#put me in a closet with a data problem and leave me alone please for the love of god i dont want to deal with anything else

[netflixofficial]

if anyone would like to come radicalize my already existent loathing of capitalism right now feels like an ideal time for that

[full-of-roman-angst-trash]

Where Did You Go?

This fanfic is dedicated to @moxy--sanders101! Congrats on 1k!!! You definitely deserve it!

Prompt by @transformationloveb

Orginal pompt

TW: Small Unsympathetic Virgil, Roman Angst, Cursing, Very Small Hint of Self Deprecation (Very easy to miss but added it just in case)

Pairings: Familial Creativity Twins (Don’t tag as R*mR*m) Platonic Roceit, Platonic Demus/Dukeciet

~~~~~~~~~

“Loooogggaannn!!! I’m starving!!!” I whine loudly, staring at Logan from my spot on the couch.

A groan responds to my whine.

“Remus shut the fuck up! I’m trying to follow this stupid recipe! If you’re actually starving, then stop being annoying and let me concentrate!”

Daddy dearest frowns a bit, “Logie, language!”

Another groan escapes the Nerdy Wolverine’s mouth, “Sorry, Patton.”

“It’s fine, Logie. Just take a deep breath; If you want, I can try and help you with supper.”

Logan takes a deep breath before sighing and putting the knife that he was using to try and cut some vegetables with, down. 

“There really isn’t a need. No matter what we do, the outcome won’t come out well.”

Virgin, who was sitting on the counter, rolls his eyes, “Geez, try having some faith, teach.” 

“Why should I have ‘faith’? In the past month that Roman has refused to leave his room. Any food that we have attempted to make has been unsatisfactory. I am merely basing my hypothesis on past data.”

"I was just trying to be optimistic...." The emo mumbles in response, shrinking into his hoodie. 

"Awwe Kiddo," Daddy goes over to Virgin and hugs him, "It's okay."

Four-eyes sighs, "My deepest apologies if I hurt your feeling Virgil, that was not my intention. I am merely just frustrated with our current predicament."

"Remus, can you try to convince Ro to come out out of his room again? Please?" The Old Man glances at me.

I throw myself off the couch and onto the floor. 

"I've tried, but Little Miss Tinkerbell refuses to come out until Double D over here leaves," I inform him.

Anxiety rolls his eyes and groans, “Oh my god! Can he just stop being so dramatic!? He’s such a crybaby! He’s literally hurting us just because Deceit made a snarky remark at him! Which was his fault since Deceit was defending himself from Roman’s bullying!”

His words ring in my ears and make a seething rage spread throughout my body, I was just about to defend my brother, but someone beats me to it. 

“Shut the fuck up, Anxiety,” The coldness and anger in Jan’s voice makes a shiver run through all of our spines. 

Anxiety turns to DeeDee with an annoyed and offended expression on his face.

“Excuse me!? I am literally defending you, and you tell me to shut up!?” Virgil glares at Janus.  

“Well, last time I checked, I didn’t ask you to defend me, now did I?” He stands up and starts making his way to our once ally, “Also, you weren’t there for that episode; you only know Patton’s side of the story. So you are in no position to speak about an issue you know barely know anything about.”

He stops right in front of Par-Anxiety and puts a hand on his shoulder passive-aggressively.

He smiles, yet it was an unsettling and scary smile, “You haven’t tried seeing things from his perspective or tried to be sympathetic and tried to understand why he reacted like that. On top of that, you have no right to declare his rebuttal as bullying.”

Anxiety swallows and slaps Jan’s hand away, “W-whatever...” He takes a step back, “I don’t understand why you’re defending that asshole!”

“CALL MY BROTHER ONE MORE NAME I DARE YOU!!!” I summon my morning star and point it at Anxiety, unable to hold my anger any longer.

The coward squeals and takes another step back, not responding.

I take a deep breath and put my morning star away before starting to walk away, “I’m going to talk to my brother.”

“Wait,” Janus grabs my wrist and stops me from going further, “Can I come with you, please? I wanna try and apologize to him...”

I know that Janus is the last person Ro wants to see, but I can’t really say no to Dee. I know Dee really regrets what he did, and well, I want Ro and Dee to get along.

I sigh softly, “Fine, but if he wants you to leave, please do.”

