at the screen. “What is going on?”

“Today,” the general said. “We unfortunately have found a traitor. A man trusted with sensitive information, and trusted with the recapture of a dangerous terrorist. This man not only gave this information to known illegal arms dealers, but aided and abetted this terrorist in escaping arrest. He has assaulted GAAP generals and officers, committing a Cosmic Crime. Now, we do not take his sentence lightly. His actions will have ripple effects across the galaxy. To squash those that would follow in his actions, and rise up under illegal banners with intentions of attacking the peace and reducing the GAAP back to the chaos of before, we have given him the ultimate punishment. As a warning to those who he has influenced, we send out this broadcast. This man is a criminal, and the actions he has committed are heinous. Do not follow in his footsteps.”

Bob and Wade shared a confused look. Bob had managed to snag a comfortable, higher up position in the GAAP. He shook his head at Wade. Even he didn’t know who they were talking about.

Looking back at the screen, the general tapping his file to the desk, nodding at the camera. The camera changed perspective, and Wade felt his stomach drop.

He hadn’t seen him since senior year of the Academy. Brash and loud, with stars in his eyes as his hands mastered every ship he touched. Mark Fischbach, an old friend of his who had disappeared one night with only a note. They’d talked a few times over the years, but never really reconnected. He was always busy, saving people. Wade had seen him in the news a few times, each with a headline of bravery and selflessness alongside his crew.

Now he was staring at the screen, eyes boring into him with defiance. His arms and legs held down, dressed in gray. Dark circles under his eyes, and a sallowness to his skin. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. For a moment, his eyes looked off screen. A flash of fear, but then he stilled himself.

Wade had seen that look on his face. The face he used when the instructors had told him he was flying wrong, even though he’d aced every test.

“Oh my god,” Bob breathed.

The general continued to speak of Mark’s treason. Of his deception, as he pretended to help while selling secrets to the enemy. It all slipped away. Wade’s vision tunneled as he realized – that angry kid with dreams too big and a determination to take it on – was going to die.

Bob went pale, Mandy holding her mouth. Molly had collapsed in her chair, her hand a vice in Wade’s. His breathing was shallow. His chest felt tight. He was sweating, and his hands were shaking.

Mark Fischbach was a traitor, and he was being executed.

.

.

“Two minutes.”

“I know I know,” Sean said, shoving the unconscious bodies of the guards out of view of the windows, sneaking back outside the control room and looking either way. “I’m almost there. Any more guards?”

“Two outside the execution room, four inside with the generals, two inside with Mark.”

“Got it,” Sean hurried down the hall.

He was going to make it.

.

.

The whole galaxy was watching. Some with disinterest, some with hate. Some with scorn, and some with fear. Some would be crying at the loss of a friend and family member. Some would be crying at the loss of someone they had viewed as a hero. Some would be celebrating, glad to have what they viewed as a danger gone from their lives. Some would be happy, falling into the lies and believing they were safer now.

Only one watched with an interest privy to their eyes alone. An interest singular to a complex web of hate, grudging respect, and debt.

Madapriel brushed some hair from his eyes. He didn’t know why he’d let it get so long, but it reached his shoulders now. Maybe a small difference from his DNA source. Maybe just casual indifference to his appearance. He didn’t especially care. His goals were set, and he had no interest for other matters.

Mark, however… ever since the moment Madapriel had taken his DNA, he had found some hateful fascination with him. At first, it had been his creation. The union of a Xanhull and a human. Before the fall of Unohsket, a Xanhull would have never dreamed of procreating with another species. Not out of malice, or some superiority complex. Xanhulls were a close-knit community. Procreation was a serious matter, and the combination of DNA was taken with utmost thought.

To casually create a life that could not follow in its parentages footsteps was considered thoughtless and cruel. A half-Xanhull would be weak and defenseless. Doomed to fall to the cruelty of the universe.

When Madapriel had first come back he had been angry. Confused and lost in this new world that had destroyed and scattered his people. He had wanted to find control, and found it in what he thought was mercy. Ending the life of what should have never been.

Now… Mark had proved to be valiant. Obviously having been never truly taught the traditions and rights of his ancestors, but still… a person who had discovered morals to hold onto and a family to protect.

In Mark’s memories, Madapriel had found understanding. The frustration of a child, unsure of where he fit in the galaxy and a desperation to find his place. Running away from a place that was wrong, and falling into the arms of a friend who guided him to freedom.

In Mark’s memories, Madapriel had experienced the death of one of his own. Through the eyes of a child who didn’t truly understand, but with his own grief mingled with a confused boy who was losing his father. This grief, now in the heart of a man who had watched the slow death of one of his own. A death that could have been avoided, but was taken to give a future to his children.

In these memories, Madapriel now found respect for the man he had once tried to kill.

In a way, Mark had saved his life.

Not just with his DNA. Yes, his accident had brought Madapriel back. His misstep had given Madapriel the opportunity to take back what had been taken from him. Mark’s blood was now an opportunity to set in motion his plans. But it wasn’t just the DNA. It was the memories. It was how Mark had forced to him see him as a person. Alive, fighting, and ready to take on anyone who tried to hurt his friends.

It was a reminder of who Madapriel himself was.

It was a reminder that Madapriel was here to take back what he was owed for all his kind, not just those that were dead.

Madapriel owed a debt to Mark. A life for a life.

Could he truly repay that debt? Mark was on death's row. Far away, and under lock and key. Moments away from death. Could Madapriel honestly repay what he owed?

“Dark?”

Madapriel looked up from the screen. Wilford stood in the doorway, fiddling with his mustache. For a moment, a pang of regret for what he was about to do to the merc stabbed his heart. He shut it down. Wilford was a necessary sacrifice. One life for millions.

“Yes?”

Wilford coughed, “Uh, Google? That robot guy? Yeah, he found what you’re looking for. The crystal thingy. Says that if we head there now, we will be there within a few days.”

Madapriel looked back at the screen.

“Tell Google,” he said, fingers running over the vials of blood set before him. “That we may have to take a detour.”

.

.

Lethal injection.

Mark couldn’t stop himself from glancing over at where the doctor was preparing a needle. Filling it with what, he had no fucking clue, but he knew that it was bad. It would kill him. His orb was too small to withstand whatever they gave him. It would destroy him.

He looked back at the camera. There were no microphones in this room. Even if he screamed and wailed, no sound would reach those who were watching. So, he stared. He hoped his eyes would at least convey that what was happening wasn’t right. That he wasn’t going to let them murder him without a fight.

Amy…

Amy was watching.

For a moment Mark nearly broke. He knew that they would make his friends watch. He was an example. He was the leader. Don’t be like him, they would say. Don’t follow in the footsteps of a man who had everything to lose and the morals to be stupid enough to continue fighting. Don’t fly to close to the sun.

At the end of the day, Mark didn’t care.

He would stick to his morals, and he would die by them.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel regret. Amy, Tyler, Ethan, Kathryn, Sean, Henry, Chica… he was leaving them all behind. His friends and his family. They would all see him die, and that was a fate he wished he could change. Let him die alone if he must, but don’t force those he loved to see him die helpless.

He couldn’t change a thing now.

Mark closed his eyes for a moment.

He would miss Kathryn and her jokes. Her fearless determination and her wickedly smart strategies. He would miss Tyler, and his grounded morals. His opinions that made Mark think about his world, and his steadfast form watching his back. He would miss Ethan and his laugh. The way he went out of his way to make those around him laugh, and how he would talk about his own dreams that seemed so far away but were just within his grasp. He would miss Chica and Henry, the dogs who had made his life so much better. Those two puppies who brought joy and life to his day. He would miss Amy, and her love. Her steady hand, guiding him back to his goals and her hand against his.

He would miss Sean, and he would miss his family. He’d miss friends he hadn’t spoken to in years, and the people he had saved. He’d miss those he had given his life to helping, and he’d miss those long nights watching the stars.

Mark would miss living.

He opened his eyes.

What he saw before him was the end. The road paved with broken glass that he walked – fighting for every step – had finally grown too sharp. The shards cut too deep. Mark could still see more of that road. He saw a life he wanted, but here was where he could not pass.

He would miss that road, and every painful step. He would miss the smooths spots, and he would miss the rough patches. The life he had lived was one Mark was proud of. He had done what he could. Now it was time to let the others walk the road.

Mark would miss living, but he knew that this was not the end. Not the end for his friends and family. Not the end for this galaxy.

Just his end.

The doctor walked towards him, needle in hand. Pointless dread settled in his gut. Even after coming to terms with his death – even after facing the reality that this was it – Mark was scared. But being scared was what made him alive. It’s what made him important, especially in that moment. Fear and death were what kept the universe moving. Running and running until the stars exploded and lives ended. Life was precious, because life would end.

Mark hoped he had done enough.

“Any last words?” The doctor asked, tapping the needle.

Mark looked at the camera, “Can they hear me?”

“No,” the doctor said, looking at him with indifference. “Just for record purposes.”

“Alright,” Mark said, looking above the camera. Right at the generals who were watching his death like it was entertainment. Meeting the gaze of every being in that room, his eyes finally landed upon Kivlithos. The man who played god, watching as Mark’s wings burned.

Mark raised his chin, not backing down even for a moment. “Then fuck you.”

“I will… write that down,” the doctor said, taken aback.

The needle was set against his arm.

.

.

The door was there. Just at the end of the hall. Like Lixian had said, two guards waiting just outside the door. They alert, but not expecting an attack. Not from him.

With surprise on his side, Sean easily took down the guards watching the door. Silently, he darted towards them, and before they realized, he was attacking. One punch for each, and an extra kick to the head. Quickly stooping, Sean picked up the keycard and swiped it. He had to be in time.

The door beeped, and Sean swallowed to catch his breath.

The door opened.

In a single moment, Sean took in the entire scene. A window separating the room from several generals, each looking at him with shock. A camera, trained on Mark, sitting in a chair facing them. A doctor standing at his side, holding a needle.

The needle was in Mark’s arm, and the needle was empty.

He was too late.

The guards on either side of Mark raised their guns. Without hesitation, rage flashed through Sean. That pounding itch in the back of his mind enveloped him, but this time Sean was too furious to be forced away. The hatred and the anguish were too strong, even for ANTI. He was screaming with sorrow and rage as ANTI stepped into his body, leaving Sean’s hands on the controls as his eye burned red and glitch lines ran down his skin.

With a roar, Sean and ANTI launched himself at the guards. Each didn’t even have a chance to fire. Sean’s teeth sunk into the throat of one, ripping it out with a spray of blood. He was on the next in a moment, claws sinking into the guard’s skull and dragging downwards. They were dead without a chance to speak.

Blood soaking his hands and mouth, Sean and ANTI turned to the doctor. The man was already begging for his pathetic life. He didn’t have much time to beg. Sean’s hand closed around his throat. It crushed under his grip, the neck snapping instantly. Sean and ANTI dropped him, letting him crumple to the floor in a sad heap.

“Mark!”

ANTI retreated for a moment as Sean ran around the chair, kneeling next to Mark. He was still breathing. He was still looking. Sean’s claws cut the straps. He grabbed Mark’s face, shaking him.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he pleaded. “Mark, don’t you dare fucking die. Don’t you dare. I snuck through garbage for you, don’t you dare fucking die on me.”

Mark opened his mouth to respond. There was a moment where he breathed in, a sad smile on his face. Then he breathed out. Quietly, he fell limp. His eyes glazed over, staring straight ahead. No longer looking at Sean. No longer alive.

