#i do not ship those bastards let me set that record straight

[novasillies]

real sad about peter and stiles rn

[nightghoul381]

Jude Jazza~ Luxury Liner Event ~Part 1

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

The port, bathed in pleasant sunshine, is bustling with large numbers of passengers.

Today, the weather is perfect for travel.

Jude: “What’re you doing?”

(No way, I didn’t think my companion would be Jude…!)

—Flashback—

It was yesterday morning.

Kate: “The maiden voyage of the luxury liner ‘Orellus’… I love it. It’s a dream come true.”

I looked at the newspaper with pictures of the luxury cruise ship that would finally set sail tomorrow and muttered to myself.

William, who was elegantly drinking tea, gave me a meaningful smile.

William: “Do you want to ride?”

Kate: “Fufu, yes. I guess I’ll be lucky if I get to ride it even once in my life.”

William: “Then you should go. I happen to have one ticket left.”

Kate: “Eh?”

—End Flashback—

(“Other members of Crown are also planning to board, so you’ll be together.” William said.)

Kate: “…By any chance, Jude, will you be on this ship too?”

Jude: “Why else would I come here? Ta wave goodbye and say have a nice trip?”

(I would like to see that.)

I tried imagining it, but immediately after Jude waved his hand, the image of the ship being wrecked came to my mind and I gave up.

 Jude is looking down at me with a look of genuine astonishment.

Kate: “…What is it?”

Jude: “Why’d ya come here knowin’ nothing?”

Kate: “Nothing, what…?”

Ellis: “I think it’s a mission.”

Kate:: “Ellis…!”

In contrast to Jude, Ellis appeared with a gentle smile on his face.

Ellis: “I heard from Will that you’re going to board with us… Is that okay? It’s a pretty dangerous mission.”

William’s meaningful smile and condition of boarding “with the Crown” finally made sense.

Kate: “What is your mission?”

Ellis: “Actually—”

On the maiden voyage of the luxury liner Orellus, the boss of a gang that has been rocking Britain lately will be on board.

I got that information a few days ago.

The police were supposed to move in with a chance to take him into custody, but,

The police were denied access to the ship due to pressure from the aristocratic member of the House of Lords who would be boarding.

Ellis: “This Congressman, Blackwood, was taking donations from gang bosses…”

Ellis: “He’s covering it up, facilitating, and helping to do all kinds of bad things behind the scenes.”

Kate: “That sucks…”

When I heard Ellis’s explanation, those words came out of my mouth without thinking.

Gang activities range from extortion and robbery to illegal gambling.

People involved with crimes ranging from unreasonable violence to murder make daily headlines in the newspaper.

(You let it go unchecked just to line your own pockets…)

Ellis: “Victor said ‘If you’re dealing with money and power, and you’re on a boat trip, Jude is the man for the job.’”

Kate: “So, Jude easily accepted the offer…?”

Ellis: “’It’s like a hobby to torture people like that arsehole, so sure.’ He said.”

Kate: “I see… so your bad taste matches the mission…”

Jude: “Oi, you say that.”

(In other words, this ship has a gang boss and a congressman on board who backs him…)

For a long period of time, I’ll be with them on board the ship, where there’s no escape.

(Without a doubt, this won’t end as a peaceful voyage.)

--For a moment, I almost feel frightened, but—

Jude: “Don’t do it, princess.”

Jude: “People like you, if ya throw ‘em into the den of these bastards, they’ll eat ya straight away.”

As soon as I saw the arrogant sneer of contempt, I felt more frustrated than afraid.

Kate: “…I’m in… if it’s a mission, I also need to record it as a ‘fairy tale’”.

Kate: “I myself would like to like to help with the mission for the sake of peace in Britain.”

Jude: “That’s a great cause.”

Jude: “The ya can’t complain even if ya lose yer life for that, right?”

(As  Jude always says, I may be too ignorant of the dirty world.)

Kate: “Since I was given a ticket,”

Kate: “Doesn’t that mean William thought I should accompany you on this mission?”

Kate: “If that’s so, then I want to try as hard as I can. Also…”

Kate: “It’s frustrating that you’re looking down on me all the time.”

(That… I)

It wasn’t until I said it out loud that I realized that the reason I added at the end was the primary motivation.

(Why…How does  Jude see me?)

(I wonder why I care so much.)

Jude: “…”

Jude remained silent and put his hand on my chin.

His cold amethyst eyes narrowed fiercely as he leaned closer.

Jude: “…Look at that cheeky face of yours, yer a mess.”

(…)

My heart fluttered at his teasing gaze.

Deep within the knife-like coldness I feel it’s filled with heat—an unidentifiable shiver ran through me.

Jude: “Well, why not? It’s a lousy boat trip where yer stuck breathin’ the same air as a bunch of shitty people for days on end.”

Jude: “At best, I’ll enjoy torturing you.”

Kate: “Wha…”

With a provocative whisper, Jude let me go.

(Torture me… What are you going to do?)

Riding the sea breeze, the scent of Jude filled my nose.

When I’m with Jude, I somehow forget myself.

My heart was beating a strangely fast rhythm.

(This is…I’m going on a dangerous mission, so maybe that’s why I’m nervous.)

(There’s no other reason why my heart is pounding…)

The luxury liner I boarded was beyond my imagination.

Like a first-class hotel, it’s glittery and eye-catching.

Man with a scar on his face: “Hey look… It’s Jude Jazza.”

Good-looking aristocrat: “Heh… hmm, hide it, please.”

When Mr. Jude passes by, rough-looking people stare at him and the nobles turn pale and dodge to the side of the room.

With a cool look on his face, Jude rushed through without hesitation.

Kate: “Umm… Where are you going?”

Jude: “It’s a given, isn’t it?”

Jude: “Where princesses scream.”

(Uh, scream…?)

I almost stop walking for a moment, but Ellis quicky answered my question.

Ellis: “It’s okay, it’s just a casino.”

Kate: “…Thank you, Ellis.”

(You’re trying to threaten me into going home again… I won’t take it anymore.)

Kate: “Come to think of it, you didn’t get lost, but it’s the first time you’ve been on the ship.”

Ellis: “Jude told me to memorize the floor plan of every place we go for a mission.”

Kate: “You’re surprisingly thorough, aren’t you?”

Jude: “Luxury cruise ships’re full of blind spots and closed rooms. I dunno what kind of person would go on a luxury liner without knowing the layout.”

Kate: “As long as I’m not as hated as you, Jude, I should be fine.”

Jude: “You don’t understand.”

Jude: “Like I said before, someone like you’ll be devoured immediately.”

Jude: “If ya let yer guard down ‘cause yer resentful, you’ll be dragged in.”

Laughing through his nose, Jude bent down slightly and put his lips to my ear as we walked next to each other.

Jude: “I guess yer dressed up all ‘cute’ for the luxury liner ride,”

Jude: “but it’s like yer askin’ ta be served up.”

Kate: “…Huh?”

(Wha…)

The word ‘cute’ suddenly thrown into the conversation caused my body temperature to soar.

Kate: “That is NOT true!”

Jude: “Why don’t you try that on someone who flinches when ya say somethin’ like an accusation?”

Jude: “During the voyage, everyone gets as jumpy as a monkey, try not to get caught in the middle.”

Ellis: “You never know what kind of people are out there, so be careful.”

Kate: “Uh… yes, thank you.”

(It would be nice if Jude would give me kind advice like Ellis…)

Holding back my pounding heart, I quickened my pace so I wouldn’t be left behind.

(Wow…so hot…)

The casino was crowded not only with aristocrats, but also with rough people.

A fistfight broke out at the table next to us, and the people around us were stunned when they started cheering happily without stopping.

Kate: “Is this what you mean by shitty people…?”

Jude: “Huh? O’course not. If they’re shitty people then eighty percent of the world is shitty people.”

(…In Jude’s world, really rough things happen on a daily basis.)

Jude quicky exchanged a large amount of chips, walked over to the baccarat table, and bet everything on a draw.

The crowd surrounding the table suddenly roared.

Kate: “What kind of game is that?”

Ellis: “You bet on whether the player will win or the dealer.” 5124

Ellis: “Add up all the cards dealt to you, and the one who’s last number is closest to nine wins.”

Ellis: “If you bet on a draw and you win, the payout is multiplied by nine, which means your chips are multiplied by nine.”

Kate: “N-nine times…?”

(Even now it’s a lot of chips, but nine times that amount…)

Ellis: “But the chances of a draw are very slim, and if we lose, we lose it all…”

(Wha, everything…!?)

Just imagining how much money is being bet with what the probability is makes me dizzy.

Kate: “Maybe you should think about it more…”

Instinctively, I walk up to Jude and whisper in his ear, but—

Jude: “Ye can’t be stingy when yer tryin’ to ear a bunch’a money ya know.”

Kate: “But…”

Jude: “Besides, if I wanted to make money, I wouldn’t be gambling.”

(Huh…?)

(So there’s… some other purpose?)

Despite my worries, the game was soon over and the result was…

Kate: “It’s really a draw…”

Ellis: “Jude’s used to winning, you see.”

(Why is that…?)

I couldn’t help but stare at Jude, his expression cool.

(Jude… he really lives in a completely different world.)

His standard of right and wrong, his sense of money, everything. Everything is so different from my common sense.

That, for some reason, pricked my chest.

Jude used his nine-fold increase in chips to gamble wildly here and there.

Jude: “What’s the matter with ya? Is there anyone who can make a worse bet?”

(Saying things like that is like picking fights indiscriminately.)

(What is your plan, Jude?)

At that time, a man sat down on the chair next to Jude.

The middle-aged man with a cigar in his mouth was dressed like an aristocrat, but his eyes were fixed and there was an air of unease about him.

Noble with the cigar: “Cigar?”

Jude: “…I’ll take one.”

Jude took a cigar and lit it.

(You smoke cigars too… I didn’t know that.)

(Even so, this person is… who?)

Jude: “Yer a member of the House of Lords. Blackwood, right?”

(…! This man is the lawmaker who receives money from a gang!?)

Tension ran through my body at once.

Blackwood: “…I like gambling too, you could say I’ve devoted my life to it.”

(…I see.)

(Jude, you knew this guy liked to gamble, so you were gambling to lure him out.)

(I can’t believe you lured him out so brazenly…amazing dexterity and courage.)

I am secretly impressed—

Blackwood: “But, it’s boring to just bet money.”

Blackwood: “You have to bet something more important to make it… exciting.”

Jude: “Heh, yeah.”

Jude: “If ye do, I’ll bet all of my fortune and… this woman.”

Kate: “What!?”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

[miss-choco-chips]

The dangers of sugar coating

Dick tries to give his little brother nice things (and fucks up), Tim is paranoid (and too tired to think clearly), and Damian thinks they might actually be a good team (while they plot Santa Claus’ downfall).

(Beacuse @animemangasoul and I decided we’ve been too rough with Tim lately, so I tried to give him some batfamily fluff. Somewhere along the way I fucked up and ended with this. No edit, pure crack)

-----.------

-Before I tell you anything, you need to promise me you won’t get mad.

The Bruce of ten years ago, new to parenting and oblivious to its dangers, would have done his best to emulate any ‘How to be a good Dad- guide for new, utterly lost fathers’ book. Now, though, tired after raising Dick to semi-adulthood and still hurting over Jason’s… Jason, he knew better. Life had toughtened him up.

So he didn’t raise his eyes from his newspaper, and gave into the urge of sipping his coffee before humming under his breath. Not even the slightest show of acceptance over those terms.

If Dick was asking that, instead of hiding whatever this was or dealing with it himself, it meant the situation was either out of his control, bound to make its way to Bruce eventually, or both. 

Probably both.

-Come on, B, just promise you won’t get all passive aggressive bitch on me. I did it for the greater good...

Another hum.

However, Dick has spent the same amount of time learning under his guide than he had raising him, so the younger was bound to develop some of his own tactics.

-...and I did it because Tim obviously needed it, so…

Warning bells ringing in his mind, Bruce gave up and shoot Dick a look. He didn’t seem overly guilty, so whatever this was, it probably wasn’t irreversible. But he was also shifting his weight from one leg to the other nervously, so… there was a catch here.

-What did you do?

-You didn’t promise.

-I won’t take your allowance away, but I may yell. It depends on how convincingly you make your case -compromise, he had learned after many, many mistakes, was as good a plan as any. 

-Deal -then, quickly, like ripping off a bandaid:- I might have made Tim slightly more neurotic than he was. On accident.

The bells turned into firefighter’s sirens. 

-What did you do?

They have had the fifteen year old living in the mannor for a few weeks at most. They couldn't possibly have already broken him, right?

Right?

Dick winced, but sat down by Bruce’s left (the side closest to the dining room’s window), which meant this was the only issue, but a hard to explain one.

-You see… We were talking, bonding over childhood memories and stuff, and… you know how christmas is just around the corner, and I asked him about Santa. I mean, obviously he doesn’t believe in that now, but the thing is, he never did.

-He’s too smart for that -growled Bruce, impatiente to get to the point and figure out just how much damage control would he be doing.

-No, his parents were too shitty. They were never there on Christmas, so no gifts under the tree unless he put them there himself, and whenever that happened, it was because his parents sent them and he wrapped them himself. Also no surprises, because he was the one asking for specific stuff. And I got a little sad, because how can a kid never believe in Santa? Like, come on. It’s part of the concept of childhood innocence. So...

Bruce waited a few beats, but Dick didn’t follow up. See, this was the moment where his parenting books would suggest waiting until the kid was good and ready for sharing his thoughts. But, since this was his younger child at stake here, he couldn't allow himself the luxury of letting a single second go.

-And? -he prompted, as gently as he could, trying not to spook Dick into abandoning ship.

-And I sort of… convinced him that Santa was real. Like, a full out super powered meta whose purpose in life was to bring joy to all of us. I texted Barbara and she planted some old looking reports on the batcomputer about it, to give credibility to the lie. I even drew parallels with Batman being thought of as a myth outside of Gotham to support the ‘Santa is real, people just don’t believe in him’ thing. And, after some hours of convincing and with Babs’ help, he bought it. So now, if Tim approaches you about it, you better back me up, because otherwise you would be ruining the last vestige of innocence Tim might still keep. Downside, though, Tim is now holed up in his bedroom searching the deep web for any Santa related info he can get his nerdy little paws on.

Silence in the room. Dick blurted out a goodbye and jumped out of the window. Bruce didn’t get up to check if he had landed safely on the other side. He probably had. 

Tired, he looked down at his coffee. Black, just like he needed it now.

He should have stopped at zero children.

----.----

Cassie watched, with no small amount of unholy glee, as Tim thoroughly convinced both Kon and Bart of Santa’s existence. One a clone with little social understanding and the other from a very dark future, they were unsurprisingly easy to convince.

This was the kind of hilarious shit that made being in a superhero team worth it. All the life and death situations were balanced out by this kind of drama-like absurdity.

Even better was Tim’s completely fucked up perspective on the matter.

-So you’re saying Santa is not only real, but a deranged psychopath? Who’s probably both a pedofile and a mind controlling scumbag? -Kon tilted his head, both confused and esceptic.

Cassie did her utmost best to keep a straight face while nodding along, as if everything Tim had laid down in front of them made perfect sense. 

-I thought it was stupid, too. But Dick showed me evidence, old reports, both handwritten and digital, and I found footage of Santa sneaking into the Manor when he was still young, deeply buried in the Batcomputer mainframe.

-Couldn’t that video be, you know… made up? -Bart asked, frown unusual on him firmly in place.

-If it was anywhere else? Sure. But this is The Batcomputer we’re talking about. Why would Batman have that kind of thing there? It was too heavily protected to be placed there as decoy for anyone hacking, not like they could ever get over Oracle’s firewalls. Besides, what reason would Batman have to invent this? I’m fifteen, I don’t need the ‘Santa fantasy’. The only believable answer is that Santa is real and very dangerous, and some people have taken his name for capitalism’s sake and made a holiday out of that and some religious backing, to get more people roped up into it. The true mastermind is obviously hiding somewhere out there, and the Christmas propaganda is merely a means to get funding for his devious plots.

Both metas hummed thoughtfully, Superboy even crossing his arms as he examined the pile of photos and papers Tim had laid out in front of them. Bart was nodding, hand cupping his jaw. The looked dead serious.

Cassie wanted to excuse herself to use the toilet (lead lidden because this was Gotham, specifically Tim’s secret place, so of course it was super-proof) so she could laugh her ass off, but the temptation of seeing this trainwreck to its fiery end was too strong. 

It was taking up all of her amazonian training to keep her straight face, though. Diana would be so proud.

-I even searched the deep web for Santa related crimes, and looked up his name in disturbing forums. You wouldn't believe what some people, serial killers and rapists both, do using Christmas as a theme. I couldn't sort through it all, it was that sick.

Kon looked utterly disturbed- So what do we do now? Christmas is just around the corner!

Bart got up and started pacing back and forth- We need to hunt this dude down. Christmas is about goodness and family! We can’t let this, this… psychopath ruin it! Think about the children of the world!!

Oh god, this was getting even better.

-But how? The man sounds like a velocist of some kind, I mean, running and leaving gifts everywhere in the world in the span of a few hours? How are we even gonna catch him?

-Maybe if we dress up as Elves? -Cassie couldn't stop herself from suggesting, voice choked in her effort to be serious, but most likely interpreted by the boys as clogged up on rage- From what Tim wrote here -she raised a paper from the pile, hand shaking- it looks like they are his mind-controlled slaves. If he thinks we ran from his captivity, he might take us to the North Pole with him to brainwash us again… Oh, but I probably shouldn't dress up, so you know, I can be back up if he manages to catch you three…

-That’s a great idea! -Bart’s skinny arms wrapped themselves around her neck, and she took the chance to hide her face in his mane of hair, corners of her mouth twitching up.

-Should I also record it? -she asks, almost begging- In case people don’t believe us later, when we have to explain why we imprisoned Santa.

-Yes, I think that might be wise -Tim conceded, eyes scanning his papers again.

Thank the gods. That tape was going to be Cassie’s most precious treasure forever.

-I think he has a way of controlling people’s minds too. Like, parents and stuff. And then he makes them be the ones to give his children gifts in his name, as a way of gaining their trust. Sick fucker.

-So you think it’s a kinky thing for him?

-Kon, he literally categorizes kids as ‘good’ or ‘naughty’. 

-You are right, we need to stop this bastard.

Cassie loved her boys so, so much. She also owed Dick Grayson the biggest high five.

----.----

Red Hood was just lighting up a cigarette when he saw Red Robin making his way to his rooftop. Cursing, he dropped the entire thing and kicked it away. The brat knew Jason smoked, but Dick had been on his ass lately about being a good brother, and he still felt kinda bad about trying to kill the kid twice, so he was actually trying to set a good example. 

Besides, out of the two possible little brothers to take under his wing, he certainly drew the lucky ticket, because while Dickie had gotten stranded with the pompous brat, Jason had the all around good kid circling his radar more often than not. Like, Tim had broken him out of prison, a little after Jason had done his best to end his life; he couldn't get more forgiving and nice than that. It certainly beat making a murder League child let go of his katana on a nightly basis.

-I need your help.

He blinked. While they certainly had worked cases together in the past, they were always preluded by some kind of smalltalk,  little banter, at least a ‘hello’. Not this straight to the point bullshit.

He had the urge to take out his guns, to protect them both of any threat following Red Robin here. He refrained.

-What’s the matter, babybird? What’s wrong?

Tim looked almost frazzled. The cowl was hanging around his neck, just a domino preserving his identity, and his hair was a knotted mess. Disveleshed was too little a word for his state.

-We need to make a plan to catch Santa Claus before Christmas this year. His reign of terror must end. It’s still not too late.

Yeah, okay, he might need that cigarette after all, to hell with Dick’s bitching. Besides, how bad of a influence could that be, when this kid was obviously already on some kind of drugs? Like, Santa? Really?

-What… do you mean?

What followed was an hour long rant on the dangers of a super powered, evil version of the myth that Tim had somehow cooked up on his mind.

Was this real? The kid looked far too distraught for a joke.

-… Does Nightwing know about this? -whatever ‘this’ was- Bats?

Tim shook his hands frantically. Jason was legit getting worried.

-N was the one who told me about Santa -there, he knew this smelled like a Golden Boy trademark fuck up-, but he seems to be under his spell. Bruce as well. They tried to convince me he is some kind of good-hearted samaritan. Jason -he stated, breaking the no names during patrol rule, a show of just how deep into the rabbit hole he was- you wouldn't  believe what I found on the deepweb. Joker’s yearly special seems tame in comparison.

That, Jason could believe. But he was also fairly sure you could type about any word in the darkest side of the net, and find half a dozen kinky or deranged things that matched. Santa-temed crimes? More likely than anyone would believe. Real life Santa doing the deed? Not so much.

Tim had been too young when Dick lied to his face, most likely. And nowadays, the young vigilante was running on three hours of sleep on a good week. And it wasn’t even too far fetched to believe, on their line of business, specially when dealing with metas and supervillains day in and day out.

Still…

-Kid, I don’t know how to tell you this, but… Santa isn’t real -he told him, slowly, hands raised as if to touch his shoulders but not daring to actually make contact. Tim looked so manic he might actually nerve strike him.

The icy blue eyes were hidden under his mask, but Jason knew from the way he tensed that Tim was terrified.

-He got to you, too -he whispered, almost too softly for him to hear. Then, without giving Jason the chance to inquire further, he turned tail and disappeared into the night.

....

He really needed that cigarette.

----.----

When Drake told the family he was taking Damian under his wing for a case, everyone seemed so happy he couldn't just shoot the other man down. Besides, reluctant as he was to admit it, Red Robin was the superior detective in the entirety of the team, so there would be rewards for taking the blow to his pride and working with him.

He expected to be directed through some easy case, maybe a little puzzling but not too challenging. Or be sidelined while Drake worked through things, so he could learn by example.

This, though, this he hadn’t foresaw.

This case was way more serious.

-How come Father has allowed this depravancy to continue?! -exclaimed Damian, hands gripping the sheets of information tightly- This ‘Santa’s’ influence has been permitted to cement on too many people already! And it keeps growing!

-I know. Fuck, I know. But I can’t get anyone to help me. My team knows, but sadly we aren’t enough. Bruce and Dick don’t believe me, and neither does any other hero I contacted on the matter. It’s just like when B was missing in time; they either think I’m crazy, or try to sugarcoat things, like they would with a baby.

Damian snorted, disbelieving. Whatever his opinion might be on his predecessor, he at least knew to trust his insight in a case. Grandfather himself had recognized his genius on that field.

They were on Drake’s perch, his center of operations outside of Batman’s influence. He would never admit it out loud, but if Damian ever needed his own batcave, it would be just like this one. 

Now, the long table in front of him was completely covered in information, case reports, photos taken from live footage, deepweb forums’ conversations, history books…

-And you say this… monster, targets children?

-I mean, he brainwashes the parents too, but that seems like a plot to both increase his economic funds and to gain the children’s trust.

-How are you so sure they are his objective?

-The parents tell their children Santa is ‘always observing them’, and ask if they ‘have been good’ that year. If they aren’t perceived as obedient, Santa leaves them coal, which incentives them to do their best to change that by next year’s christmas. 

-Maybe the coal and gifts have mind control devices, or some magic?

-My thoughts exactly.

Damian frowns even deeper. He’s glad Drake is taking his detective training seriously, but if father himself is being deceived, he wonders what can the two of them (plus Drake’s team) do.

-What about Todd? Red Hood is proclaimed as Saint Protector of Children in Crime Alley, after all. He certainly has opinions about this ‘Santa’ person. 

Timothy shakes his head- He got Jason too. I suspect he’s been under his control ever since he was a child at the manor. 

-So, we are alone in this.

-Essentially, yes. Thankfully, not everyone celebrates christmas. Some religions flat out forbid it, so we won’t have as much ground to cover when we lay out a trap. We could choose a close by location and plan around it. 

He nods, back straight with purpose. He -and Drake, he supposes- would be freeing Father and Grayson, along with the rest of the victims, from this madman’s control. Maybe even Todd, if he has the time.

-I’m with you on this endeavor, Drake.

-Good. Remember we need to act natural in front of the family. If Santa catches wind of what we’re doing, he might focus his efforts in getting to us. 

Damian wants to say to let him come, he would show him why it's a bad idea to mess with his family. But Drake is, admittedly, the superior detective, and it seems he’s been working on this for a long time now. Damian will defer to his judgement this one time.

Drake’s superior knowledge and Damian’s unrivaled training might be what’s needed to orchestrate this ‘Santa’s’ downfall.

They will be a good team, he thinks.

[brokutosan]

Title. Before The Snow Falls, I Would Love to See You

Pairing. Hinata Shouyou x Fem!Reader. Very slight mentions of Yamayachi!

Summary. In which after two years, he’s finally coming home.

Warnings. Manga spoilers up to chapter 379. Super short, but fluffy. Title is a line from ‘An Early Winter Letter’ by the Korean poet Kim Yong-taek.

Being in a relationship with Hinata Shouyou meant being in a relationship with his love for volleyball as well. But when that love led him to Brazil, on the other side of the world of all places, Y/N had nearly gone ballistic.

Working around his tight volleyball schedule in highschool was one thing, but having to accommodate to him being in a whole different country was a whole different matter all on its own! Making a relationship work was hard enough with the other at your side, but putting an ocean between that bond makes it that much more challenging. Besides, Hinata had only grown the balls to confess to her long after their highschool graduation. Meaning when Hinata left for Brazil, they’ve only been dating for a few weeks, maybe a month or two at best. Preparing to fly across the world three weeks into their relationship was a minor setback, Hinata once said.

Though Tsukishima argued that the mere fact that they were actually dating deserves a recognition all on its own. “Like two lovesick idiots that were too blind to notice their mutual feelings for three years,” He said. (Hinata hates how Yamaguchi and Kageyama wholeheartedly agreed, feeling betrayed by his own friends for never telling him his feeling were requited).

And the beanpole was correct. Hinata took too long to confess and he couldn’t find it in his heart to blame Y/N, who was probably just as clueless as him. Had he sucked up the balls to do it literally anytime in his highschool years, then maybe having a highschool sweetheart would have been another thing he could lord over Kageyama (he’s only half joking).

Though at the end of the day, Hinata still confessed and his feelings were returned, or even better, she pined after him all of highschool too! (“Yeah, that’s not something to be proud of.” Yachi told him with pure sympathy in her eyes the night Hinata told her he confessed). And despite thousands of miles between them, his relationship with Y/N is still far stronger than Kageyama’s relationship with his stupid milk cartons. (God, he really needs to help that guy get a girlfriend).

Anyways, emotional whirlwind and memories over dating his dream girl aside, Hinata is finally coming home! Two years of texts, calls, and the few handful of weekend visits led up to this moment when Hinata, in all his sun kissed glory, can finally properly announce his homecoming to all those he’s missed while living alone in Brazil.

His mom, Natsu, the Karasuno boys, even Kageyama and Tsukishima (those slimy bastards), Yachi, and most importantly, Y/N. No longer does he have to crave her presence during the lonely nights, tossing and turning until Pedro yells at him to go to sleep. No longer does he have to wish he could slip into his cellphone where the pictures of them together has helped him survive long days spent without her. No longer does he have to worry about crossing oceans to have her in his hold again, because he’s finally coming home.

Hinata lets his excitement get the best of him and sprints towards the airport exit, where, lo and behold, he spots her standing in the crowd. Granted it’s easier to spot her next to Yamaguchi, who’s about six feet tall. Oh, and also there’s that hideous poster in his hand, which looks like the work of a toddler. He tries not to let out a laugh as he approaches them.

“Shou!” Y/N screeches, momentarily dropping the bouquet of flowers in her hands as she bolts towards him. Hinata simply laughs as he lets go of his bags in order to catch her in his arms. In one fluid motion, he tightens his hold on her back, supporting her legs that are wrapped around his waist.

“I knew you couldn’t keep it cool.” Yamaguchi chuckles as he watches the event unfold. Y/N sticks out a tongue from over Hinata’s (much broader) shoulders as she tightens her hold on her boyfriend.