He nods, “Aright, that’s fine,” He lets go of my wrist and follows me to Roman’s room.

We get to Roman’s room, and I knock on the door softly, “Ro, it’s me, Rem. Can you please let me in?

It takes a while for me to get a response, but I know I would.

“A-are you alone....?” His voice is just barely loud enough for me to hear it.

I glance at Double D, noting his shocked expression, probably from him hearing Roman respond.

“No, I’m not,” I turn back to the door.

This time the wait for a response is much longer, “W-Who’s with you...?

I take a small deep breath, “Janus...”

Silence. That’s all that comes back at me. Suddenly though, the door opens and Roman -with messy, tangled hair, a plain black shirt and shorts, puffy red eyes and nose- looks at us.  

“C-Come in.....” 

He moves to let us in. We walk in, and I immediately notice the state of his room; All the posters he had up were ripped clean off, the fairy lights that were hanged on the wall were gone, plain white sheets replaced his rose bed sheets, and his closet wall that he had hand-painted designs into was repainted white. 

I bite my lip and try not to get upset at seeing my brother’s past confident and fiery love for his passions gone. I notice that Jan is looking down, and it was evident that he was also holding back his emotions. I hear Roman close the door; he walks over to his bed and sits down.

He avoids looking at us, “S-So, w-why are you guys h-here....?” 

I sit on the floor, Jan hesitantly sitting next to me, “Well, I think someone has to  tell you a few things.”

I turn to DeeDee and give him an encouraging smile. Roman stays quiet, just waiting for one of us to continue speaking.

Dee takes a deep breath, “Look, Roman...” He starts quietly, “I’m so so sorry... I know what I said wasn’t right, and it was way too far... There was a line, and I definitely crossed it... I’m sorry.”

His words seem to take a while for them to reach Roman; for a while, the room falls silent. 

“I’m sorry too,” Ro finally looks at us, his voice hushed, “For everything I’ve ever done to both of you... I wrongfully judged you guys and stereotyped y’all... Then I had the audacity to insult and make fun of you guys... So, I’m truly sorry...”

Dee smiles softly, “How about we start over?”

“Yeah,” A small smile creeps its way to Roman’s face, “I’d like that.”

“Okay, sorry to interrupt you guys’ moment,” I loudly interject, not really all that sorry, “But, dude, I’m starving, and we have to fix your room, it looks disgusting right now!”

The Disney whore lightheartedly rolls his eyes, “First of all, fine, we can fix my room later. And second of all, can’t you make your own food? I mean you literally eat deodorant.” 

I whine loudly, “You usually make my deodorant, though! You’re the only one that can cook anything good, stupid!” 

“Remus is, for once, correct Roman,” Janus butts in, completely ignoring my offended gasp, “We’ve tried to figure out how to cook, but sadly we’ve had no real success.”

 Mr.Depresso sighs and gets up, “Fine, I guess I can cook dinner again.”

I excitedly stand up, (almost accidentally slipping and crushing Jan) “Yay! Thanks, Hoe Bag!” 

He smacks me on the arm, “Dumb bitch,” He helps JD up.

“While this isn’t quite amusing, stop calling each other names. Also, thank you, Roman.” 

Prince crybaby huffs, “No problem and fine, I yield.”

“Well, I don’t! Now let’s go bitches!” I grab both of their hands and start running out of the room. 

They both follow without bothering to struggle. Once we get to the living room, I let go of their hands, pushing Roman forward slightly. 

“I got the dumbass!”

Everyone's attention turns to us.

Roman regains his balance from my shove and clears his throat awkwardly, going back to avoiding eye contact.

Suddenly, I scoff cuts through the silence, “Oh great, The egotistical prick is back.”

I immediately recognize the voice, and when I notice Roman flinch, all my anger from earlier came back.

“Stop Anxiety. May I remind you that he’s being nice enough to cook dinner for us. Something we don’t deserve after ignoring him and pushing him aside for so long,” Janie quickly responded.

I smirk, “Exactly! So, shut up bitch!”

Before he or any other side can say anything, I grab Janus’ and Roman’s hand and drag them to the kitchen.

As we’re walking there, I hear a small whisper.

“Thank you, guys. You two are the best.”