Mark… Mark was…

“No,” Sean pleaded. “No, no, no, no!”

He shook Mark, but he was gone. There was no reaction. Just a slow relaxing of his muscles as the smile faded from his face and his eyes stared vacantly ahead.

“MARK!” Sean screamed.

The door burst open. Guards ran into the room, guns trained on him. They were yelling at him, telling him to get on the ground. Telling him to surrender.

Sean didn’t even think. He just let himself fall back into that mindless rage as ANTI stepped into his body. He turned slowly, staring into the terrified eyes of the nearest guard.

He attacked.

Without thought, he tore and slashed, ripping through every breathing body in front of him. Blood covered him, but he didn’t care. All that he cared about was destroying those that had taken his friend from him. They fell. A few got a shot in, or a stab. The wounds were meaningless. They didn’t slow him down. Not as he tore through their bodies, coming closer and closer to those fucking GAAP officers, watching him.

And then he was there. Smashing through the glass. He killed them, one by one. Enjoying as they died under his hands. They had nowhere to run. He was blocking the only exist, and he had no problem killing them as they tried to flee.

He killed and killed until there was only one left. The Graeldur general. The one that had manipulated and used his friends. The one who had sentenced his friend to death. The one who now stared at him with fear, hands raised.

“Now, now,” he said, a tremble of fear in his voice as he tried to regain control. Tried to offer a pathetic excuse for his life. “Let’s talk. I can give you money. Power. Anything you want.”

“You took my friend – his friend – away from me,” he hissed, the voices overlapping each other. “The only thing I want is to see your black heart bleeding out in my hand.”

Sean and ANTI reached down as one. ANTI’s cruel enjoyment and Sean’s devastated grief merging into a single goal. They grabbed his throat, and with the other hand, clawed through his chest. His skin was thick, but they didn’t care. Tear after tear until finally Sean and ANTI held his still beating heart. With a yell, his claws sunk deep into the heart until it was crushed between his fingers.

“It’s in there!”

Sean crumpled to the ground. The adrenaline of his grief waning, Sean lost the will to go on. He’d killed, and he’d raged. He didn’t care anymore. In that moment of weakness, ANTI took complete control. What happened next was a blur to Sean. The scream of guards, the sting of wounds appearing on his body. He barely registered the gradual movement as ANTI tore through the prison.

He was too late.

If he had only been there moments before… if only he had moved faster… if only…

There was one moment of agony that nearly tore Sean from the back of his mind. A searing pain in his leg. A flash of fire and agony as something dug into his flesh, the leg screaming at him.

There was a tug.

The pain flared. And then ANTI dulled it, forcing him even farther back. Back and back, until all he registered was the darkness.

.

.

The cameras cut out just before the second guard died. Felix and Lixian knew that Jack wouldn’t leave that place until they were all dead. He wouldn’t leave until ANTI forced him too. They sat in horrified silence, watching the darkened screen.

The silence was deafening. Moments passing. Neither Lixian nor Felix found it in themselves to say a thing. What they had just seen… what they had heard through the comms, and what had been cut off as the comm was damaged, it was too much.

“The GAAP has started a war,” Felix said quietly, almost to himself. “Whether they know it or not, this is a war.”

In the resounding silence of Felix’s statement, Lixian said nothing. Moments ticked by as they watched the blackened screen. Then, as a small alert came up on his screen, he said, “Jack made it out. Niner got him into a pod. He’s badly hurt.”

“I have a niner nearby,” Felix said. “Send them to pick him up and treat him. Bring him here.”

Lixian nodded. Suddenly, there was a sharp PING as something came across Lixian’s alerts. He jumped into action, typing and muttering.

“What is it?” Felix asked.

“Someone else just hacked into the prison!” Lixian said. “I… I can’t explain it. It’s like the system just turned against itself, but it is someone. They’re too much, I can’t get control back!”

For a moment, the screen showed Lixian, animation jolting in stuttered motions as he frantically tried to regain control. Then he was gone, and the screen was replaced by a large blue, red, yellow, and green G.

.

.

Perfect distraction, that AI was. A reckless program, tearing its way through the prison drawing all attention to it. Alarms blaring, system shutting down. Undetected as Madapriel’s own perfect machine took control. An evolved and better version of what it used to be. Now, able to learn and take control. He walked down the halls, not even bothering to shield himself from cameras. They were all erased. They were all off. The GAAP would never know he was here.

Down the halls, twisting and winding his way until he reached a room washed in red.

He stepped inside. Bodies lay everywhere. Torn apart in an obvious attempt at revenge. Oh, how senseless and sloppy. Understandable, but inelegant. A hurried decision to destroy what was in its path.

Sitting slumped over in the chair, eyes staring straight ahead, was Mark.

Madapriel came to stand next to him. His hand grabbed the top of Mark’s head, lifting it to stare into his lifeless eyes. He was too late. How regretful.

“Red eyes,” Madapriel said, staring as Mark’s true Xanhull eyes slowly revealed themselves as his body shut down. “Even in death, you still find some way to piss me off.”

There was no reply. Just the drip of blood, and distant blare of alarms.

“Still,” Madapriel said, letting go. Mark’s head fell. A reminder of every dead Xanhull staining the GAAP. Yet another reminder of what he was here to accomplish. “I still have a debt, and I have a duty. The GAAP shall never lay their hands on our kind ever again.”

Kneeling, Madapriel gathered Mark into his arms. With little effort, he stood and turned to the door. Stepping over bodies, making his way back through the halls, Madapriel took away Mark’s body.

The GAAP had taken enough from them.

It was time he took it back.

TO BE CONTINUED

[proxylynn]

Underfell: File Name not Edgy Enough #24

Chapter 24: Drama

WARNING: I WANT NO RESPONSIBILITY OVER SPOILING THINGS FOR OTHERS. THAT BEING SAID, THIS IS HOW FILE NAME NOT FOUND WOULD FUNCTION IN THE AU OF UNDERFELL. BEFORE YOU READ THIS, UNLIKE THE NICE TIME OF UNDERTALE, THIS WORLD IS KILL OR BE KILLED. THIS STORY WILL BE GRAPHIC, GORY, USE SWEARS LIKE NOBODY'S BUSINESS, AND DEAL WITH SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTERS. FOR EXAMPLE, THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE READ THE FILE NAME RELOCATED SPOOF WILL KNOW HOW I PICTURE THIS VERSION OF LYNSIE COMING TO THE UNDERGROUND. IT IS NOT AN ACCIDENT. IT IS NOT BECAUSE OF SOMETHING DUMB. IT IS BECAUSE SHE CHOOSES TO END HER LIFE. SO TAKE THIS WITH A GRAIN OF SALT. I MADE IT BECAUSE I NEEDED TO LET SOME OF THIS EDGINESS OUT OF MYSELF. WHICH I GUESS MAKES UNDERFELL LYNSIE EVEN MORE TRUE TO WHO I REALLY AM. ANYWAY, ENJOY. ^_^

You know...I used to love darkness. It was the one element that felt the most kind to me. Now it's a different story. At this point I hate it. Nothing good comes when I'm in darkness anymore. If I'm not dreaming then I'm being used by a maniacal scientist as his personal experiment.

{What are you doing here?}

Or this crap happens.

"Seeing as I don't get a choice in these matters, I should be asking you that. So...Why am I here, Chara?"

{Go away.}

"Why so serious? You've been avoiding me like the plague."

{You've been listening to Gaster behind my back.}

I sigh.

"Are we really about to do this?"

{Do what?}

"A childish back and forth of 'how could you do this' b.s."

{I warned you not to trust him. And what do you do? You cut deals with him.}

"You've been rummaging in my head. Not very nice of you, bro."

{Don't call me bro. Family doesn't backstab family.}

"Heh...You've been dead so long you forget what humanity is like. And I didn't backstab anyone."

{Yes you did!}

"How? How does seeking aid from the best source of soul knowledge so I don't go kill-crazy backstab you or the family?"

{That's not the point! You didn't listen to me! Why doesn't anyone ever listen to me?!}

Where is this coming from?

"Dude, calm down. You're a kid. A dead kid. You should be used to no one listening."

The darkness rumbles with thunder. Energy swirls around like wind or unseen water. A form begins to take shape, distinctly that of a male child. The boy is pale-skinned, has bright pink cheeks, piercing red eyes, as well as light brown hair, and dressed in a red sweater with a black stripe across the middle, black pants, and brown boots. This is Chara...at least...Chara pre-death. And oddly he's intimidating.

{I am so sick and tired of people not listening to me.}

"*scoff* Join the club, kid. You really think I ended up here because others heard what I had to say? You can't expect me to ignore help because you tell me no. It's MY soul. MY problems. And I will deal with them MY way. Not anyone else's."

The energy gets stronger. It's starting to become visible as it clashes around him.

{Not again...I won't let it happen again...}

I don't like the looks of this. But what can I do about it? It's not like I have power here.

"Look, I'm sorry if I piss you off. I have an annoying tendency to do that. It's not intentional. I..."

{I won't let you kill Asriel again!}

Confusion seems to be my normal state of mind these days. Does he actually mean me? Is he having a moment like Sans and thinks I'm Frisk? Could he even be thinking of Gaster? Or is he calling out all the other past humans to fall before me? Either way, I'm not going to get through to him. The look in those eyes of his gives me the message loud and clear. Talking is pointless. Now I'm left to do the one move I've done all my life...brace for impact.

{Not again! NEVER AGAIN!}

As expected, his rage causes the energy to lash out at me and all I can do block. Damn things cut like knives. I can't tell if bleeding is possible here but it feels like it.

"*mutter* Geez...And I thought I had issues. *grunt* No one is out to kill Asriel! Calm down!"

He doesn't say a word. Yet the energy intensifies. Hitting harder. Pushing back. Pushing me away.

"*strained* Do you think this solves anything? That lashing out at me keeps him safe? Harming me only puts him in more danger!"

Again, he's not in a mood to listen. The energy is cutting away at me more. I won't be able to take it much longer at this rate.

"*snarl* Damn it, Chara! Don't be like Toriel and put your problems on me like it's my fault!"

For only a moment there's a break in his attack and I think that maybe...just maybe...maybe he sees that this isn't the right way of handling the situation. This hope is dashed when he suddenly rushes me and grabs my shirt. The look he has. So spiteful. It breaks my guard.

{If we're really family...You won't come back here again.}

He blasts me at point-blank range and everything flashes from black, red, and then white.

"*gasp and cough*"

God, I hate this shit. Each time I wake up I feel closer to dying. Like one day, I'll open my eyes but be unable to breathe or I won't wake up at all.

"Bad dream?"

...Or I'll wake up in an unknown place with lord only knows who.

"With the wack you took, a little nightmare is the best outcome you could've gotten. Though we still can't rule out brain damage quiet yet."

I can't see anything apart from the ceiling. A brace of some sort is restraining my head. I can feel bands on my wrists and ankles. And something else...something cold.

"Hmmm...Vitals look stable. Then again, it's been a long time since I've had to human hooked to this thing. Oh well."

Great. From bad to worse.

"Not a big talker, huh? Or are you just slow to take in what's going on?"

I am in no mood for this crap.

"In any case, the short version is you're now in Hotland. No one knows you're here. And if you ever want to go home, it's best that you cooperate."

The sigh that leaves me is one oozing with boredom. I'm numb to this. I've been here too long to care.

"You're taking this oddly well, human."

"I'm in no position to care. I'm restrained in a place I don't know. You already have points on me I can't bounce back from. So why not skip the spiel and be blunt. It'll be easier on us both."