“You’re not allowed to leave me, ever.” She pouts. Hinata gushes while Yamaguchi cringes at the couple in front of him.

“Wouldn’t even dream of it.”

“Okay! Let’s get out of here, I’m starving!” Yamaguchi exclaims, clapping his hands together before reaching out for one of Hinata’s suitcases. “There’s this ramen place that recently opened up, and I can’t wait to try it! Oh, Hitoka-chan said she’ll meet us there!”

“Did he ever grow the balls to confess?” Hinata whispers to Y/N after setting her down. She shakes her head ‘no’ and adds, “No, he’s much worse than you.”

“I can still hear you two!”

-

“Woah, Hinata, you got so tanned!” Yachi says upon arriving at the table. She sets her bag down in front of her before taking a seat beside one blushing Yamaguchi. “You look good!”

Hinata says something that can’t be understood, mostly because his mouth is full of food. Y/N smacks his arm for being gross, Yamaguchi proceeds to wipe down everything that was in the ‘splash zone’ and Yachi laughs at her friends.

“Ew, say it don’t spray it, moron!” Y/N scolds, taking a napkin and wiping Hinata’s mouth. The scene reminds Yamaguchi of his little cousin.

“It’s a shame Tsukishima-kun and Kageyama couldn’t make it.” Yachi sighs, reminiscing her highschool days. “It’s fine, I’ll see those jerks eventually.” Hinata responds, this time with an empty mouth.

“Ah! Speaking of, mind giving this to that Four-Eyed-jerk face for me?” Hinata reaches for his backpack and pulls out something shockingly pink and equally sparkly. All three eyes turn to the horrid thing he’s holding up so proudly, a ‘Rio de Janeiro!’ shirt that looks like it straight up got shit out by a unicorn.

“I -” Yamaguchi speaks up first, reaching for the shirt with trembling hands.

Yachi is the first to snap out of her trance, and giggles out, “I’m surprised you didn’t get one for Kageyama.” Hinata’s response is a shit eating grin, all while reaching in his bag for a matching shirt, this time a shocking shade of red. “First thing I’m doing in Tokyo is recording his reaction.”

Y/N gives him an unamused look, somehow not surprised at her boyfriend’s childishness. Hinata turns to her with a familiar glint in his eyes. “Y/N! I got you one to-”

“I’m shipping your ass back to Brazil if you so as much take that thing out.” Hinata gulps, shoving his hands back in his bag and nods his head vigorously. Their two friends laugh from across the table, reminiscing about the very familiar scene in front of them.

“Nice to know some things never change.” Yamaguchi lets out a dreamy sigh. Yachi simply nods in agreement.

“By the way, what’s your plan Hinata? What team are you thinking of?” Hinata’s mouth is stuffed, but Y/N pinched his thigh before he could even think of talking with his mouth full again. He swallows everything in his mouth and answers, “The Jackals!”

“Is there a particular reason why? Oh! Is it ‘cus Bokuto-san’s playing there?” Yachi asks.

“Wait really?!” Hinata’s leaning over the table, a bewildered look in his eyes. “Oh man! I didn’t even know that! I was just gonna go ‘cus they’re the best team holding tryouts right now!”

The pair, Yamaguchi and Yachi, once again look at him out of disbelief. “Wait, why does that totally sound like something you’d do?!”

“Because it is.” Y/N answers, not as surprised as her friends since she’s heard him blabber about this for the past month leading up to this day. Still, it was nice to see him get so excited for something.

“Yeah - and I, being the perfect girlfriend that I am, even did research on all the V.League teams and made a powerpoint about their strengths and weaknesses. And then this idiot tells me he already had his mind set on the Jackals because they’re the only team holding tryouts within the same month he’s coming home.”

Hinata fiddles with his fingers a bit, before speaking up, “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that babe. If you told me beforehand I would’ve checked out your presentation!”

“Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise!” Yachi and Yamaguchi simply watch their friends with smiles on their faces.

“They’re totally forgetting we’re still here.”

“Yup.”

The four friends finish their meal, heading out into the night and going their separate ways.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow! I’m gonna go walk Yachi home!” Yamaguchi calls out. Hinata has a cheeky grin on his face and Y/N is making kissy faces while connecting her hands into a heart. These idiots are perfect for each other, Yamaguchi thinks to himself.

The two immediately halt their motions when Yachi turns around to say her goodbyes, fake innocent smiles adorning their faces. “See ‘ya next time, Hitoka-chan!” Y/N smiles, sending one more wink at Yamaguchi’s direction for good measure. Her and Hinata laugh as he flips them off the moment Yachi turns the other way.

“Ah, young love. Remember when that was us?” Hinata muses like an old man. Y/N snorts in response, “Yeah, I remember pulling all my hair out wondering whether or not you liked me back!”

Hinata chuckles, reaching for her free hand. “I think it’s safe to say that you were worth the wait.” Y/N blushes as he brings her hand up to his lips, placing a light peck on the back of her hand. God, the things this guy can do to her.

“Yeah, yeah.” She mumbles, a soft smile on her face as she’s finally all alone with the man she’s been missing for the last two years.

“Shouyou.” She calls out. He stops in his tracks, looking at her with those beautiful brown eyes. He looks back at her beautiful form standing under the street lights, and wonders how in the world he got so lucky with her. He notices her eyes are a little teary, and before he can voice his worries, he’s interrupted by a,

“Welcome home.” The sentence is simple enough, yet conveys so much emotion he just knew she’s been holding in this whole night. With his other hand, he cups her face and wipes away a stray tear with his thumb.

“I’m finally home.”

A/N. Another reupload! Originally meant to be a contribution to Hinata’s birthday, but either way, I love him. - chuu

[reydjarinkenobi]

Can we get more of that time-travel fanfiction? (With maybe a few more clones? If you don't want to it's ok)

Hi. Here is the next installment. The clones get a bit of action, but really I needed to do one more chapter of set up first. Clones will be much more prominent soon.

-----

As soon as the doors of the light freighter - which Mace could now see had clearly been modified as a smuggling ship - closed, the girl turned on Obi-Wan with a guarded expression.

 "How did you know just who we'd want here for our explanation?" she demanded, her question immediately causing the others in her party to tense. 

 Mace spied Cody and Ponds, who had escorted them in, no doubt to provide an extra layer of protection for their generals, whilst the non-Force Sensitive human had frowned, but acquiesced to their presence with a nod.

 Obi-Wan, ever the smug bastard, just smiled knowingly.

 "Your mental channels for speaking are very strong, but you all still project some thoughts," he informed them gently. "It was quite easy to overhear them - thought I was the only one close enough to."

 The girl pursed her lips and squirmed slightly, but she nodded and stepped away, retreating so that she was standing in line with the two other humans of their party. The Wookie had retreated from the room they were in with a garbled roar that Mace hadn't understood, as he had not elected to learn Shyriiwook in his time. However, Obi-Wan had not reacted, so Mace assumed that the Wookie would not harm them.

 Obi-Wan quickly explained what he and Bail had seen and learnt back in the temple.

 Mace would find time travellers from the future difficult to believe if it wasn't Kenobi. At this stage in the war, he may as well just accept it. He was too tired to summon the appropriate amount shock, even if he was inclined to show it on his face, which he wasn't.

 This was meant to be a simple mission.

 "We may as well sit down," the male Force User - Finn - said. "We have over fifty years of history to cover."

 His companions nodded in agreement, gesturing to the various couches around the living space. They waited until they were all seated, including Cody and Ponds before they all squished themselves onto one side of seat shaped in a semi-circle around a holoprojecting table, with Bail and Obi-Wan on the other side and Mace, Cody and Ponds on their own chairs that had been pulled up to the table.

 "Where do we start?" Finn wondered absently, as he leaned his elbows on his knees.

 The other human male - Poe - hummed. "I know that General Leia has been teaching you and Rey about the Clone Wars."

 "She's been telling Rey about the politics and the Jedi for longer - I was usually only around when she got to talking about the clones."

 Both men glanced at the girl, who was sitting on the right edge of the seat, next to the male Force User, who was sitting in the middle. Rey sighed and stood up but didn't complain.

 "I may as well get straight to the point," she began, crossing her arms. "The Clone Wars are pointless and were constructed, and are being drawn out by the Sith for the sole purpose of destroying the Jedi and for cementing their reign over the galaxy."

 Cody and Ponds stiffened in their seats.

 Mace blinked. He felt Obi-Wan's shields wobble.

 Senator Organa straightened. "I beg your pardon?"

 "It's true," Poe said. "His Empire lasted twenty years before the Rebellion managed to defeat him."

 "So the Separatists won?" Ponds asked with a slight frown.

 Rey grimaced. "Not exactly."

 She hesitated, obviously choosing her next words carefully. "The clones were supposedly commissioned by a Jedi who had visions, or something along those lines, right?"

 Mace fought to keep his expression under control. That information wasn't exactly public knowledge.

 "That is correct," he confirmed. "Master Sifo Diyas."

 The girl's hands tightened around her arms and she shifted onto her other foot.

 "The… accounts are not sure, but it is theorised that his visions were planted by the Sith Lord… or that Darth Tyrannus took control of the project quickly enough to alter the original order."

 She took a deep breath. "The few surviving sources say that that after the main Separatist leaders were killed, that the Jedi discovered the identity of the remaining Sith, but those that were dispatched to arrest him were defeated - betrayed by one of their own, who allied himself with the Sith at the last moment."

 "Then," she went on, breaking off for a second to glance nervously at Ponds and Cody. "He activated an order on the control chips, which are embedded inside every clone troopers' head."

 Her eyes lowered and she swallowed. "Order sixty-six: execute all the Jedi."

 Mace went completely still even as he saw Cody and Ponds recoiled as if she had shot them. Obi-Wan's eyes widened and shock reverberated through the Force, mixing with Mace's own.

 "You lie," Senator Organa claimed. "The clones are loyal to the Republic."

 The girl's head snapped up, a glare flashing through her eyes and hardening her features.

 "I do not."

 She looked away, breathing deeply.

 "We have proof," Finn interjected. "History books, recordings, diaries. They should be tucked away somewhere around here. We always carry out study material with us."

 "Our two clearest sources of information on it are the diaries left by you, Senator Organa and General Kenobi," Poe explained, looking at them. "I know General Leia has had Rey read them closely."

 Obi-Wan's gaze jerked to them. "I survived?"

 Poe nodded. "Until almost the end."

 "It wasn't your fault," Finn informed Cody and Ponds, his voice strained as he stared at them desperately. "The chips. They-they overtook you. They erased you. You didn't have a choice."

 Mace could tell from the horror leaking into the Force around the troopers that his words brought them no comfort.

 "Who is the Sith Lord?" Mace asked.

 Rey looked at him, breaking out of the haze she had been lost in.

 "Palpatine," she breathed. "Chancellor Palpatine was the Sith Lord."

 Mace instinctively wanted to deny her. The Chancellor couldn't be the Sith Lord. He was the most powerful man in the Republic.

 And yet.

 There had been many instances in which Mace had, privately, questioned his decisions. He knew that a few of the 'debates' he had engaged in with the Chancellor had hurt their standing with him. But none of the Senate, nor many of the Republic citizens, were willing to trust the Jedi anymore.

 And who had been the one to suggest that the Jedi lead the war. The Chancellor had denied his involvement but the man had not discouraged the idea when it had quickly gained popularity.

 Out of the corner of his eye, Mace saw Obi-Wan tense.

 "What is Anakin's role in all of this? You talked of him with each other."

 Poe glanced down and Finn's jaw tightened.

 Rey turned her attention to him, her eyes holding a deep regret.

 "No," Obi-Wan breathed, his shoulders hunching forward slightly.

 "Darth Vader was one of Emperor Palpatine's most effective weapons," Rey murmured. "But, at the very end, he did turn back to the light. To save his son."

 Obi-Wan curled into himself and Mace felt the wave of pain and sorrow pulse out of him before the other master slammed his shields back into place.

 "We are here now, though," Rey said firmly. "None of that has happened yet, and our knowledge can help you stop it."

 "Yes," Finn agreed readily, still looking mostly at Cody and Ponds. "We can start to de-chip the clones and work on a way to deactivate them en-masse."

 "It won't be easy," Poe cautioned. "Didn't you guys tell me that the Jedi were powerless to prevent their fate, even if they had known about it?"

 Rey frowned and nodded. "Yes. They do not have the political power to make any significant move. Which is why we need the senators to start working. We have the information they need to start changing the system. They just need to get the physical evidence in this time period."

 Senator Organa glanced around at his still shocked companions, and cleared his throat, startling all three of the time-travellers.

 "You said it took around two decades to defeat the Empire, yet you are from fifty years in the future. What is the state of the galaxy in your time?"

 Mace nodded his agreement with the questions.

 Poe let out a shaky sigh. "Yes, the Empire was defeated the first time. Though not without heavy casualties. Alderaan was destroyed. The Mandalorians were wiped out almost as thoroughly as the Jedi. Countless lives were lost. And we still could not prevent the First Order rising from its ashes."

 It was the Senator's turn to jerk back in surprise in pain. "Alderaan was destroyed?"

 Poe nodded. "Yes, by a weapon called the Death Star. Capable of destroying whole planets. Luke Skywalker and his twin, your daughter, Leia Organa helped destroy it, along with the second one they built a few years later."

 Rey went on, "Finn, Poe and I were there when its successor, Starkiller Base, was destroyed. Not after it destroyed the Hosnian System, the capitol of the New Republic first though."

 "Though Poe did all the heavy lifting with his X-Wing," Finn said, shooting a smile at the man beside him.

 Poe gave him a fleeting smile in return, barely a twitch of the lips.

 "It wasn't enough though," Poe murmured, his voice thick. "The Resistance was losing. Many planets would rather submit to another tyrant than fight, and there was nothing we could do to stop them from invading systems and growing their army."

 Finn stared hollowly at the table in front of him. "The Empire's stormtroopers were a poor mockery of the original clone troopers, meant remind Imperial citizens of them but have very little of their effectiveness save in their overwhelming numbers. But the First Order's stormtroopers… we were modelled more closely to our predecessors. Taken from our planets as mere children and raised to be the perfect little brainwashed soldiers. They even started chipping us in the end, when more and more started to defect - refusing to carry out the horrors they asked us to."

 He stopped abruptly, looking down at his lap and taking a deep, shuddering breath as Poe rubbed a hand across his back.

 Rey smiled at him sadly before turning purposefully to Senator Organa.

 "I have little love for the Senate," she claimed and Mace had to suddenly suppress a smile at her frankness. "It failed to protect the Republic twice in fifty years, and all because of its corruption and general uselessness. However, Leia has told me stories of senators who could have changed it, if they were given enough time and manoeuvrability. I'm sure we have more than a few political texts that can inform you of just what corruption is being hidden in the shadows and behind the closed doors of the rotunda."

 Senator Organa, who had paled drastically since the start of the conversation, swallowed and nodded. "I think you are right."

 Poe smiled sharply. "I'll start looking for some of our books."

 With that, he pushed up off the couch, sliding over Finn's lap and left.

 "We will contact the Jedi Council, but what of your stories?" Obi-Wan asked. "What of your training? Surely some Jedi survived."

 Rey shrugged. "I heard that a few did. Many of them died during the Rebellion. Most of the survivors were wiped out by the First Order when they destroyed the New Jedi Order. Any remaining would have gone into hiding, and I haven't exactly had the time nor the opportunity to look for one. Besides, Luke Skywalker has been… assisting me with using the Force. He was going to take Finn on as a padawan any day now."

 Mace frowned. "Not you?"

 Rey gave him a close-lipped smile, something in her eyes causing Mace's gut to twist. "Master Skywalker does not think I am suited for the path of a Jedi. And he may be right. I… I struggle with control. Of my powers and my emotions. And I know that anger can be dangerous when accessing the Force. I have spent hours almost every day meditating for the last eight months and I still haven't made much progress."

 Finn scoffed. "That's a load of banthashi - er - I mean, that's not true and you know it. Besides, you're a lot less angry than most would be in your situation."

 Mace tilted his head to the side, his mind whirling. They were both already very powerful, especially Rey. Shatterpoints surrounded all of them as if they had smashed a dozen glass bottles at their feet. They would need to be trained, regardless of their suitability. Their connection to the Force was open too far for them to go untrained.

 But, he would like to know if they could really grow to be suitable Jedi.

 "Situation?" he questioned.

 Rey looked to him and smiled sadly again, her dark grey eyes becoming shiny.

 "My parents… sold me to the junker on Jakku when I was five years old and I spent the next fourteen years waiting for them to come back."

 Mace's eyes widened and he felt everyone around him look sharply to the girl. However, before they could touch anything, there was a tumultuous crash which had a panel in a door swinging open and small one-wheeled droid with a cone-shaped head come barrelling out of it.

 "D-O," Rey greeted quietly, kneeling down as the droid approached her.

 "Rey," the droid said, "I missed you."

 Rey smiled and carefully smoothed out one of the three antennas poking out of the back of his head.

 "I can't believe you brought him along," Finn muttered.

 "I wasn't very well going to leave him. He doesn't like being away from me for long."

 Finn hummed non-committedly. "You know, you never told us where you got him. He just turned up after that mission you and Jess went on a few months ago and started following you around."

 Rey stilled, glancing up at him as she stood up, rubbing at one of the arm bindings that ran up her arms.

 "I found him on my parents' ship."

 Finn pursed his lips. "So they're - "

 "Dead. Yeah. The First Order got them. Or the Empire. Whatever they were calling themselves then. The chest has everything they left to me. I haven't been able to read through all the datasticks yet."

 Finn nodded solemnly as Rey joined him on the couch.

 "I think Finn would make a great Jedi," she announced. "We've been looking at what little we could find of you, and he's everything you want. He's kind and thoughtful, and doesn't let his emotions overwhelm him."

 Finn rolled his eyes. "All of that could describe you as well."

 He looked between Obi-Wan and mace seriously. "She talks of how her power could lead to the dark side, but if she was going to Fall, she would have done it by now. Something awful happened on Dandoran, but she didn't let it affect her and managed to pull like three and a half dozen TIE fighters right out of the air. At once. There was no dark side; she was calm as a desert."

 Mace felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. That was not small feat. Even for the most skilled of masters.

 "It's not like you haven't had to do your job before when Poe was being threatened," Rey shot back.

 "Yes, well, he hasn't…" Finn trailed off before he could finish the sentence, but the damage was already done.

 Rey's expression crumbled and she looked away, needing to scrub at her eyes before she looked back up.

 Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "Yes, well. I think we've heard enough to tell the Council. And we have just enough time to comm them before we must leave. Regardless of the outcome, I imagine you will be leaving with us."

 -----

 The meeting did not actually take that long. They used their most secure lines and still did not dare reveal the full extent of what they'd been told, only that they had uncovered something of import regarding the Senate and that they would convene with any councilmembers physically on Coruscant as soon as they returned.

 As for the time travellers? Not unexpectedly, the Council voted to train the Force Users, whilst allowing the others to accompany them. It did not seem like a good idea to separate them. Especially if they found a way to return them.

 They, of course, would not be telling the Senate that the newest padawans of the Order were time travellers, at least from the future. Officially, the group had been caught in a stasis trap for hundreds of years, which was only released by Commander Cody accidentally brushing a specific rune. It would explain their unusual ship, which was actually not that old, but had been modified beyond recognition from its original model, and it would explain their lack of training, as the Jedi had not always had the reach to collect as many Force Sensitive children as they did.

 "Now, we must decide who will train them," Obi-Wan said, rubbing his chin as the session began to draw to a close.

 "Decided, it already has been," Yoda announced.

 Mace glanced at his companion before they returned their attention to the holoprojector.

 "By whom, Master?" he asked, keeping his voice level.

 "Brought them to you, the Force has. Train them, you must."

 Mace sighed. He knew he was going to say that.

 "We are both far too busy to properly train a padawan, Master," Obi-Wan tried to reason only to be stopped by an imploring look.

 "The best choice, you are. Sense it, I can."

 Obi-Wan pursed his lips, but had no argument to that.

 Then, Yoda had the gall to laugh.

 "Stick together, you two will, for the foreseeable future, whilst you train your new padawans."

 Mace was going to kill him. The Force knew he loved and respected Obi-Wan as a friend and fellow master, but that did not mean he wanted to be partnered with him, which would also, inevitably mean being partnered with Skywalker more often, especially after recent revelations. The man was a trouble magnet if Mace had ever known one.

 Even if he didn't hate the idea of training them.

--------

This is also on ao3. What do you think will/want to happen next?

[anti-the-glitch-bitch]

Into the void

Chapter 2 

Word Count: 3,054

--------------

I am abruptly awakened by an annoying poking in my side. I groan a bit and try to slap the annoyance away. The poking in my side stops, but now there is a finger poking my cheek nonstop.

“Okay. I’m up. Just stop poking me with that infernal finger before I bite it off.” At that moment, maniacal laughter echoes in the closet. “Anti?” I’m still half asleep when I open my eyes. Beautiful blue eyes are looking straight into mine.

“Ha-ha. Still half asleep, are ya?” Sean chuckles as I scramble for my phone. My cheeks are on fire the moment I hear his cute Irish boi accent. After scrambling for what seems like hours, I finally manage to turn the video off. “Yeah, I guess I am. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I must have been super tired from the flight.” I mumble as I try not to freak out again. Sitting up, I look over at Sean and realize he is sitting on the floor. He must have seen my confusion because he scoots back a bit. “I figured if I was sitting on the floor, ya might not throw another loaf of bread at me.”

“Mark is never going to let me live that down. When I die, it will read. Here lies Bri. She threw a loaf of bread at Sean’s face. Sorry about that, by the way. My body went into panic mode and decided to attack?” Sean just laughs at me and starts to stand up.

“Neither of us will. I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes a commemorative video and tells his fans about all of this. I’m just glad it was soft.” Sean smirks and holds a hand out to me. I hesitated very briefly before taking his hand. With a quick tug, Sean has me out of the closet and on my feet. Huh. Sean is a lot taller than I realized. I mean, I didn’t think he was super short, but I thought he was my height. I’m 5’7”, so I’m not exactly short either, but he seems to be about the same size as Mark.

I stretch for a minute, trying to work the kinks out from sleeping in the closet. Sean walks over to the door to give me a bit of space. Which I very much appreciate. I can’t hear the conniving bastard anywhere, and that makes me very concerned. That means he could be plotting my next humiliating moment.

“You know he did that on purpose, right?” My question seems to confuse him. He cocks his head slightly with a questioning look. “He knows I’m a spazz, so Mark waited to tell me you were gonna stay here, at the second, just to see what happened. Though I don’t think it went down exactly as he expected.” 

We stare at each other for a moment before we both start to laugh. It takes a few seconds for us to calm down. “That does sound like something he would do. He told me you were staying here for a while, but he didn’t warn me that I would have to watch out for flying objects!”

“Exactly! I’m sure he’s hiding somewhere plotting his next big prank.”

“I don’t think so? He told me he had to finish recording. I figured the least I could do was make your lunch since it looks like I interrupted the two of you. That’s why I came looking for ye.” Sean looks so adorable when he blushes. It’s only a slight tinge, but it stands out on his pale skin. It gives me some ideas for a prank or two in the future. “I don’t think I like the look on your face. That’s the kind of look that Mark has when he is up to something.” He backs into the hallway with his hands up as if I might attack him.

I give him an innocent smile as I follow him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just going to the kitchen.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, we’ll just see about that.” We joke the entire way to the kitchen. My anxiety is all but forgotten. 

My eyes must be playing tricks on me because as Sean passes a mirror in the hallway, his reflection seems to flicker. For a second, it looks like Anti, green hair and all. Very strange because he hasn’t dyed his hair in forever. His hair is his natural brown color.

What in the actual fuck is going on with me today? It must be because I fell asleep watching those videos. I’m starting to doubt my sanity. I’ll have to lay off the Dark\Anti obsession for a while. Otherwise, someone might try to commit me to a nuthouse.

“Bri? You ok over there?” My head snaps to the kitchen, where Sean is standing by the island. I realize I’m just standing in front of the mirror. I take one last look into it, but all I see is me. “Um. Yeah. For a minute, I thought I saw….” I shake my head, realizing how crazy I would sound if I finished that sentence. “Nothing. Never mind.” I smile when I walk over and see a plate with a couple of sandwiches on it.

“If you’re sure.” He returns my smile and pushes the plate towards me. There is a flash of some emotion in his eyes before it disappears. Worry? Concern? I shrug it off and go rummage in the fridge for something to drink. Cans of Mountain Dew are sitting on the bottom level. Ah, my sweet addiction. Mark makes fun of me all the time because I usually have one with me. Yeah, it’s terrible to drink if as much as I do, but I really don’t care.

“So, any idea on how long Mark is gonna be holed up there?” I start digging into one of the sandwiches. Sean looks up from his phone and laughs. “How do you feel about being on camera?”

“What?”

“I said, how do you feel about being on camera?” Sean puts his hands on his hips, giving me a giant smile. “Um...Ok, I guess? Why?” I have no idea what’s going through his head, so I’m just going to roll with it.

“Great! Mark’s getting everything ready now, but in 20 minutes, all his fans are goin ta know we are staying here. You’re going to make your first appearance on the channel!” He is so enthusiastic about this that it’s hard to say no to him. “It’ll be great! All you’ll have to do is say hi. Mark probably won’t start recording until we get in the room. So, hurry up and eat. I’m goin ta see if Mark needs any help setting up.” He slaps my back and is practically bouncing as he leaves the kitchen. I watch the mirror as he walks past it, but nothing weird happens.

I really, really, really need to lay off those videos. They’re making me hallucinate. Either that or the flight messed me up more than I thought. I sigh and start thinking about this new development that Mark has thrown at me unexpectedly. I should have known Mark would have more than one trick up his sleeve. First, it was Sean, and now it’s getting me on camera. I really am going to murder him. Slowly. Like maybe Criminal Minds style. Munching on the sandwiches, I start scheming at ways to get back at Mark. I’m just finishing the second sandwich when my phone goes off.

Mark: Hey, you finished yet?

Bri: Just finished. Why?

Mark: We have everything set up. We’re just about ready for you to come in.

Bri: Give me 10 min. Let me brush my raggedy ass hair and maybe put on a new top.

Mark: Let me know when you’re done.

I put my plate in the sink and grab my drink. Rushing upstairs, I hear laughter coming from down the hall. It sounds like the guys are having fun. When I get to the guest bedroom, I immediately start looking in the duffel bag for my brush. It only takes a few seconds to find it. My hair is short, black with forest green highlights thrown in here and there. It doesn’t take very long to get it thrown up in a high ponytail.

Next, I rummage through the suitcases until I find my Loki shirt. I head to the bathroom to make sure I look semi-decent. The hairs on the back of my neck start standing up, and I get the creepy sensation that somebody is watching me. The mirror doesn’t show anything, but I look around me because I be paranoid like that. There’s really nothing in here with me, but the sensation only gets stronger.

“Back off, ya spooky bitch!” I sort of whisper/shout in the bathroom. I still can’t find anything here, but it never hurts to set boundaries, in case of, you know…. ghosts. That weird feeling fades away, and I feel like I can breathe again.

Well, that’s not terrifying at all. I check the mirror one last time, grab my drink, and head to Mark’s recording room. I can hear Sean’s voice but can’t make out what he is saying.

Bri: Yo. I’m outside the door.

Mark: Come on in.

“What’s happenin Cap’n?” I saunter into the room and see Mark and Sean sitting at the desk that’s along the far wall. They both turn to look at me with a slight smirk. There is an extra chair by Mark that I head towards.

“Hey, guys!! I know you thought Sean was the surprise guest, and he is, but I have someone else I want to introduce you to. This is my best friend, Bri. We grew up in Cincinnati, and she has finally decided to come for a visit.: Mark laughs into the camera as I give him a push.