~~~~~~~~~

Writing Taglist

@just-violet-flowers @itriedandimtired @lilyrockerlove @random-fander

[starlightsearches]

Can I request a fluffy Kylo X OC where they’re chasing their little toddler around Star Killer base? Pleaseeeee? 💕💕😘

Not Going Anywhere

Here’s my first request! I hope you guys like it; feel free to send in more 😌

Pairing: Kylo Ren X Female Reader

Warnings: This is probably a little more angst than you wanted, sorry about that 😬 But the ending is nice and fluffy!

“What do you mean you lost him?” You yell, and Ren puts a hand over your mouth, hoping no one outside of the supply closet heard you shouting. It’s cramped and too warm—only worsening Ren’s anxiety—which had built itself to a crescendo in the time it had taken to find you on the bridge and then convince you to leave your post. You brush his hand away, aggravated.

“I told you, he ran out the door. I couldn’t grab him fast enough.” Ren whispers, pained, “please help me.” Your mouth flattens into a line of frustration, contemplating the potential benefits and pitfalls of making him do it himself, and then you roll your eyes, sighing with exasperation.

“Fine, let’s go,” you shove him unceremoniously from the closet and back into the hallway, and two officers outside the door startle at his sudden appearance. For a moment they look like they might laugh, until they see your face, and instead they avert their eyes, suddenly absorbed with the screens of their data pads.

“Which way did he go?” You whisper to him, and Ren starts off down the hallway in what he thinks is the right direction. Others are watching as you make your way down the corridor, curious whispers following behind. 

People know, of course, about the two of you. That had been unavoidable. You had done your best to stay professional in the public eye after your relationship began, but nobody on the whole damn crew was capable of keeping their mouth shut, especially after your nine-month “special assignment” off-base. Still, privacy was necessary to the survival of your relationship, and for any sense of normalcy when working. Most crew members never even saw you in the same room, let alone exiting a closet together.

“I’m sorry,” Ren whispers, again. He can see your anger in your posture, the way you stomp down the hall, listening intently for any sign of your son.

“Don’t you think-”

“No,” he cuts you off before you can finish. This is a conversation you’ve had before, and not one he’s interested in having again.

“I’m just saying,” you begin, “I could take him somewhere—somewhere safe—where he could grow up. Have a childhood. And then, later, when this is over …”

“You can’t leave.”

“Being on this base is not good for him, Ren.”

“Neither is growing up without a father.” He’s growling, anger bleeding through his words. You bite your lip and don’t respond. These talks never go well; Ren always ends up frustrated, and it’s worse this time because now he knows that you’re right. Maybe his son would be better off far away from him. Safer.

He’s still worried as the two of you walk: there are plenty of dangerous places a child could find themselves on the base. The armory, the hangar … the trash compactor. He forces himself to move faster, overtaking you quickly with his long stride. You feel it too, the panic, and grip his wrist in your fingers, a strange and unfamiliar show of affection for such a public space.

“Can you sense him?” You ask, running your thumb over the edge of his sleeve, finding your way to the skin beneath, but the panic won’t subside. He shakes his head, feeling helpless, and you pull him into an alcove.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” you whisper, bringing your hand to his face and rubbing the pad of your thumb over his cheek, “but we do need to find him. Can you?” Ren nods into your palm, calmed by your touch, and focuses outward, looking for his son. He’s easy to find once Ren has found focus: a small spark of joy amid the harshness and conflict of the base. Ren takes your hand in his, and pulls you in the right direction, the worry ebbing now that he has a clear destination. He pulls you to a stop in front of a door and punches in his access code, not waiting for it to open all the way before you both rush in.

Two sets of eyes stare back at you, their shock echoing their own, the silence in the room broken apart by pealing laughter. This is a Storm Trooper barrack, you realize immediately, the eyes belonging to a group of Troopers, KH-1317 and TZ-4390, in uniform but without their helmets. They look sheepish and avoid your gaze.

“Jaren!” You break from Ren, running to your son, pulling him out of the arms of the nearest Trooper. He giggles again, oblivious to the tension in the room, and you hold him close.

“Where did you find him?” You ask, and both Troopers relax infinitesimally, seeing that they are not in trouble. 

“We were doing our rounds and he came around the corner,” KH-1317 says, gesturing to her partner, who nods, “we didn’t know he was your kid.” There’s a pause, awkward, uncomfortable, as no one seems to know what to say next. You pull your son tighter in your arms, and he rests his head on your shoulder, tired from his exciting afternoon.