There's a scribbling noise.

"Subject is reasonable yet bitchy after having woken up."

Okay...Now I have some clue.

"You're Alphys, right?"

By the sudden startle that shakes her, she wasn't expecting me to know.

"H-H-How do you...?"

"People talk. It's not like there are others down here that know what a human is and have done things to them before. Makes for a very select list of names."

She huffs through her nose.

"Perhaps you'll be of more interest than your predecessors after all. Aside from your soul that is."

She taps on something and it makes me snarl in discomfort. No wild guess needed that it's my soul.

"You're a first. I've never seen a human soul infused with magic before. Though it is funny how it can be afflicted with something so common to growing children and you are...clearly not one."

I try to not think about that stupid issue of soul puberty.

"Yeah, well...What can do? Stuff happens."

"Lucky for you...it's a condition that is easily fixed with some stabilizing magic. You might be able to feel it. It's rather cold. Much like everything else in this world."

So that's another mystery solved. I'm basically getting the equivalent to hormone balancers. The question...Why?

"Seems a little odd."

"How so?"

"No offense, but experience has taught me that no one does something for someone else down here without there being a reason. So spill it, doc. What reason could you have for treating my condition?"

There's a sigh and a loud click before the slab I'm on begins to move, slanting me to almost stand. Now I can see the room better, the machinery, the odd patch on my exposed purple soul, and her. A slightly corpulent reptile-monster that appears smaller than she is due to slouching. She has yellow skin/scales, wears spiral-shaped glasses, a red and black striped sweater with a matching black skirt, and topped off with a classic white lab coat with a few frayed ends.

"If you must know...He insisted on you being fully healed. I swear things would be more interesting if I didn't fix you. But no...he was going to annoy the piss out of me. And frankly, I'm not in the mood to tear him apart for scrap."

He? Oh...Him.

"Ah, I see. Mettaton is a crafty guy. Must be his inner ghost."

She gives me a questionable look.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I know his cousin and he told me."

She groans and adjusts her glasses with her middle finger.

"That information is not for the public to know. You'd be wise not to spread any rumors about it."

"*scoff* Please. If I haven't blabbed by now than I ain't blabbing ever. Besides...There's no point telling anyone anyway."

She scribbles on a pad.

"You'd be wise to keep that mentality."

I roll my eyes.

"So where is he? Dude went so far as to have his flunky give me my second bat to skull injury and drag me here, the least he could do is show himself before overly explaining some elaborate plan."

She stops writing to look at me.

"HE is getting himself and I quote 'ready to shine like the star he was born to be' end quote."

If ego was hot air that metal body of his would be floating like a parade balloon.

"But what you said makes me wonder. You've watched his shows before, haven't you?"

"Enough to notice predictable patterns. Sure, the first show is fresh. But then he repeats the same theme in every show the rest of the day. It's hard not to notice."

"Like he tries too hard and looks like a moron."

"I wouldn't say that. It's endearing that he tries when it comes to an idea he likes. Whether or not the audience likes that sort of thing is subjective. You can't please all the people all of the time. Only some people some times."

"Try none and ever. Ratings have been in the dumper. The only small increase to have happened was that time he tricked you into phoning in. Heh...I still can't believe that worked."

"I'm not heartless. I don't want to see anyone hurt or die if I can help it."

She goes back to scribbling.

"Subject is a bleeding heart idiot."

I struggle to shake my head.

"Not the first time I've heard that and it won't be the last. Yet you can't honestly tell yourself that there isn't at least one person you'd risk it all for."

She pauses. Her scribbling stops to tap the pad. But this is not a long pause before she resumes again.

"Side note...If the subject is this stupid, how has it lived this long and what does that mean for surface humans?"

I can't roll my eyes hard enough.

"So you'd do anything for that fire elemental, huh?"

This has my attention.

"It's one thing to associate with monsters. Most are ignorant of what a human is. Making it easy to blend in and not be killed. But to be romantic with a monster? And to have been so dumb as to do so in public no less? That's just begging for trouble."

My glare has her smirking.

"Be a real shame if something unfortunate were to happen to him."

"You do not want to go down this road. Not on those tires."

"You are in no position to stop me if I do."

"Trust me, doc. You don't want to make me angry. Bad things happen when I snap."

My seriousness is not taken seriously.

"I'll be sure to enjoy studying every moment of it."

I sneer daggers at her.

"Humans are such pathetic and pitiful creatures."

"And yet we won the war. Go figure."

That earns me a very nasty look.

"I think you need to learn your place, human."

"I'm strapped to a table. I think I know my place."

"Let's double-check that..."

She reaches into her pocket and suddenly I'm thrashing harshly as electricity is sent shooting into me. After the longest five seconds ever, it stops. I'm left panting through my teeth and smoking faintly.

"Seems your tolerance is stronger than expected. Still...that should be enough to remind you to behave. Right, human?"

I want to defy her. I know I can. But the situation is not favoring me. She holds the power and knows it.

"*huff* Whatever."

She smiles and heads for the doorway.

"This will be interesting. That much is sure."

The door closes behind her and I sigh. Is it wrong that I miss the days of Papyrus beating me? Fuck my life. Okay...Time to make a plan.

[Meanwhile: The Ruins]

Fear. Fear is laced on the wind. Paternal fear of a mother for her child. When Toriel's voice was met by silence alarms went off. When she found the doors open when last she had shut them panic sank in. Her child's belongings were left behind, including the flower called brother. And one look at the snow beyond the door only added to her worry. The pristine snow was a disheveled mess. Footprints. In every and all direction. The worst part is the snowfall beginning to fill in the indents.

Searching.

Screaming.

Scanning for any clues as to where her child was. Yet she was lost. Second-guessing which set of tracks were the human's and uncertain if the ones she first picked were indeed the right ones. Scrambling, she picked another set and stuck to it. Swerving and swiveling through trees like dogs along a pole line. These tracks seemed hopeful enough. Stretching further into the distance than previous sets. At the rate she was headed, she would find herself in town and the location of the child would then follow suit. Just a little more. Just a bit further and then the real path shall be clear.

Yet...Why were the trees still constant?

The environment the same?

Where was this going?

...

The bridge.

These tracks made her head back towards home. Never faltering as they beelined for the bottomless pit. No deviation. No hesitation. Just clear forward motion to death. Her heart stopped. Everything stopped. She just stood there. Staring into the abyss. Contemplating just how deep or where it led. Could the human...did she...was this her fate? No...NO! There...There had to be a way to check. The...Oh! The phone! If she was in that pit or not, the ringing of that simple phone will provide her with answers.

[RING...]

She held that object muffled in her paws. Listening to the wind and anything at all.

But there was nothing. Simply the sound of snow landing on the world.

This...gave her hope. Hope touched the monster's soul for the first time in ages. Yet this begged the real question...Where is she? Perhaps some aid to this situation will be necessary. Seems like a visit to the town is in order.

[A cold walk later]

The hour is late. No one is out and about. Except for one. One that has very limited options at her disposal. In all their talks and jokes, Toriel never learned what Sans's house looked like. With a nervous lump in her throat, she approaches the bar and trembles as she knocks on the door of the obviously closed establishment. As one would guess there is no response. So she continues to knock, pressing with her urgency. After about five minutes of the most polite pounding on a door ever, a faint light approaches.

"*grumble* We're closed. Can't you read the sign?"

She ignores the annoyance due to the situation.

"Please, I need your help."

There's a pause. The door clambers open enough to show part of Grillby's face.

"M-Mrs. Dreemurr?"

"Forgive my rudeness. But I must speak to you about Lynsie."

"I didn't mean for it to be so big! It's just a hickey! I didn't hurt her, I swear!"

His defensive words confuse her and this makes the panicked man of flame become shamefully aware.

"You didn't know about that...Did you?"

Her eyes squint in judgmental frustration.

"I did not."

A small snort of steam comes out of her snout. Grillby, feeling like shit is going to end badly, slams the door in fear. Her own fear, overwriting her motherly rage, has her pounding on the door.

"Open this door!"

"I don't want to die!"

"Please! My daughter is missing!"

"...What?"

He opens the door fully now, knowing well the former queen would not lie about such a thing.

"She's missing?"

"Yes. I can not find her. Only footprints from many bodies."

She is surprised by the real concern coming to Grillby's face. He is quick to go for his phone but she shakes her head.

"I have already tried. She does not respond."

"Hmmm...This is sounding like an abduction. Has there been any notice left for you? A note? A call?"

She mopes.

"No. Nothing. I was hoping you might have a clue. Was there anything odd you noticed on your way home?"

He shakes his head.

"Unfortunately, no."

Her heart sinks. Seeing this has Grillby goes into support mode.

"Don't lose hope. We don't have much left. You know her better than I. She's prone to getting into trouble. But you know what?"

"What?"

"I know someone that can help. Just...Let me bundle up. If you can imagine, the cold and I..."

"Understood."

Grillby shuts the door and Toriel waits outside.

[Elsewhere: the Ruins]

"Ugh...my head..."

A dazed and delirious Flowey stirs in the dark confines of a bag. Unzipping a pack from the inside is bad enough, but doing so with leaves for hands is fucking ridiculous. And while hungover to boot. After some time, mixed with muffled swearing, the great escape is complete! The flower is free! Yet...Something is amiss. The bag he was contained in was not in the bedroom as he would have expected and the doors leading outside are wide open. This isn't right. It is time to ditch the pot and sink his roots into the ground to do some stealthy investigating. Covert flower style.

[Meanwhile: in Snowdin]

"Are you certain we will not be bothering them at such a late hour?"

"Don't worry about that, Mrs. Dreemurr. It's part of their job to deal with stuff like this. Plus, you're the Queen and they are in charge of looking after her. If they don't want to go through hell, they'll help."

"I hope so."

Grillby guilds Toriel the out of place house on the edge of town. Of course, they lived in a place like this. Why she expected different she didn't know. The curtains were closed yet glowed with the light of activity still going on inside. Muffled chuckling could be heard behind the walls. She recognized it easily...Sans.

"Sounds like someone's having a good time."

"Is it normal for others to be up still at such an hour?"

"Depends."

"Depends?"

"You know. Reasons. Some can't get these kinds of moments during day hours. Others just can't fall asleep all that well. Him? I think his reason is therapeutic. Ending the day on a laugh to forget all the bad stuff. But that's just my guess."

She pouts as he knocks on the door. Sans's puns when behind the Ruins exit were always on the borderline of being sad, she never thought much of it other than guessing the outside was just terrible. Now, learning more and more, she couldn't dismiss it as easily as before. But such thoughts are broken with the movement of the curtain and door opening seconds later to show the confused skeleton.

"what happened?"

Even with no word said, Sans is smart enough to know that their being here means nothing good.

"She's gone."

Sans's sockets widen.

"...get inside."

Further goading wasn't needed and once inside the door was locked much to the former queen's concern.

"now what do ya mean she's gone?"

"Not getting Papyrus? You know how he gets."

Sans sighs.

"fine...hey, pap! get your ass down here!"

A loud thud bangs the inside of a door upstairs.

"*MUFFLED* I TOLD YOU NOT TO BUG ME!"

"the queen's here! the human's gone!"

Rampant scuffling rushes to a door that is flung wildly open.

"SHE'S WHAT?!"

Toriel fiddles with her fingers.

"My child is missing. I believe someone has taken her."

Now in serious guard mode, Papyrus joins the group.

"ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT SOMEONE HAD THE GALL TO COMIT SUCH A BRAZEN ACT IN MY TERRITORY?!"