“Hardy har har. It’s not my fault you moved so far away, you little shit. Keep it up, and I’ll start posting pics. You thought the Septiplier ship had sailed before? It’ll be 20 times worse once I send these bad boys out into the world.” Mark starts groaning while Sean holds his hands up.

“Whoa. Whoa. Hold it there. Don’t bring me into the equation. I didn’t do anything. I’m pretty sure that ship doesn’t need any more references.” We giggle, and I start looking at the screens in front of me.

One monitor has a bunch of technical stuff up along with a box showing the three of us. Another screen has a chatbox that seems to be really active. Comments are flying by so fast that it’s tough to read, though one reoccurring word catches my eye. Checking my phone really quickly, my suspicion is confirmed. “Hey, so I have a question I need to ask everyone watching.” I stand and get behind Mark. I place my hands on his shoulders and start squeezing. Not enough to hurt but enough for me to feel him tense a little. “How mad would y’all be if I murdered our Markimoo here? I was under the impression I would be on a video, not walking into a Live stream.” 

I give Sean a smirk that instantly puts him on guard.” Neither did Sean. I’m thinking that they might need to beg for forgiveness.”

“He told me not to tell you!!” Sean instantly points his finger at Mark while laughing. “I’m too adorable to be murdered, plus I was afraid if I told you, you wouldn’t show up, and then people would think I was crazy.” Mark leans his head back, giving me puppy dog eyes.

“Fineeeeeee. I won’t murder you, but you’ll have to make it up to me with a very incriminating picture. I’ll be taking the picture so I can post it later, and you won’t be able to delete it.” I ruffle the hair on his head as I get back to my seat. They both give a big dramatic groan. “Now, do you see why I wanted her to show up, though I am slightly regretting it.” His gestures get wilder the more animated he gets. It’s all I can do not to rub my hands together and cackle like a witch. 

The stream goes on like this for a few hours. The three of us crack jokes and play a few games together. I watch the chat and answer the questions I can catch. Sometimes they are about me, but a lot are about Mark and Sean. Most of those are just about wanting a shout-out from the guys.

It’s about 6 pm when I finally have to call it quits. Even with the nap I had, I was tired. “Alright, everyone, I enjoyed being here with you guys, far more than I thought I would, but I’m outta here. It was my first time going across the country, and my body is yelling at me for it.” I wave my hand at the camera and try to suppress a yawn. Mark and Sean make cute little pouts and give a fake sigh. “Aww, well, if you must. Everyone give Bri a round of applause. She is a natural in front of the camera. I might even have her join in some of my other videos.”

I take a bow and walk sluggishly towards the door. As I open the door, I feel a hand gently lay itself on my shoulder. I throw an elbow back, thinking it’s Mark, but I don’t make contact with anything. I quickly turn around and make karate-chopping motions, but no one is near me. The guys are still at the desk. Sean looks back at me and starts laughing. “What the fuck are ya doin? I thought you were leavin?”

I do a few more karate chops, just to be funny before I straighten up. “I’m pretty sure a spider tried to attack me; I’m showing it who’s boss. I doubt it will ever try that again, now that it knows I have mad skills.” Mark and Sean laugh and go back to what they are doing. I continue on my way out, severely freaked out. Chica is lying just outside the door, and when she sees me come out, she starts wagging her tail.

“Who’s a good girl? That’s right, you are the bestest doggo in the world!” I love on her a bit and then pat my leg to get her to follow. “Come on, girl. Let’s go outside for a bit. This house is being a spoopy bitch, and I don’t like being inside a horror game.”

We make it outside without an incident. I immediately go flop in the grass on my stomach. I’ve been here less than 24 hours, and I’ve seen some weird shit in the house. I would chalk it all up to ghosts, but that doesn’t explain why I saw Anti in that mirror. I know I still haven’t been sleeping but a few hours here and there, but that shouldn’t make me see things, should it?

There is no way the egos are real. They’re just something Mark and Sean made up. I may like the concept of them, but there is no way I want to meet Anti or Dark for real. Chica comes over to me, trying to lick my face, causing me to laugh. “Alright, girl. Let’s go back into the spooky house because I need some sleep. If I can…” We go inside, and I go back to the guest room. I don’t even bother changing into my pj’s. I just flop into the bed, falling right to sleep.

The Darkness is alive.

My heart is in my throat as I jerk awake. The dreams are all a blur, but I vaguely remember the Darkness trying to hurt me. The bedroom is pitch black, and I struggle to find my phone on the side table. After searching for what seems like hours, I finally find it and check the time. It’s only 3 am, way too early to be up. 

I can’t sleep anymore, so I get up to get a drink. Not sure if it’s remnant feelings from my dreams, but the darkness in the house feels alive. Almost suffocatingly so. I’m paranoid and jumpy as I walk to the kitchen. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I open the fridge and grab the milk. I really don’t need any sugar right now. After filling the glass, I put the milk back. That weird, creepy feeling is back, and I fucking hate it so much. I quickly close the fridge and turn around, punching the air in front of me.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I came here to get away from my life for a bit. Whatever you are, I don’t care! I haven’t even been here a day, so you need to quite with the spooky shit before I lose my damn mind!” I accentuate that with a few karate chops wildly thrown around.

A deep chuckle seems to come from all around me, making me run for the hills. I leave the milk and make a beeline for the stairs. I grab a pillow and the blanket from my bed and run for Mark’s room. The Darkness pulses as if alive, making me a trip on the blanket. I quickly right myself and quietly enter Mark’s room.

Mark’s bed is high enough off the ground that I can throw the pillow under the bed. I wrap myself in the blanket and slide under the bed. Like a child that knows the monster in the dark is real, I make sure every part of me is covered, including my head. This wasn’t going to be a comfortable place to lay, but I wasn’t staying in my room while this spooky stuff is going on. I was so going to talk to Mark about this in the morning.

“It’s not real,” I mumble to myself over and over again. Every once in a while, I throw in a “Leave me alone.” It feels like forever before everything starts to feel normal again, and I can fall back asleep. 

A precious, dreamless sleep.

[elaboratedbee]

Bigby x Reader

A/N: this is my first imagine, so let me know what you guys think and if there’s anything you guys want me to write! :)

Prompt: “What’s with the box?”

Summary: You introduce Bigby to the wonders of vinyl, and he hates it (or so he says)

Rating: Mature-ish! There’s implied sexy times but nothing actually innapropriate in this one! :)

Ship: Bigby x Reader (unspecified gender)

Word count: 2,168

A Little Quiet

“Ta-da!” You proclaim proudly, placing down a box onto Bigby’s desk. You were careful to avoid moving or covering any of the case files and scattered paperwork that littered the surface. To the casual observer, it would look like a mess of papers with no rhyme or reason, but Bigby was funny like that. His apartment was disorganised and unclean to put it lightly, but when it came to his cases, everything was just how he liked it. It all made sense to him.

At first, Bigby acknowledged you with nothing but a grunt, his brows furrowed as he continued to stare at the case file in front of him as if he thought that if he glared at it hard enough then it would start to make sense. “The whole ‘big bad wolf staring into your soul thing’ works better if whatever you’re intimidating can talk, you know that, right?” You teased him, waiting for him to finally turn his attention to you and your announcement. 

This broke through to him, and he looked up at you with tired eyes. He was always so tired, especially when he was in the middle of any kind of case. This time it was a string of B&Es that he just couldn’t seem to pin anyone for. His immediate and most obvious suspect Jack had been quickly ruled out due to his presence at the Lucky Pawn being accounted for at the time of almost every single event, so it hadn’t been the simple open and shut that you thought the wolf may have been hoping for, and with the pattern continuing, you could feel the Sheriff’s frustration mounting over the last few weeks. As much as he would pretend otherwise, you knew that the opinion of the Fables affected Bigby much more than he cared to admit, and the growing unrest amongst the citizens of the town only festered his frustration. Their eyes would be on Bigby, and Bigby’s eyes would be tired. That was the way it always seemed to be. “What’s with the box?” He inquired, even a shortage of sleep not enough to kill his curiosity. 

“It’s a record player,” you reveal, removing the box to properly show off the contraption. 

Bigby looks confused for a moment, his nose scrunching ever so slightly as he formulated his response. “Why would you want one of those?” He asks eventually, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Bigby!” 

“What?” He leans back in his chair and makes a vague gesture with his hands, “I just don’t understand why anyone would want to come home every day and then be surrounded by more noise.” 

For such a powerful beast, Bigby really was a creature of habit. Before the two of you met, you supposed he spent all of his evenings in silence, accompanied by whiskey and cigarettes as he worked the night away. With the job that he had, which seemed to mainly involve yelling at, or getting yelled at by, other Fables on a daily basis, you could see why the man would appreciate a little quiet when he was finally alone. 

But this was different, music was something that you wanted to share with him. It was another one of the many differences that set you apart, that often prompted other Fables to give the two of you funny stares or to whisper among themselves about just how exactly the two of you managed to make it work. Bigby was comfortable in silence, used to it. You, on the other hand, thrived in chaos and colour and noise. You love music and the sprawling city below your window that was never really quiet, never truly asleep.

“You’ll see,” you promised him determinedly, before leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. It was a simple gesture, but it drew the tension that he didn’t even realise he was holding out of his shoulders, and he melted into your affections. “Come to bed,” you appeal to him quietly while you have his attention, straddling his lap with one leg either side of him. 

“I can’t,” he refuses, but his voice is strained as you run one of your hands through his hair, and begin to place slow and deliberate kisses over his jaw. 

“Come to bed, Bigby,” you repeat, your voice more firm the second time, and he wordlessly agrees, his body melting into yours in his submission. He rests a head on your shoulder and sighs. 

“Okay.” 

Effortlessly, despite his lack of sleep, he stands up and carries you with him and you wrap your legs around his waist. He places you down onto the bed and you try to tone down your smile, internally celebrating your victory. Looking all too happy with your success would only drive him back to his desk, so instead, you sit up and tug him closer by his tie. He allows you to slip the knot undone and pull it away from his body and undo his wrinkled shirt buttons one by one, sliding it off his broad shoulders. It’s an intimate act, but not a sexual one as you undress him and you follow your actions with kisses, gentle and certain. 

When he finally falls into bed next to you, pulling you close into his arms, you think to yourself that this is worth it. It doesn’t always go like this, where Bigby concedes so beautifully and with so little coercion. It’s more often a hell of a lot more difficult. And there are nights when it’s an impossible task, where you push too hard and he snaps at you. But on the nights that you lay together, breathing together, being together, you would make the trade a million times over. 

The next morning, you implement your plan. Fabletown seems content to hold off its daily disasters for a few sweet hours, so you slip out of bed early and start making breakfast for the both of you. Accompanied by the lilting tone of Frank Sinatra, you waltz about the cramped kitchen as much as possible as you mix ingredients and avidly look over frying pans. Before long, the smell of bacon lures the wolf out of your bedroom and he stops in the doorway of the kitchen, regarding you in silence for a long moment before he speaks. 

“I don’t deserve you,” Bigby says, watching you lay down bacon, scrambled eggs, pancakes and a steaming pot of coffee. It’s a sentiment that he shares a little too often for your taste. 

“You deserve better,” you argue as he makes his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and letting his headrest on your shoulder. 

He growls uncomfortably at your response and you laugh, “Now you know how stupid you sound when you say that.” You point out and the two of you sit down to eat. The vinyl player spins on unobtrusively as Bigby enjoys your offering with a smile on his face, a rare and beautiful sight for such an early hour. Still, he eats quickly and stands, dropping a kiss to your forehead and grimacing. 

“I have to go,” he states.

“I know.”

With one last to kiss to your lips, he turns around to leave, before he stops and turns to face you once more. “You know, the only thing that could have made this breakfast better would have been if you turned that damn thing off.” He gives you a sly grin and disappears out of the door before you can come up with a rebuttal.

That bastard. 

For the next couple of weeks, the record player becomes almost a form of competition between the two of you. You turn it on whenever you’re at his apartment, bringing different records over with all kinds of genres (some of which Bigby despises a lot more than others) and trying to coax him into singing or humming the lines along with you, or giving you a twirl. In return, he attempts to take the needle off whenever you look away for too long and even resorted to putting a large scratch in the absolutely deafening heavy rock record you had bought over. 

“Oops,” had been his deadpan response when you showed him the very suspiciously fingernail looking scratch on the disc. 

Occasionally, you think you have him. One night, he arrives home delightfully early and calls you to share the good news. As soon as you’re finished with your work, you go straight to his place. Arriving home before the dead of the night puts Bigby in a comparatively joyous state compared to his usual broodiness, and you put on a record as soon as you enter. It’s almost force of habit by now. He lets out a totally overdramatic groan of disapproval at your action, but you ignore him completely and take him in your arms. 

Pulling him close to you, you begin to sway lightly to the sound of Paul Anka’s rendition of Put Your Head On My Shoulder. Bigby stiffens, shaking his head a little as you wind your arms around his shoulders. “I can’t dance,” he grumbles. 

“Neither can I,” you confide, “not a fucking clue,” which pulls a small smile out of him. The two of you turn about the cramped living room with a complete lack of grace and even rhythm at times, occasionally standing on one another and muttering hurried apologies. Eventually, Bigby starts to loosen up slightly, holding you closer to him and allowing you to pull him around the room. By the end of the song, he’s even bold enough to invite you to twirl and you do so as a finishing flourish. 

The music fades, but neither of you pulls away for a long moment, staying entwined in the centre of the living space. “I like having you close. Right here, right in front of me where nothing else can interfere. Mine.” Bigby doesn’t meet your eyes as he confesses his inner thoughts, his voice deep and his words slow. He emphasises his point by tightening his grip on your waist and pressing a hard kiss to your lips. It’s not often the wolf lets slip how he feels, especially when its a somewhat primal and basal thought, but you love it.

You cup his rough jaw with one hand and kiss him back, bodies pressed close and reassure him.

“Yours.” 

It’s only after a long moment that you pull away from the kiss and Bigby murmurs more lowly in your ear, “I can think of another way I get just as close to you, without that damn machine.” He presses himself closer to you and smiles suggestively, but it’s warm love in his eyes before burning desire and you grin. You know that you’re winning. 

It’s another week before you catch him, taking him by surprise as you turn up at his place. He swings the door open with a frown already fixed into his face, sure it was going to be some Fable asking for one favour or another. The frown clears when he sees you standing on his doorstep and his eyes brighten. Without hesitating, he pulls you inside and closes the door before promptly pushing you up against it. His actions are urgent and forceful, but he waits for you to kiss him first before he allows himself to place a hand either side of your head and devour your mouth. 

His teeth, quickly sharpening, bite at your lower lip before his tongue soothes the sting away. Your own hands are soon twisted in his hair, his curls soft between your fingers as you tug on them, trying to pull him impossibly closer. When he finally allows you a moment, you grin at him. “Bad day?”

“Bad day,” he confirms, “about to get a lot better.” 

Finally able to think straight now that Bigby’s mouth wasn’t on yours, you register the sound of music floating through the apartment. An expression of pure, unadulterated joy appears on your face and the Sheriff baulks, realising his mistake as it dawns upon your face. 

“You’re listening to music!” It’s almost an accusation as you cry out victoriously and Bigby hangs his head.

“Alright, alright. I put it on when I got home. It’s kinda like a cigarette,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand shamefully, “it’s a noise that blocks out the other shit.” You notice that the usually overflowing ashtrays have depleted somewhat, an additional bonus that you had not expected.

“It grows on you, right?” You punch his shoulder lightly and he rolls his eyes and nods.

“I guess you could say that.” 

As he pulls you in for another kiss, more concerned with getting both of you out of any clothes that will prevent him from turning his day around, he keeps to himself that it wasn’t that he liked the music, and it wasn’t that he preferred it to his cigarettes.

It just reminded him of you. 

[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

[scribbles97]

Being Home -- Part 4

It’s not just as straight forward as walking through the front door and saying hi.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Alternatively Read on AO3

Under the cut for Spoilers for The Long Reach Part 2!!!

Once he was strong enough and a bit more adjusted to gravity, Jeff had taken to walking around the GDF base. Gordon of all the boys had understood the most the need to get out and feel the air on his skin and feel the sun on his face. Apparently long stints on underwater research bases gave the boy worse itchy feet than Jeff could have possibly imagined for someone who loved the water so much. 

He’d found a quiet corner of the base, shaded by a tree that Jeff didn’t particularly care to identify. All that mattered to him was that he could sit in relative peace and watch the goings on, knowing in the back of his mind that he could get up and leave whenever he wanted. Some days he would take the recordings of Virgil’s music and simply listen, other days he would have the sketchbook and pencils the boys had brought him. On occasion he would have one of the boys with him to talk and keep him company. 

It didn’t really matter as long as he had something to do. 

“Colonel Tracy!” 

His head snapped up from the photos he had been looking at, the title one he hadn’t heard in years. He wasn��t sure who he expected, nobody on the base bothered him other than the doctors and nurses, anyone else simply too in awe of the man walking among them.

“How is it that even back on earth you’re still a bloomin’ impossible man to track down?”

Chuckling, Jeff set the lighttype down and pulled himself to his feet using the tree as a support. 

“Like you’re one to talk Lee,” He laughed, reaching out as his old friend approached, “The boys have told me all about what you’ve been up to.”

Lee chuckled, voice rough and gravelly as it always had been. He slung his arm across Jeff’s shoulders, shaking his head as he grinned, 

“At least I picked an actual planet that was actually equipped to support life.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t invite you to go in the first place,” Jeff grinned, “Or were you still up on Alfie when they made the selection.”

“You guessed it.” Lee nodded again, pulling away so they could both sit up against the trunk of the tree.

“We thought you were dead Jeff.”

“The papers said I was.”

The paperwork wasn’t the only thing that had said as much.

Lee’s voice was uncharacteristically soft as he brought his knees to his chest, “I shoulda known if anyone could survive out there it would have been you. Damn stubborn bastard you are.”

He had to smile, there was just something about Lee that eased him. Perhaps it was all those years having just him for company on the moon or on the long flight to Mars. The man knew him well though, knew his bugbears and worries and fears. 

“It wasn’t easy,” He whispered, voice catching, “Damn Lee, I had nothing out there.” 

There wasn’t an immediate response, which surprised him from Lee of all people. Looking up to his friend he raised an eyebrow at his silence. 

“A lesser man woulda given up y’know.” Lee sighed, “... Jeff I’m ashamed to admit that I did.”

Turning to face him, Jeff frowned, “What do you mean?”

“I…” He shrugged, looking up to the sky as he shook his head, “... When I found out you were gone, we did everythin’ to try and find you buddy. You weren’ there to be found though.” He paused, looking back to Jeff with a sad smile, “Casey and I argued a long time over it all. The fundin’ for Alfie stopped and they wanted me to come home. ‘Cept then it would’ve been real, you would really be gone and I’d have to accept it.”

“You never did like change,” Jeff murmured, reaching across to squeeze than man’s knee.

“When I went to Mars, I had no option but to accept it,” Lee continued, resting his hand over Jeff’s, “You know they memorialised your damn footprint? And I went up there every day… sentimental sod I am.”

He couldn’t help but laugh again, nudging his friend with a chuckle, “We'll go up there again Lee, you and me. For old times sake.”

Lee shook his head, chuckling too at the thought, “Them boys ain’t ever gonna let you in space again Jeff! Never!”

The thought sobered Jeff, the reminder of how Alan had piloted Thunderbird Three so beautifully through the Oort cloud. He wondered what would have happened if he had never left, would Alan have still become the pilot he now was? 

“Alan’s piloting my ship.”

“Don’t I know it,” Lee nodded, “The kid came with Johnny to come and pick me up.”

Jeff wasn’t sure why it surprised him. How else would Lee have gotten back from Mars? Yet, it still seemed so surreal. Alan, in Jeff’s head, was still a kid. Alright he had inevitably grown since Jeff had been gone, but he had still just graduated highschool. What the hell was he doing flying a rocket?

“He’s a damn good pilot Jeff, kid’s better than you even,” Lee shifted, sitting forward more to drop his voice, “And he loves it Jeff, more than life itself.” 

That didn’t surprise him. Alan had been talking about the stars as long as he’d been able to understand them. Much like John his fascination had been captured in rockets and planets and space as a whole. He had never doubted that the boy would follow him up there one day. 

“Did it have to happen so soon?” He choked out, a lump catching in his throat. 

“Hey,” Lee grunted nudging him not so subtly, “He’s still a kid really… still asking for stories and all that.”

And he was right, Alan had wanted to know everything when they were home. He’d read the book on space survival and wanted to know just what Jeff had done to survive. 

“Lee, there’s some things I can’t ever tell them...”

The hand on his shoulder was heavy and squeezed hard, “Then tell me.”

***

Alan had been hovering since he had finished post flight checks. Jeff knew because the youngest had been sure to make sure that he knew. He had even gone through just what checks he had done and explained in great detail how the hydraulics for the grasping arms would need extra checks having held the rock for so long. 

“So you like the ship then?” Jeff smiled, glancing up as Virgil attached a line to the IV in the back of his hand. 

“It’s amazing,” Alan enthused, eyes wide and bright, “Dad, it’s more than I ever dreamed it could be.”

Virgil chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped back from Jeff and looking to his younger brother, 

“He worked hard for it Dad.”

There was a plea in both of their words, a silent but all meaningful ‘please don’t take it from him’. 

From the brief glimpses that he had seen, Jeff knew he couldn’t.

“I’m proud of you kid,” He nodded, reaching out to pull him in for a hug, “I’m just sorry I wasn’t here to show you.”

Alan clung onto him just as desperately as he had in that first moment, head tucked into Jeff’s shoulder and arms squeezing the life out of him. 

“It’s okay Dad,” He mumbled into his shirt, “You’re here now.”

“Whilst I hate to break up a reunion…” 

Jeff looked up, smiling at the woman that had entered the room, 

“Val Casey, took your time didn’t you?”

She smiled easily at him, “Sorry, was dealing with our old friend and his new trainees.”

Alan’s face fell at the mention, “You’ve locked them all up right?”

His Aunt’s hand landed on his shoulder, reassured with a firm nod to the young man, “The Hood and the Chaos Crew aren’t going to bother you anymore Alan.”

Jeff looked to Virgil, tilting his head slightly towards the door as he did. Virgil nodded, getting the request loud and clear. 

“Hey Al, why don’t we go and get Dad some food before Grandma does?”

The youngest look back and forth, still young enough to not immediately take a hint but old enough to know he was missing something. 

“I’m not going anywhere kid,” Jeff assured, reaching out to squeeze his hand, “Promise.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Val added quietly.

The slightest nod, an older brother’s arm slung around his shoulders, and a pair of glances back at him as the boys left. 

“I’d get up and hug you Val,” He smiled, “But gravity…” Trailing off he shrugged. 

Val laughed as she sat on the bed, as close as she could to him and taking his hand. 

“God I’ve missed you Jeff.”

He leant into her, sighing softly. He had missed everyone, his boys, his mother, and his friends, including Val. There was something different about being with her though, no questions or how are yous. 

Just company. 

Silent company. 

“Whenever you need to talk,” Val murmured twisting slightly to look at him, “Or if you need anything… things the boys can’t…” She trailed off shaking her head, “I’m around Jeff. Just like I was after Lucy.”

Gripping her hand tight he swallowed against the lump in his throat. If a few tears fell she said nothing as she sat with him in comfort and support. 

[voidendron]

Deep Blue Sea: Ch. 15

Chapter 15: Floating Island Subnautica/JSE Egos Crossover

nudity warning is a just-in-case thing, but they're just just changing!

Warnings: Swearing, Non-Explicit Nudity Characters: Chase Brody, Jackieboy Man, Marvin the Magnificent, Jameson Jackson, Dr. Schneeplestein POV: Chase Brody

Night had fallen by the time Jackie got back to the habitat.

Chase couldn’t help the massive grin to cross his face when all of their PDAs beeped, the coordinates automatically transferring from Jackie’s to theirs.

“Dry land,” he breathed. “Holy shit.”

“What about Keen?” Jameson asked, brows furrowed.

Jackie shrugged. Chase wasn’t sure he liked that shrug. “He wasn’t there, but left a message to get to the landmass ASAP. Also a scolding for going to the pod instead’a straight there.”

“Well?” Henrik threw an impatient hand toward the bulkhead. “Are we going or not? I am fucking sick of the water.”

Chase had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something snarky. Instead, he just crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Dude. You really want to swim there at night? These coords are like, a kilometer from here, and we don’t know what kinda shit’s in the water between here and there. We’ll wait for morning, make sure we’ve all got working Seaglides and batteries, and then we’ll head out.”

“One question.” Marvin ran a hand through his mess of hair. “If it’s only a kilometer away, how is it we can’t see it from here?”

They all exchanged glances. That…was a good question…

They learned that, even after not resting the previous night, sleep was a fitful thing.

No beds left them on the hard floor of their habitat and trying not to elbow or kick each other. There was a point that Henrik woke up yelping as someone stretched, shoving a foot into his injured ankle, while Jackie’s snoring would occasionally splutter to startle most awake. And, many times, something would bump against the habitat from outside and anyone unlucky enough to be awoken by it would be left bolting upright and throwing wild looks through the cramped room and at each other.

It was cold, it was uncomfortable, they were stripped down to their underwear because their dive suits were wet and it was beyond awkward, and they were all lucky to get any more than a few hours of sleep before sunlight filtered in through the room’s single window.

Chase yawned and rubbed at his burning eyes. When he sat up, he couldn’t help but grimace. God, his whole body ached. Going straight from nonstop swimming to sleeping on a hard floor couldn’t be good for his muscles.

Jameson looked like the only one with any semblance of energy as he pulled himself to his feet and went straight for one of the lockers. From it, he grabbed his hearing aid.

Well. That would explain it. The noises they all heard throughout the night wouldn’t have bothered James at all.

Chase just shook his head. “Lucky bastard,” he chuckled.

All he got in response was a smug, toothy grin. The chef had a little bounce to his step as he grabbed what they had for food and water to pass around to the rest of them, though he was being careful with how he moved his arms.

“Aren’t you sore, man?”

“A tad bit, yes,” he replied once his hands were free to sign. “But I didn’t do nearly as much swimming as the rest of you.”

“Fair enough.”

Chase…really wasn’t looking forward to going back in the water. His body felt like it would scream at him if he did. But! They had things to do and dry land to get to! That thought alone was enough for him to push through the deep ache and pull himself to his feet while nibbling on the nutrient bar he’d been given.

Eesh, they tasted like cardboard. Really, Alterra? That’s the best you could do?

The others were moving about as slow as him as they struggled to get up. Marvin’s long limbs nearly tripped him as he stifled a yawn during his attempt to stand, while Henrik used the wall for support. He was barely letting his injured leg touch the ground, and was it bleeding again? There were little specks of blood soaked through the bandages. When he was kicked last night it must have broken some of the stitches. Ouch.

“Okay—” Chase yawned; the others couldn’t help themselves from doing the same, “—Jackie and Marv, you two wanna craft us one more Seaglide and some more batteries? I’m gonna check over the ‘Glides we already have to make sure they’re safe for the trip. And…James, could we have you check Doc’s leg while we’re doing that?”

“Uh. Sure?” Jackie shrugged. “But why do ya want to check them? They’re working fine.”

Chase’s mouth twitched. “We haven’t tried ‘em for this sort of distance before, and considerin’ my crew was killed when theirs blew up? You’re nuts if you think I’m lettin’ that happen again.”

“I—oh, god.” Jackie’s eyed were wide. “I didn’t know—I—”

“I think we all lost friends, man. Let’s just get off his damn planet.”

“Right. Yeah.”

Pulling their wetsuits on was even more of a struggle than Chase had imagined. They’d turned their backs to each other and stripped completely to pull their suits on, but they could all still hear each other grimacing and hissing as sore muscles rebelled against the tight fabric.

“This sucks,” he grumbled.

Even Henrik made a sound of agreement.

When most of them had finally managed to pull the zippers up to their throats, Jameson was still struggling. He had one arm in a sleeve, but was struggling with the other, gritting his teeth, pressing a hand to his chest. Chase had about forgotten about the man’s fractured ribs and grimaced sympathetically.