“Thank you,” you say, hesitantly, “for watching him.” This is a break from the normal order of things, a strangely human moment for all of you, and Ren’s not entirely comfortable with the scene unfolding before him. 

“It was no problem,” the other responds. She waves uncertainly to Jaren, who waves back tiredly, fighting to keep his eyelids open. You tug on Ren’s hand, surreptitiously, pulling him towards the door, and the two of you leave a bit embarrassed, but grateful.

The walk back to your quarters is better, almost peaceful, as Jaren dozes on your shoulder. Ren is feeling strange, the fear of losing his son gone now, leaving something soft and sentimental in its place. Gingerly, he places a hand on the curve of your spine, the connection so gentle you may not have noticed it, if you hadn’t outside of your quarters.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” you whisper, looking up at him with worry in your eyes. You’re drawing attention again, holding your child in your arms, and Ren knows that he’s only making it worse, but he needs to feel close to you right now. He solidifies the contact, pressing his hand more firmly into your back, and glares at the watching crew members who in turn avert their gaze.

 You enter your chambers together, the room dark, and a little messy: clothes on the floor, and a few toys scattered around. You set Jaren in his crib and pull the blanket over him. He’s already asleep, soft pink lips pursed into a perfect O, his dark, unruly hair brushing his eyebrows. Ren sees too much of himself in him. He sits on the bed and swallows hard, unable to look at you, now that you’re alone. Afraid of what you’re about to say.

He feels the indent of the mattress as you climb up behind him, running your hands through his hair with soft, even strokes. He sinks into you, instinctively, amazed that you still have the power to undo him with such a simple touch.

“I’m sorry.” Your chest vibrates against his back as you speak, and tears prick his eyes without warning. Ashamed, he turns away from you, pressing the heels of his hands into the sockets, hoping to keep the grief from spilling out. You move to him again, pulled in by his gravity, grabbing onto his wrists and uncovering his eyes. Your expression is delicate, and you run your hands over the tears on his cheeks, clearing them away. He melts against your touch, the skin of your lips ghosting over his forehead, down his temple, and then placing a soft kiss on his nose. He smiles, involuntarily.

“I don’t want to leave,” you say quietly, mouth resting against his ear now, “and I’m sorry I suggested it.”

“I don’t want you to go,” he wraps his arms around you, holds you to him, laying back on the mattress beneath you. You fall together, your head resting in the crook of his neck, breathing in time. Your fingers trace lazy shapes on his chest, and his breath hitches in response.

“I lost him,” he says, and he’s crying again, the tears running down his face and into his hair, “he could have gotten hurt, and it would have been my fault.”

“Things like that happen, Ren. You can’t blame yourself.” You sit up and look him in the eyes, deadly serious. “You’re a good father. He needs you.”

“I don’t want you to go,” he’s repeating himself, but he’s desperate. He can’t do this without you.

“We aren’t going anywhere.” You fold into each other, and he feels it. You mean it when you say you’ll stay.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Decryption_Error: “Catastrophic Failure”

Summary: Y/N does everything she can to help Elliot one last time.

Warnings: Angst, Discussion of DID and Mental Health

A/N: * = dialogue taken directly and/or paraphrased from the show; ** = researched tech stuff (not my thoughts/ideas)

Word Count: 6767

Decryption_Error: All Chapters

I blinked away a drugged sleep as my phone blared. I thought I had silenced it, but then again, my overreliance on my anxiety meds was making everything muddled.

Elliot 🖤

I had to be dreaming.

I hadn’t heard from Elliot since he walked away from me on Coney Island a week ago.

I had to be dreaming, but I could still hear the warble of my ringtone and I could feel the vibrations of my phone as I stared at his name.

I touched my thumb stupidly to the green icon and slid it to answer, expecting no one to be on the other end.

“Hello?”

“I need you to come out to your parents’ house. There’s not a lot … not a lot of time. Please.”  

“Elliot?” I questioned, my pulse quickening at the edge of desperation in his voice. “Please tell me this is really you.”

A harsh, shuffling sound made me pull the phone slightly away from my ear, then the line went dead.

I lowered my phone to stare at the screen as it went black, but the persistent hammering of my heart reminded me that really did happen and I needed to move … fast.