"what clues do you have that she didn't just pull a stupid stunt like last time?"

She swallows dryly.

"There were tracks. Lots of them. All scattered about the snow that were not there before. It looked like some person or persons were trying to make it as difficult as possible to distinguish what track lead where."

Papyrus growls lowly.

"SANS, CONFIRM THIS AND SEARCH FOR ANYTHING SHE MIGHT HAVE OVERLOOKED."

Sans nods and teleports out.

"Overlooked? I searched those woods for what felt like ages. I overlooked nothing."

"DO NOT TAKE IT AS AN INSULT. IN SITUATIONS OF PANIC, IT IS EASY TO MISS DETAILS. I AM MERELY CHECKING FOR THE BEST RESULTS. AND, AS LAZY AS MY BROTHER IS, HE HAS SHARP EYES. IF SOMETHING IS AMISS, HE WILL FIND IT."

"Awww..."

Grillby smirks.

"You actually complimented him. Shame he wasn't here to hear it."

Papyrus folds his arms and glares at the elemental.

"AND YOU'RE HERE, WHY?"

Grillby copies his pose except his expression is that of cocky smugness.

"I think any monster worth their dust would be man enough to care about what's happened to their girlfriend. Don't you?"

Papyrus opens his mouth to say a condescending remark but then doesn't due to his mind registering what was just said and putting things together now that it's clear.

"YOU...YOU! YOU'RE THE ONE HAVING THE INAPPROPRIATE RELATIONSHIP WITH THE ENEMY!"

"If you want to put it that way, yes."

"YOU'RE SICK."

"And loving it. What's your point?"

A weird energy could be felt between them as if they had something to say yet weren't, and it was making Toriel feel rather uncomfortable. Though part of her was miffed at Grillby for being too blatant about being with her daughter while she is present.

"YOU KNOW NOTHING GOOD WILL COME FROM MAKING YOURSELF SO VULNERABLE."

Of all the things Papyrus could've said, no one saw that coming. Yet Grillby takes it well.

"I've been spurned before. If it happens again, it won't sting so much."

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT."

This had the flaming man sneer and bite his tongue, holding back words that weren't ready to be said at this moment. Papyrus turns his attention to Toriel and she flinches.

"I NEED YOU TO TELL ME EVERYTHING."

She nods.

"Understood."

[Elsewhere: Snowdin forest]

The old lady wasn't kidding. The path outside of the Ruins looked like the frenzy made on kids the last day of school. The only difference was these tracks were randomly deliberate. Whoever made these wanted them to be seen. Not a thing normal folk do around here unless goading others into a trap. Following them would be pointless. They likely only go where they wanted them to go and covered up the real tracks. Bastard smugglers. They know what they're doing. Though someone was a little sloppy. A few stray drops of blood dot the tread of a couple of tracks. Who told them about a human being down here?

[RING]

Must be Papyrus. Maybe Toriel shared something helpful.

"sup."

"WHAT HAVE YOU FOUND SO FAR?"

Guess she didn't say much.

"not a lot. but from what's here, it looks like the work of the body snatchers."

"IN SNOWDIN? ARE YOU POSITIVE?"

Why would he not be?

"it's like the reports undyne briefed us on. a group goes about making distractions and cleans up the evidence made by the single soul doing the dirty work."

As if life down here isn't hard enough.

"ANY LEADS?"

Sans looks back towards the Ruins.

"her boot tread doesn't go past the exit door all that much and i found a few stray drops of blood. my guess is they laid her ass out with a sneak attack then carried her off. such active numbers couldn't have just got here all at once or it would be too noticeable."

"YES, IT'S POSSIBLE THEY WENT THERE ONE AT A TIME THROUGHOUT THE DAY AND HID TILL THE TIME WAS RIGHT."

"bet it helped that this was our worse day."

"TRUE. THESE PRICKS ARE CLEVER."

Is it really clever to take advantage of a missing worker and one too distracted to pay attention?

"don't praise them just yet. i might have an idea of where they come from."

"REALLY?"

"yeah. some moron decided to wear mtt brand shoes. you know? the expensive ones that have his likeness on the bottom."

"HMMM...MTT BRAND ITEMS AREN'T COMMON OUTSIDE OF HOTLAND. THERE'S NOT A LOT OF JOBS IN THE OTHER ZONES TO MAKE GOLD FROM."

"yeah. so either someone saved up for ages or we're looking at scum from hotland."

"YOU DON'T SUPPOSE ALPHYS IS INVOLVED?"

"Then what are you doing with the human? Because, frankly, it should've been sent to my lab by now."

"wouldn't surprise me. bitch knows about the human. and i've had the feeling she's been behind most of the reported disappearances. but you know undyne would never question it. thirsty fish bitch."

"IF TRUE, THEN THINGS ARE ABOUT TO GET VERY DIFFICULT."

"so...they told ya anything?"

"BOTH OF THEM REPORT NOTHING UNUSUAL LEADING UP TO THE HUMAN'S ABDUCTION. THOUGH THE QUEEN MENTIONED THE GIRL RECEIVING A PHONE CALL BEFORE SHE DISAPPEARED."

"a phone call?"

"THE QUEEN ALSO NOTES SHE HAS SEEN AN UNKNOWN NUMBER POP UP IN THE HUMAN'S PHONE. WOULD YOU HAPPEN TO KNOW ABOUT THIS?"

"can't say i do. it's not like she told me about..."

"Hell, you used Mettaton for that tile puzzle. The guy's been obsessive ever since seeing her. He hasn't stopped talking about being so close to the human since he came back from Snowdin Forest."

"It was Mettaton! He traced my phone number from the other night."

"It's Mettaton. He called me again. And you know that he knows what I am."

"*soft* BUT DID I JUST HEAR THAT SOMEONE IS LAYING THEIR NASTY HANDS ON MY HUMAN?"

The realization hits Sans like a brick to the skull.

"...*whisper* oh shit."

A faint ringing can be heard.

"HOLD ON. SOMETHING'S HAPPENING."

The soft voice of Toriel answers a random call, possibly from the kidnappers. But her worried tone quickly turns to excited hope and the word child is heard.

"COME HOME, SANS. YOU'LL BE NEEDED FOR RECOVERY EXTRACTION."

"got it. be there in a sec."

He hangs up and sighs. This was worse than he figured if Mettaton was indeed the culprit. Damn machine was the reason for a RESET on what was a peaceful timeline. Well, at least there are some things he can count on when it came to the human. The girl was no damsel in distress. He just hoped nothing triggered her soul to turn black. He teleports back home completely unaware of the flower spying on him the entire time and intends to follow to find out more.

[HOTLAND LAB: around the same time]

Alphys has left me alone for a good long time now. Letting me assess my surroundings and bonds. They're tight. While one of my wrists is slightly loose. It's a trap. A ploy. She wants me to try. To make an escape attempt. I can do it. The issue is what happens when I do. Probability is not on my side. A scientist of unknown IQ has my on their turf and has who knows what in the line of traps lined up for prey that it has studied for years. Mines. Turrets. Lasers. Gas. Flamethrowers. Swinging blades. Spike pits. Razor wire. Possibility is limitless. Yet the possibilities only worsen if I remain here. I hate double edge swords. Damned if do and don't. Argh...Fuck my life.

"*wince*"

Yanking my wrist through the restraint brings back memories of the skeleton's shed. Seems like this is my role in life. Getting taken and escape. So annoying. At least that damn thing didn't dislocate. I need to keep quiet. Though it's kinda pointless. I'm more than likely being monitored in some way. Still, my odds are better if I adhere to being paranoid and ninja my ass through this place. Belt restraints are effective but old fashioned and flawed, easy to get out of if you have a free hand. I'm free in less than a minute and rips the patch off. Medical or not, I don't like my soul being out. It makes this already messed up thing even more messed up. If my paranoia and overthinking brain are on point, then the door is most likely unlocked. There's probably even a set path I'll be forced on too. Drive the cattle to the slaughter, or so they say.

A light touch on the door has it open to a dimly lit hall. Totally giving off horror movie vibes. The air has a faint stale scent, this area most likely hasn't been active in a long time. The darkness makes the hall look exceptionally long. But down it I must travel and travel I do. My steps echo like I'm walking in an empty school. Giving me unease. Like, at any second, someone or something will pop out. I haven't felt so skittish since my middle school days dodging campus security to cut class and leave the building. I'm too on edge. A slight humming isn't helping my equilibrium either. Did she set up some sort of audio mind scrambler? Am I overthinking shit? It's a 50/50% on either at this point. So I change tactics. I run. If something happens it'll at least happen quickly.

Yet...I don't seem to be going anywhere. I pass countless doors without turning a corner. I must be going deeper into insanity or something isn't normal about it. It's almost like it's...

"Son of a whore!"

I stop and grab onto the edge of a door frame. Only for the floor and walls to pull me in two directions.

"A möbius strip? No...A treadmill. Very sneaky either way. Almost didn't catch on if it weren't for that humming getting louder when I ran. Heh...Willing to bet the motor is basic and can't push past its standard limits. Which means..."

I start running backward, the hum grinding loudly as momentum builds before stopping and allowing the convener to drag me in the direction I was headed before.

"You can't correct the way it moves until it slows down to the bare minimum speed."

I ride the out of control road up to where a door, unlike the rest, becomes noticeable, this thing has a knob. Flinging it open and jumping out saves me from that dumb endless hall. One annoying trap beat. Who knows how many more to go. At least this area looks normal enough. It's open, much like a normal living space, but it's not that exactly. The interior is faint red. There are two floors, the ground floor is what looks like a workplace and the second floor is a more personal space. I'm on the second floor.

"The hell...?"

The door behind me shuts itself, sealing to blend with the wall and its knob covered by a decorative mask of an angry looking cat-girl. Everything up here seems out of place and clearly belongs in some oddball bedroom. Beside me are five fully stocked bookcases containing all sorts of things. Alphys's obsessions and hobbies, comics, anime figures, an ice cream machine, unopened letters, etc. litter her room. It's honestly very creepy. Especially the wall posters of that same angry cat-girl that have eyes that follow you. I bumpy slide down the escalator handrail, not trusting the walkway to not be a trap, and feel instant unease once my feet touch the tile floor. On the ground floor, there is a large screen that's probably been used to monitor me, a fridge with a supply of instant noodles, a messy desk with her computer surrounded by odd instruments, and a washroom. This place is creepy. Where's the exit?

*RUMBLE*

The building shakes faintly though the sound was rather loud.

*RUMBLE*

It feels like it's moving...closer?

*RUMBLE*

*RUMBLE*

*RUMBLE*

*RUMBLE*

"The hell is going on?"

The lights suddenly go out. All is very still. Till...something explodes and sends into what I guess is a wall.

"SURPRISE!"

The lights come back on and reveal Mettaton, who is now posing after bursting through a different wall.

"SUCH A FABULOUS AND RANDOM ENTRANCE. DON'T YOU THINK SO, DARLING? HUH...DARLING?"

I am less than happy shoving rubble off of me.

"Unnecessary and overly flashy. Yep...That's a Mettaton entrance alright."

"TOO MUCH?"

I dust myself off.

"Just a tad. Though, I'll give you points for it being memorable."

"BUT IF GIVEN THE CHANCE TO RATE IT?"

"Um...7 out of 10."

"HMMM...NOTE TO SELF, NEXT TIME ADD FIREWORKS AND LASERS."

Is it cute that he's trying to be cool?

"So...Is being whacked with a bat your way of saying I was taking too long to get here? Or is that how you treat all your fans?"