“Here. Let me help.”

He got a relieved sigh and nod, with Jameson squeezing his eyes shut when Chase took hold of his arm to gently position it into the sleeve. Yeah, James was definitely going to be the one taking the Seamoth.

“Hey… I thought you needed glasses?”

The chef looked up at him and blinked, then gestured for his work clothes laying in a messy pile near everyone else’s. “They might be in the pocket of my jeans.” His shoulders shook in a silent chuckle. “So much going on I’d forgotten to put them on!”

“That why you ran into a locker while Jackie was gone yesterday?” Chase laughed when the man’s ears turned red; Jackie snorted and gave a “wait, really?” sort of look their way. “Lemme grab ‘em.”

Sure enough, the circle-framed glasses were there. Their case had a big crack in it, but the glasses themselves looked all right.

With that done, everyone set to work.

It didn’t take them long—Chase made a few little tweaks to one of their Seaglides that looked like it had been dropped, while they already had most of the supplies for batteries and another Seaglide stored in lockers—and they were left waiting for Jameson and Henrik.

“It’s still inflamed.” His signs were clumsy with a needle in one hand. “But I’ve re-stitched where they broke, and I think the wrap will hold.”

“Okay. I guess we should head out, then.”

Four with Seaglides, Jameson helped into the Seamoth, and they took off as soon as he had the controls figured out.

Chase squinted into the distance. Low-hanging clouds created a fog. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but that fog had to be hiding the landmass. He ducked under the surface, swimming alongside the Seamoth that would occasionally zip ahead of them before Jameson let back on the touchy controls enough to keep to their slower pace.

Eventually, the two glanced at each other when they saw the shadows in the distance. Shadows that weren’t moving. Shadows, illuminated by…something. Chase poked his head above the surface—land!—ducked back under, tried to process what he was seeing.

With one hand, the sign messy but more or less understandable, he asked, “Is this island floating?!”

Jameson did the same: Raised the Seamoth up enough to see the land looming ahead of them, then right back down to look at what should have been a mountainside. Instead, it was jutting pillars of stone that pointed down into the pitch-black waters below, glowing pink… Oh! Whoa… He’d seen those things, only much, much smaller versions of them floating rocks in the shallows. How were they this big?! Were they the reason the island was floating? Incredible…

They were both staring with wide eyes, their companions above oblivious to the sight just below.

As they drew nearer the island, Chase could make out sunlight slicing right into the center of it. There was a hole there. Maybe a way to get on the island, too; he couldn’t see any beaches low enough for them to reach along the exterior so worth a shot, right?

He went back up, pushed his mask up on his forehead to he could call to the others. “Hey! Dive under, I think there’s a way on the island down there!”

Glances cast around, then they followed him down.

The other three froze when they saw the sight that had greeting him and Jameson. He could see their thoughts clear as day on their faces: “Holy shit.”

His hunch was right, too. Right smack-dab in the middle of the island was a bay, and in that bay, a beach.

On the beach, two sets of footprints.

As soon as they were on land, they all fought to get their flippers off, then bolted after the footprints. Marvin and Jameson, however, lagged behind. When Chase glanced back, he noticed they were looking at…something.

“Uh, guys? Why don’t we go find the other survivors?”

“There’s a PDA,” the performer said, reaching down to snatch it up. “It looks like it was thrown.”

“Thrown?” Jackie arched a brow.

“Look at the marks in the sand around it, and the screen’s cracked to hell. It was thrown.”

“Well…does it have anything on it?” Chase asked, leaning in a little.

“Uh… Yeah. Single recording.”

Jackie tilted his head. “That’s not right. Should have other stuff, right?”

“Yeah…” Chase answered. “Unless the user needed a single message prioritized and everything else is just locked, or the user died, so the PDA…recorded the last moments…” He rubbed at his beard and glared. “…I don’t like this. Play the recording. Could be important.”

CTO Yu and Keen started speaking; she wanted to board the ship, attempt to repair it. She was ready to go alone, but Keen chose—unwillingly, from the sounds of it—to accompany her.

Chase about opened his mouth—it seemed like a normal recording—but clamped it shut again when the damaged PDA crackled out, “Final recording from Second Officer Keen, two hours after last activity.”

Keen’s voice—out of breath, terrified—cut through the silence to fall over the group. He was breathing heavily, like he was running from something. “Rendezvous was a failure,” he gasped out. “Intercepted a transmission from Alterra HQ; seems they sent a data package to the Aurora. We attempted to leave the island and were intercepted. Something’s here. It’s hunting us. Get off the island—consider the CTO and I dead.” He paused. When he spoke again, he’d lowered his voice to but a whisper. “Be safe. Keen… Out.”

[sam-lives-story]

#SamLives - Chapter 11

“Presenting Tonight’s Cast of Characters”

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Jack hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he and Mark were planning on doing some collabs. In the few days that followed the initial video, they recorded a good nine or ten videos worth of content each, most of it consisting of two-player games. (Being able to record one session for two channels had its perks.) Jack still hadn’t gotten over his wariness of technology in that time. He had to steel his nerves before starting every session, had to take a breath before hitting ‘record’. He found himself frequently checking his facecam on the monitor to make sure nobody was in the background, and every flicker, every stutter, every lag in whatever game he was playing made his hands tense and his breath hitch.

Today was no different. After spending a good five minutes mentally convincing himself that his computer mouse wasn’t about to come to life and strangle him, he and Mark dove head-first into a new game of “Sea of Thieves”. It was just the two of them this time, with no time to schedule a play time with Bob or Wade or Ethan. At the moment, Jack was trying to fend off skeletal attackers while his friend dug up the buried treasure.

“Shit! Fuck! Fuckin’ bastards!” He took another swipe at the nearest skeleton, cutting it down. Another attacker was quick to take its place. “Hah! That’ll teach ye not to mess wit’ ol’ Jackaboy.”

He pulled out a blunderbuss and took two shots straight through the newcomer’s chest.

“DIE BITCHES! How’s that chest comin’, Markerino?”

Mark, who Jack now realized had been oddly quiet the past few minutes, let out only a distracted hum in response. Jack turned his avatar to look at Mark’s rather voluptuous character, only to find him standing still over the half-buried treasure chest. Jack chuckled, a little bewildered.

“Mark? Th’ fuck are you doin’?” he took a shot at another skeleton. “Are ye just waiting for it to unbury itself or–”

Thwack!

The familiar-yet-unexpected sound made Jack jump, his heart pounding in his chest as he whipped his head around to stare at Mark. The other YouTuber had turned his seat away from the desk, Nerf gun in hand, aiming at the closed door with narrowed, focussed eyes.

What the fucking–

Jack swallowed thickly and took a slow breath, his panic ebbing away to make room for amused irritation. He swiped a small crocheted Sam from his desk and chucked it at the side of Mark’s head.

“Hey! What–?!”

“Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that, shithead!” Jack shoved Mark’s shoulder playfully. “What th’ hell was that for?”

“Target practice.”

Mark’s grin was cheeky and a little mocking.

Jack blinked at him, slowly, fixing him with a look that clearly said ‘Are you fucking kidding me right now?’ He snatched the Nerf gun from Mark’s hand with a barely-restrained chuckle and brandished it in the other’s face. Mark took a swipe at it, pouting and trying to take back his toy.

“Hey!”

It turned into a game of Keep Away, with Jack holding the Nerf gun high above his head and Mark practically falling out of his chair and climbing over Jack in his attempt to reach it.

“I’ll use you fer target practice if you don’t–”

“Jack! Give that back, you asshole!"

“–get your head back in the game!” Jack suddenly whipped the Nerf gun back at Mark, who fumbled to catch it. “I’m dyin’ here!”

Mark clutched the gun tightly to his chest and retreated to the safety of his seat, pouting and hugging the toy as though Jack might attempt to steal it from him again. He stuck his tongue out childishly before turning back to his screen - and he stifled a laugh.

“Uh…” He carefully set his precious plastic weapon on the desk, out of Jack’s reach. “Not to alarm you, but I think we’re already dead.”

Jack’s focus snapped to his own screen, and sure enough, both he and Mark were now standing on the deck of a ghost ship, waiting their turn to return to the land of the living. He threw his hands in the air and flopped backwards in his chair.

“Fuckin’ DAMMIT all!” He sank in his seat with a groan, Mark’s deep giggles permeating the air around them both. “I blame you entirely for that.”

“Yeah...heh...yeah, that’s...that’s on me. Sorry, man…” Mark still hadn’t stopped giggling, his mood far too bright to be dimmed by a death in the game.

“I’m makin’ sure everyone knows it’s your fault,” Jack bemoaned from his slouched position. “I’m gonna make you buy me a fancy-ass tombstone, an’ put one o’ those shitty rhyming couplets on it…”

He held his hands out in front of him, pretending to frame the words.

“Here lies Jack Just blame his friend Whose Nerf gun brought Their bitter end.”

Mark’s only response was a slow golf clap while he pretended to be tearing up.

“Beautiful,” he told Jack, voice laced with false emotion. “Absolutely beautiful. You should’ve become a poet instead of a YouTuber. Clearly you were meant for greater things than video game commentary.”

Jack almost fell out of his chair in his attempt to chuck another Sam plush at Mark’s head.

“D’you think that cop really believed that nothing was wrong?” Jack asked Mark with a mutter later that evening.

Mark had already sent out the day’s raw videos from both him and Jack to Robin and Kathryn for editing, though only after doing a little bit of content cutting before passing them along. There were certain things that had to be cut out from their recordings that really, really didn’t need to be shared with anyone beyond their immediate group. Not yet.

“The guy from the other day?” Mark asked, looking up from his phone. “I dunno. I mean I don’t think he believed all the anonymous tips, anyway. He was trying not to crack a smile the whole time he was explaining stuff to us.”

Apparently, some of Jack’s fans had taken Anti’s appearance on the stream at face value. They had believed (rightfully so) that it was real, and when Jack went silent on all forms of social media for more than twenty-four hours after it had happened, people had started to panic. While nobody knew for sure where Jack lived, the local police station in Brighton had gotten call after call after call from concerned teens and young adults who all claimed that a YouTuber named Sean McLoughlin had almost been killed on a livestream. If it hadn’t been for the sheer number of phone calls and the video proof that looked almost too real to have been edited, Jack was sure the police would have ignored it.

But two days ago - three days after the stream itself - a police officer had come knocking on the apartment door asking if a Sean McLoughlin or a Jacksepticeye lived there.

After explaining - through stifled grinning and amused chuckles - that a lot of fans thought he had been hurt, Mark and Jack had tried to awkwardly laugh it off and explain that, no, it was just a video, and nobody had actually gotten hurt.

(Jack was wearing makeup on his neck again for recording, thank god, otherwise the bruises might have brought on some unwanted questions. As it was...)

“I dunno man.” Jack sighed deeply and scrubbed his hands over his face, sinking back on the couch. “I swear he kept lookin’ at my neck. I’m sure he watched the video for th’ sake of the calls. Probably checkin’ to see if I really got strangled.”

“Ah, quit worrying. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Mark scrolled through Twitter again, reading a few more tweets before, “...and we’re sure we don’t want to get the police involved?”

Jack leveled him with a blank stare.

“Do you honestly think the police are gonna know how to deal wit’ a computer virus of a demon that came to life from my YouTube channel? I mean WE barely know what we’re doing and we’re fully invested in the lore of it all!”

Mark stifled a laugh.

“Okay, yeah good point,” he admitted. He shook his head, eyes falling back to his phone gain. “Fully invested in the lore...god, we sound like we’re trying to solve Five Nights At Freddy’s conspiracies. That’s how complicated this whole mess has become. Frankly, if anyone overheard what we were talking about in the cafe that first day I showed up, they’d probably think–”

Jack jolted upright in his seat, eyes wide and expression one of stunned realization.

“Holy shit.” He grabbed Mark’s arm and shook him a little, his movements suddenly intense and a brilliant grin splitting his face in two. “Holy shit!”

“Holy shit what?” Mark gripped his phone a little tighter so it wouldn’t go flying out of his hands from Jack’s enthusiasm.

“Mark, you’re a fuckin’ genius!”

“Well - I mean, yeah, I thought we established that, but what the hell did I say?!”

Mark was rightfully very bewildered by his friend’s sudden change of mood. He gave Jack a quick once-over with his eyebrows raised, wondering if he should be concerned.

“Five Nights at Freddy’s!” Jack exclaimed. He looked far too excited and far too proud of himself for his own good.

“...Five Nights at–”

“Dude! Don’t you get it?” Jack leapt up off the couch, pacing, and Sam - who had been dozing in Jack’s hoodie pocket - poked his ‘face’ out with a sleepy blink, wondering what all the commotion was about. “This whole thing is too fuckin’ complicated right now, right? We don’t know what exactly Anti is, or how to stop him from comin’ back. He’s solid but he’s not. He’s made of glitches but - who the hell even knows what that means.”

“Okay…?” Mark just watched the Irishman pace the room, his phone long forgotten in his lap. “Where are you going with this?”

“Anti doesn’t make sense!” Jack was grinning like an idiot. He stopped in his tracks to turn and face Mark. “We know why he’s here but that only gets us so far! We need somebody who’s used to picking apart ridiculous bullshit to find the real answers, somebody who already kinda knows what’s going on.”

“Jack, you’ve lost me,” Mark said flatly. “Who are you talking about, Robin? Amy?”

“No!” Jack was talking with his hands, talking with his entire body, like he couldn’t contain all the energy that had built up inside him. “Five Nights at Freddy’s. Crazy timeline. Bullshit lore. There’s only one person I know who was able to tear that shit to pieces and make sense out of it.”

And then it hit Mark like a load of bricks, and he was on his feet too, his exclamation coming out as a loud and incredulous question in the same moment that Jack was busting out the same words.

“MatPat?!”

“MatPat!”

“Waitwaitwait, hold on–” Mark was trying to sort out his thoughts, pinching the bridge of his nose while he watched Jack rush around in a frantic search for his cell phone. Mark didn’t have it right now and Jack couldn’t quite remember where it had ended up. “What the hell do you mean Matt already knows what’s going on?”

“Well, okay, he doesn’t know about Anti,” Jack admitted, his ass in the air while he leaned over the armchair in the corner to see if his phone was plugged in back there. “He knows about Sam though.”

“He knows about Sam?!” Mark’s jaw dropped.

At this point, Sam had abandoned Jack’s pocket to hover a few steps behind the Irishman, watching him with quiet curiosity. At Mark’s question, Sam let out a happy little squeak and nodded, twirling through the air a little.

“Did you tell him before you told me?” Before Jack could even answer, Mark had continued: “But he posted a video like two weeks ago about how Sam couldn’t possibly exist!”

“Well, duh, he posted that because he knows about Sam,” Jack rolled his eyes and shoved away from the armchair, detouring to the kitchen. He spoke up to be heard across the apartment. “He was tryin’ to throw people off. And I didn’t tell him about Sam.” Jack returned to the living room, cell phone in hand and a sheepish smile on his face. “He...er...kinda found out on his own.”

“How?”

“Tacos and Rachel Ray.”

Mark didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I have no idea how to respond to that.”

“Look…” Jack huffed and came back over to Mark, sitting on the edge of the coffee table while his friend sank slowly back onto the couch. Sam settled onto his shoulder and nuzzled up against Jack’s cheek with a quiet purr. “Sam was sick, so I brought him with me for the taco-making contest. Matt was on my team. He bumped into me, I tripped, Sam almost fell out of my hood, and Matt saw him.”

“And he didn’t freak out?”

Jack’s lips twitched into a wry smile and he looked up from his phone.

“Oh, he freaked out, but not until later.”

“Let me get this straight.” Mark watched Jack carefully as he spoke. Jack nodded and went back to shakily tapping out a message to Matt. “Just so we’re both on the same page. Sam exists, clearly. Anti exists. You, me, Robin, and Matt know about Sam. You, me, and maybe Robin know about Anti.”

“And Matt too now, sort of.”

“And Matt,” Mark agreed. “And Amy too, come to think of it. Is there anybody else who knows anything else, just in case we need to recruit people for a battle of the digital age?”

“Nope, nobody else. Don’t think so anyway,” Jack shook his head. He paused and looked thoughtful, setting his phone aside (looking relieved to get the thing out of his hands) and tapping his chin. “...though I probably should bring up that Anti mentioned being late for a date or something last time? What was the name...something...something Warfstache…?”Mark looked like he might explode

“WHAT?!”

“Oh my god!” Jack cackled, doubling over with laughter and trying not to slip off the edge of the coffee table he was sitting on. “Oh my fucking god your face! That was PRICELESS! You fuckin’ - Haha! - f-fuckin’ believed–” He could barely breathe he was laughing so hard, his laughter sounding a little wheezy.

Mark groaned and flopped backward across the couch, a low, pained chuckled escaping him.

”Oh, you absolutely piece of shit. Fuck you.”

“Y-Yeah, I - heh - I probably...haha...deserve that one…” Jack was grinning, wiping tears from his eyes.

Sam had bounced over to Mark to make sure he was okay and was now nestled on the American’s chest, Tim’s curious little eyes watching from the arm of the couch not even a foot away. The little box tumbled forward and landed right next to Mark’s head, patting his cheek softly in what Jack assumed was a comforting motion. Another low, rumbling laugh bubbled up from Mark’s chest.

“But no, to answer your question,” Jack continued once he could breathe again. “I think that’s everyone.”

“Good. Great. Excellent.”

Mark was absolutely done. Just...done.

“Ah, lighten up, Markimoo,” Jack snickered. “Consider it payback fer that Nerf scare.”

“Considering that you were implying that Warfstache is alive too, and that he and your evil twin are getting it on–”

“Hey! I only said they went on a date!”

“–I’d say we’re far from even right now.”

“Oh, fuck off! That’s totally even!”

“And what if I tricked you into thinking your Dr. Schneep guy was alive and I caught him flirting with Dr. Iplier?”

“Oh, dude, no,” Jack groaned, laughing through it. “Nooo...I mean, yeah, Henrik totally would. He’d flirt with anything that moved. But hell no.”

“See my point?”

The living room was pleasantly quiet for a long moment, save for the little questioning squeaks Sam was making from his position on Mark’s chest. Then Mark heard the buzzing clatter of plastic against the coffee table. Jack’s phone was ringing, but on silent. Mark cracked open one eye to glance at Jack, who suddenly looked a lot more tense than he had a moment before.

“...you good, Jack?” he murmured, watching the other YouTuber. Jack nodded stiffly, looking a little pale. “Is it MatPat? He calling back already?”

Jack swallowed thickly.

“Nah. It’s...just Robin.”

“Answer it,” Mark encouraged him evenly. “Go ahead. We’re all in the room with you, it’ll be fine.”

Jack nodded, the motion a little jerky, and he reached over to press the ‘Answer’ button. He quickly put it on speaker and withdrew his hand as though he’d been burned. The phone stayed sitting on the table.

“Jack?”

“Hey Robin,” Jack murmured.

Mark could see the way Jack started fidgeting the moment he heard Robin’s voice, saw his fingers tugging at the edges of his hoodie and saw the way his knee started bouncing rapidly. Like he had too much nervous energy, like it was trying to get out however it could.

“Hey! I just wanted to...you know. Check in,” Robin continued, a half-smile in his voice. “I got the videos from Mark. Why didn’t you tell me he was planning on visiting the UK?”

“That’s his fault,” Jack muttered, and a small smile made its way onto his face. “He didn’t fuckin’ tell me he was stoppin’ by until he was on my doorstep. So blame him.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” Robin’s words were a touch humorous for a moment. “Anyway...how’s everything going? How’s Sam?”

“Sam’s great!” Jack’s grin became more genuine, and he giggled when Sam bounced over to sit beside the phone. He was wiggling on the spot in excitement. “He and Tim are gettin’ along famously. He’s been so damn happy, Robin, I wish you could see ‘em together.”

“You can thank me later,” Mark chimed in with a smirk.

“Is that Mark?” Robin asked. “Am I on speaker?”

“Oh! Yeah, you are. Sorry. Shoulda said.” Jack chuckled softly.

“No, it’s fine!” Robin laughed a little too. “Hey Mark!”

“Hey Robin!”

“How are you doing though, Jack?” Robin’s tone had turned concerned, more strained than before. “And what the hell is going on with the whole Antisepticeye thing? I mean - I saw the stream. That–” A sigh crackled through the speaker. “I know for a fact I didn’t edit that, and it looked…Jack, it looked way too real. What the hell was that? Are you okay?”

Jack stiffened. He could feel Mark’s eyes on him, his look a knowing one. It had been five whole days since they had talked at the cafe, and while Jack had texted Robin back and forth a few times since then (in very brief interludes, as there were still moments Jack couldn’t even look at his own TV for fear of Anti jumping out of the dimmed pixels, let alone carry his phone in his pocket all day), not once had Jack brought up the livestream. Any time Robin asked about it Jack evaded his questions and changed the subject, or didn’t respond at all. He had been half-ghosting his friend and he knew it.

“Eh…” Jack cleared his throat and shrugged, though Robin couldn’t see it. “I’m fine.” He answered only half of the question. “A little worn out, but Mark an’ I have been really goin’ hard, knockin’ out tons of videos now so we can get some free time to hang out later…”

“Seán.”

And there it was, the gentle scolding that reminded Jack too much of his older brothers. Robin usually pulled that one out when Jack was working himself too hard or he hadn’t sent Robin his finished recordings yet. How Robin managed to make Jack feel like a misbehaving child every time he used it was a mystery to him...but it worked. Every damn time. Jack sighed and let out a quiet groan.

“I’ll tell you soon, I promise,” he whimpered. “I promise I will, it’s - it’s just - I can’t–” He dragged a hand through his hair, and his gaze landed on Mark. The other YouTuber had sat up in the past few minutes and was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, his expression a searching one. He quirked an eyebrow at the Irishman.

“One second, Robin,” he said softly, reaching over to tap the ‘mute’ button on Jack’s phone. He watched his friend for a long moment before speaking. “Jack...I’m not gonna push you to talk to him, but - oh my god, man. It’s almost been a whole week . The longer you wait, the more likely it’ll be for him to figure it out on his own. Or, worse, he’ll be hurt that you’re still keeping things from him. He already told you yesterday, people have been sending him tons of tweets and tumblr messages asking about you. Didn’t he tell you that some people wanted to know if you’re dead or not?”

Jack nodded stiffly, wincing.

“I told you I’d help you tell him the truth.” Mark smiled reassuringly. “I meant that, okay? And - hell, I can get Amy on the line, and we can have a big ol’ Sleepover Party Egos Theory Skype Call.”

Jack snorted out a nervous laugh, shaking his head in amusement. Sleepover…

“Only you would see it as a “sleepover” opportunity, Mark.”

“What can I say?” Mark grinned cheekily and winked. “I’m a fully-fledged man-child.” His grin faded back to a soft, understanding smile and he tried to catch Jack’s eye. “Waddaya say? You up for it?”

“...I eh…” Jack stared at his hands, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt while he thought.

Was he ready to talk about what had happened yet? Would Robin even believe him? Would he freak out, or take it all in stride like he had with Sam? Jack didn’t want to cause a panic and he didn’t want to make this a bigger deal than it already was. He didn’t want to push into painful and uncomfortable territory but...it seemed a little unavoidable at this point. He had known that, eventually, he would have no choice but to tell Robin - but he’d been trying to delay the inevitable. He’d been hoping beyond hope that this whole thing would blow over as though it had never happened and he wouldn’t have to even think about the livestream or its implications or Anti’s “haunting” his videos ever again.

But Mark was right. The longer he waited, the worse it could get.

Jack sighed heavily. His hand was shaking when he reached for his phone, but he still pressed the ‘mute’ button to let Robin hear them again.

“Hey Robin,” he mumbled, to let her know he was back. “You there?”

“Still here, Jack.” The usual friendly patience was in his voice, colored with a touch of concern for his friend

It helped Jack with what he knew he had to do next.

“I...eh. D’you mind waitin’ a few minutes?” he asked, wringing his hands in his lap. “Mark’s gonna get Amy on a Skype call wit’ us, an’ we can all talk face-to-face, and I’ll...I’ll fill you in on what’s been, er, happenin’ in my part of the world.”

“Really?” Robin asked, sounding brighter. “You’re actually going to tell me this time?”

“I - yeah. Yeah, I am.” Jack took a breath. His nervousness was clear with every word that left his mouth. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Wait!”

Mark’s outburst made Jack jump and his head shot up.

“What–”

“My smoothie! I totally forgot my smoothie!”

Jack stared, and he heard Robin snickering on the other end of the call.

“Your smoothie,” he repeated, his lips twitching into some semblance of a smile. “You mean the one from after dinner? From, like, two hours ago?”

“Yes, from after dinner!” Mark rocketed off the couch, skirting the coffee table and grabbing his rental car keys as he went to the door. “It’s still in the car. This is super serious.”

“Super serious?” Jack repeated. He watched Tim bounce off the couch and hop curiously around the room in pursuit of Mark, doing his best to keep up. “More serious than Serious Shit?”

“YES! MORE SERIOUS THAN THAT!” Mark, who almost stepped on Tim in his haste to get to the door, let out a rather undignified squeak and immediately crouched to the ground beside the tiny box. “Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Did I hurt you? C’mere, my little biscuit, let’s get you off the floor. I would neeeever want you to get hurt, I would neeeever step on you���”

“Oh my god, Mark, you’re such a mom.”

“What? It’s not like you’re not the same way with Sam!”

At this, Jack chucked a pillow from the couch across the room, hitting Mark in the legs to avoid hitting Tim.

“Go get your fuckin’ smoothie!”

“Fine! I will!”

Mark flipped him off and pretended to storm out of the apartment, putting Tim on his shoulder and “slamming” the door shut (only to stop it at the last second to close it with a quiet click.) Jack shook his head with a smile. Only Mark.

“Hey...Jack?”

“Hm?” Jack returned his attention to his phone, still sitting beside him on the coffee table. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to ask...you tried to tell me before. Anti is real, right?”

“Yeah…” His answer was a tense one, his hands coming up to fiddle with the strings of his hoodie.

“Did…” Robin’s voice trailed off, and there was static in the speaker, like he had taken a breath. “So...did he really hurt you? On the stream.”

Jack swallowed thickly. He was suddenly very aware of the sore bruises on his throat, and he felt rather than saw Sam land lightly on his shoulder.

“What...eh…” He cleared his throat, and Sam nuzzled up against his jaw, little waves of reassurance and worry filtering into the back of his mind. “...w-what makes ye ask that?”

“I told you I was getting messages and asks,” Robin told him. He could hear footsteps in the background, movement. Like he was pacing. “And I turned them off for now, because Mark said I should wait until you told me what was going on. Which I can respect. But...some of the messages – people are really worried about you, Jack. And I am too. I couldn’t help it. I kept going back to watch the end of the stream, and – damn. That entire thing - it was so intense. It...it looked like Anti was trying to…I mean, when he was...” Robin trailed off.

Jack closed his eyes, his jaw clenching tightly. Oh. Hands shaking, Jack picked his phone up off the coffee table and took the call off speaker, holding the mobile to his ear and getting to his feet.

“When he was holdin’ me up against the...eh...th’ wall?” he asked hoarsely. His movements were stiff, his footing a little unsteady as he crossed the room to pick up the pillow he’d thrown at Mark. He squeezed the edge of it tightly in his hand, lingering there by the door.

“...yeah.” Robin took another deep breath on the other end of the line, and when he spoke again his voice was low and hoarse. Concerned. “He – Jack, he was hurting you. Actually hurting you, not just - play-fighting, or acting for the camera. Wasn’t he?”

Jack’s chest felt tight, his throat constricting from both the memory and his own emotions. He took a shaking breath and dropped the pillow into the armchair closest to him, his free hand coming up to rest against his opposite shoulder. By Sam. Sam’s tail trailed down and brushed against his fingers, helping to soothe some of the uneasiness that had begun to build inside him.

“N-No, that...that was. Um.” Real. It was real. He blinked rapidly and his grip tightened on his phone. “Yeah. It...he left bruises.”