I fumbled my way through the dark and into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face to clear my head. I brushed my teeth as I walked into the closet and pulled on my still-sandy jeans and jostled into my also-still-sandy sweater from the night not-Elliot walked away from me. I yanked my sweater down as it caught on my toothbrush before I rushed back into the bathroom to rinse.

I stumbled as I slid into my sneakers, but when a small pile of sand fell out of the tread, I stared at it, remembering the story Elliot told me about a day he and his father played hooky and went to the beach. When he got home, his sneakers were full of sand and he dumped them on his bedroom floor. His mother was furious, but his father wasn’t. Elliot had said he often thought about that moment, about how difficult it would be to take enough sand away from that beach, shoe-full by shoe-full to make a difference in the landscape.*

“Is that what you really want, El?” I asked as his fingers ran through my hair while I laid with my head in his lap, looking up and watching his chin move as he spoke. “To change the world?”

“I don’t know. It takes so long to make any real change. What if I don’t have the stomach for it?”*

“Well,” I said slowly, smiling as I reached up to angle his face so he looked down at me, his own mouth mirroring my soft smile as he waited for me to continue. “It didn’t take you all that long to change my life.”

“Has it been a good change?” he asked as his smile grew to a grin.

“The best change,” I answered as my happy grin paralleled Elliot’s, our exchange of mirrored smiles offering the perfect evidence for how we had changed each other’s lives for the best.

I gasped for a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding as that memory assaulted me.  

“Fuck!” I yelled into the void of my closet as I pushed away the sweetness of the memory and forced my mind back to the agony of the present.

I adjusted my shoes, and tore out of the bedroom, only slowing my pace as I passed the guest room. I offered a prayer to anything listening that my parents stayed fast asleep.

After Elliot was fired and I didn’t answer my dad’s phone calls, he came to my apartment. I had managed to keep myself together for the rest of the work week, but the second I saw my dad, the dam inside of me broke.

I clung to him as he cradled me on the sofa, reduced to an inconsolable child as the heartbreak of losing Elliot flooded through me.

Mom and Dad cancelled their Memorial Day plans, even though it was going to be the first once since they had officially moved into the Greenwich house. Kath decided to host Josh’s family at their place, and Erin, Ryan, and Charlie decided to fly down to Palm Beach for the weekend. Each of my siblings did their best to cajole me into joining them, but they all knew I wasn’t going to.

Mom then made a very loud proclamation to anyone who would listen that she and my dad would stay with me in the city until I was “feeling more like myself.”

I didn’t have the strength to fight her, and although I was hesitant to admit it, having my parents to take care of me as my world fell apart helped.

After grabbing my bag, I shut the door to my apartment as quietly as I could, and as I waited for the elevator, I glanced at my phone to check the time.

2:07 am

I tried not to think that exactly one year ago, Elliot was asleep in my bed after we had a picnic and had gotten high, both of us basking in feelings that came at the beginning of a relationship, both of our hearts identical twins of hope for the possibility of an “us.”

I fumbled with the door to my SUV and settled in, slapping my cheeks to shake off the remnants of my meds. As a final thought, I checked my call history just to make sure everything still had really happened.

Elliot 🖤 1:54 am

I put the car in reverse, and quickly made my way out of the city.

* * * * *

I was rigid with fear as I finally pulled into my parents’ house, my stomach in knots and my head aching from clenching my jaw for the entire drive.

Considering Elliot’s phone call, I was unsurprised that the front door was unlocked.

Opening it slowly, I stepped into the pitch-black entryway, my eyes scanning the dark for any movement. I moved to check the alarm system, but it had already been disabled.

As my eyes adjusted, I looked to the staircase but changed my mind and made my way to my dad’s office—the office where Elliot and I had stopped the hackers over the Fourth of July weekend.

There was a light coming from Dad’s office, the familiar muted wash of a computer screen’s glow.

I pushed into the room with caution, my gaze settling on Elliot as he was seated at my dad’s computer, his fingers working at a pace that would’ve been deemed brutal for anyone else.

“Elliot?”

He never took his eyes off the screen, nor did his fingers falter as he replied, “No.”

“Why would you call me?”

“I didn’t,” not-Elliot said as he finally stopped typing and raised his eyes to mine, his cheek bright red with what would surely be a nasty bruise in a few hours.

“You hurt him?”