His screen flashes.

"OH! NO. THAT WAS MORE OF AN IMPROVISATION ON BURGERPANTS'S PART. I DO HOPE YOU CAN OVERLOOK MY POOR JUDGEMENT IN HIS COMPETENCE."

I rub my head.

"I'll give you a pass this time. Mainly because I'm thick-skulled. But no more headshots. It sucks being unconscious so often."

"FAIR ENOUGH, DEAR."

"Well, you got me here. Caused a little trouble maybe? So now what? What does a bot like you want from little ol' me?"

"OH, DARLING...WHERE TO BEGIN?"

He rolls over to me and my creep vibes are tingling. Especially when two of his four hands start posing my arms and the other two cup my face.

"AMAZING. I'M ACTUALLY IN THE PRESENCE OF A REAL LIVING HUMAN. I'VE HEARD STORIES AND SEEN FOOTAGE, BUT I NEVER THOUGHT I'D EVER GET...TO TOUCH...YOU."

What the...? Why is he saying that in such a captivating tone of voice? And why is it making feel like a dumb cliché girl? I thought Alphys fixed my soul's emotional sensitivity? I shake it off. Now's not the time for this.

"Getting a bit handsy don't you think?"

I usually save that joke when talking about Gaster, but this fits the situation too. His screen blanks for a moment at my playful voice, though I feel stupid on the inside, before flickering randomly and he lets me go.

"MY APOLOGIES. I LET MY EXCITEMENT GET THE BETTER OF ME. PLEASE...FORGIVE MY ILL BEHAVIOR."

It's so hard to get a read on him. His TV self and off-camera self are like night and day. I don't know if I can drop my guard around him just yet. This isn't normal. I'm out of my element and still dealing with lots of unknowns. Better to play safe than end up sorry...or dead. I sigh and clap my hands.

"Be kind, let's rewind."

A "?" appears on his screen while I offer my hand to him.

"Howdy, Mettaton. It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Lynsie."

He's confused, that much is certain. Though it's short-lived as he swoons dramatically and falls into my arms. Dear lord! He's heavy! Must be the junk needed to work those four arms.

"MY GOODNESS. AFTER BEING TREATED SO RUDELY, YOU CHARM ME WITH A SIMPLE GREETING? OH, WHAT MARVELOUS CHEMISTRY! I KNEW YOU'D BE PERFECT FOR THIS."

I knew there was something sketchy. I drop him.

"Once again, I encounter the creature known as selfish d-bag. I'm going home."

Not sure where the exit is but I walk away from him anyway. He, of course, scrambles to get us and zips in front to block my path.

"NO, NO, NO, DARLING. YOU HAVE IT ALL WRONG. PLEASE DON'T BE SO HASTY TO LEAVE."

"Then to prevent my irritated departure you must answer me these questions three. Doing so truthfully will have you see me remaining here with thee. But...if deception is sensed, then you shall be cast into the Gorge of Eternal Peril. But since it's under renovations, I'll resort to smacking you instead."

God, I'm a nerd. Like he, or anyone else down here, knows Monty Python and the Holy Grail. However, the idea of a game seems to excite him.

"A Q&A? OH, DARLING, DO ASK AWAY. MY ANSWERS WILL SURELY BE THE STUFF YOU LONG TO HEAR."

I hold up a finger.

"First question...What are your plans for me since you have me here?"

His top set of hands twiddles their fingers while the bottom hands move as one does when dramatically speaking creatively.

"MY PLANS? OH, NOTHING MUCH REALLY."

I cock my eyes.

"Mind telling me what exactly what that is?"

"DO YOU WANT THAT TO BE YOUR SECOND QUESTION?"

I sneer.

"No. But you're not doing this right."

"HOW SO?"

"While you technically answered the question, you did so in the laziest and non-informative way."

"VERY WELL. I SHALL BE MORE INFORMATIVE WITH MY NEXT ANSWER."

"Thank you."

A second finger is put out.

"Second question...Nothing weird happened while I was unconscious, right?"

"*GASP* DARLING! THAT IS VULGAR OF THE HIGHEST DEGREE! WHILE I SHALL ADMIT..."

His hands cup my face and hold my shoulders.

"SEEING SUCH A HAPLESS FLOWER LIKE YOURSELF BE BROUGHT HERE. HURT AND UNRESPONSIVE. A LESSER MONSTER WOULD BE TEMPTED TO DO ALL SORTS OF THINGS. FORBIN THINGS. ANYTHING WOULD BE ON THE TABLE. LIMITED ONLY BY IMAGINATION..."

His voice is different. Completely monotone. All too personal. A shiver trembles down my neck. He lets the hands drop from my face but not the shoulders.

"BUT I AM NOT LIKE THOSE WEAKLINGS. I KNOW BETTER THAN TO PLUCK A FLOWER BEFORE IT BLOSSOMS. AND OURS IS ONE THAT IS JUST STARTING TO BUD."

I hate so much right now.

"DARLING?"

"Too much info."

"WELL, YOU DID ASK FOR MORE."

"Then...*sigh*...Never mind."

"AND YOUR THIRD QUESTION?"

My third? Oh! Oh shit!

"Yeah, my third question...Did you or your goon bother to inform Toriel of this impromptu adventure/kidnapping in a way that won't result in property damage/loss of life?"

"WELL..."

Big red flag warning! Fuck being nice! serious time!

"Where's my phone?"

"HUH?"

"I know it's not on me. Do you think I can't tell if there's suddenly no weight in my baggy pockets? Now if you want to escape death at her hands or mine, please...Hand it over."

He throws his hands up.

"DARLING I DON'T..."

*Bang*

He is surprised by the sudden strike.

"Don't make me do that again. Now, please, give me my phone."

"I PROMISE, DARLING, I DON'T HAVE IT."

I want to hit him again, but my throbbing hand is screaming. Change of plans.

"Give me your phone."

"W-WHAT? WHY?"

"Don't make me break my hand in repeating myself."

He rumbles and a phone shoots out of a port on his side.

"YOU ARE SCARY WHEN SERIOUS. HERE."

"Thank you."

I reach for it and he pulls back.

"AH AH AH. FIRST, A LITTLE PROMISE. YOU CAN USE THIS, BUT THEN YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING FOR ME."

I growl in building annoyance.

"WELL? THE CLOCK IS TICKING."

I don't have time for this crap.

"...Fine."

He giggles and hands it to me. I scroll through his past calls. My number appears under some others all marked as SLAVE #...I guess he fits in down here more than I thought. Metal boss from hell. My phone could be with any of the goons so I thank my lucky stars that Toriel's number is burned into my head. Time to brace for impact.

[Snowdin: Skeleton House in present time]

Sans returns home in the kitchen, needing a drink to replenish his magic if he's to teleport any more tonight. He steps into the room to see the other three all trying to listen to the small phone at once. Guessing they are too focused to remember phones have an intercom function.

"Child where are you? Are you hurt?"

"A little sore, but otherwise okay."

Oh...never mind then. They're just being weird.

"As for the where I assume this is the Lab in Hotland. *muffled* There are no other labs in the Underground, right?"

"*faint* THAT'S CORRECT, DARLING."

The electronic voice is recognized by all except Toriel.

"Young one, who is that with you?"

"Would you believe a robotic TV star?"

"*faint* OH, DARLING, YOU FLATTER ME."

"Make that a robotic TV star with an ego bigger than Papyrus's."

"FUCK YOU, HUMAN."

Papyrus interrupts.

"Oh wow. I expected this but had my doubts Nanny would actually do it. Who else is there?"

"You had us worried, pussycat."

There's a pause.

"Don't tell me you thought he took me?"

Toriel laughs nervously.

"*groan* Mom..."

"ENOUGH WITH THE CHIT CHAT. ARE YOU ABLE TO LEAVE ON YOUR OWN OR NOT?"

"Hmmm...As far as I know, I'm able to go. But I have to do something for Mettaton first."

"Why?"

"I had to promise to do a favor to use his phone. Mine might be in the hands of some goon."

"What is it you have to do?"

"That's a good question. *muffled* Yo, what's this thing I have to do?"

"*faint* NOTHING TOO DIFFICULT. I JUST NEED YOU TO BE YOURSELF FOR THE NEXT...OH...LET'S SAY TWO HOURS."

"*muffled* What?"

"*faint* I THINK IT WOULD BE EASIER TO UNDERSTAND IF YOU TELL YOUR FRIENDS TO TURN ON THE TELEVISION."

The mood shifts ominously.

"*muffled* You can't mean what I think you mean."

"*faint* GO ON. TELL THEM."

"Uh...Turn on the TV?"

Sans grabbed the remote before the other could scramble and with a heavy feeling in his soul hits the on the button. The screen comes alive to a timer counting down. The caption above reading "Live Once In a Lifetime Event Special". The timer has less than five minutes remaining. Panic strikes. Papyrus steals the phone.

"GET OUT OF THERE, HUMAN!"

"Okay, ow, my ears are bleeding."

Grillby snatches the phone.

"Lynsie, you need to get out of there. You're being set up to appear on TV."

The next sound the group hears is the phone clattering to the floor and sprinting feet hitting tile flooring. Other sounds can be heard. Mechanical and aggressive sounds. Then...the line goes dead.

"SANS, GO GET..."

"i can't."

"What? Why not?"

"all she said was she's at the lab. do you know how big that place is? i need to know exactly where or i'm just wasting magic."

"But, Sans, you promised me you would..."

"i know tori, i ain't forgetting it. i don't want her exposed to the underground either. trust me on that. but i can't just poof to a secured building. alphys is probably expecting interference. and trust me, it's not a good thing to just pop in with no quick plan to get out."

Suddenly the TV begins beeping. The timer clocking down the remaining ten seconds. And all they could do was watch and wait. At the timer's end, the screen darkens to black before a flashy title screen appears while glam-rock plays. The image then cuts to live footage in a weird game show looking room and then...

"GREETINGS ALL YOU BITCHES AND BASTARDS. WELCOME TO A VERY SPECIAL EVENING OF ENTERTAINMENT. TO START THINGS OFF...A QUIZ SHOW!"

Mettaton flamboyantly parades around.

"BUT WAIT. WHAT MAKES THIS SPECIAL THAT IT WARRANTS LIVE BROADCASTING? WELL, YOU INGRATES, IT'S BECAUSE WE HAVE A GUEST THAT'S GOING TO BE WORTH WATCHING. ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE OUR LEADING LADY...THE ONE THE ONLY..."

The camera jumps to a stand where a spotlight illuminates onto the bound and gagged human. Arms restrained behind her back and ankles cuffed to the floor.

"THE HUMAN!"

Her glare is full of rage and the beastly noises escaping the gag as she trashes in the binds make her look as dangerous as the humans of old.

"THAT'S RIGHT, A REAL LIVING HUMAN. YOU MIGHT BE QUESTIONING THE AUTHENTICITY OF THIS CLAIM. YET I ASSURE YOU, SHE IS THE REAL DEAL."

One of his hands stretches out towards her. She recoils from the grasping appendage but she can't move from the metal hand that proceeds to taser at the chest. The pain makes her screech and her light blue soul briefly emerges. Upon seeing the heart, Mettaton stops the attack.

"AS YOU CAN SEE, HER SOUL IS CLEARLY THAT OF A HUMAN'S. SHE IS 100% HUMAN AND NOT CGI OR SOMEONE IN CUSTOM. FOR NOT EVEN THE GREATEST ACTOR OR SPECIAL EFFECTS CAN MAKE A HUMAN SOUL. AND DEFINITELY NOT ONE SO LOVELY."