Robin swore quietly on the other end of the line.

“Jack–”

But whatever Robin had been about to say, Jack never found out, because the call was suddenly filled with static and audio distortion, Robin’s words lost in a mass of broken sound that had Jack freezing where he stood.

“...Robin?” he whispered, eyes widening. “Robin...listen...I need to go. Okay? I can’t...I can’t hear you, but I th-think–”

The call dropped before Jack even hit the end button, the cell phone slipping from his hand and tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump against the carpet.

There was a static in the air, a crackle, an energy to it that made the hair on the back of Jack's neck stand on end. His breath hitched. The hand that still lingered near his shoulder tensed, and he could feel Sam curl closer to his neck.

"I'm not the only one feelin' that, yeah?" Jack breathed, his eyes darting around his apartment and landing on nothing. He took an involuntary step back toward the door.

"Nuh-uh. I feel it too..." Sam's worried voice floated across the back of his mind. Jack nodded. Alright. So he wasn't crazy.

A lamp across the room sparked and popped, the bulb blowing out suddenly, and even as small of an occurrence as that was it made Jack jump. The room was plunged into darkness. Wide blue eyes latched onto the deadened lamp. "W-What the hell is going on...?" His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.

But the question he asked was one he was almost certain he knew the answer to. This static, this...tension. Electricity. He knew this feeling. It was one he was far too familiar with, one that he had experienced before.

Anti.

The room had felt much the same as this when Anti had appeared during his stream last time, when he had pinned Jack to the wall by his throat and toyed with him in front of an audience, had left him scared and shaking in a way he never expected he'd have to feel in his life. Until then he hadn't been sure if Anti was real. But now? Now there was no denying it. So the feeling in the air, the tension, the spark? It flooded him with a very real and tangible fear that wasn't without reason.

"Ďid̎ ÿo̊u m̰i͋šs̶ m̰ē?"

A voice, so close, a cold breath against his ear. Jack cried out and flung himself away from the sound, knees hitting carpet as he hurried away from his own front door now, scrambled across the living room with desperate movements, one hand clamped over Sam so he wouldn’t lose him. There, by the door, his smile just as sharp and as wicked as Jack remembered, was the glitch himself. His image crackled and distorted for a moment - Jack could see the pixels separating as he stood there - and a moment later he had flickered forward, appearing a few steps closer.

Shit...shit, shit, shit...he had half a mind to scream, to call for Mark, but at this point Mark had probably already made it down to his car and wouldn't hear anything. All he could hope for now was that he could stall long enough for his friend to make it back inside. Two on one were better odds in this situation.

"I̥ d̠on̪'t e͊v͐enͥ g̴ét a h̒e͊llo̖, J̠åc̮k̾a͈b͗ö́y?"

“Go away!”

Jack’s eyes widened and he went stiff, panic doubling. Sam had wriggled free from his spot on Jack’s shoulder and he was hovering in mid-air between the two men in the room, planting himself boldly before Anti as though he was planning on defending Jack himself.

“Sam, don’t–”

“Leave him alone, you meanie!” Sam sounded so brave, so determined, so…so angry for such a small little being. “You hurt Jack, and you made him sad, and - and–” Sam wriggled in the air and tried to make himself look intimidating. “–and I’m not gonna let you hurt him again!”

Contrary to what Jack was sure Sam had wanted, Anti didn’t look scared at all. In fact, he smiled...a gleeful smile that had Jack dreading whatever was about to happen.

“W̠e͆ll, a̒re̮n't y͞oṳ a̸ b̸ra̢v̜e lĭt͉tle t̹oa̤s̈t̤èr̔?” Anti crooned, his head tilting far to the side in a way that was eerily non-human. He held out a hand, palm-up, and the air above it distorted and warped impossibly. A worn, dark jewelry box appeared there in a flurry of pixels, its lid popped open to reveal the empty space within. “Sȯr̬r̗y t̸o b̓ur̢s̈ţ ŷou̬r͊ b᷆u̫b᷇b̍l͑ě, S̕a̺m̮my̳, b̝u᷈t...yo̔u'rē no̸t̹ ne͑e̓d̐ed f̔o͍r̈ toñḯgh̠t̡'s ća̧s̱t̎ o̱f͗ c̟har̐a͐ct̊e͓r̊s͊.”

Quicker than Jack could react, Anti glitched, vanished, and reappeared inches from Sam with the jewelry box held out before him. With one swooping motion, Anti had flicked Sam into the box, snapped the lid shut, locked it with a key and tossed the box over his shoulder to land neatly on the armchair in the corner.

“NO!” Jack sprang forward without thinking, arm outstretched as though to reach the box–

“D̹ǐd̵ I̽ s͌a̝y y̪o͚u͘ c̡o̾u͎l̦d͗ m̐o͋v̫e͕?”

Before Jack could register the giggling words, he found himself tripping head-over-heels, colliding soundly with the front of the cabinet his television rested on. A jolt of pain pulsed through his shoulder and he cried out, biting his lip, biting his tongue. Desperate fingers clutched at his aching shoulder and he gritted his teeth.

“What the fuck do you want?!” he bit out, panting and tense as he watched Anti slowly stalk toward him across the room. “You here to...to k-kill me? Hurt me? S...Strangle me again?”

“Wh͔a̠ţ d᷁ō ÿ́o̊u̖ t͔ak̓e m̉e̥ f̓or̓, a᷇ s᷀a͂di͉s͟t͊?” Anti scoffed incredulously.

Jack blinked at him, a sassy retort on his lips before he could stop himself.

“What, you - ngh - aren’t one? Could’ve f-fooled me...”

“I'̗m̺ m̛or̬e̍ ǫf a m̭a͒s᷅ochi͙s̜t̕,̘ r͖ea̪l͟l̓y,͏” Anti shrugged. Jack was surprised that Anti had even bothered to answer the question at all. “Bu͂t̢ bo͑t͐h̬ a᷊r̛e͞ p̭r̂ett͒y̎ a͘c̬c᷅u͑ra̻t̎e̍.”

Great. Good to know. Wonderful.

“N̚o̫, i͓t̋'s no͙t̘h̺i̝n᷆g s͕o̻ s͑i̔m͕pl̖e̍ as a̖l̥l̆ t᷁h̄a̓t,” Anti smirked, waving the thought away with one hand.

The air around his palm distorted and glitched, and a shining blade appeared in his hand on the way down.

Oh, fuck.

Anti was a few steps away now, and Jack scrambled backward across the floor, trying to get as much distance between himself and the glitch as possible...but he was cornered, pinned between the side of the TV cabinet and the wall, blocked in with no way out. It was starting to become a struggle to keep his breathing steady, his heart hammering away a tarantella against his ribs, his throat coarse and tight from tension.

The burst bulb from earlier had thrown the room into near-darkness, but what moonlight was coming through the living room window reflected off the sharpened blade in Anti’s hand, the light bouncing off into Jack’s eyes as the glitch knelt in front of him - close, too close - his eyes beginning to swirl with an inky blackness that Jack never wanted to see this close again.

Jack kept his eyes fixed on the blade, wide as saucers, and his breath hitched when he saw it inching closer and closer to his face. The touch of cool metal against his cheek made him tense and he clenched his jaw with a gulp. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t painful. Anti was dragging the flat side of the knife along his jawline, and Jack could hear the sound of its edge scraping against the coarse facial hair there.

“No̫…” Anti shook his head, and the sharp grin widened wickedly, appearing to split his face in two. “No, I ẖa͗v̶e m̪ůch...͛mùch᷆ b᷆i͈g͗g᷄er p̓lan̶s᷉ foͥr᷆ yõu͕, Jaͅc̻k.” 

Mark was humming to himself as he made his way down to the rental car, the keys jingling in his hand. Tim sat perched on his shoulder, one tiny hand clutching the collar of Mark’s shirt, and he was trying to hum along to whatever song Mark had stuck in his head right now

It wasn’t his fault Katy Perry’s music was so catchy.

By the time he unlocked and opened the driver’s side door, he was well into the chorus, mumbling the words in an undertone to himself and for Tim’s entertainment.

“California girls, we're undeniable! Fine, fresh, fierce, we got it on lock~” Tim was giggling, and the sound brought a warm smile to Mark’s face. He shifted into the driver’s seat so he could reach his smoothie easier, but not before belting out the next few lyrics at the top of his lungs.

“West coast represent, now put your hands up!”

He did so, dancing in his seat, grinning and playing it up for his little biscuit’s benefit.

“Ooh, oh, ooh! Ooh…”

Something flickered in the corner of his eye, something red...or was it blue?...and he trailed off, a crease forming in his brow. Tim was still giggling softly. Had he been seeing things? With a soft chuckle, he reached over and plucked his half-finished smoothie from the cupholder, still somewhat chilled from the cool weather of the evening.

Yeah, it was probably nothing. The whole Antisepticeye thing had been keeping him on edge since he’d arrived here in England. He pushed himself out of his seat and shut the door behind him. But when he turned to head back inside, something in the reflection in the car’s window caught his attention.

Mark dropped his smoothie.

A quiet thumping rose up across the living room, a rattling that caught Jack’s attention as well as Anti’s.

Sam. Sam was trying to get out.

Anti looked away from his victim for a moment, only for a moment, some space coming between Jack’s cheek and the metal of Anti’s blade.

A moment was all he needed.

Jack lashed out with a fist and a knee, landing a punch square across the glitch’s face and driving a knee up into his gut. Anti tumbled away from him, distorting and flickering, a static-fused snarl of pain and annoyance bubbling up from his prone form. Jack shoved himself to his feet, leaping over Anti and heading for the front door. He had to get out, had to leave, had to get Sam and go–

“I d͓O̬n͈’Ṭ t̉H͠iN̼ḱ sͅO͊!”

Static, feedback, a crackle in the air, and Anti was in front of him again, seething with fury, blocking his exit. Jack was running on pure adrenaline now, veering left and heading down the hall toward the bedrooms. The bathroom. Recording room. Anything.

“y̜O̰u̯’̒R̡e̿ N̈o̽T͔ g̓O̩i᷈N̸g̽ Ản̉Y͋w̳H̤e̦R̸ë́!̉”

There he was again, cutting him off, keeping him trapped in the same room. Shit...fuck…

Mark. Mark was downstairs. He just - he needed to stall, to wait it out until Mark came back with his stupid smoothie. He could make it that long.

Jack did a one-eighty and darted back down the hallway, the rug slipping beneath his feet and making him stumble. He caught himself on the wall and kept going, kept dodging. He could do this. Distract him. Hold him off. Something. Anything.

Green.

...green?

Something green, in the corner of his eye. Green and orange.

Jack risked turning his head, risked a glance, and he caught sight of the Nerf gun - Chase’s Nerf gun - sitting on the kitchen table. Mark had been playing with the damned thing for days, and for the first time since it had resurfaced Jack was unendingly grateful that Mark had found it again. He made a detour through the kitchen, snatching it up and shoving the ziplock of foam discs into his hoodie pocket.

Disc. Pull back. Load. Click. Wait for it. Be ready.

Jack circled his way back into the living room, Anti’s laughter echoing through the apartment, and he dove behind the coffee table with his plastic weaponed primed. He was ready.

He was terrified.

Jack would be an idiot if he pretended that this entire situation wasn’t scaring him within an inch of his life. He knew - he was trying not to think - that he could die at any second tonight, and that the pixelated parasite hunting him down in his own apartment was far too strong of an opponent for him to handle, with or without Sam. With Mark, maybe he had a chance, but even those odds were slim. If he didn’t die tonight, or if he didn’t at least get stabbed, he was going to drink until morning then invite every single one of his friends over to England to have the party of a fucking lifetime.

“O͗h͢,᷄ Jȁa͚a̕a̓a̻c̈́k̘~” Anti’s distorted, chilling voice echoed through the room and sent a shiver down Jack’s spine. “W͘h̅e͔re a᷇r̰e̶ y̑ou͏ hid͛ǐnͅg̤?”

Jack caught sight of a flickering black sneaker from his hiding spot and he popped up from behind the coffee table, firing the Nerf gun at the center of Anti’s chest.

Anti barely flinched as the foam disc bounced off of him with a spark of electricity. He blinked - dark, void-like eyes - and stared down at the harmless green projectile on the floor.

“A̛ n᷄er̼f͈ d̑i͞sč? Ȓe͏a̧ll̐y̕, Ja͙c͂k̇?᷀”

Jack shrugged. He pretended that he wasn’t sweating buckets and shaking like a leaf behind the Nerf gun in his hands.

“N-Not like I’ve got anythin’ else.”

“H̆o̲w͘ v᷁e̛ry “C̰h̦a͘s̟e B̜r̵o̦d͔y” o͈f̹ y̬öu͍.”

Somehow the mention of another Ego’s name on Anti’s lips made Jack tense up. It was surreal. It was strange. They were all fake - all of them fictional - yet Anti had somehow become so much more. The concept of the living incarnation of his once-fictional character mentioning another of his still-fictional characters so casually like that...it was unsettling, to say the least. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed. He just needed to hold out a little longer, just a little while longer, until Mark came back from the car. Keep talking. Keep going...

“W-Well...well…it’s t-technically his gun...s-so…”

Jack opened his eyes.

Anti wasn’t there.

“I̚ kn̴ơw̼ w̖h̖a̽ẗ y᷆o̠u᷄’͍r͖e do̕i͖n̖g̉.”

The chilling voice seemed to come from all sides at once, and Jack could make out flickers of pixels and static in the dark shadows of the room. He fumbled with the ziplock in his pocket, pulling out a foam disc to load his Nerf gun again.

“Oh?” Jack asked, his voice coming out higher than he’d intended. “Do…” He cleared his throat. “...do you now?”

“M᷅a̪r̿k̀i̟pl̻i̘e͛r᷀ i̵sn̄’t͡ c̊o͇m̕i͝n̩g͚ to͆ s̲a͙v᷀e͎ yo̫u̥.”

Jack’s blood ran cold.

“What–”

“H᷁e’̘s̎...ă li͢t̺t͖l̷e᷄ ţie͓d᷄ u̯p̉ a̳t̀ th̪e͡ m̘oͥmȩn͇ẗ́.” Anti’s distorted giggle echoed and circled in the empty air, causing goosebumps to sprout up along Jack’s arms. His breath hitched, eyes flying wildly around the room, trying to spot any sign of his doppleganger. “Y᷇o᷅u̥ wer͖e̸ṇ’t̃ p̼l̯a̿yi̟n͘g̉ fa̯ir̤, Ja̒c̉k̩a̫b᷉o͎y…” The next words came front right over his shoulder, whispered into his ear like a dirty secret. “...s̥o̾ Į le͍veͅlèd͎ t̏h̬e͕ p̭l̎ay᷊i̹n͑g̵ fi̥el͔d͙.͝ Ġot̥ ą c̋er̒t̛a͙i͇n da̢r͍k a̭cq̑ŭa̖in͊t̮a̠n̸ce̬ of̿ m̪i̎ne t͖õ ẖęl̍p̖ m̓e̺ o̢u̟t a̲ li̫t͕t᷈l̪e.”

Mark was scared to blink, staring at his own reflection in the car’s window with his jaw clenched, a vein pulsing in his neck. A figure stood just behind his shoulder, his body outlined in a familiar red and blue, looking so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. By the time his smoothie hit the concrete and burst open, splattering the ground, only fractions of a second had passed...but it felt like an eternity. He blinked.

Dark was gone.

“Mark?” Tim’s voice cropped up beside his ear, confused and a little worried.

“...hold on to me, okay?” Mark murmured, and he brought a hand up to try and shield his familiar from whatever might happen. Whoever might happen.

“I’m not here for him, you know.”

The voice, deep and echoing and so like his own but different, startled him into turning around. He hadn’t been in the reflection, but he hadn’t actually left. His name left Mark’s lips in a strained whisper.

“Darkiplier.”

“Face-to-face, at long last,” Dark nodded. He smirked, folding his hands behind his back. “And like I said...I’m only here for you. This is all coming from your mind, Mark.”

“Mark? What’re you lookin’ at?”

Tim. He sounded so innocent and confused, so worried about Mark, and what Dark was saying suddenly registered in Mark’s mind.

“Tim can’t see you, can he?”

“Tim doesn’t have to see me,” Dark corrected, raising an eyebrow in clear impatience. “I don’t want him to see me, therefore he can’t. But you…” His head tilted to the side and he made his neck pop, his shell cracking and separating for a moment. Then he leaned forward, intrigued. “...you, I can never quite hide from. Not completely. Why is that?”

“I...don’t know,” Mark shook his head, confused. Lost. Dark was here, and he was very real, and he was talking to Mark as though none of this was odd. “Maybe...uh....maybe because I made you?”

“Y̙̭o͏̖͔͙͓̼u d͇͈̭i͎̤͉ḍ̼̠̭̟̯͡n̡͕͎̙̜’̠̹̫̦͙͡t ̝ma̟k̼͎͝e̗̗̱͈̬ͅ m̰̥ḛ.”

There was an echoing fury boiling under the words, and the air around Dark seemed to darken considerably in the moment. Mark took an involuntary step back towards his car.

“I - what?”

“You didn’t make me.” Dark’s anaglyphic image was separating, tearing itself apart, and one of his echoing reflections seemed to scream silently into the cold night air. All the while, his core image remained stern and unyielding, showing barely any emotion at all. “You destroyed me - destroyed us. You stole his body. You condemned her to hell. You drove him to insanity. You ruined their lives.”

It clicked, then, what Dark was talking about. This was exactly what Mark had been scared of, worried about, when he was talking to Jack in that cafe. This was why he was regretting the creation of “Who Killed Markiplier”...or more accurately, he was regretting the addition of the character of Mark. The Mark who was an actor. The Mark who was an asshole. The fictional Mark who ruined everything and destroyed so many people…

...Dark was under the impression that Actor Mark and YouTube Mark were one and the same.

Mark blinked, and suddenly Dark was so much closer than he had been before. The darkness that had been enveloping the demon was surrounding Mark too now, and it was absolutely suffocating.

“...but, I suppose I should be thanking you,” Dark continued, a smirk finding its way onto his face. He tilted his head to the side, regarding Mark thoughtfully. “In a way, you...are the reason I exist. Your damnation of your friends led to my creation. A part of me is furious...but a part of me is more than grateful. You set the darkness free, Mark.”

Mark’s heart was pounding, rapid, in his chest and he could feel a minute panic slowly flooding his very soul. He gulped and shook his head, one hand still holding Tim close - Tim, who had fallen strangely silent, though Mark didn’t stop to question it.

Dark wasn’t here to hurt him. Dark didn’t resort to physical violence unless he had to, Mark had written him that way. While Anti went straight for the knife, Dark resorted to other means of making his point and making his mark.

This was all in his mind. Dark wasn’t physically here.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “You...I’ve been seeing you, for months, but this is the first time you’ve actually spoken to me. What changed?”

Dark’s gaze trailed off to the side, toward the apartment, before settling back on Mark.

“A friend asked for a favor.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I merely agreed.”

A cry of pain broke the odd non-silence of the evening, a cry of pain that sounded all too familiar and was coming from the apartment Mark had been trying to return to. His eyes widened.

A friend asked for a favor.

A friend of Dark’s. Anti.

“Jack!”

Mark shoved away from the car and ran through Dark’s mirage of a body, the blue and red dispersing into wisps of dark smoke. Mark only made it halfway to the stairs.

“Clever boy. But you can’t leave. Not yet.”

Dark’s voice echoed in his mind, sending a blinding pain through his skull that brought him to his knees with a shout. He clutched at his head, fingers tangling in his hair and digging into his scalp. He felt rather than saw Tim tumble off of his shoulder, falling the few feet to the ground, making Mark wince in sympathy. There wasn’t enough strength in him to free himself from the mental onslaught, let alone help his tiny friend.

But he needed to. He needed to get Dark out of his head, needed to help Jack. If Dark was out here, then Anti must be in there, and he’d already seen what Anti had done to Jack the last time he had shown up. It wasn’t pretty. Mark didn’t fancy seeing a reenactment.

Get out...get out!

“Why would I? I have a job to do, Mark. You better than anyone should know that I never put in a half effort.”

Images began to surface in his mind, horrible images, memories that had never happened...memories of his friends, his real friends, getting hurt…

Please don’t. They don’t deserve this.

“Neither did Damien. Neither did Celine. Neither did William.”

“That...w-wasn’t me!” he protested, finally finding his voice, the words hoarse and weak. “You’ve got it - ngh - wrong! I’m - y-yeah, I’m Mark, but I’m n-not that Mark! I–”

“Oh, quit with your pitiful lies,” Dark sneered. “Celine is already angry enough with you as it is.”

“No, listen! I made up that version of Mark the same way I created you and Wilford and Abe – I’m just a writer, okay?!”

“Give up, Mark. Nobody can hear you. Let’s see how long you last before you begin pleading for forgiveness. I have all night…”

Hold on, Jack. I’m coming. Hold on–

Jack shuddered and shot to his feet, almost tripping over the coffee table in his haste to get away from Anti, who cackled in amusement from where he’d appeared directly over Jack’s shoulder. Jack rounded on the glitch and aimed the Nerf gun at his chest, not even caring that it was basically harmless.

“What did you do?!” he demanded, his concern for his friend overtaking his fear for his own life. “Is Dark gonna kill him?”

“D̙o͕n͑’̚t b͐e͟ s͋i̧lly!” Anti smirked and rolled his eyes, playing with his knife out of sheer boredom, tossing it between his hands and flipping it in the air. It was clear he was skilled with his weapon on choice, throwing it around with ease like one would a half-filled water bottle. “O᷄l’ D̜a̩rki͈e̚ do̶ẹs̨n̈́’ť ju͊st̽ ķill̔ p̠eo᷈p̰l͌e̞. O᷀r͋ hē w͈on̎’̞t k̇i͏ll̫ Ma̻r᷊kipl̮i̧er͕, an̋y̑w̩a͕y̒.”

The knife soared a good foot or two in the air before tumbling downward, making Jack tense even as he watched Anti catch it cleanly by the handle.

“Fa͐r a͓š I̩ c̠a᷊n̅ t͂ell͚ he̟’̤s̄ p͞r̃et᷇ty̚ p̝i᷅s̱s͚e͔d͐ a̤t᷆ ṱh͔e̓ g̹uy̗. Be̘en̒ t͑oy̕īn͗’͈ w̶it’ hi̛m᷆ f̦o͐r̬ m̽o᷆nt̾h̟s̞,̈ o̊ř so̊ h͍i᷉s̝ r̓oboͅt́ s̽a᷁ẏs͍.”

Robot? Jack’s brow furrowed in confusion. Dark had robots now?

“N̛a̡h᷾, Da͖r̓k̺’s͗ n̠o͊t̻ g̦onnå k̬i͗l͙ḽ Mar̃k̝. P͑ŕe̽t̩ṯyͅ s̒u̕r̾e ḣe᷇’d̈ r̯a̱the̗r dr̹i͖v̓ę h͂i͔m̃ t̰o̐ i͢n᷀s̷a͛nityͅ ḅefo᷾r̞e͓ tͅh͙a̓t ĥap̆p̝e̾ns.”

Jack swallowed thickly. Drive him to insanity? Could Dark do that? He was brought back to the conversation he and Mark had had almost a week ago, in the cafe. The first morning Mark had shown up.

“Dark’s more subtle,” Mark had said. “He works behind the scenes. He doesn’t deal with face-to-face conflict as much. He mostly sticks to the shadows. I mean, I gave him his backstory, I should know this…honestly, it makes me wonder if ‘Who Killed Markiplier’ wasn’t a horrible, horrible idea.”

Mark had been worried, beyond worried, about the concept of Dark actually making his move. Jack had noticed it that day but hadn’t bothered to ask about it. He was beginning to think that, perhaps, he should have pushed a little more.

“Bu̼t y̾o̲u̱ h᷁aͅve̕n̰’t̰ goṯ th᷁a͗t͓ to w᷁o͢r͊ry̽ ab̻o̱u̺t̍, Ja͖cͅka᷁b͐o̱y!” Anti was grinning again, and Jack would swear that his doppleganger’s teeth were sharp, pointed. Deadly. “A͟ft̸ëṙ t᷁o᷁n̎ig̙h̸t, you̅ w᷄o̓nͅ’̥t͂ b͐e̡ w̢OR̵r̈Yi͇N̞g a᷊BoUt a᷅N̡ÿ́T͒h̛i͙N᷇g͋.”

Anti’s distorted shadow grew around him, engulfing his side of the room in a glitching, pulsating, corrupted darkness, and from its depths shot out a dozen or so venom-green cords of light. At Anti’s command, they darted forward and curled tightly around Jack’s wrists, his ankles, his knees and elbows, his chest - his throat. Not tight enough to strangle, but with his bruises still healing, it was more than tight enough to hurt.

Jack gasped sharply and gritted his teeth, snarling and tugging against the green strings, fighting for his freedom. He had to get out. He had to save Sam, had to help Mark. But there was something...odd about the strings. With each tug against his restraints, Jack felt a little more of the fight leaving him, his will to rebel slowly draining away. His head was pounding, his throat was sore, and his shoulder was throbbing with pain...so...so wouldn’t it…

...wouldn’t it be easier to just give in?

The Nerf gun fell from his hands, tumbling to the floor with a clatter of plastic and a muffled thump against the carpet.

“No͊w be̺ a̦ go͟õd̏ li᷅t̏t᷁l͋e᷊ pup̝p͟ét, an̂d̯ ğo᷊ t̥õ s͕le̗e̥ṗ.”

Yeah...yeah, sleep sounded so wonderful right now. Jack slowly let his eyes drifted shut.

Click.

“You let ‘im go right this fucking second, or I blow your fuckin’ brains out, bro.”

[A/N] - Woot! It's done! ^^ And ending on a cliffhanger too? Shocking! :0c

This chapter actually took a lot longer to finish than I originally intended. For some reason I was really struggling to get going on it, but once I started into the ambush, it really started rolling. Believe it or not, this chapter is about twice the length of all the others. While most other chapters finish off at around ten pages in Google Docs, this one? This one hit a solid twenty. Absolute insanity.

Anyway! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and comments and critiques are always appreciated! Ta!

Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

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[pixie-mage]

#SamLives - Pt.11

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Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

[This story has been edited and reposted on the official #SamLives Tumblr. The new post of Chapter 11 can be found here.]

(There is a big difference between the phone calls in this version and the updated version of Chapter 11. This version features Signe; the updated version features Robin.)

Jack hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he and Mark were planning on doing some collabs. In the few days that followed the initial video, they recorded a good nine or ten videos worth of content each, most of it consisting of two-player games. (Being able to record one session for two channels had its perks.) Jack still hadn’t gotten over his wariness of technology in that time. He had to steel his nerves before starting every session, had to take a breath before hitting ‘record’. He found himself frequently checking his facecam on the monitor to make sure nobody was in the background, and every flicker, every stutter, every lag in whatever game he was playing made his hands tense and his breath hitch.

Today was no different. After spending a good five minutes mentally convincing himself that his computer mouse wasn’t about to come to life and strangle him, he and Mark dove head-first into a new game of “Sea of Thieves”. It was just the two of them this time, with no time to schedule a play time with Bob or Wade or Ethan. At the moment, Jack was trying to fend off skeletal attackers while his friend dug up the buried treasure.

“Shit! Fuck! Fuckin’ bastards!” He took another swipe at the nearest skeleton, cutting it down. Another attacker was quick to take its place. “Hah! That’ll teach ye not to mess wit’ ol’ Jackaboy.”

He pulled out a blunderbuss and took two shots straight through the newcomer’s chest.

“DIE BITCHES! How’s that chest comin’, Markerino?”

Mark, who Jack now realized had been oddly quiet the past few minutes, let out only a distracted hum in response. Jack turned his avatar to look at Mark’s rather voluptuous character, only to find him standing still over the half-buried treasure chest. Jack chuckled, a little bewildered.

“Mark? Th’ fuck are you doin’?” he took a shot at another skeleton. “Are ye just waiting for it to unbury itself or–”

Thwack!