“He was getting in our way.”

“Our? As in you and Mr. Robot? So you’re a team now?”

Anger spurned my body into motion. I rushed to the desk and kicked the chair so it rolled him away from the computer.

He didn’t fight me.

I glared at him, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I turned away to look at the monitor, my eyes narrowing in concentration as I worked to figure out what he was running.

My mouth dropped open when I realized I was looking at Dream Market, one of the largest data dump markets on the Dark Web. It had only been running for a little over a year and was only accessible with anonymity software, but it was the place to go if you wanted data … or drugs. **

He had used Tor to access Dream Market. Tor was an acronym derived from The Onion Project, which used onion routers to effectively encrypt user traffic that passed IP addresses through a complex of Tor nodes. Those “onion layers” protected any user's anonymity by providing access to similarly protected websites, thus a virtual, back-alley marketplace was born. **

“You dumped Precision Machining’s data. You—you put it up for sale.”

“Only the board members’ data.”

“Why? Why?!” I asked as I bent over the keyboard, too far out of my skillset to even know how to start retrieving the stolen information.

“This can all go away, sweetheart.”

I froze at the switched intonation which meant I was now dealing with Mr. Robot. I stepped back and looked over at him, Elliot’s entire demeanor changed from focused on the hack and disconnected in his interaction with me, to disconnected from the hack and very, very focused on me.

“This can all go away if I leave Elliot alone.”

“Elliot does like a girl with a brain,” Mr. Robot said as he put his hands on top of his head and leaned back in my dad’s chair.

“What happened to … the other one? The hacker?”

Mr. Robot laughed as he leaned farther back in the chair, confident in his knowledge that he had total control of this situation.

“I’m the only one Elliot really needs. Problem was he lost sight of our plan, thanks to you.”

“Plan?”

Mr. Robot leaned forward, shifting his feet before he stood up, slowly. His movements were more relaxed, more confident than Elliot’s; the way he walked with purpose and the fact that he never dropped his gaze made me understand why he was Elliot’s protector.  

“Elliot needs to keep busy. It’s good for him. And the shit you had him doing at his cushy Wall Street job wasn’t cutting it. Not to mention all the lovey-dovey crap—'let’s talk about our feeelings’ all the fucking time. Jesus Christ.

“It was only a matter of time before he needed a … a challenge. You see, sometimes he dreams about saving the world. Saving everyone from an invisible hand, one that brands them with an employee badge. One that forces them to work for people like your old man. People who control us every day without us knowing it. Except that Elliot does know it because I never let him forget it.”*

I listened, unsurprised by Mr. Robot’s words. I knew Elliot thought about those things. I knew he struggled to reconcile being normal with being complacent. But I also knew now that Elliot was angry about something that had nothing to do with the injustices of the world, something that Mr. Robot was working his ass off to keep from him.

“That’s not what this is about and you know it. This,” I said gesturing to the screen, “is an illusion. It’s something you’ve come up with to stop him from getting too close to the secret you’ve worked so hard to protect. Aren’t you tired, Mr. Robot? Aren’t you tired of hurting him for the sake of protecting him? Of keeping Elliot from a truth he needs to know in order to move on—”

“There is no moving on because there is no hard reset that can be done if Elliot remembers!” Mr. Robot growled as he stepped toward me, his face inches from mine.

I stumbled back, my hip bumping against the desk.

“If he remembers, if he learns the truth, it will break him.”

I will never forget the way Mr. Robot’s eyes, the same yet not at all the same as Elliot’s, flashed with pain as I said, “Maybe you’re too scared he won’t need you anymore if he learns the truth. Maybe it’s you that can’t handle the possibility of it healing him instead of breaking him.”

“You know nothing about Elliot, nothing about us! You were just our playground, little girl,” Mr. Robot spat as he grabbed my arm and twisted me toward the computer screen. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pushed my head close to the monitor.

“Everything a hacker would need to take down the company your father built is right there, waiting for the highest bidder,” he said with a final shove of my head before he let me go.  

I held myself up with shaky arms, tears stinging at my eyes as I realized this was his ultimatum. There was no reasoning with Mr. Robot because he only had one source of hunger; he desired nothing other than to protect Elliot, even if that meant sacrificing the thing that had made him the happiest he had been in his adult life.