The assaulting hand tease touches where the soul came from and the human cringes. Though she's not the only one. Toriel is appalled and Grillby is fuming.

"OH BOY! I CAN ALREADY TELL IT'S GONNA BE A GREAT SHOW! EVERYONE GIVE A BIG HAND FOR OUR WONDERFUL CONTESTANT!"

All four of his hands clap as he moves over to podium across from her.

"I TAKE IT YOU'VE NEVER PLAYED BEFORE, GORGEOUS?"

She huffs loudly through her nose.

"NO PROBLEM! IT'S SIMPLE! THERE'S ONLY ONE RULE. ANSWER CORRECTLY...OR YOU DIE!"

Mettaton laughs evilly yet the human rolls her eyes. The others look to Sans again.

"don't look at me. i have no clue where that room is."

Their attention goes back to the screen as the Fair Fight Field actives as if they were in battle.

[METAL CRUSHER begins to play in the background.]

[Mettaton attacks!]

"YOUR MOVE, DARLING. YOU GET ONE FREE TURN BEFORE WE START."

The girl weighs her limited options.

[FIGHT]

[ACT]

[̴͝SP͜͞E͡L̵͜L͟͠͏]͘͢

[ITEM]

[MERCY]

Her confusion is warranted. An unknown option could lead to bad things.

[ACT selected.]

[New options available.]

[CHECK]

[CRY]

She huffs and makes a choice.

[CHECK selected.]

[Mettaton – HP: 9999 ATK: 300 DEF: 999 – His metal body renders him invulnerable to attack.]

Her eyes nearly bug out of her head.

"NOT A BAD FIRST MOVE, DEAR. IT'S NEVER BAD TO CHECK ME OUT."

A screen mounted behind him blinks on.

"LET'S START WITH AN EASY ONE!"

A question appears on the screen.

[What's the prize for answering correctly?]

A) Money

B) Death

C) Freedom

D) More questions

Four buttons pop up on her stand.

"CHOOSE CORRECTLY OR BE MET WITH TERRIBLE PAIN."

The look she has is one filled with hate. Yet she complies and presses the D button with her chin. A pleasant fanfare goes off.

"RIGHT! SOUNDS LIKE YOU GET IT! HERE'S YOUR TERRIFIC PRIZE!"

Her turn is skipped due and the screen puts up another question.

"What sort of crap is this?"

Grillby interjects.

"Her turn was skipped. How is that even possible?"

Toriel ponders.

"leave it to that quack to figure out a way to break the rules."

Sans says between drinks.

[What's the king's full name?]

A) Lord Deathbeard

B) Killer Killington

C) Asgore Dreemurr

D) Krampus

The human quickly presses the C button and the fanfare goes off again.

"CORRECT! WHAT A TERRIFIC ANSWER! ARE YOU SURE YOU'VE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE?"

She nods.

"ENOUGH ABOUT YOU. LET'S TALK ABOUT ME!"

She groans as the screen brings up another question.

[What are robots made of?]

A) Hopes&Dreams

B) Metal&Magic

C) Blood&Guts

D) Hate&Spite

She pops her neck and presses the B button. Once more the fanfare plays. This time Mettaton gets some attitude.

"TOO EASY FOR YOU, HUH?"

She shrugs.

"WELL THEN...HERE'S ANOTHER EASY ONE FOR YOU "

[Two trains, Train A, and Train B, simultaneously depart Station A and Station B. Station A, and Station B are 252.5 miles apart from each other. Train A is moving at 124.7mph towards Station B, and Train B is moving at 253.5mph towards Station A. If both trains departed at 10:00 AM and it is now 10:08, how much longer until both trains pass each other?]

A) 31.054 minutes

B) 16.232 minutes

C) 32.049 minutes

D) 32.058 minutes

She's hesitant now. Her eyes hold uncertainty.

"Oh no..."

Toriel mutters.

"We have yet to go over such math lessons."

"THEN SHE BETTER BE A GOOD GUESSER."

The human's eyes dart from button to button. She has no clue. She picks one at random...A. A buzzer goes off.

"WRONG! WRONG! WROOOOOOOONG!"

Mettaton points at her and fires a laser blast into her left shoulder. If it weren't for the gag her cries would be excruciating.

[HP ██████████████████████████ 26/36]

She pants, biting the gag to brace some of the pain.

Toriel is understandably horrified and Grillby is worried. Though Sans and Papyrus are impressed.

"SHE'S GOTTEN TOUGHER."

"the is no pushover. the tin can is gonna learn that the hard way."

"SORRY, DARLING. BUT THE CORRECT ANSWER WAS D. MAYBE YOU'LL HAVE BETTER LUCK WITH THE NEXT QUESTION. THEN AGAIN...DON'T 'COUNT' ON YOUR VICTORY."

The next question pops up.

[How many eyes are in this jar?]

An image appears for a split second.

A) 54

B) 53

C) 55

D) 52

Not given much time to study the image, she once more has to guess.

"What kind of game is this? She is not being given a fair play."

Toriel complains.

"ACTUALLY, AS WRONG AS IT LOOKS, HE IS FOLLOWING THE LAW."

Papyrus corrects.

"You must be joking."

"he's not. one of the laws enforced after you left the king was to stop humans at all costs while giving them some form of a chance. the tin can is giving her multiple choices and only inflicting minimal damage. if he wanted to, he could just off her right there."

Explains Sans.

"As much as I don't like it, it makes sense. With one soul remaining to break the barrier extremes are bound to be made to get it. For what is the life of one human when held next to the entire Underground?"

Grillby comments and Toriel frowns. Even she sees the point in that. But that does mean she likes it.

The human contemplates her choices and seems to do a mental coin flip before pressing the D button. This time, the buzzer sounds.

"COMPLETELY UTTERLY WRONG!"

Mettaton blasts her again in the right shoulder and her roar is bloodcurdling.

[HP ████████████████ 16/36]

The bloody gaping holes in her shoulders make her slump over against the stand. She won't last much longer if this keeps up.

"THE CORRECT ANSWER WAS A. YOU MIGHT WANT TO TRY HARDER FROM HERE ON."

An annoyed groan was her reply.

"HMMM...MAYBE YOU NEED SOMETHING ELSE. LET'S PLAY A MEMORY GAME."

The screen produces a new question and image.

[What monster is this?]

The monster shown is half of a Froggit's face.

A) Froggit

B) Whimsun

C) Moldsmal

D) Mettaton

This one seems like a no-brainer yet the human seems unsure. Mostly because blood loss makes it hard to think.

"WHY IS SHE HESITATING? THE ANSWER IS CLEARLY A."

Papyrus bitches.

"Really? You think it's that easy?"

Grillby retorts.

"THEN WHAT DO YOU THINK IT IS?"

"I'm surprised you do see it. It's obviously D."

"BULL CRAP. I BET YOU 10G IT'S A."

"Fine. Just don't be upset when you're wrong."

After thinking long and hard about the question, the human presses the D button. The fanfare plays.

"I'M SO FLATTERED YOU REMEMBERED! LET'S TAKE A LOOK AT THE WHOLE IMAGE."

The picture unfolds to reveal Mettaton wearing a shirt with a Froggit's face on it.

Papyrus's jaw clenches as Grillby folds his hands behind his head with a smug attitude.

"You need to listen to pussycat more often. She did say he had an ego bigger than yours."

"FUCK YOU."

"Just pay me by week's end."

Papyrus grumbles while turning back to the TV.

"YOU'VE BEEN ON A ROLL SO FAR. BUT CAN YOU GET THIS ONE?"

The screen brings up a new and rather odd question.

[Would you smooch a ghost?]

A) Heck Yeah

B) Heck Yeah

C) Heck Yeah

D) Heck Yeah

The human and the watching group all share the say "what the fuck" look.

"GO ON. CONSIDER THIS AN ACT OF MERCY."

She sneers and reluctantly presses the B button. With no wrong choice to make, the fanfare plays.

"GREAT ANSWER! I LOVE IT!"

A steaming Grillby hates it.

"HERE'S A SIMPLE ONE."

The screen pops up the next question.

[How many letters in the name Mettaton?]

A) 11

B) 6

C) 8

D) 10

A relatively easy question except for the number of Ns at the name's end increases and eventually goes out of the screen with the numbers in the answers increasing accordingly.

"How in the world do you answer that?"

Toriel puzzles.

"it's c."

Sans says softly to the confusion of the others.

"for a second, the real numbers were there. c had eight, which is the right answer regardless of the increasing."

"Here's hoping she saw that too."

Says Grillby while adjusting his glasses.

The human is beginning to look paler than normal. The strain on her body and mind making things difficult. She wearily presses the C button, mainly due to landing on it after a slight dizzy spell, and the fanfare plays.

"OF COURSE THAT WAS EASY FOR YOU!"

She grunts against the stand, pushing herself to keep going even as her body wants her to stop.

"Come on, pussycat. You can hold out just a bit longer."

Grillby says to himself before flinching at the feel of Toriel's hand holding his. She gives him a motherly smile and it helps calm his nerves for now.

"YOU'LL BE SURE TO KNOW THE ANSWER TO THIS ONE!"

The screen pops up another random question.

[What's a pretzel's favorite color?]

A) Black

B) Yellow

C) Red

D) Dusk

This had to be one of the odder questions to be done though tame. The human wastes no time picking a button. Either to end it faster or knowing it, who's to say. But her head thuds onto the B button and the fanfare plays.

"CORRECT! YOU'RE SO LUCKY TODAY!"

The amount of blood pooling on the floor says otherwise.

"TIME TO BREAK OUT THE BIG GUNS! HERE IS YOUR FINAL QUESTION."

The screen shows the question.

[How bright is this text?]

A) 85% Bright

B) 84% Bright

C) 86% Bright

D) 83% Bright

This made little sense. The question text was the same color as all other questions. How was this even answerable to her when she can hardly even look up at the screen?

The group is just as confused. How do you tell the percentage of brightness to text?

Though after some time of no movement from the human, Mettaton rolls around his podium.

"DARLING? ARE YOU ABLE TO MAKE A CHOICE?"

A tired moan drones out of the gag.

"TELL YOU WHAT, I'LL BE NICE AND HELP YOU OUT."

Mettaton zips over to the slumped over human.

"MY MY. SUCH A MESS YOU'VE MADE BACK HERE. GOOD THING NO MESS IS TOO BIG FOR MTT BRAND INDUSTRIAL CLEANER. IN STORES NOW."

The robot plugs his latest product in the middle of a show...real classy.

"what a jackass."

Scoffs Sans.

The other soundly agree.

"OKAY, DEAR, ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS STARE AT THE BUTTON YOU WANT TO ANSWER FOR AND I SHALL PUSH IT FOR YOU."

She tilts her head and stares.

"IS C YOU'RE FINAL ANSWER?"

She exhales long and loud through her nose.

"I'LL TAKE THAT AS A YES."

He unnecessarily extends his arm in a twisty and bendy way before pushing the C button. However...Buzzer sounds.

"OH BOY, THAT'S EMBARRASSING, HUH?"

This time he blasts through her right leg making her buckle in pain to the crimson soaked floor.

[HP ██████ 06/36]

[Background music briefly pauses in silence]

"WELL WELL WELL. THAT SETTLES THAT, DOESN'T IT?"

To much befuddlement, Mettaton proceeds to remove the restraints and gag from the broken girl.

"*weak* W-What are you doing?"