The familiar-yet-unexpected sound made Jack jump, his heart pounding in his chest as he whipped his head around to stare at Mark. The other YouTuber had turned his seat away from the desk, NERF gun in hand, aiming at the closed door with narrowed, focussed eyes.

What the fucking–

Jack swallowed thickly and took a slow breath, his panic ebbing away to make room for amused irritation. He swiped a small crocheted Sam from his desk and chucked it at the side of Mark’s head.

“Hey! What–?!”

“Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that, shithead!” Jack shoved Mark’s shoulder playfully. “What th’ hell was that for?”

“Target practice.”

Mark’s grin was cheeky and a little mocking.

Jack blinked at him, slowly, fixing him with a look that clearly said ‘Are you fucking kidding me right now?’ He snatched the NERF gun from Mark’s hand with a barely-restrained chuckle and brandished it in the other’s face. Mark took a swipe at it, pouting and trying to take back his toy.

“Hey!”

It turned into a game of Keep Away, with Jack holding the NERF gun high above his head and Mark practically falling out of his chair and climbing over Jack in his attempt to reach it.

“I’ll use you fer target practice if you don’t–”

“Jack! Give that back, you asshole!"

“–get your head back in the game!” Jack suddenly whipped the NERF gun back at Mark, who fumbled to catch it. “I’m dyin’ here!”

Mark clutched the gun tightly to his chest and retreated to the safety of his seat, pouting and hugging the toy as though Jack might attempt to steal it from him again. He stuck his tongue out childishly before turning back to his screen - and he stifled a laugh.

“Uh…” He carefully set his precious plastic weapon on the desk, out of Jack’s reach. “Not to alarm you, but I think we’re already dead.”

Jack’s focus snapped to his own screen, and sure enough, both he and Mark were now standing on the deck of a ghost ship, waiting their turn to return to the land of the living. He threw his hands in the air and flopped backwards in his chair.

“Fuckin’ DAMMIT all!” He sank in his seat with a groan, Mark’s deep giggles permeating the air around them both. “I blame you entirely for that.”

“Yeah...heh...yeah, that’s...that’s on me. Sorry, man…” Mark still hadn’t stopped giggling, his mood far too bright to be dimmed by a death in the game.

“I’m makin’ sure everyone knows it’s your fault,” Jack bemoaned from his slouched position. “I’m gonna make you buy me a fancy-ass tombstone, an’ put one o’ those shitty rhyming couplets on it…”

He held his hands out in front of him, pretending to frame the words.

“Here lies Jack Just blame his friend Whose NERF dart brought Their bitter end.”

Mark’s only response was a slow golf clap while he pretended to be tearing up.

“Beautiful,” he told Jack, voice laced with false emotion. “Absolutely beautiful. You should’ve become a poet instead of a YouTuber. Clearly you were meant for greater things than video game commentary.”

Jack almost fell out of his chair in his attempt to chuck another Sam plush at Mark’s head.

“D’you think that cop really believed that nothing was wrong?” Jack asked Mark with a mutter later that evening.

Mark had already sent the day’s raw videos from both him and Jack to Robin, and Robin was planning on doing a little bit of content cutting before passing them along to Kathryn. There were certain things that had to be cut out from their recordings that really, really didn’t need to be shared with anyone beyond their immediate group. Not yet.

“The guy from the other day?” Mark asked, looking up from his phone. “I dunno. I mean I don’t think he believed all the anonymous tips, anyway. He was trying not to crack a smile the whole time he was explaining stuff to us.”

Apparently, some of Jack’s fans had taken Anti’s appearance on the stream at face value. They had believed (rightfully so) that it was real, and when Jack went silent on all forms of social media for more than twenty-four hours after it had happened, people had started to panic. While nobody knew for sure where Jack and Signe lived, the local police station in Brighton had gotten call after call after call from concerned teens and young adults who all claimed that a YouTuber named Sean McLoughlin had almost been killed on a livestream. If it hadn’t been for the sheer number of phone calls and the video proof that looked almost too real to have been edited, Jack was sure the police would have ignored it.

But two days ago - three days after the stream itself - a police officer had come knocking on the apartment door asking if a Sean McLoughlin or a Jacksepticeye lived there.

After explaining - through stifled grinning and amused chuckles - that a lot of fans thought he had been hurt, Mark and Jack had tried to awkwardly laugh it off and explain that, no, it was just a video, and nobody had actually gotten hurt.

(Jack was wearing makeup on his neck again for recording, thank god, otherwise the bruises might have brought on some unwanted questions. As it was...)

“I dunno man.” Jack sighed deeply and scrubbed his hands over his face, sinking back on the couch. “I swear he kept lookin’ at my neck. I’m sure he watched the video for th’ sake of the calls. Probably checkin’ to see if I really got strangled.”

“Ah, quit worrying. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Mark scrolled through Twitter again, reading a few more tweets before, “...and we’re sure we don’t want to get the police involved?”

Jack leveled him with a blank stare.

“Do you honestly think the police are gonna know how to deal wit’ a computer virus of a demon that came to life from my YouTube channel? I mean WE barely know what we’re doing and we’re fully invested in the lore of it all!”

Mark stifled a laugh.

“Okay, yeah good point,” he admitted. He shook his head, eyes falling back to his phone gain. “Fully invested in the lore...god, we sound like we’re trying to solve Five Nights At Freddy’s conspiracies. That’s how complicated this whole mess has become. Frankly, if anyone overheard what we were talking about in the cafe that first day I showed up, they’d probably think–”

Jack jolted upright in his seat, eyes wide and expression one of stunned realization.

“Holy shit.” He grabbed Mark’s arm and shook him a little, his movements suddenly intense and a brilliant grin splitting his face in two. “Holy shit!”

“Holy shit what?” Mark gripped his phone a little tighter so it wouldn’t go flying out of his hands from Jack’s enthusiasm.

“Mark, you’re a fuckin’ genius!”

“Well - I mean, yeah, I thought we established that, but what the hell did I say?!”

Mark was rightfully very bewildered by his friend’s sudden change of mood. He gave Jack a quick once-over with his eyebrows raised, wondering if he should be concerned.

“Five Nights at Freddy’s!” Jack exclaimed. He looked far too excited and far too proud of himself for his own good.

“...Five Nights at–”

“Dude! Don’t you get it?” Jack leapt up off the couch, pacing, and Sam - who had been dozing in Jack’s hoodie pocket - poked his ‘face’ out with a sleepy blink, wondering what all the commotion was about. “This whole thing is too fuckin’ complicated right now, right? We don’t know what exactly Anti is, or how to stop him from comin’ back. He’s solid but he’s not. He’s made of glitches but - who the hell even knows what that means.”

“Okay…?” Mark just watched the Irishman pace the room, his phone long forgotten in his lap. “Where are you going with this?”

“Anti doesn’t make sense!” Jack was grinning like an idiot. He stopped in his tracks to turn and face Mark. “We know why he’s here but that only gets us so far! We need somebody who’s used to picking apart ridiculous bullshit to find the real answers, somebody who already kinda knows what’s going on.”

“Jack, you’ve lost me,” Mark said flatly. “Who are you talking about, Signe? Amy?”

“No!” Jack was talking with his hands, talking with his entire body, like he couldn’t contain all the energy that had built up inside him. “Five Nights at Freddy’s. Crazy timeline. Bullshit lore. There’s only one person I know who was able to tear that shit to pieces and make sense out of it.”

And then it hit Mark like a load of bricks, and he was on his feet too, his exclamation coming out as a loud and incredulous question in the same moment that Jack was busting out the same words.

“MatPat?!”

“MatPat!”

“Waitwaitwait, hold on–” Mark was trying to sort out his thoughts, pinching the bridge of his nose while he watched Jack rush around in a frantic search for his cell phone. Mark didn’t have it right now and Jack couldn’t quite remember where it had ended up. “What the hell do you mean Matt already knows what’s going on?”

“Well, okay, he doesn’t know about Anti,” Jack admitted, his ass in the air while he leaned over the armchair in the corner to see if his phone was plugged in back there. “He knows about Sam though.”

“He knows about Sam?!” Mark’s jaw dropped.

At this point, Sam had abandoned Jack’s pocket to hover a few steps behind the Irishman, watching him with quiet curiosity. At Mark’s question, Sam let out a happy little squeak and nodded, twirling through the air a little.

“Did you tell him before you told me?” Before Jack could even answer, Mark had continued: “But he posted a video like two weeks ago about how Sam couldn’t possibly exist!”

“Well, duh, he posted that because he knows about Sam,” Jack rolled his eyes and shoved away from the armchair, detouring to the kitchen. He spoke up to be heard across the apartment. “He was tryin’ to throw people off. And I didn’t tell him about Sam.” Jack returned to the living room, cell phone in hand and a sheepish smile on his face. “He...er...kinda found out on his own.”

“How?”

“Tacos and Rachel Ray.”

Mark didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I have no idea how to respond to that.”

“Look…” Jack huffed and came back over to Mark, sitting on the edge of the coffee table while his friend sank slowly back onto the couch. Sam settled onto his shoulder and nuzzled up against Jack’s cheek with a quiet purr. “Sam was sick, so I brought him with me for the taco-making contest. Matt was on my team. He bumped into me, I tripped, Sam almost fell out of my hood, and Matt saw him.”

“And he didn’t freak out?”

Jack’s lips twitched into a wry smile and he looked up from his phone.

“Oh, he freaked out, but not until later.”

“Let me get this straight.” Mark watched Jack carefully as he spoke. Jack nodded and went back to shakily tapping out a message to Matt. “Just so we’re both on the same page. Sam exists, clearly. Anti exists. You, me, Signe, Robin, and Matt know about Sam. You, me, and Robin know about Anti.”

“And Signe, sort of.”

“And Signe,” Mark agreed. “And Amy too, come to think of it. Is there anybody else who knows anything else, just in case we need to recruit people for a battle of the digital age?”

“Nope, nobody else,” Jack shook his head. He paused and looked thoughtful, setting his phone aside (looking relieved to get the thing out of his hands) and tapping his chin. “...though I probably should bring up that Anti mentioned being late for a date or something last time? What was the name...something...something Warfstache…?”

Mark looked like he might explode

“WHAT?!”

“Oh my god!” Jack cackled, doubling over with laughter and trying not to slip off the edge of the coffee table he was sitting on. “Oh my fucking god your face! That was PRICELESS! You fuckin’ - Haha! - f-fuckin’ believed–” He could barely breathe he was laughing so hard, his laughter sounding a little wheezy.

Mark groaned and flopped backward across the couch, a low, pained chuckled escaping him.

”Oh, you absolutely piece of shit. Fuck you.”

“Y-Yeah, I - heh - I probably...haha...deserve that one…” Jack was grinning, wiping tears from his eyes.

Sam had bounced over to Mark to make sure he was okay and was now nestled on the American’s chest, Tim’s curious little eyes watching from the arm of the couch not even a foot away. The little box tumbled forward and landed right next to Mark’s head, patting his cheek softly in what Jack assumed was a comforting motion. Another low, rumbling laugh bubbled up from Mark’s chest.

“But no, to answer your question,” Jack continued once he could breathe again. “I think that’s everyone.”

“Good. Great. Excellent.”

Mark was absolutely done. Just...done.

“Ah, lighten up, Markimoo,” Jack snickered. “Consider it payback fer that NERF scare.”

“Considering that you were implying that Warfstache is alive too, and that he and your evil twin are getting it on–”

“Hey! I only said they went on a date!”

“–I’d say we’re far from even right now.”

“Oh, fuck off! That’s totally even!”

“And what if I tricked you into thinking your Dr. Schneep guy was alive and I caught him flirting with Dr. Iplier?”

“Oh, dude, no,” Jack groaned, laughing through it. “Nooo...I mean, yeah, Henrik totally would. He’d flirt with anything that moved. But hell no.”

“See my point?”

The living room was silent for a long moment, save for the little questioning squeaks Sam was making from his position on Mark’s chest. Then Mark heard the buzzing clatter of plastic against the coffee table. Jack’s phone was ringing, but on silent. Mark cracked open one eye to glance at Jack, who suddenly looked a lot more tense than he had a moment before.

“...you good, Jack?” he murmured, watching the other YouTuber. Jack nodded stiffly, looking a little pale. “Is it MatPat? He calling back already?”

Jack swallowed thickly.

“It’s...Signe.”

“Answer it,” Mark encouraged him evenly. “Go ahead. We’re all in the room with you, it’ll be fine.”

Jack nodded, the motion a little jerky, and he reached over to press the ‘Answer’ button. He quickly put it on speaker and withdrew his hand as though he’d been burned. The phone stayed sitting on the table.

“Sean?”

“Hey Signe,” Jack murmured.

Mark could see some of the tension melt out of the Irishman’s shoulders when he heard her voice, saw the way his lips quirked into a smile at the corners and the way his eyes softened in the moment.

“Hi! I just wanted to check in,” Signe continued, a smile in her voice. “How’s everything going? How’s Sam?”

“Sam’s great!” Jack’s grin became more genuine, and he giggled when Sam bounced over to sit beside the phone. He was wiggling on the spot in excitement. “He and Tim are gettin’ along famously. He’s been so damn happy, Wiish, I can’t wait for you to see ‘em together.”

“You can thank me later,” Mark chimed in with a smirk.

“Is that Mark?” Signe asked. “Am I on speaker?”

“Oh! Yeah, you are. Sorry. Shoulda said.” Jack chuckled softly.

“No, it’s fine!” Signe giggled, the sound melodic even through a phone speaker. “Hi Mark!”

“Hi Signe!”

“How are you doing though, Sean?” Signe’s tone had turned concerned, softer than before. “You still haven’t told me what’s going on with the whole Antisepticeye thing.”

Jack stiffened. He could feel Mark’s eyes on him, his look a knowing one. It had been five whole days since he’d talked to Signe at the cafe, and while they had texted back and forth every day since (in very brief interludes, as there were still moments Jack couldn’t even look at his own TV for fear of Anti jumping out of the dimmed pixels, let alone carry his phone in his pocket all day), not once had Jack brought up the livestream. Any time she asked about it he evaded her questions and promised to explain soon and made her promise to please don’t watch the livestream, I’ll tell you when you get home, please wait until then. So far, Signe had done as he’d asked, but he could tell she was growing concerned.

“Eh…” Jack cleared his throat and shrugged, though she couldn’t see it. “I’m fine. A little worn out, but Mark an’ I have been really goin’ hard, knockin’ out tons of videos now so we can get some free time to hang out later…”

“Sean.”

And there it was, the gentle scolding of her Mama Signe voice. How she managed to make Jack feel like a misbehaving child every time she used it was a mystery to him...but it worked. Every damn time. He sighed and let out a quiet groan.

“I’ll tell you soon, I promise,” he whimpered. “I promise I will, it’s - it’s just - I can’t–” He dragged a hand through his hair, and his gaze landed on Mark. The other YouTuber had sat up in the past few minutes and was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, his expression a searching one. He quirked an eyebrow at the Irishman.

“One second, Wiishu,” he said softly, reaching over to tap the ‘mute’ button on Jack’s phone. He watched his friend for a long moment before speaking. “Jack...I’m not gonna push you to tell her, but - oh my god, man. It’s almost been a whole week. The longer you wait, the more likely it’ll be for her to figure it out on her own. She already told you yesterday, people have been sending her tons of tweets and tumblr messages asking about you. Didn’t she ask you why they wanted know if you’re dead or not?”

Jack nodded stiffly, wincing.

“I told you I’d help you tell her the truth.” Mark smiled reassuringly. “I meant that, okay? And - hell, I can get Amy on the line, and we can have a big ol’ Double Date Egos Theory Skype Call.”

Jack snorted out a nervous laugh, shaking his head in amusement. Double date…

“Only you would see it as a date opportunity, Mark.”

“What can I say?” Mark grinned cheekily and winked. “I’m a hopeless romantic.” His grin faded back to a soft, understanding smile and he tried to catch Jack’s eye. “Waddaya say? You up for it?”

“...I eh…” Jack stared at his hands, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt while he thought.

Was he ready to tell Signe yet? Would she even believe him? Would she freak out, or take it all in stride? He didn’t want to worry her and didn’t want to put her in danger. He had known that, once she was home, he would have no choice but to tell her - so that had been his plan. To tell her when she got home, and let her enjoy her time with her family free of any of Jack’s current stresses. Once she was back in Brighton they could clear the air and talk about how to move forward.

But Mark was right too. The longer he waited, the worse it could get.

Jack sighed heavily. His hand was shaking when he reached for his phone, but he still pressed the ‘mute’ button to let Signe hear them again.

“Hey Wiish,” he mumbled, to let her know he was back. “You there?”

“Still here, Sean.” The usual sweet lilt was in her voice, her tone smiling and her words kind.

It helped Jack with what he knew he had to do next.

“I...eh. D’you mind waitin’ a few minutes?” he asked, wringing his hands in his lap. “Mark’s gonna get Amy on a Skype call wit’ us, an’ we can all talk face-to-face, and I’ll...I’ll fill you in on what’s been, er, happenin’ in my part of the world.”

“Really?” Signe asked, sounding surprised. “You’re actually going to tell me this time?”

“I - yeah. Yeah, I am.” Jack took a breath. His nervousness was clear with every word that left his mouth. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Wait!”

Mark’s outburst made Jack jump and his head shot up.

“What–”

“My smoothie! I totally forgot my smoothie!”

Jack stared, and he heard Signe giggling on the other end of the call.

“Your smoothie,” he repeated, his lips twitching into some semblance of a smile. “You mean the one from after dinner? From, like, two hours ago?”

“Yes, from after dinner!” Mark rocketed off the couch, skirting the coffee table and grabbing his rental car keys as he went to the door. “It’s still in the car. This is super serious.”

“Super serious?” Jack repeated. He watched Tim bounce off the couch and hop curiously around the room in pursuit of Mark, doing his best to keep up. “More serious than Serious Shit?”

“YES! MORE SERIOUS THAN THAT!” Mark, who almost stepped on Tim in his haste to get to the door, let out a rather undignified squeak and immediately crouched to the ground beside the tiny box. “Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Did I hurt you? C’mere, my little biscuit, let’s get you off the floor. I would neeeever want you to get hurt, I would neeeever step on you…”

“Oh my god, Mark, you’re such a mom.”

“What? It’s not like you’re not the same way with Sam!”

At this, Jack chucked a pillow from the couch across the room, hitting Mark in the legs to avoid hitting Tim.

“Go get your fuckin’ smoothie!”

“Fine! I will!”

Mark flipped him off and pretended to storm out of the apartment, putting Tim on his shoulder and “slamming” the door shut (only to stop it at the last second to close it with a quiet click.) Jack shook his head with a smile. Only Mark.

“Hey...Sean?”

“Hm?” Jack returned his attention to his phone, still sitting beside him on the coffee table. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to ask...you said Anti is real, right?”

“Yeah…” His answer was a tense one, his hands coming up to fiddle with the strings of his hoodie.

“Did…” Signe’s voice trailed off, and there was static in the speaker, like she had taken a breath. “Did he hurt you, on the stream?”

Jack swallowed thickly. He was suddenly very aware of the sore bruises on his throat, and he felt rather than saw Sam land lightly on his shoulder.

“What...eh…” He cleared his throat, and Sam nuzzled up against his jaw, little waves of reassurance and worry filtering into the back of his mind. “...w-what makes ye ask that?”

“I told you I was getting messages and asks,” she told him. He could hear footsteps in the background, movement. Like she was pacing. “And I turned them off for now, because I was going to wait until you told me what was going on. And I know you’re going to! But...I’ve been tagged in a few things too. I saw some gifs of you and Anti–”

Jack closed his eyes, his jaw clenching tightly. Oh. Hands shaking, Jack picked his phone up off the coffee table and took the call off speaker, holding the mobile to his ear and getting to his feet.

“Holdin’ me up against the...eh...th’ wall?” he asked hoarsely. His movements were stiff, his footing a little unsteady as he crossed the room to pick up the pillow he’d thrown at Mark. He squeezed the edge of it tightly in his hand, lingering there by the door.

“...yeah.” Signe took another deep breath on the other end of the line, and when she spoke again her voice was shaking. “He – Sean, he was hurting you. That...th-that was real, wasn’t it? It wasn’t Robin’s editing?”

Jack’s chest felt tight, his throat constricting from both the memory and his own emotions. He took a shaking breath and dropped the pillow into the armchair closest to him, his free hand coming up to rest against his opposite shoulder. By Sam. Sam’s tail trailed down and brushed against his fingers, helping to soothe some of the uneasiness that had begun to build inside him.

“N-No, that...that was. Um.” Real. It was real. He blinked rapidly and his grip tightened on his phone. “It really happened.”

Signe gasped sharply from the other end of the line.

“Oh, god, Sean–”

But whatever Signe had been about to say, Jack never found out, because the call was suddenly filled with static and audio distortion, Signe’s words lost in a mass of broken sound that had Jack freezing where he stood.

“...Signe?” he whispered, eyes widening. “Signe...Wiish...I need to go. Okay? I can’t...I can’t hear you, but I th-think–”

The call dropped before Jack even hit the end button, the cell phone slipping from his hand and tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump against the carpet.

There was a static in the air, a crackle, an energy to it that made the hair on the back of Jack's neck stand on end. His breath hitched. The hand that still lingered near his shoulder tensed, and he could feel Sam curl closer to his neck.

"I'm not the only one feelin' that, yeah?" Jack breathed, his eyes darting around his apartment and landing on nothing. He took an involuntary step back toward the door.

"Nuh-uh. I feel it too..." Sam's worried voice floated across the back of his mind. Jack nodded. Alright. So he wasn't crazy.

A lamp across the room sparked and popped, the bulb blowing out suddenly, and even as small of an occurrence as that was it made Jack jump. The room was plunged into darkness. Wide blue eyes latched onto the deadened lamp. "W-What the hell is going on...?" His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.

But the question he asked was one he was almost certain he knew the answer to. This static, this...tension. Electricity. He knew this feeling. It was one he was far too familiar with, one that he had experienced before.

Anti.

The room had felt much the same as this when Anti had appeared during his stream last time, when he had pinned Jack to the wall by his throat and toyed with him in front of an audience, had left him scared and shaking in a way he never expected he'd have to feel in his life. Until then he hadn't been sure if Anti was real. But now? Now there was no denying it. So the feeling in the air, the tension, the spark? It flooded him with a very real and tangible fear that wasn't without reason.

"Ďid̎ ÿo̊u m̰i͋šs̶ m̰ē?"

A voice, so close, a cold breath against his ear. Jack cried out and flung himself away from the sound, knees hitting carpet as he hurried away from his own front door now, scrambled across the living room with desperate movements, one hand clamped over Sam so he wouldn’t lose him. There, by the door, his smile just as sharp and as wicked as Jack remembered, was the glitch himself. His image crackled and distorted for a moment - Jack could see the pixels separating as he stood there - and a moment later he had flickered forward, appearing a few steps closer.

Shit...shit, shit, shit...he had half a mind to scream, to call for Mark, but at this point Mark had probably already made it down to his car and wouldn't hear anything. All he could hope for now was that he could stall long enough for his friend to make it back inside. Two on one were better odds in this situation.

"I̥ d̠on̪'t e͊v͐enͥ g̴ét a h̒e͊llo̖, J̠åc̮k̾a͈b͗ö́y?"

“Go away!”

Jack’s eyes widened and he went stiff, panic doubling. Sam had wriggled free from his spot on Jack’s shoulder and he was hovering in mid-air between the two men in the room, planting himself boldly before Anti as though he was planning on defending Jack himself.

“Sam, don’t–”

“Leave him alone, you meanie!” Sam sounded so brave, so determined, so…so angry for such a small little being. “You hurt Jack, and you made him sad, and - and–” Sam wriggled in the air and tried to make himself look intimidating. “–and I’m not gonna let you hurt him again!”

Contrary to what Jack was sure Sam had wanted, Anti didn’t look scared at all. In fact, he smiled...a gleeful smile that had Jack dreading whatever was about to happen.

“W̠e͆ll, a̒re̮n't y͞oṳ a̸ b̸ra̢v̜e lĭt͉tle t̹oa̤s̈t̤èr̔?” Anti crooned, his head tilting far to the side in a way that was eerily non-human. He held out a hand, palm-up, and the air above it distorted and warped impossibly. A worn, dark jewelry box appeared there in a flurry of pixels, its lid popped open to reveal the empty space within. “Sȯr̬r̗y t̸o b̓ur̢s̈ţ ŷou̬r͊ b᷆u̫b᷇b̍l͑ě, S̕a̺m̮my̳, b̝u᷈t...yo̔u'rē no̸t̹ ne͑e̓d̐ed f̔o͍r̈ toñḯgh̠t̡'s ća̧s̱t̎ o̱f͗ c̟har̐a͐ct̊e͓r̊s͊.”

Quicker than Jack could react, Anti glitched, vanished, and reappeared inches from Sam with the jewelry box held out before him. With one swooping motion, Anti had flicked Sam into the box, snapped the lid shut, locked it with a key and tossed the box over his shoulder to land neatly on the armchair in the corner.

“NO!” Jack sprang forward without thinking, arm outstretched as though to reach the box–

“D̹ǐd̵ I̽ s͌a̝y y̪o͚u͘ c̡o̾u͎l̦d͗ m̐o͋v̫e͕?”

Before Jack could register the giggling words, he found himself tripping head-over-heels, colliding soundly with the front of the cabinet his television rested on. A jolt of pain pulsed through his shoulder and he cried out, biting his lip, biting his tongue. Desperate fingers clutched at his aching shoulder and he gritted his teeth.

“What the fuck do you want?!” he bit out, panting and tense as he watched Anti slowly stalk toward him across the room. “You here to...to k-kill me? Hurt me? S...Strangle me again?”

“Wh͔a̠ţ d᷁ō ÿ́o̊u̖ t͔ak̓e m̉e̥ f̓or̓, a᷇ s᷀a͂di͉s͟t͊?” Anti scoffed incredulously.

Jack blinked at him, a sassy retort on his lips before he could stop himself.

“What, you - ngh - aren’t one? Could’ve f-fooled me...”

“I'̗m̺ m̛or̬e̍ ǫf a m̭a͒s᷅ochi͙s̜t̕,̘ r͖ea̪l͟l̓y,͏” Anti shrugged. Jack was surprised that Anti had even bothered to answer the question at all. “Bu͂t̢ bo͑t͐h̬ a᷊r̛e͞ p̭r̂ett͒y̎ a͘c̬c᷅u͑ra̻t̎e̍.”

Great. Good to know. Wonderful.

“N̚o̫, i͓t̋'s no͙t̘h̺i̝n᷆g s͕o̻ s͑i̔m͕pl̖e̍ as a̖l̥l̆ t᷁h̄a̓t,” Anti smirked, waving the thought away with one hand.

The air around his palm distorted and glitched, and a shining blade appeared in his hand on the way down.

Oh, fuck.

Anti was a few steps away now, and Jack scrambled backward across the floor, trying to get as much distance between himself and the glitch as possible...but he was cornered, pinned between the side of the TV cabinet and the wall, blocked in with no way out. It was starting to become a struggle to keep his breathing steady, his heart hammering away a tarantella against his ribs, his throat coarse and tight from tension.

The burst bulb from earlier had thrown the room into near-darkness, but what moonlight was coming through the living room window reflected off the sharpened blade in Anti’s hand, the light bouncing off into Jack’s eyes as the glitch knelt in front of him - close, too close - his eyes beginning to swirl with an inky blackness that Jack never wanted to see this close again.

Jack kept his eyes fixed on the blade, wide as saucers, and his breath hitched when he saw it inching closer and closer to his face. The touch of cool metal against his cheek made him tense and he clenched his jaw with a gulp. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t painful. Anti was dragging the flat side of the knife along his jawline, and Jack could hear the sound of its edge scraping against the coarse facial hair there.