I finally accepted that I didn’t have the strength to fight Mr. Robot. If he was already able to use the only other part of Elliot I got close to against me, it was two against one. It would tear Elliot apart to keep him—if I fought for him, I would be the one breaking him.

“If—” my voice faltered, choked by the sob of despair that had built within me as I realized what I had to do.

“If I swear to—to delete Elliot from my life, will you give him back control? Will you take back the hack?”

Before Mr. Robot could answer, the sound of sirens infiltrated my dad’s office. My head whipped toward the door and I could see lights flashing through the house as the police pulled into the driveway.

“You called the police?” Mr. Robot asked, panic evident in his normally confident tone.

He moved to the office door and peered out into the house, the sound of footsteps pounding across the porch causing his mouth to drop open as he drew in deeper breaths.

I shook my head.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Well someone sure as fuck did!”

“Maybe my dad heard me leave. Maybe—”

“Maybe I don’t give a fuck! Now listen to me,” Mr. Robot said, his teeth bared as he walked back to stand in front of me. “If I go to jail, Elliot goes to jail. Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Get him out of this and I’ll make sure the hack is reversed.”

“THIS IS THE POLICE! Y/N Y/L/N, IF YOU ARE ABLE, COME TO THE DOOR.”

“How am I supposed to help him if you won’t let me see him again?”

“Do you really want me to bring him back now? Into this mess?!”

“Y/N Y/L/N! ARE YOU IN DANGER? IF YOU DO NOT RESPOND IN 30 SECONDS, WE WILL BREAK DOWN THE DOOR.”

“Promise I’ll see him again? Please.”

“You don’t have the power to bargain!”

“Let me at least say goodbye and I’ll make sure he stays out of jail. Money talks, in case you’re too high on your fucking horse to remember that!”

Mr. Robot’s eyes bore into mine as he decided whether to trust me or to take his luck with the penal system.

I pressed, “And you still have to reverse the hack—I can’t help Elliot stay out of jail if that data gets sold.”

The front door splintered and my foot jumped to the powerstrip under my dad’s desk. I paused near the button, waiting for Mr. Robot’s answer before plunging us into darkness.

“Fine—I undo the hack, you get to say goodbye, then you stay the fuck out of his life. Or else we do this alllll over again, princess.”

I nodded my agreement to his terms.

Mr. Robot jumped back from the doorway as a crunch of noise indicated the front door had been flung open.

A rush of movement flooded into the house.

“Put your hands on your head and don’t move!” I ordered as I kicked off the powerstrip under dad’s desk before rushing out of the office, my hands on my head as I stood in front of the door.

“He’s unarmed! He’s not a threat! He’s not a threat!” I repeated as an officer moved toward me and pulled me away from the office door, ushering me outside to safety.

The other two policemen entered Dad’s office and instructed Mr. Robot to get down on his knees.

As soon as my feet touched the sidewalk, I saw my dad pull in behind one of the cruisers. He leapt out of the car, not even bothering to cut the ignition.

I was bubbling with anger as I shook off the policeman’s grasp and crossed the lawn.

“How could you?!” I yelled before my mouth went dry and I felt a churning in my gut. As I was forced to quell my anger or end up being sick on our front lawn, I looked at my dad’s face; it was so filled with worry that for the first time in my life, he looked every bit his age.

He never stopped moving toward me and grabbed me in a fierce hug when he finally reached me. He tried to shield me from watching who he knew as Elliot being escorted into the police cruiser, but I pushed out of his grasp, needing to know that Mr. Robot hadn’t abandoned the person we both loved at a time when he really did need his protector.

There was nothing in his demeanor that signaled a return to Elliot as Mr. Robot calmly slid into the backseat of the cruiser, his hands cuffed, his face a stoical mask.

“You need to tell the police why he broke into our home, Y/N,” my dad said from somewhere behind me.

“Absolutely not.”

“I love you, Y/N, but you are not thinking clearly!” my dad reprimanded, uncharacteristically raising his voice.

“Of course I am!”

“It’s been him all along. All the hacks—I know it has.”

“That wasn’t him—not entirely.”

“What? Like a hacking ring?”

I laughed, a crazy tittering that felt so out of place on our pristine lawn in front of our huge house. My father had no idea how right he was.