"SUCH A SILLY QUESTION. IF YOU DIE THE SHOW HAS NO DRAMATIC TENSION! WE CAN'T GO ON LIKE THIS!"

She's in no position to fight this or wants to. He collects her from the ground and seems to gently hold her in two of his arms. So much red coats just about everything. He then addresses one of the many hidden cameras in the room.

"I KNOW WHAT YOU ALL MIGHT BE THINKING. BUT METTATON, WHY AREN'T YOU GOING TO KILL THE HUMAN? YOU CLEARLY HAVE THE CHANCE. TO THAT I SAY, NO. SHE WON THIS GAME. AND THEREFORE, SHE PROCEEDS TO THE NEXT ROUND OF OUR LITTLE GAME. THAT'S RIGHT! THIS WAS JUST THE FIRST ACT! NEXT UP, MORE DRAMA! MORE ROMANCE! MORE BLOODSHED! STAY TUNED, LOSERS...! NOW IF YOU'LL EXCUSE ME...THIS LOVELY LADY NEEDS TO HEAL. WE'LL BE RIGHT BACK AFTER THESE COMMERCIAL MESSAGES."

The broadcast fades into commercials. The four of them are left with more questions than answers. But at least one thing is going in their favor. Mettaton wants to keep her alive. Perhaps in the next show, she'll appear in a location that's more recognizable and rescue can be done before anyone else tries to get her. Though the four of them weren't the only ones watching the show. A small indent in the window and ground below were all the tells of the sneaky flower. His mission now clear. Save his sister.

[Hotland Lad: Medical Room]

Alphys finishes setting up life-support systems by the time Mettaton wheels in with the now very near dead human.

"Put her here."

He need not be told twice.

"Some first act. She's almost dead."

Less of a reprimand and more of a statement by Alphys while she begins plugging the human into the machines.

"I WAS WORRIED NEAR THE END. HAD SHE MISSED ANOTHER QUESTION I MIGHT HAVE NEEDED TO GO OFF SCRIPT. MAIN CHARACTERS CAN'T DIE SO EARLY IN THE SHOW."

"You're just lucky I can fix this."

"WILL SHE NEED LONG TO HEAL?"

Alphys sticks in an IV drip and taps it for bubbles.

"Don't rush this. Your blast, while clean, went through a lot of muscle and bone. Not to mention all the blood that'll need to refill. That kind of stuff will need longer to repair."

"BUT...WE CAN'T JUST LEAVE COMMERCIALS GOING TILL THEN."

The annoyed scientist shoots him a look.

"Then I guess you need some filler till then."

Mettaton cringes.

"FILLER?! SUCH A DIRTY WORD. WHAT WOULD IT EVEN BE?"

"How about you figure that out elsewhere? I need to work. Or do you want this to take longer?"

That had him speeding away as she then shouts.

"And clean up all this blood! This is a lab! Not a butcher shop!"

She was unsure he heard all that but focused on monitoring the human.

"*sigh* You are so lucky I'm bored or you'd be under my knife right now."

The human involuntarily twitches, earning a smirk from the spectacle-wearing lizard.

"Maybe you'll heal sooner than expected."

Oh, how she enjoyed her work.

[youcancallmecirce]

Avatar AU, The Lost Firebender Ch. 6: Before the Ice

An interlude relating the story of Zuko's early life.

Ch 1 * Ch 2 * Ch 3 * Ch 4 * Ch 5 * Ch 6 on AO3

Zuko had never been his father’s favorite.  He’d never had a chance, as that role had already been filled when Zuko was born.  Azulon, first born son of Fire Lord Sozin,  was a bending prodigy, a tactical genius, and a natural born leader who would do what was necessary for the good of the Fire Nation.  Azulon was the perfect son-- had been the perfect son for ten years already-- and Zuko would never, ever compare.

Still, he might have at least gained acceptance had he not shown himself to be thoughtful, compassionate, and utterly unmotivated to master his bending.  

Sozin believed that these behaviors were a result of the Fire Lady’s cosseting, so he heavily restricted the time that they spent together when Zuko was quite young.  Instead, Sozin put Zuko in training with his brother.  Teaching Zuko would be a useful experience for the future Fire Lord, and hopefully, Azulon would kindle an appropriate level of fire and ambition in Zuko.

This strategy was successful, but only to a point.  Under his brother’s tutelage, Zuko quickly developed an interest in his bending.  Pain was a powerful motivator, as Sozin had so often remarked, and Azulon was not reticent about employing that particular tool.  Even more effective than the threat of pain was the never-kept promise of approval.  

Azulon touted his own successes in the course of each lesson, and held himself up as the standard to meet.  If only Zuko could perform a task as well as Azulon could, he would prove himself worthy of his family line and and finally earn his father’s approval.  In this way, Azulon inspired a deep competitiveness in his younger brother, but as he had no idea how to nurture that competitive drive, Zuko was taught to believe that he was inherently inferior rather than inspired to improve.  

Azulon, for his part, liked the arrangement no more than Zuko did.  He chafed at the necessity of working with his ‘deficient, useless baby brother’, and felt that his time would be far better spent pursuing his own studies or commanding his own unit of Fire Nation Soldiers, or even working on the clandestine munitions program, developing and testing weapons and equipment for the rapidly growing army.  He was wasted on his brother.

The situation came to a head when Zuko was 13.  

His temper, which had always been short-fused, ignited at last and he attacked his brother outside the sparring ring.  

Azulon, of course, was able to deflect him easily, but the damage was done.  Zuko had behaved without honor and would have to face the consequences of his actions: he would have to face his brother in an Agni-Kai.  

This was enough to make Zuko quake with fear.  Azulon, now 23, was a Fire Master in his own right,  but Zuko had grown to hate his brother and a large part of him relished the opportunity to truly fight him.  He prepared for the Agni-Kai with the same determination he brought to all things, only to discover that he wouldn’t be fighting his brother after all.

His behavior had been an insult to his entire line, and he would therefore be fighting its head: Firelord Sozin himself.

Zuko begged for mercy.  He did not have the hatred of his brother to insulate him from the reality of the fight, and his father frightened him infinitely more than his brother did.

“You will fight for your honor,” Sozin said,  his voice cold and hard.

Zuko sank to his knees and bent his forehead to the floor.  “I meant you no disrespect, Father,” Zuko cried.  “I am your loyal son.”

“Rise and fight, Prince Zuko!” Sozin snapped, losing what little patience he possessed.

Zuko rose to sit back on his heels, and stared beseechingly at his father.  “I won’t fight you,” he said.  

“You will learn respect,” Sozin snarled, “and suffering will be your teacher!”  

Roku looked away, unable to watch as the Firelord struck his son.  The scent of burnt flesh filled the air only a moment after Zoku’s agonized scream.

Roku was Sozin’s senior Firesage, and as such, attended council meetings to serve as Sozin’s advisor on matters of spirituality.   He had never liked Sozin, yet his position was a precarious one; he sought to temper the Firelord’s cruel reign in small ways, but was careful  not to overstep himself.  He certainly never revealed his personal feelings regarding the Firelord.  If he wanted to maintain his role in the royal house, even his very life, he had to remain in Sozin’s good graces.

For this reason, he had always felt a kinship with the younger Prince. It pained him to see the boy suffer at the hand’s of his family but there was little he could do to prevent it.  Zuko had grown into an angry, conflicted child with a burning desire to prove himself yet no hope of ever actually doing so.  Each day, the shining spirit of the very small boy he had been before tarnish just a little bit more.

 “Even if he’d been born first,” Sozin had said more than once in the boy’s presence, “Azulon would still be the next Firelord.”

Zuko no longer reacted visibly to that comment, offered as it always was as a statement of simple fact rather than an insult to the child, but Roku had no doubt that it cut the boy deeper each time he heard it.

And each time, Roku could sense the boy burying himself deeper within a callous shell of indifference.

Now, at last, Roku could watch no longer.  He decided to attempt the one solution that actually had a chance of succeeding: he volunteered to take on the remainder of Zuko’s training, to keep him from disgracing himself and their family further, and to attempt to help the boy regain his honor.

Roku feared that he had indeed overstepped himself when he proposed this idea to the Firelord.  It had taken him several minutes to respond, and during that time even the self-possessed Roku had begun to sweat.  Sozin was unpredictable at best; chaotically cruel at worst.  

To his relief, Sozin welcomed the suggestion.  “That pup is a disgrace,” Sozin had said from behind his concealing wall of fire.  “But he is still a Prince of the Fire Nation and must be treated as such.  You are of sufficiently elevated status as to be an appropriate mentor for him, and I trust you as I do not trust anyone else to give him the kind of education he requires.”

Roku wasn’t sure that was actually a good thing--did the Firelord expect him to be as brutal as Azulon?--but he was pleased with the outcome of that audience, regardless.  

Roku had Zuko’s things transferred to the Firesages’ wing of the palace immediately, and personally assumed the oversight of his recovery.

Zuko’s face had been badly burned; a grotesque scar was inevitable, and the healers feared that he would ultimately lose his left eye as well.  Roku did everything in his power to ensure that he did not.

They kept him sedated through the worst of it, both to spare him the pain of it and to prevent him from doing more damage by accident.  He set an acolyte the task of combing through the library at the temple, to glean every available scrap of information about healing, and made sure that the healers made use of the information.  It was a slow process, but the boy did heal without infection, and without losing the use of his left eye.

Zuko, when he was allowed to wake and learn of his new circumstances, resisted the change.  He felt that he’d received a demotion, and therefore an insult, in being given to Roku.  He perceived an even greater insult when Roku informed him that his bending lessons were to be suspended indefinitely, and replaced with traditional martial arts and blade work.

Sozin and Azulon were of the same opinion, and Azulon in particular made sure that Zuko knew it.   Zuko would have to earn the right to resume his firebending instruction, they said, since it had been his firebending that he’d used to attack his brother.

That was not at all Roku’s reasoning, but he let the misunderstanding stand.  He wanted the Firelord to mistake his motives.  It gave him more freedom to teach the boy as he saw fit.

Zuko had been all but paralyzed in his bending as a result of his brother’s cruelty and his father’s brutal attack.  Roku knew that if the boy were ever to overcome that, he would first need to learn confidence in a completely different arena. 

They began with tai chi to re-strengthen Zuko’s convalescent body, and to lay the groundwork for the intense discipline he would soon need.  

Zuko hated it.

“This is for children, and old men,” he shouted after losing his balance yet again.  “Azulon said that it’s useless to a warrior!”

“Azulon is no longer your mentor.” Roku said placidly, continuing with the exercise.  “Again.”

Zuko growled in frustration, but did as he was told.  Roku, he had learned, would not beat him as Azulon had done, but was inexorable in his teaching.  To resist him was an exercise in maddening futility.

In time, Zuko came to enjoy the slow, intent movements of their daily tai chi exercises.  He learned to control his breathing and blank his thoughts, focusing entirely on the duality of mind and body.  

He didn’t truly appreciate Roku’s months of tai chi until Piandao, renowned blademaster and bladesmith both, arrived to begin his instruction on the art of the blade.  He was, at last, fully recovered from his burns and back at full strength.  Piandao, who was still more exacting than Roku had been, challenged the limits of that strength from day one.

Zuko took to it immediately.  The sword moved as an extension of his body, and he found a freedom in its use that he had never experienced before.  In a matter of weeks, Piandao suggested that he learn to work with two blades at once and Zuko liked that even better.  