“No̫…” Anti shook his head, and the sharp grin widened wickedly, appearing to split his face in two. “No, I ẖa͗v̶e m̪ůch...͛mùch᷆ b᷆i͈g͗g᷄er p̓lan̶s᷉ foͥr᷆ yõu͕, Jaͅc̻k.”

Mark was humming to himself as he made his way down to the rental car, the keys jingling in his hand. Tim sat perched on his shoulder, one tiny hand clutching the collar of Mark’s shirt, and he was trying to hum along to whatever song Mark had stuck in his head right now.

It wasn’t his fault Katy Perry’s music was so catchy.

By the time he unlocked and opened the driver’s side door, he was well into the chorus, mumbling the words in an undertone to himself and for Tim’s entertainment.

“California girls, we're undeniable! Fine, fresh, fierce, we got it on lock~” Tim was giggling, and the sound brought a warm smile to Mark’s face. He shifted into the driver’s seat so he could reach his smoothie easier, but not before belting out the next few lyrics at the top of his lungs.

“West coast represent, now put your hands up!”

He did so, dancing in his seat, grinning and playing it up for his little biscuit’s benefit.

“Ooh, oh, ooh! Ooh…”

Something flickered in the corner of his eye, something red...or was it blue?...and he trailed off, a crease forming in his brow. Tim was still giggling softly. Had he been seeing things? With a soft chuckle, he reached over and plucked his half-finished smoothie from the cupholder, still somewhat chilled from the cool weather of the evening.

Yeah, it was probably nothing. The whole Antisepticeye thing had been keeping him on edge since he’d arrived here in England. He pushed himself out of his seat and shut the door behind him. But when he turned to head back inside, something in the reflection in the car’s window caught his attention.

Mark dropped his smoothie.

A quiet thumping rose up across the living room, a rattling that caught Jack’s attention as well as Anti’s.

Sam. Sam was trying to get out.

Anti looked away from his victim for a moment, only for a moment, some space coming between Jack’s cheek and the metal of Anti’s blade.

A moment was all he needed.

Jack lashed out with a fist and a knee, landing a punch square across the glitch’s face and driving a knee up into his gut. Anti tumbled away from him, distorting and flickering, a static-fused snarl of pain and annoyance bubbling up from his prone form. Jack shoved himself to his feet, leaping over Anti and heading for the front door. He had to get out, had to leave, had to get Sam and go–

“I d͓O̬n͈’Ṭ t̉H͠iN̼ḱ sͅO͊!”

Static, feedback, a crackle in the air, and Anti was in front of him again, seething with fury, blocking his exit. Jack was running on pure adrenaline now, veering left and heading down the hall toward the bedrooms. The bathroom. Recording room. Anything.

“y̜O̰u̯’̒R̡e̿ N̈o̽T͔ g̓O̩i᷈N̸g̽ Ản̉Y͋w̳H̤e̦R̸ë́!̉”

There he was again, cutting him off, keeping him trapped in the same room. Shit...fuck…

Mark. Mark was downstairs. He just - he needed to stall, to wait it out until Mark came back with his stupid smoothie. He could make it that long.

Jack did a one-eighty and darted back down the hallway, the rug slipping beneath his feet and making him stumble. He caught himself on the wall and kept going, kept dodging. He could do this. Distract him. Hold him off. Something. Anything.

Green.

...green?

Something green, in the corner of his eye. Green and orange.

Jack risked turning his head, risked a glance, and he caught sight of the NERF gun - Chase’s NERF gun - sitting on the kitchen table. Mark had been playing with the damned thing for days, and for the first time since it had resurfaced Jack was unendingly grateful that Mark had found it again. He made a detour through the kitchen, snatching it up and shoving the ziplock of foam discs into his hoodie pocket.

Disc. Pull back. Load. Click. Wait for it. Be ready.

Jack circled his way back into the living room, Anti’s laughter echoing through the apartment, and he dove behind the coffee table with his plastic weaponed primed. He was ready.

He was terrified.

Jack would be an idiot if he pretended that this entire situation wasn’t scaring him within an inch of his life. He knew - he was trying not to think - that he could die at any second tonight, and that the pixelated parasite hunting him down in his own apartment was far too strong of an opponent for him to handle, with or without Sam. With Mark, maybe he had a chance, but even those odds were slim. If he didn’t die tonight, or if he didn’t at least get stabbed, he was going to drink until morning then invite every single one of his friends over to England to have the party of a fucking lifetime.

“O͗h͢,᷄ Jȁa͚a̕a̓a̻c̈́k̘~” Anti’s distorted, chilling voice echoed through the room and sent a shiver down Jack’s spine. “W͘h̅e͔re a᷇r̰e̶ y̑ou͏ hid͛ǐnͅg̤?”

Jack caught sight of a flickering black sneaker from his hiding spot and he popped up from behind the coffee table, firing the NERF gun at the center of Anti’s chest.

Anti barely flinched as the foam disc bounced off of him with a spark of electricity. He blinked - dark, void-like eyes - and stared down at the harmless green projectile on the floor.

“A̛ n᷄er̼f͈ d̑i͞sč? Ȓe͏a̧ll̐y̕, Ja͙c͂k̇?᷀”

Jack shrugged. He pretended that he wasn’t sweating buckets and shaking like a leaf behind the nerf gun in his hands.

“N-Not like I’ve got anythin’ else.”

“H̆o̲w͘ v᷁e̛ry “C̰h̦a͘s̟e B̜r̵o̦d͔y” o͈f̹ y̬öu͍.”

Somehow the mention of another Ego’s name on Anti’s lips made Jack tense up. It was surreal. It was strange. They were all fake - all of them fictional - yet Anti had somehow become so much more. The concept of the living incarnation of his once-fictional character mentioning another of his still-fictional characters so casually like that...it was unsettling, to say the least. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed. He just needed to hold out a little longer, just a little while longer, until Mark came back from the car. Keep talking. Keep going...

“W-Well...well…it’s t-technically his gun...s-so…”

Jack opened his eyes.

Anti wasn’t there.

“I̚ kn̴ơw̼ w̖h̖a̽ẗ y᷆o̠u᷄’͍r͖e do̕i͖n̖g̉.”

The chilling voice seemed to come from all sides at once, and Jack could make out flickers of pixels and static in the dark shadows of the room. He fumbled with the ziplock in his pocket, pulling out a foam disc to load his NERF gun again.

“Oh?” Jack asked, his voice coming out higher than he’d intended. “Do…” He cleared his throat. “...do you now?”

“M᷅a̪r̿k̀i̟pl̻i̘e͛r᷀ i̵sn̄’t͡ c̊o͇m̕i͝n̩g͚ to͆ s̲a͙v᷀e͎ yo̫u̥.”

Jack’s blood ran cold.

“What–”

“H᷁e’̘s̎...ă li͢t̺t͖l̷e᷄ ţie͓d᷄ u̯p̉ a̳t̀ th̪e͡ m̘oͥmȩn͇ẗ́.” Anti’s distorted giggle echoed and circled in the empty air, causing goosebumps to sprout up along Jack’s arms. His breath hitched, eyes flying wildly around the room, trying to spot any sign of his doppleganger. “Y᷇o᷅u̥ wer͖e̸ṇ’t̃ p̼l̯a̿yi̟n͘g̉ fa̯ir̤, Ja̒c̉k̩a̫b᷉o͎y…” The next words came front right over his shoulder, whispered into his ear like a dirty secret. “...s̥o̾ Į le͍veͅlèd͎ t̏h̬e͕ p̭l̎ay᷊i̹n͑g̵ fi̥el͔d͙.͝ Ġot̥ ą c̋er̒t̛a͙i͇n da̢r͍k a̭cq̑ŭa̖in͊t̮a̠n̸ce̬ of̿ m̪i̎ne t͖õ ẖęl̍p̖ m̓e̺ o̢u̟t a̲ li̫t͕t᷈l̪e.”

Mark was scared to blink, staring at his own reflection in the car’s window with his jaw clenched, a vein pulsing in his neck. A figure stood just behind his shoulder, his body outlined in a familiar red and blue, looking so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. By the time his smoothie hit the concrete and burst open, splattering the ground, only fractions of a second had passed...but it felt like an eternity. He blinked.

Dark was gone.

“Mark?” Tim’s voice cropped up beside his ear, confused and a little worried.

“...hold on to me, okay?” Mark murmured, and he brought a hand up to try and shield his familiar from whatever might happen. Whoever might happen.

“I’m not here for him, you know.”

The voice, deep and echoing and so like his own but different, startled him into turning around. He hadn’t been in the reflection, but he hadn’t actually left. His name left Mark’s lips in a strained whisper.

“Darkiplier.”

“Face-to-face, at long last,” Dark nodded. He smirked, folding his hands behind his back. “And like I said...I’m only here for you. This is all coming from your mind, Mark.”

“Mark? What’re you lookin’ at?”

Tim. He sounded so innocent and confused, so worried about Mark, and what Dark was saying suddenly registered in Mark’s mind.

“Tim can’t see you, can he?”

“Tim doesn’t have to see me,” Dark corrected, raising an eyebrow in clear impatience. “I don’t want him to see me, therefore he can’t. But you…” His head tilted to the side and he made his neck pop, his shell cracking and separating for a moment. Then he leaned forward, intrigued. “...you, I can never quite hide from. Not completely. Why is that?”

“I...don’t know,” Mark shook his head, confused. Lost. Dark was here, and he was very real, and he was talking to Mark as though none of this was odd. “Maybe...uh....maybe because I made you?”

“Y̙̭o͏̖͔͙͓̼u d͇͈̭i͎̤͉ḍ̼̠̭̟̯͡n̡͕͎̙̜’̠̹̫̦͙͡t ̝ma̟k̼͎͝e̗̗̱͈̬ͅ m̰̥ḛ.”

There was an echoing fury boiling under the words, and the air around Dark seemed to darken considerably in the moment. Mark took an involuntary step back towards his car.

“I - what?”

“You didn’t make me.” Dark’s anaglyphic image was separating, tearing itself apart, and one of his echoing reflections seemed to scream silently into the cold night air. All the while, his core image remained stern and unyielding, showing barely any emotion at all. “You destroyed me - destroyed us. You stole his body. You condemned her to hell. You drove him to insanity. You ruined their lives.”

It clicked, then, what Dark was talking about. This was exactly what Mark had been scared of, worried about, when he was talking to Jack in that cafe. This was why he was regretting the creation of “Who Killed Markiplier”...or more accurately, he was regretting the addition of the character of Mark. The Mark who was an actor. The Mark who was an asshole. The fictional Mark who ruined everything and destroyed so many people…

...Dark was under the impression that Actor Mark and YouTube Mark were one and the same.

Mark blinked, and suddenly Dark was so much closer than he had been before. The darkness that had been enveloping the demon was surrounding Mark too now, and it was absolutely suffocating.

“...but, I suppose I should be thanking you,” Dark continued, a smirk finding its way onto his face. He tilted his head to the side, regarding Mark thoughtfully. “In a way, you...are the reason I exist. Your damnation of your friends led to my creation. A part of me is furious...but a part of me is more than grateful. You set the darkness free, Mark.”

Mark’s heart was pounding, rapid, in his chest and he could feel a minute panic slowly flooding his very soul. He gulped and shook his head, one hand still holding Tim close - Tim, who had fallen strangely silent, though Mark didn’t stop to question it.

Dark wasn’t here to hurt him. Dark didn’t resort to physical violence unless he had to, Mark had written him that way. While Anti went straight for the knife, Dark resorted to other means of making his point and making his mark.

This was all in his mind. Dark wasn’t physically here.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “You...I’ve been seeing you, for months, but this is the first time you’ve actually spoken to me. What changed?”

Dark’s gaze trailed off to the side, toward the apartment, before settling back on Mark.

“A friend asked for a favor.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I merely agreed.”

A cry of pain broke the odd non-silence of the evening, a cry of pain that sounded all too familiar and was coming from the apartment Mark had been trying to return to. His eyes widened.

A friend asked for a favor.

A friend of Dark’s. Anti.

“Jack!”

Mark shoved away from the car and ran through Dark’s mirage of a body, the blue and red dispersing into wisps of dark smoke. Mark only made it halfway to the stairs.

“Clever boy. But you can’t leave. Not yet.”

Dark’s voice echoed in his mind, sending a blinding pain through his skull that brought him to his knees with a shout. He clutched at his head, fingers tangling in his hair and digging into his scalp. He felt rather than saw Tim tumble off of his shoulder, falling the few feet to the ground, making Mark wince in sympathy. There wasn’t enough strength in him to free himself from the mental onslaught, let alone help his tiny friend.

But he needed to. He needed to get Dark out of his head, needed to help Jack. If Dark was out here, then Anti must be in there, and he’d already seen what Anti had done to Jack the last time he had shown up. It wasn’t pretty. Mark didn’t fancy seeing a reenactment.

Get out...get out!

“Why would I? I have a job to do, Mark. You better than anyone should know that I never put in a half effort.”

Images began to surface in his mind, horrible images, memories that had never happened...memories of his friends, his real friends, getting hurt…

Please don’t. They don’t deserve this.

“Neither did Damien. Neither did Celine. Neither did William.”

“That...w-wasn’t me!” he protested, finally finding his voice, the words hoarse and weak. “You’ve got it - ngh - wrong! I’m - y-yeah, I’m Mark, but I’m n-not that Mark! I–”

“Oh, quit with your pitiful lies,” Dark sneered. “Celine is already angry enough with you as it is.”

“No, listen! I made up that version of Mark the same way I created you and Wilford and Abe – I’m just a writer, okay?!”

“Give up, Mark. Nobody can hear you. Let’s see how long you last before you begin pleading for forgiveness. I have all night…”

Hold on, Jack. I’m coming. Hold on–

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Jack shuddered and shot to his feet, almost tripping over the coffee table in his haste to get away from Anti, who cackled in amusement from where he’d appeared directly over Jack’s shoulder. Jack rounded on the glitch and aimed his NERF gun at the glitch’s chest, not even caring that it was basically harmless.

“What did you do?!” he demanded, his concern for his friend overtaking his fear for his own life. “Is Dark gonna kill him?”

“D̙o͕n͑’̚t b͐e͟ s͋i̧lly!” Anti smirked and rolled his eyes, playing with his knife out of sheer boredom, tossing it between his hands and flipping it in the air. It was clear he was skilled with his weapon on choice, throwing it around with ease like one would a half-filled water bottle. “O᷄l’ D̜a̩rki͈e̚ do̶ẹs̨n̈́’ť ju͊st̽ ķill̔ p̠eo᷈p̰l͌e̞. O᷀r͋ hē w͈on̎’̞t k̇i͏ll̫ Ma̻r᷊kipl̮i̧er͕, an̋y̑w̩a͕y̒.”

The knife soared a good foot or two in the air before tumbling downward, making Jack tense even as he watched Anti catch it cleanly by the handle.

“Fa͐r a͓š I̩ c̠a᷊n̅ t͂ell͚ he̟’̤s̄ p͞r̃et᷇ty̚ p̝i᷅s̱s͚e͔d͐ a̤t᷆ ṱh͔e̓ g̹uy̗. Be̘en̒ t͑oy̕īn͗’͈ w̶it’ hi̛m᷆ f̦o͐r̬ m̽o᷆nt̾h̟s̞,̈ o̊ř so̊ h͍i᷉s̝ r̓oboͅt́ s̽a᷁ẏs͍.”

Robot? Jack’s brow furrowed in confusion. Dark had robots now?

“N̛a̡h᷾, Da͖r̓k̺’s͗ n̠o͊t̻ g̦onnå k̬i͗l͙ḽ Mar̃k̝. P͑ŕe̽t̩ṯyͅ s̒u̕r̾e ḣe᷇’d̈ r̯a̱the̗r dr̹i͖v̓ę h͂i͔m̃ t̰o̐ i͢n᷀s̷a͛nityͅ ḅefo᷾r̞e͓ tͅh͙a̓t ĥap̆p̝e̾ns.”

Jack swallowed thickly. Drive him to insanity? Could Dark so that? He was brought back to the conversation he and Mark had had almost a week ago, in the cafe. The first morning Mark had shown up.

“Dark’s more subtle,” Mark had said. “He works behind the scenes. He doesn’t deal with face-to-face conflict as much. He mostly sticks to the shadows. I mean, I gave him his backstory, I should know this…honestly, it makes me wonder if ‘Who Killed Markiplier’ wasn’t a horrible, horrible idea.”

Mark had been worried, beyond worried, about the concept of Dark actually making his move. Jack had noticed it that day but hadn’t bothered to ask about it. He was beginning to think that, perhaps, he should have pushed a little more.

“Bu̼t y̾o̲u̱ h᷁aͅve̕n̰’t̰ goṯ th᷁a͗t͓ to w᷁o͢r͊ry̽ ab̻o̱u̺t̍, Ja͖cͅka᷁b͐o̱y!” Anti was grinning again, and Jack would swear that his doppleganger’s teeth were sharp, pointed. Deadly. “A͟ft̸ëṙ t᷁o᷁n̎ig̙h̸t, you̅ w᷄o̓nͅ’̥t͂ b͐e̡ w̢OR̵r̈Yi͇N̞g a᷊BoUt a᷅N̡ÿ́T͒h̛i͙N᷇g͋.”

Anti’s distorted shadow grew around him, engulfing his side of the room in a glitching, pulsating, corrupted darkness, and from its depths shot out a dozen or so venom-green cords of light. At Anti’s command, they darted forward and curled tightly around Jack’s wrists, his ankles, his knees and elbows, his chest - his throat. Not tight enough to strangle, but with his bruises still healing, it was more than tight enough to hurt.

Jack gasped sharply and gritted his teeth, snarling and tugging against the green strings, fighting for his freedom. He had to get out. He had to save Sam, had to help Mark. But there was something...odd about the strings. With each tug against his restraints, Jack felt a little more of the fight leaving him, his will to rebel slowly draining away. His head was pounding, his throat was sore, and his shoulder was throbbing with pain...so...so wouldn’t it…

...wouldn’t it be easier to just give in?

The NERF gun fell from his hands, tumbling to the floor with a clatter of plastic and a muffled thump against the carpet.

“No͊w be̺ a̦ go͟õd̏ li᷅t̏t᷁l͋e᷊ pup̝p͟ét, an̂d̯ ğo᷊ t̥õ s͕le̗e̥ṗ.”

Yeah...yeah, sleep sounded so wonderful right now. Jack slowly let his eyes drifted shut.

Click.

“You let ‘im go right this fucking second, or I blow your fuckin’ brains out, bro.”

[A/N] - Woot! It's done! ^^ And ending on a cliffhanger too? Shocking! :0c

This chapter actually took a lot longer to finish than I originally intended. For some reason I was really struggling to get going on it, but once I started into the ambush, it really started rolling. Believe it or not, this chapter is about twice the length of all the others. While most other chapters finish off at around ten pages in Google Docs, this one? This one hit a solid twenty. Absolute insanity.

Anyway! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and comments and critiques are always appreciated! Ta!

Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

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[ofgunsandlipstick]

Chill

@mrgaretcarter MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!

I am sorry this took me so long to get out. I hope you’ve had a wonderful holiday season! I tried to give you a little angst and a little fluff. Hope you enjoy!

Title: Chill Rating: G+ (for mild language) Summary: Steve’s plane has been found. Peggy won’t see him.

Read on ao3

She barely keeps her grip on the telephone receiver. “Peggy? Hello? Carter?” Howard’s voice crackles to life in her ear, tinny and loud, each question sounding more and more concerned. “Peg, you still there?”

Peggy takes a shaky breath. “Yes, Howard. I’m still here.”

“I found him, Peg. I found Steve.”

. . .

She has too much to do to greet the ship. But that doesn’t mean it’s far from her mind. In fact, each and every day, she thinks that she should stop by the facility where Howard tells her Steve is recovering. But she doesn’t.

Peggy tells herself it’s because she’s too busy, she’ll stop by the moment she gets a free one. She can’t slack off at work; it would give the men too much to point to as a flaw. There is no room for a woman’s imperfection in the bullpen of the SSR.

A treacherous little voice in the back of her head points out that the reason she’s so busy is because she chooses to be. She works longer hours, more shifts, than anyone else in that office. No one would notice if she were to take a single day.

She chooses not to think about it too hard. Peggy’s not given over to introspection.

The weather grows colder, fall turning to winter.  Peggy bundles up in scarves and heavy coats and still can’t summon the courage to make it to the facility. Howard phones weekly with updates.

Steve wakes and—Howard tells her in a voice really more self-righteous than he has any right to—asks after her. She almost sends a cordial note expressing gratitude for his recovery, but that seems even worse than simple silence somehow.

Peggy finds herself restless and far more snappish than she’s been. She spends hours in the agency’s gym, pummeling punching bags. And more than once going into work with taped up hands. She’s losing weight too—her cheekbones stand in sharper relief than they usually do—so she avoids looking in the mirror if she can help it.

At least the bulkier clothes of winter hide the way she’s growing gaunt. And her snappish demeanor keeps most of the other agents out of her way.

It doesn’t do her any favors at the automat.

“Alright, English, spill,” Angie says, sliding a piece of chocolate cake in front of her before untying her apron and plunking down in Peggy’s booth.

“Don’t you have customers?”

“I’m on my fifteen. Let’s go.”

“There’s nothing to spill, I’m afraid,” Peggy sniffs imperiously. “Unless you count my coffee, of course.”

The stare that Angie gives her could only be described as withering. Generals in the United States Army would be well-served to study her. Peggy does her best to keep her face completely straight, but even she finds herself bowing under the pressure.

“You’ve been nothing but a ball of anger for the past month and a half,” Angie informs her. “At first I was thinking you were sour with me, but then you talked the same way to Mr. Fancy. So then I thought, well, maybe it’s just that time of the month-”

“Angie!”

Angie steamrolls right past her objection. “But no, you’ve been downright mean for the past six weeks. So who’s the guy?”

The nonsensical connection takes Peggy by enough surprise that she almost laughs. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“You’re not eating, you’re a piece of work almost all the time, you’re running around at all hours of the night. My nonna says anybody acting like that’s in love or out. But it’s one of the two. So spill.”

“Angie-”

“Don’t you dare, English. Don’t you dare try to tell me different.” She gestures forcefully with the metal fork, suggesting just where Peggy might find that fork if she doesn’t think about her next few words very, very carefully.

The stubborn set of the woman’s jaw tells Peggy that if she doesn’t share now, she’ll be paying for it until she does. In a myriad of increasingly torturous and creative ways. Peggy puts nothing past Angie Martinelli.

After the fiasco with Howard, Angie knows enough to be caught up on Peggy’s history. But somehow she can’t find the words to explain exactly what has happened. Besides, as far as she knows, Captain America’s triumphant return continues to be a state secret.

“It’s just… an old friend of mine’s returned.”

“Boyfriend?”

Peggy’s lips purse. “Well, uh, no, not exactly. We never, that is…”

She wouldn’t have called Steve her boyfriend at any point in their time together. The word is simultaneously far too much and entirely inadequate, which gives Peggy a slight headache.

“Gotchya.” Angie nods knowingly and Peggy’s surprised to realize that she trusts that she does. “So your special friend is back in town and you saw him and it went disastrously.”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean not exactly?”

“I haven’t seen him yet. I just know he’s back.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, English! You don’t get to be this miserable over somebody you haven’t even seen yet!”

“It’s not-”

Holding up a hand, Angie silences her with a single withering glance. “Oh, no, no, no, honey, don’t even start.”

Peggy sighs, dropping her chin into her hand.

“Yup. That’s lovesickness if I ever saw it.”

Peggy groans and rests her head on the table.

Her friend pushes the cake further in front of her. “Eat up, English. Put some meat on those bones. Then we’ll deal with the rest.”

. . .

They come up with a plan of attack. Peggy will go to the facility and Steve, fully prepared to grovel. She will be honest but kind, and goose her story with just a hint of the whole national security responsibility thing. It makes her feel better to have a plan.

She needn’t have bothered.

Peggy’s running late for work and in a thunderously poor mood. Thompson has gotten less directly antagonistic lately, but he’s still looking for any and all reasons he can sneer at her work ethic, the bastard. A delay of ten minutes could very well be a cataclysm in his eyes.  She enters the bullpen spoiling for a fight, ready to stand up for herself when Thompson inevitably makes a comment about the time. Instead, she runs into a brick wall.

Well, not so much a brick wall as a person with the size and tensile strength of a brick wall. Before she even looks up, Peggy is hit by a dizzying wave of aftershave. It’s not strong, but she knows it and she knows when she looks up, it will be Steve’s face looking back at her.

She’s not wrong.

His face is more angular than she remembers and he’s grown a slight beard. She’s never liked facial hair and yet somehow it only makes him look more attractive. He’s always beautiful—how many times had she nearly lost herself during a meeting staring at those soft blue eyes and long, dark lashes. And those hands…

Peggy shakes herself. Not the time. She takes a step back and that’s when she notices the determined set of his jaw.

“Agent Carter,” he greets her and she supposes she deserves the cold formality, but it’s surprising how much it hurts. He’s wearing an ill-fitting suit that somehow manages to be too tight in some places and baggy in others.

“Captain Rogers.”

There’s an awkward, pregnant pause before he looks around and sighs. “Look, can we talk?”

“Aren’t we already?” She can’t help but be slightly antagonistic if he’s going to be so withholding.

He looks pained. “Peggy.”

She sighs and says, “Follow me,” before leading him into the conference room, shutting the door but leaving the blinds open. No need to encourage gossip. Turning to face Steve, she waits.

More silence. Steve paces. He’s nervous, she can tell, but the pacing is a good sign. Steve only goes still if he’s deathly serious. At least, that’s how he used to be.

Peggy just waits, watching in silence as he rakes a hand through his hair. After several laps around the room, he stills, looking over at her.

“It’s customary to say hello,” she comments.

“I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sure so is visiting your friends in the hospital.”

Peggy raises her eyebrow. “Is that what we are then? Friends?”

There’s color high in his cheeks, but to his credit, he pushes on. “If we’re anything else, you’re digging yourself a deeper hole.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry, Steve. I did mean to call.”

“Call.” His brows furrow, his lips pinch and she knows she’s said the wrong thing again. Jesus, she’s terrible at this.

She blinks and says nothing. Another bad move. He sighs heavily.

“It was good to see you, Peggy,” he says and walks out the door.

Peggy swears under her breath.

. . .

She goes another two days without incident. Peggy does her Christmas shopping—there isn’t much to do. Bourbon for Howard, schnapps and sheet music for Angie, good chocolates and decent tea for Mr. Jarvis. She walks by a set of beautiful colored pencils and picks them up for no particular reason (at least, that’s what she tells herself).

Dropping by the automat to drop off Angie’s gift, she’s met with a most unwelcome sight—Angie, leaning her hip against Peggy’s usual booth, which is occupied by none other than Steve.

She stalks over. “Are you stalking me now?”

Steve shrugs. “Howard said you eat here a lot.”

Angie’s jaw hangs open for a moment. “Maybe I’ll just go get you two some coffee…” she says in a way that makes Peggy certain she’s going to stand by the coffee pot and watch.

“You could sit if you want,” Steve offers. He seems less unsettled than the other day. Peggy slides into the booth across from him, hands folded in front of her as she waits for him to speak.

But he says nothing, just watches her, staid and quiet.

Peggy fidgets under his gaze. He waits.

“I wanted to see you,” she admits finally. “I just…”

“I got you a Christmas gift,” he says, throwing Peggy off yet again. She hates how off-kilter he’s gotten her. He slides a flat package across to her.

It’s a record—Bing Crosby. She tilts her head. When she looks up, Steve has a small, hopeful little smile that sets her heart fluttering in a way it hasn’t in two years. Since he smiled at her last.

“I shouldn’t have cornered you at work like that,” he says. “But when you didn’t come, I thought- well, I don’t know what I thought. But I wanted to see you and that was the only way I could think of.”

“I could have given you a warmer reception,” admits Peggy.

“Look, Peg, I don’t know what’s going on in your life anymore. I tried not to ask Howard too much- didn’t want to pry. I know it’s been awhile and things change. You’ve probably moved on. But I just figured this way you could get your dance. With whoever the right partner is.”