“It’s uncanny,” Piandao remarked one evening over a game of Pai Sho.  “And yet, there is nothing supernatural about the boy’s progress.  It is his discipline and his unflagging dedication which have allowed him to progress so quickly.”

Roku nodded thoughtfully, and placed his next tile on the board.  “He is a remarkable young man,” he agreed.  “But I am not so sure that it is his dedication alone.”

“Oh?” the bladesmith quirked a brow.  “You believe there is more to it?”

“I do.” He met the other man’s gaze levelly.  “I think that he is the next Avatar.”

Piando sucked in a sharp breath, knocking the board hard enough to ruin the game.  “Are you certain?” he breathed.

“Not certain,” Roku answered.  “Not yet.”

But he soon would be.  

Piandao left at the end of Zuko’s second year as Roku’s student, and Roku resumed the Prince’s firebending instruction at last.

Zuko was no longer paralyzed in his bending; the intervening year had served its true purpose, and Roku was satisfied.  After his success with Piandao, however,  Zuko was incredibly frustrated to find that firebending was as difficult for him now as it had ever been before the Agni-Kai.  

“Remember, Prince Zuko, that power in firebending comes from the breath, not the muscles. The breath becomes energy in the body. The energy extends past your limbs and becomes fire.”  Roku sighed as Zuko went through the set once more, still making the same mistake and becoming increasingly angry with himself.

Roku shook his head.  “Have you forgotten everything that you learned in the last year?  Should we return to the study of tai chi, so that you can properly harness your breath?”

“No, Master Roku.”  Zuko bent himself into a stiff bow, giving the appropriate response without letting go of any of his anger.

“Very well,” he said.  “Again.  And this time, remember your breath!”

Zuko took the time to center himself before starting the set over, and he kept it throughout the exercise.  The difference in his bending was significant.  The boy’s face glowed with pride when he finished, and Roku indulged himself in a rare show of approval.

Sozin, after all, must never know that Zuko had become like a son to him--or that Zuko now regarded Roku as a father.  They’d never discussed it, but they hadn’t needed to.  Zuko was intuitive enough to know his father’s delicate ego would not tolerate being usurped in any capacity.

The dragon arrived a week later.

The dragon’s appearance was both a boon and a bane.  A boon, because Zuko found in Fang the friend that he’d never before been allowed to have.  A boon, too, because it confirmed for Roku that Zuko was indeed the Avatar. 

A bane, because it revealed Zuko’s true nature to Sozin as well.

The Firelord was far too astute to mistake the appearance of an animal spirit guide for anything other than what it was.  Given his plans for the future, Sozin was thrilled to discover that he had the Avatar--the only one in the world who could possibly stand in his way--in his own house, and loyal to him.  

No one told Zuko.

Firelord Sozin embraced his second son as he never had before, and the sudden acceptance from his true father was a heady thing, indeed.  Zuko continued to work with Roku, but Sozin took a much greater interest in his son’ studies than he had before.  Zuko was delighted; Roku was wary.

Roku had not abdicated his role as senior Firesage.  He knew, from discussions he’d had with his leader and from the topics he’d been instructed to research, that Sozin was planning something unprecedented in their world.  He knew it centered around the comet that would appear in their skies in a few short years, and the fleet of Naval ships discreetly growing on the western coast of the Fire Nation’s capitol island.

He knew it would spell disaster for the other nations, just as he knew that Zuko was the key to stopping it.

Once again, though, his hands were tied.  He could not speak against the Firelord; to do so would be to end his own life.  Nor could he attempt to warn the Prince.  Zuko was zealous in his loyalty to his father, and would not hear a negative word spoken about him--not even if the word came from his beloved mentor.  Instead, Roku did his best to guide Zuko, to nurture those inherent qualities which had so repulsed his father all those years ago without revealing their continued presence in his character.

Two more years passed in this fashion.  Zuko was drawn further into his father’s sphere, and his relationship with Roku seemed to weaken apace.  In the privacy of his own quarters, Roku despaired.

Zuko turned angry and conflicted once more, because he could not reconcile the vital truths he had learned from his mentor with the truths his father lived by.  Roku’s influence had gone deep and he simply could not approve of his father’s cruel thirst for power no matter how loyal he was.  He sought to ignore it instead.

When his father at last revealed the true depth and breadth of his plans, Zuko could ignore it no longer.

Azulon, who had been deeply jealous of the favor shown to his little brother, had cautioned against it from the moment that Zuko’s role in the world had become clear.  “He is still too weak to do what must be done, Father,” he’d said, over and over.  Sozin, who was not blind to Roku’s influence over his son, had agreed until now.

“We have only another year before the comet passes over us,” Sozin said firmly, addressing his private council.  “It is time to bring Zuko fully into the family’s legacy, and secure his assistance in bringing it to pass.”

Azulon held his peace as a servant was sent to summon both Zuko and his mentor, knowing that to contradict his father now would be to earn disfavor for himself.  He had not remained the Firelord’s favorite for so many years by being stupid.  It was fortunate for him, then, that his brother had learned nothing.

Zuko entered the Firelord’s audience chamber a step behind Master Roku, as befitted their respective positions. Prince or not, Zuko was merely a student; Roku was a Master Firesage, and served as an advisor to the Firelord himself.

It wasn’t the first time that they had been summoned to participate in a council meeting, but it was the first time that they had been invited to attend Sozin’s private war council.  Zuko was filled with hope and fire and the heady rush of being admitted to his father’s inner circle at last.  Roku was full of dread, knowing that they had come to another pivotal moment, and that after this meeting, everything would change.

He was right.

“For hundreds of years, the Avatar has kept balance between the Water Tribes, Earth Kingdom, Fire Nation, and Air Nomads,” Sozin began when everyone had taken their seats around the long table.  “As the master of all four elements, the Avatar has been the unbiased keeper of peace, and the undisputed authority on the spirit world.  The Avatar cycle has ensured an unbroken line of advocates from every nation on the planet, and with the death of Avatar Kyoshi many years ago, the cycle turned back to us, the great Fire Nation.

“Yet the years passed, and no Avatar appeared among our people.  No one manifested the ability to bend all four elements, and until recently we feared that the Avatar cycle had somehow been broken.  Now, we not only know that an Avatar has indeed been born to the Fire Nation, but we know that the spirits chose to show their favor by giving us an Avatar out of the royal line.

The flame-shrouded figure rose from his throne, and Zuko’s wide, unblinking eyes followed the movement. “My son,” the Firelord said gravely. “Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, it is time to embrace your destiny.”  A few moments passed in utter silence, and then the Firelord went on.  “You are not only a scion of our great family line.  You represent the culmination of our great family, and will serve to cement our place in the world.�� You are the Avatar.”

Zuko stared at his father, unsure whether he’d heard the man correctly. This was not at all what he’d expected, and couldn’t possibly be true.  But his father wasn’t done yet.

“Your birth into our family shows that the spirits recognize our supremacy in the world.  That you were born to our family now, and coming into your power on the eve of the Great Comet, is a benediction of our rule.  You see, Zuko, it is not your destiny to be a mediator between the nations, as your predecessors did.  Your destiny is to unite all of the nations under a single banner: that of the Fire Nation!”

Roku felt the ice slithering through his veins as Sozin spoke, outlining his plans for the comet and his subjugation of the rest of the world.  Roku had been expecting something along these lines and so was marginally prepared.  He also had the benefit of decades of experience at maintaining a neutral expression, no matter what happened.  It had served him well in Sozin’s court, though never before so well as it did now.  He was sickened by the man’s avarice, and by the position in which he’d placed his son, but he remained as serene as he’d been while playing Pai Sho with Piandao.

Zuko, on the other hand, had not expected anything like this.  He’d been completely broadsided, and had hardly any experience to draw from at all.  His reactions played out across his face, broadcasting them as clearly as if he’d shouted them.

As the Firelord spoke of invading the Water Tribe on a massive scale, Zuko’s face went pale.  As the Firelord spoke of the ease with which they would annihilate the peaceful Air Nomads, Zuko betrayed his revulsion with a thick swallow.  And as the Firelord spoke eagerly of laying siege to Ba Sing Se, taking the Earth Kingdom stronghold no matter the cost in lives, Zuko began to shake.  

Azulon, who had been stony-faced through the entire speech, now began to smile.  It didn’t matter that Zuko was finally able to school his expression into passivity.  It didn’t matter that he said all of the right words, at exactly the right times.  The damage was done; they knew now that an Avatar Zuko would never fall in with their plans, and therefore would need to be neutralized.  

His father’s full favor would return to him, where it belonged.

Roku, too, knew what Zuko had unwittingly wrought.  It was a test of his will, that walk from the audience chamber to the Firesages’ wing of the palace, but he did it.  To his everlasting pride, so did Zuko.  They walked calmly, even slowly back to Zuko’s quarters, discussing matters of no import.  As soon as they were behind closed doors, however, Zuko’s calm fell away and he looked at his mentor with wild eyes.

“I can’t do this,” he said, panic clear in his voice.  “I can’t be the Avatar.  There’s a mistake.  There has to be.  And even if I were, I can’t--I won’t--not even for him.  I suspected something, Master Roku, but not this!”

“Be calm,” Roku said, placing his hands on the young man’s shoulders.  “Breathe.”

“But--”

Roku shook him, surprising him into silence, and said again, “Breathe!”

Zuko obediently drew in a deep breath and sought his center.  It was difficult to find but the doing of it was calming, as Roku had known it would be.

“Now you must listen, Prince Zuko.”  He paused, and Zuko nodded.  “You are indeed the Avatar.”

“But master--”

“You must listen!” He shook him again, this time raising his voice enough to make Zuko’s mouth drop open.  Roku had never before raised his voice.  “You are the Avatar,” he repeated, once more in his normal, placid tone. “ have known it since Fang came to you, and so has your father.” 

Zuko’s expression creased with hurt and confusion, and Roku sighed sadly.  

“I could not have told you.  I have known for a long time what your father is, and to reveal your nature too soon would have been to your detriment.”

Roku paused, allowing Zuko to realize the truth of that for himself.  “And now?” Zuko asked, and was proud of the calm control he’d achieved.  

“Now, you must leave.”

His calm disintegrated and his eyes widened with panic once more.  “Leave?”

“Your father and your brother are both too shrewd to have missed your initial reaction.  Everyone in that room knew that you would never be the puppet your father wishes to make of you.”

Zuko breathed deeply, seeking that control.  “He’s going to try to kill me, isn’t he?” he asked.

“No.”  Roku shook his head with a sad smile.  “No, he would undoubtedly go to great lengths to keep you alive.”

“Because he knows that if I die,” Zuko said slowly, “the Avatar cycle will continue and a new Avatar will be born to the Air Nomads.”

“Yes.”

“Where can we go?”

“Not we, Prince Zuko.  You.”

“Master Roku, no!” Zuko shook his head vehemently.  “You have to come with me.  If you stay, my father will know you helped me.  Your life will be forfeit.”

Roku nodded serenely, acknowledging the likelihood of that outcome.  “I have known this day would come since the moment I saw the dragon.”

“But--”

“You must take Fang, and flee as fast and as far as you can.”

Zuko stared at his mentor, feeling a cold numbness steal over him.  “I’m never going to see you again, am I?” he asked, as calmly as Roku.

“No,” the man confirmed.  “Now go.  You’ve stayed too long already; I don’t know how quickly your father will move against you, and I want you to have as much of a lead as possible.”

“My swords--”

“There’s no time, Zuko!”  Roku shoved a small pouch into Zuko’s hand, then pushed him towards the door.  “Just go!  Find Fang, and go!”