He’s so earnest, so beyond anything Peggy’s behavior the past few months deserves. She could cry. Looking down, she bites her bottom lip before speaking. “I wanted to come see you, Steve. Really. But I- at first, I just didn’t want to see you in that bed and then… I was scared, Steve. Made it through a whole war and the thought of seeing you again terrified me.”

“Why?” He’s never been one to pull punches.

And he deserves honesty. “Because if you didn’t look at me in the same way, it would have crushed me.”

Steve reaches out, takes her hand “You’re the only one for me, Peggy. You always have been.”

Her heart hammers; there’s a lump in her throat making it nearly impossible to speak. “I’ve missed you, Steve. Every single day.”

In a single fluid move, Steve’s pulled her to standing and banded solid arms around her. She wants to step away—they’re in public after all—but she’s never letting him go. Not again.  So she buries her face in the side of his neck and sighs. For the longest time, that’s all they do. There’s tension in his body that suggests he’d like more and holding back on her account.

Reaching up, Peggy pulls his face down to meet hers, pressing her lips softly to his. “Happy Christmas, Steve,” she murmurs. “Thank you for finding me.”

The tips of his ears are bright red and his grin could light New York for the whole of a year. “Merry Christmas, Peggy. Thanks for letting me.”

When Angie drops off two pieces of chocolate cake, they’re sitting on the same side of the table.

Peggy discovers that it’s very difficult to eat with a single hand. But Steve’s got a tight grip on her other one and she’s not going to pull away from that. Not ever again.

[dma-dima]

The Bottom of a Bottle

When a guy slams another guy onto your table, it's usually a good idea to get out of the way. Broken glass and flying fists so often resulted in collateral damage. When it happened to Faraday though, in his dark little corner, made all the darker by his abysmal mood, he merely tilted his chair back and calmly moved his beer before the fighting pair could spill it.

It didn't last long.. Mitch ran a tight ship, and while fights were expected, they weren't welcome indoors. He grabbed them both by their collars and threw them outside with a yell of 'go home to your wives', dusting his hands off and shaking his head before tapping Faraday on the shoulder.

"Everything alright over here?"

He sighed, draining the last of his beer, intending to leave if he was going to be bothered when everything about him screamed 'I want to be left alone'.

"Peachy. Excuse me."

But a hand on his shoulder prevented him from standing, and he struggled to muster enough enthusiasm to get angry about it.

"Wait wait, let me get you one on the house. My apology for those two."

Mitch jabbed a thumb over his shoulder needlessly, towards the door. Faraday thought about turning down the offer, but only got as far as thinking. He'd come to drown his sorrows, but in his haste he'd fled to the harbour without picking up any funds. The caps in his pocket had gotten him only mildly tipsy, and he couldn't bear to be around people whenever that wore off.

The whole situation made him uncharacteristically charitable towards charity.

"So long as it's not the swill you served me earlier. Couldn't stomach another of those if you paid me."

Mitch laughed. His big, hearty laugh. Faraday briefly entertained the idea of starting a fight himself, but that would take energy. Something he was sorely lacking at present.

Besides, if he got barred then he'd have nowhere to crash for the night.

"You're a cheeky bastard, har! Good! He speaks! Thought I'd have to fish you out the drink later, looking so grim."

Here it comes.. any moment now the nosy bartender was going to try to pull a story out of him. Faraday sighed again, pressing the heels of his hands against his bloodshot eyes and leaning lower over the dingy table. He half listened as the group nearest the jukebox erupted into raucous laughter, wondering, in his state of self pity, what the hell they had to be so happy about.

He felt a presence looming over him just before something glass was set down at his elbow with a thud. Without looking, Faraday tch'd under his breath and spoke.

"You trying to butter me up Mitch? Thought the lock on that cupboard only opened if you sacrificed a virgin."

"HAR!" That booming fucking laugh.. he wasn't smiling. He WASN'T. "Just making sure you pass out good and proper. Always wanted myself a pretty white coat, reckon it'd make me look intelligent."

'What you're looking for is a miracle.' Was what Faraday thought, but what he actually said was..

"Yeah well I don't take it off on the first date. Bit of a policy. Not unless you buy me dinner first."

Mitch clapped him almost painfully on the shoulder.

"You hear that Debby!" He shouted, gaining the attention of a woman who'd been collecting glasses from one of the noisier tables. "This one's tryin' to get himself a free meal. The spit bucket full or do we get him to wait an hour?"

"Depends!" She shouted back. "How runny does he like his gravy?"

Faraday grimaced, though this banter wasn't so bad. It was actually a nice distraction from the recording in his minds eye, playing on a constant, torturous loop. The way DiMA had said his name, the way DiMA's lips had felt as he kissed him, DiMA's hand on his chest, pushing him away, the inexplicable sadness in DiMA's eyes as he'd rejected him, again.. DiMA DiMA DiMA..

"Yeah on second thought I already ate. Thanks Mitch."

He picked up the bottle and nodded stiffly, both thanking and dismissing him clearly enough for even the most thick skulled unfortunate. When Mitch had gone back behind the bar to 'clean' glasses, it occurred to Faraday that he had nothing in which to pour the whiskey he'd been given, but that suited him just fine. No sense wasting time pouring when it could just go straight down the hatch.

It burned like fire on the way down, eviscerating.. almost cleansing. The more he drank the more his memory of the kiss blurred around the edges, became almost dreamlike.. a bad dream that lingered after waking, but still unreal. The pain of it had been real, but it had happened in another time and place, separate from this reality. It hadn't actually happened to him. He hadn't really kissed DiMA, he hadn't really been pushed away.. those were just his insecurities coming out to play. One day, when the time was right, he'd share another kiss with the synth who didn't know how much he loved him.. only this one wouldn't be cut short with a dreaded 'I'm sorry, but..'

"Yeah.. and one day I'll run for president." He muttered to himself darkly, taking another swig from the half empty bottle.

[danvssomethingorother]

Start Of Something More P2

A03

P1

The second part of my long ass story for @yonduweek

-Ten years later, Half World-

 In and out, not gonna stay too long, don’t talk to no one, drop the shit off and we go.

 Meredith shoulda known that man was full’a shit.

 She ran her fingers gently over her large stomach keeping an eye on Kraglin’s data pad, making sure everything they owed this man was off their ship and none of the men decided to keep any of the dangerous supplies they were dropping off. She couldn’t quite tell you the reason but none of this was sitting right with her. A lotta the people they worked with didn’t sit right with her but half world was so empty. It was barren, surrounded by a jungle of alien life that none of the hardened men around her dared step foot in. The only speck of civilization in this hell-scape was the medical facility dab in the middle of the meteor. She didn’t want to go near it, it reeked of death and made shivers run down her spine, arms protectively wrapping around her swollen stomach.

 What was taking him so long?

 In and out, yet, he had been inside negotiating with that man for two hours now. She and Kraglin had been in and out of the ship four times now and still no sign of him. This was keeping in mind her personal quarters were a very long distance from the docking bay.  

 Some of the men, growing as bored as she and her adopted son, were setting games up on the crates she and Kraglin were keeping a close eye on.

 “Ma,” Kraglin said through a yawn, “Ya think the captain got side tracked again?”

 “It’s possible,” she said making circles around the baby kicking her insides growing as impatient as her, “Might be trying to swindle him out of more money than this junk is worth like he did to them folks on Xandar.”  

 Kraglin snorted leaning against one of the crates, “That’s what we need. Get into a gun fight when Kraglin Jr. is so close to joining us.”

 “I think Yondu settled on his name being little bastard,” Meredith chuckled.

 “Nah,” Kraglin said picking at his teeth, “That’ll be his nickname.”

 “His name is gonna be David Bowie!” Horuz called over to them pausing in his card game, “I will be quite the rich man when ya name him after that singer yer always going on about.”

 “Mick Jagger,” snarled Tulk in disagreement laying down a winning hand making Horuz begin to curse.

 “It’s gonna be Yondu Jr,” another argued.

 Meredith shook her head, those were not gonna be her son’s name. She had settled on Peter months ago but telling them now would ruin the fun, she liked watching them fight. She liked helping get them riled up suggesting a new singer every week. She had Kraglin put in a bet a week ago for Peter so they could split this money between them, it would be their little secret.

 “I can’t wait no longer, I’m gonna go see what’s taking his blue ass,” Meredith decided making each man look towards her with a mix of worry and restraint.

 Meredith Quill wasn’t just first mate because she was banging the captain and now carrying his child. This woman was a fire cracker with a quick hand that would have drawn her gun and killed them before they even rose.  

 “Ma, let me come with you,” Kraglin begged knowing this was trouble. Either Yondu was going to do something rash seeing his girlfriend enter or Meredith was gonna over react and shoot the place up (again) for someone disrespecting her captain.  

 “Stay with the idiots, baby, mama will only be a minute. You need to be here in case one of these morons tries to steal the cargo.”

 “And if we do?” Tulk asked watching her with a raised eye brow.

 “Kraglin will shoot ya.”

 “Alright, so we’re safe,” Tulk laughed watching Meredith disappear. She opened her mouth to make a witty retort but couldn’t find the words so continued to venture into the compound in hopes of finding Yondu and leaving this place.

 ==

 “Give me the money ya owe me and I’ll give ya yer shit,” Yondu growled out leaning across the table so the scientist could see his glare and know he was done messing around.

 “Mr. Udonta, I paid you to be on time and you weren’t. That is highly unprofessional and due to you breaking our agreement, I lost a patient due to not having the supplies I paid for in advance. You are not getting the second half because you broke our contract.”

 “Maybe if’n ya would have warned me the supplies were coming from a Xandarian military base, I could have arranged things better to be on time. I lost fifty men in that dog fight and risked my unborn son’s safety for yer shit! Least ya can do is give me what ya owe me!”  

 “I wasn’t aware you were having a child,” the man said and Yondu felt his stomach drop at the intrigued look he gave him, “I was under the impression most Centaurians  were dead and those who were alive couldn’t breed. What species is the mother?”

 “None of yer damn business,” Yondu didn’t like this, he needed to get his money and go before this turned out ugly for them, “All that matters is ya owe me money.”

 “The Kree were very good at modifying Centaurians. You of all people should know how miraculous it is for one to have a child at all, that child must be very special. I will give you all the money you want for just the opportunity to study this child.”  

 Yondu’s patience was lost at that, he let out a low whistle and his arrow was inches from the doctor’s goggles.  

 The doctor sighed and shrugged in annoyance as if Yondu was the one being unreasonable here.  

 “You act like I would hurt your child, if anything it would be nothing more than a free check up from a real doctor. I am a leading doctor in my field Mr. Udonta, I do not harm my patients, I merely enhance them and make them more than they ever expected they could be.”  

 “Yer no better than a filthy slaver if you really think that way and ya best give me good reason not to kill ya now.”

 “Calm yourself, Mr. Udonta,” he said not even phased by the arrow still floating close to his face, “A slaver and a researcher are very different. I am taking away no one’s free will. I always ask for permission and as the father you have denied access to your child. So, I will not bring it up any further.”

 He paused picking up a stack of papers and sliding them over to Yondu who didn’t touch them. This did not phase the doctor any either, almost expecting it at this point.  

 “That is the reason I cannot pay you. Your lateness cost us a life, a life more valuable than any of your low life crew will ever be worth.”

 “She was in need of those parts so I could complete her new functioning lung as hers was giving out and life support was becoming too costly. I had to put her down to end her suffering because of you. A fine specimen she was, taken too soon.”

 Yondu opened up the file and quirked an eyebrow at the man.

 “What the hell was she?”

 “When I picked her up from a man who was obsessed with all things Terran, she was nothing. A barely evolved, non-sentient creature known as an otter. The other creature I got that day is all I have left. I suppose I can cut the price in half to keep him alive and as an apology for nearly killing your son who seems quite valuable himself.”

 “You want to keep yer life now you better double the original offer,” Yondu hissed shoving the papers to the ground, “Let’s get something straight: I don’t like you. We ain’t friends and no one, god damn no one, is allowed to even suggest my boy needs to be caged for the name of shit. Especially yer god damn science.”

 “I never said that.”

 “But ya implied it. I know yer type. Thinkin’ my boy must be worth somethin’, he ain’t even out of his mama yet and I got to worry about scum like you wanting to buy him.”

 “For the love of the gods,” the man hissed, his patience finally cracking, “I will pay you to just leave at this point. You are wasting valuable time. I need to get back to my patients.”

 He slid Yondu over a units card before turning his attention away from Yondu entirely, holding up his finger to signal Yondu to be silent before answering his communicator.

 “Yes?”

 “Is that so? I’ll be there in a minute.”

 He smiled at Yondu, a smile that made even Yondu’s insides twist a little.

 “It was a pleasure dealing with you. Leave the supplies where we instructed and please leave, our business is done here.”

 Yondu opened his mouth to demand an explanation but he got none from the man who was already disappearing.  

 Yondu wasn’t the trusting sort and didn’t leave anything to chance. Something wasn’t right and he was gonna find out why the hell the doctor gave up on this so easily.

---

 Meredith frowned it was too easy to get into this place, all she did was walk into the back entrance. No security, no check points, nothing but a sterile smell and an eerie silence that made goosebumps break across her arms. She didn’t like this, it didn’t feel right.

 The place felt like a Terran hospital. Cold, devoid of emotion or life, a beeping coming from one of the rooms and just so damn quiet.

 She ran her finger over her stomach feeling Peter kicking up a storm in there, he must have sensed her unease.

 “Its alright baby boy, we’re just gettin’ daddy before they decide to check him in this place.”

 She had heard stories about Half World and none were pleasant ones. Former employees of this facility coming back to their home worlds changed, all talking about what monsters this place turned them into for the sake of progress and science. No patient had ever been recorded to leave this place. Once you checked it, that was it, you were done for, you were donating your body to science.

 That lump in the pit of her stomach grew tighter knowing this was all legal. Half world didn’t have to go by any laws set by the Galactic Federation nor The Kree Empire (which had been enforcing more Federation laws since the signing of the treaty) making anything they did to you behind these walls legal. First class with health care, they had found cures to a number of diseases that many planets accepted happily but the cost was what happened to the patients to get those results.

 She wasn’t letting Yondu face this thing alone, something bad was keeping him and this planet wasn’t getting the father of her son.

 “Peter, baby, its ok,” she whispered again running her fingers over her stomach taking peaks into the rooms. There weren’t many patients here and the ones she did see were on full life support making her more uneasy.

 Peter was restless today, kicking and kicking. Not even born yet and he knew when they were in a bad situation. She needed to turn back for his sake, but she was stubborn and needed to do this on her own.

 Something caught her attention ahead of her, it was someone yelling and it seemed all the staff was with that person yelling. Slowly she crept forward, sliding across the wall, fingers latching onto each door knob she passed by testing them in case she needed somewhere to disappear into fast.

 “You fucking killed her!!!”

 “Calm down, you are only doing harm to yourself. The female otter had no way of surviving as we have been telling you---”

 “No!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! You could have done more but you didn’t because she didn’t matter---!!!”

 “That is very untrue, all our patients matter immensely and we are sad the otter did not make it.”

 “Then call her by her fucking name and not treat her as some kind of animal!”

 “Calm yourself or we will be forced to drug you---”

 Meredith was finally at the door where the screaming was coming from, she peaked into the room and did not like what she saw.

 A raccoon (she learned long ago not to question these things) was hanging off one of the large lights in the room and several doctors were surrounding him.  

 They were trying to get the raccoon down and by the looks of it, he had every right to stay where he was far away from these people. The pink shade of skin peaking from their white scrubs told Meredith they were kree and that meant this would not be an easy fight if she got caught. They were armed with more than just needles too she noted eying the blasters on their sides, this would not end good for her or her son. The smart thing would be turn away while they were distracted and leave, go back to her crew but she couldn’t leave the poor creature by himself. That wasn’t in her nature. She did a lot of shitty things since she joined Yondu but leaving someone to suffer wouldn’t be on that list.

 She took a deep breath and decided to use her condition to her advantage. A room full of doctors weren’t likely to kill a pregnant woman.

 “Excuse me!” she yelled opening the door clinging to her stomach for good measure.

 “I’m going into labor! My captain is doing a deal right now for medical supplies and we can’t leave and I need help right now desperately!”

 “Please calm down ma’am, “one of the five doctors said turning away from the raccoon refusing to come down from his spot.

 “We can help please just give us a moment.”

 “I don’t have a moment, ya idiot! The baby is comin’ now and he’s impatient!! Please!!!” she dropped to the ground letting fake sobs travel through her, clinging tighter to Peter still kicking away, “I need to make sure my baby is OK!!! Yer doctors aren’t ya?!”

 She latched onto one of the doctor’s hands, screaming louder in fake agony making a few more of them turn towards her fearing the worst. She looked up, letting out one of her best fake cries to date and caught eyes with the raccoon for just a second and sent him a wink that he returned with a shake of the head at her display.

 It was his only chance to take her distraction and he seemed to get that, climbing down slowly while all eyes were on Meredith screaming loudly. One of the doctors com’d for the head doctor to please come to them immediately.

 “What species are you, ma’am? Are you Xandarian?”

 “No…Terran…please just help me!!! I can’t hold on much longer!! My baby boy is coming!!! I need my boyfriend here. He’s with your head doctor!”

 “We have called him, ma’am, please just be patient. Breath. Your life is not in any danger, you are perfectly safe here.”

 The scowl the raccoon wore as he unscrewed the vent while Meredith had all eyes on her told a different story.

 Luck wasn’t completely on their side though, one doctor glanced up during the commotion and spotted the raccoon trying to make his getaway. He yelled out and two other doctors jumped up with him going towards the rodent. Meredith had always been a quick shot though, pulling out her blaster and shooting two in the back before they could get too far.

 At that moment, their gig was sadly up. The head doctor had arrived and he didn’t look happy. The momentary distraction of his arrival was all they needed to disarm Meredith, her heart began to beat erratically. She was fucked now. She may have saved the rodent but now she was taking poor Peter down with her.

 “We may have lost the raccoon but I think you should be a more then welcome replacement, miss. Welcome to half - world, you and your son’s new home.”

 An arrow flew through at that moment, taking out two of the doctors holding her and she smiled seeing her boyfriend enter the fray.

 Her happiness was short lived as the head doctor grabbed her and shoved a blaster against her neck.

 “Hi, sugar…” she said meekly smiling at her boyfriend who was glaring daggers at her, the fallen doctors surrounding his feet.

 “Hello sweetheart, ya havin’ fun gettin’ caught and endangering our son for some rat?”

 “Not my idea of an afternoon but it wasn’t completely awful, I shot some guys before ya came and ruined ma fun,” she chuckled and scowled as the blaster was shoved more forcefully against her head.

 “I think you both have had more than enough ‘’fun’’ destroying my facility. Leave now Udonta or your wife…”

 “Girlfriend, we ain’t ready to settle down like that yet.”

 “Fine, girlfriend, fuck toy, what ever this bitch is,” he snarled his cool composure breaking further tightening his grip on Meredith who groaned in protest.

 “You let my patient escape. Go who knows where and I think its fair to say you owe me. I have never encountered a Terran before and certainly not a Terran hybrid, so the child will be enough for me. Whether you get the woman back alive or not is to be seen.”

 “You shoot me and I shoot the woman. Both die. You stand down and maybe I will show mercy on your ‘woman’ here and you can both leave together but after all the trouble you have cost me, you are not keeping the child. He is mine now as payment for all my work you have ruined!”

 Meredith began squirming at that, he was not having her son. She looked  towards Yondu with fear but his eyes promised he wouldn’t touch a hair on their son’s head.

 Before either could decide what to do though, the doctor let go of Meredith letting her stumble away from the man who had been holding her. Her arm tight around her stomach, desperately trying to protect her son as Yondu grabbed hold of her, pushing her protectively behind him.

 The raccoon from earlier was standing on top of the doctor’s unmoving form, a needle in his hand that was shaking.

 “Don’t worry about him, he won’t be getting up. I did to him what he did to Lyla.”

 He began walking away from them and Meredith shoved away from her scowling boyfriend in a flash chasing after him the best she could asking him to wait.

 He turned his head towards her and she smiled.

 “Please allow us to repay ya for helpin us out there and give ya a lift to where ever ya want ta go.”

 He shrugged.

 “Not like I had anywhere to go anyway.”

Like my work? Buy me a coffee

[ravenvsfox]

Can you do pynch for the ship thing please

YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASS I CAN 

(god FINALLY)

SEND ME A SHIP AND I’LL TELL YOU…

who is more likely to hurt the other?

I mean. Adam doesn’t usually get hurt by ronan so much as he gets annoyed. disappointed. pissed. He never lets ronan’s venom actually get to his veins, he’s too busy telling him how unnecessary the flash of fang is. ronan on the other hand. like. he’s easy to hurt. adam would never in his life want to hurt ronan (it’s his honest to god nightmare) but I think ronan works himself into such a despair at the smallest jealousies and perceived injustices that adam could make one careless comment and ronan would fixate on it

who is emotionally stronger?

ohhhh adam. it’s adam. He’s been dragging so much emotional rubble for so long that he’s built up a tolerance. strong is like The Most adam adjective that I can think of. ronan never had to get to adam’s level of detachment and dissociation bc the first 15 years of his life were gorgeous and easy, and he’s still growing into his protective shell. Adam had to be born in his

who is physically stronger?

it’s ronan tbH he has the upper body strength of a boxer and the broad shoulders of a lynch (but also adam has clever hands and muscular thighs from years of biking everywhere and he can handle himself)

who is more likely to break a bone? 

ouch. They’re both capital R Reckless when they’re together and they have some brutal years under their belts. adam has some poorly set knobbly fingers and ronan has an old snapped clavicle that took forever to heal and constantly bruised knuckles so like. idk. In the future, when adam parrish has escaped from his childhood prison, I’d like to think that they both get ugly minor injuries from doing joyful ramp and dolly and shopping cart type activities only

who knows best what to say to upset the other? 

surprisingly difficult question to answer bc I mean. It’s ronan. but is it? he systematically winds people up and adam is so deeply irritated by him that he straight up walks away, but also adam can be ice cold?? it’s so easy to get to ronan. They both fumble and call each other mean names when they want to compliment each other it’s a big mess

who is most likely to apologize first after an argument? 

holy shit would you believe neither??? the most stubborn humans on this earth!! record holders!! we got some emotional repression folks! hooooo boy

adam never starts arguments for no reason so he’s always thinking it through and coming to the conclusion that he’s in the right?? surprise he ain’t apologizing

meanwhile ronan can’t stop being cruel even though he knows it’s hurting people, it’s this vicious self-protective instinct that hurts so good and so wrong. and then his pride gets in the way once he’s cooled down. but he will come to st agnes on his knees and grab adam’s hand and try to make it clear that he’d step on his own pride on the way to adam’s door

who treats who’s wounds more often? 

sad & unfortunate :(( adam treats ronan’s solely bc ronan doesn’t know how the fuck to treat an injury and also ‘none of them wanted to hurt adam parrish’, so ronan’s got his stupid pointless anger related scrapes and adam’s got his anti-bacterial gel and they are a dream team

who is in constant need of comfort? 

neither of them come out on top here man. They’ve had some shared harrowing experiences, and some separate trauma that they’re trying to tell each other about (if their stories could just stop. sticking. when they try to say them out loud). in v different ways, neither of their families are families. Ronan doesn’t let himself fall asleep, and he doesn’t let himself go through things, and the repression starts to calcify into cruelty like it did right after his father died. adam can’t stop thinking about gansey on the roadside, and he can’t be touched some days, most days. he can’t stop swimming or he’ll die. He can’t keep swimming or he’ll die. The gangsey is a critical support system made of so many weak beams

who gets more jealous? 

are u fucking serious,,, it’s both of them pal. remember when every combination of his friends that didn’t include him made adam like. sick with jealousy. remember when ronan saw gansey talking on the phone with adam and wanted to put his hand through a wall. or when adam brought blue along on their quest and he spouted nasty shit the whole day. they both deeply want each others attention and they don’t seem to realize that they already have it? always?

who’s most likely to walk out on the other? 

ohh god. oh man. oh boy. Here’s the thing. adam’s gonna walk away from ronan, but he’s not gonna walk OUT on him. he’s going to walk away because he’s not on a leash, he’s gonna spread those beautiful fucking self-made wings. And ronan is too!! in his own time he’s gonna build his own spaces that aren’t the barns and he’s going to realize what home means to him and they’re both gonna walk out the door and back but never close it behind them

who will propose? 

a controversial topic! I’m on team adam for this one pals. I was on team ‘adam’s gonna kiss ronan first’ for a while before trk like a FOOL and I realized the error of my ways bc ronan is physical as fuck! and a risk-taker! of course he kissed adam smh. But a proposal? That’s a contract. That’s a speech. That’s a chess move. Ronan wouldn’t corner adam like that. Adam knows how ronan feels and more importantly he knows how HE feels himself, and I think one day ten years into their relationship the practicalities are gonna beckon and he’s gonna look ronan in the back of the head while he’s sleeping and roll over into the curve of his spine and tell him he wants a ring on his finger 

who has the most difficult parents?

omg... fuck off

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public? 

tactile bastards! both of them! ronan especially wants adam’s hands...., any which way he can get them. I mean. He will kiss adam’s hands when they’re at dinner at nino’s and he’ll hook their fingers together even for the 20 second walk from the BMW to monmouth’s front door like he LIVES FOR IT (adam feels nervy and exhilarated every time it’s gay)

who comes up for the other all the time? 

i mean they’re always together so they don’t really bring each other up. if they’re not together they’re with gansey/blue/henry or even fox way babes/vancouver crowd etc and those ppl get real tired of it real quick. adam usually keeps his ronan related musings to himself though like he has self-control unlike... R.N.L. himself

who hogs the blankets? 

ronan does tbh adam has never hogged anything in his life and ronan is a shit

who gets more sad? 

an unfair Q, man. They’ve both had a super rough time, especially right post-trk?? those few months are hard. Ronan cries a lot. Adam gets numb and far away a lot. They have a lot to be sad about. (But more to be happy about. They made it. They honestly just stare at each other and laugh breathlessly and touch foreheads and hands and scars and can’t believe their luck)

who is better at cheering the other up? 

I sorta said this with ronsey but I think ronan is THE BEST at doing dumb shit to take his mind off of things. Like all that stuff about making adam quiet and turning off the lists and anxieties in his head so that they can do smth mindless and dangerous? yeah that. memes and songs and poor decisions. depression whom?

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?

this never happens wtf they’re not really ‘playful slappers’ HOWEVER adam will glare at ronan so hard that it probably feels like a slap

who is more streetwise?

it reeeeally depends on your definition of streetwise?? Like if we’re talking survival it’s unquestionably adam. He can fix your car and bandage your wounds and figure out your taxes and make himself invisible and blend his accent into whoever’s around him. He’s wicked sharp and fast on his feet. But i mean. he can’t quite drive stick. and he wouldn’t be caught dead in the sort of underground that ronan ends up in. ronan is streetwise in terms of the actual street, and he knows the most brutal avenues a person can end up on, the real life nightmares that feel closest to the ones in his head. Ronan is smart enough to navigate the chaos, but adam is smart enough to avoid it altogether

who is more wise?

adam. easily. ronan is intelligent and instinctive and talented (or adam wouldn’t get him as well as he does) but adam is a genius and that look behind his eyes..... he’s lived about 1 billion times more than he should’ve by age 19

who’s the shyest? 

neither of them are shy exactly they’re just buried under 9 surface level personalities that you have to crack open with your bare fuckin hands

but if you met either of them in the hallowed halls of aglionby you would think adam was shy and ronan was a rampant fuckwad so based on appearance?? adam. he keeps his head down.

who boasts about the other more? 

as soon as adam is officially his bf ronan takes a ten year long victory lap he’s so embarrassing

who sits on who’s lap?

y’all. we all know ronan sits in adam’s. it’s a fact of life. he probably had a sexy dream about it when he was 17 and took his morning shower in holy water