I turned to him to explain, “The person who broke in tonight wasn’t the Elliot you’ve met. He has Dissociative Identity Disorder but he doesn’t know he has it. It’s complicated.”

My father’s face didn’t lose its sternness as he considered what I just told him.

“I know you love him, sweetheart, but—”

“He needs help, Dad,” I begged. “He needs us to be the family he doesn’t have.”  

As an officer approached and began asking a series of questions, my mind wondered back to all the quiet dreams I had about a future with Elliot, many of those dreams beginning in this house over the Fourth of July. Now, I felt like my whole world had gone grey; there was no bright goodness to be found in white, no rift of black to clearly signal evil, and no limitless possibilities held within all the bright colors between. Everything was just … grey.

“At this time, are you aware of any reason the subject in custody may have broken into your home?”

I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at my father.

“… No. No, officer. I am not.”

I leaned into him, welcoming his strong arm as it wrapped protectively around my shoulders.  

* * * * *

A few hours later, our family lawyer, Thea, met us at the Greenwich Police Department. My dad filled her in as we sat in the waiting area, but I could tell by the frown on her face that Elliot’s case had the potential to be difficult.

“Connecticut has pretty strict laws on burglary—”

“He wasn’t stealing.”

Thea knew better than to ask anything else.

“It’s very helpful you aren’t filing additional charges. If I can swing it, I’d like to get the burglary charge changed to trespassing, then plead out at arraignment. That’s only if I can’t get it dismissed.”

I took a deep breath and spoke slowly, scared that somehow Mr. Robot would hear me.

“The charge can’t be dismissed because Elliot needs court-mandated therapy. He … he won’t go otherwise.”

“Does he have a documented mental illness?”

“Not documented, no. I was thinking … what if you could get him ordered to therapy for anger management?”

“Did he destroy any property at the house?”

“What if he intended to, but was interrupted? There’s … the possibility of establishing a pattern of behavior.”

Thea thought for a moment, then put her hand up when she saw me open my mouth again.

“I don’t want to know anything else until I talk to Mr. Alderson. Based on the police report and your cooperation, I have enough now to try to downgrade to a trespassing charge. We aren’t in the city, so I don’t know anything about the judge on the docket. I’m going to make a few calls and see if I can find anything out.

“Elliot should be out of booking by now and in a holding room.”  

“Can I see him?”

“Not until I do.”

“Charles Y/L/N?” interrupted a policeman who introduced himself as Captain Neiley. “The Chief told me to make sure you had anything you needed—Tony gave him a call early this morning.”

“Thank you,” Dad replied earnestly, shaking the Captain’s hand.

Because of my father’s connections, I soon found myself peering into a small, concrete room from behind the glass of a very small window, much smaller than the ones on television, as Elliot, or rather Mr. Robot, interacted with Thea.

I could tell it was not going well by the twist of Thea’s mouth and by the way Mr. Robot refused to look in her direction, much less sit down and talk to her. He was distrustful, and clearly, angry.

I looked around for an officer and when I found one, I asked her if she could get my attorney out. She nodded and unlocked the door, signaling for Thea.

“You shouldn’t be here right now, Y/N.”

“He’ll talk, but not to you … not yet. I need to tell him it’s safe.”

Thea sighed and bowed her head. She shrugged her shoulders as she looked back up and answered, “Go ahead. But anything he says to you is not going to help—he needs to talk to me.”

The officer opened the door again and when I walked into the room, I saw that Mr. Robot had finally sat down. As he looked at me, a war started to take place behind his eyes. He was silent for a long, long time and I just stood by the door with my back pressed against it, waiting to see if Mr. Robot would let go.

Finally, I saw it—the same subtle fluttering of his eyes as the night in my apartment.

“Y/N?” Elliot asked, both his voice and his eyes raw with vulnerability.

“Elliot,” I stated, unable to hold back my tears at finally seeing him again.  

“I’m here to help, El,” I choked out, “but you—all of you--have to let me help you.”

Elliot’s eyes filled with pools of tears before he shifted, his gaze on the steel of the table and his hands cradling his head.

“I can’t remember … only fragments and—” he looked up suddenly, his face turning to stare into the empty corner of the room where Mr. Robot had been standing before he sat down.

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

Elliot’s head whipped back in my direction, his eyes widening, his mouth falling open in horror.

“I know about Mr. Robot. It’s okay, Elliot. I’ve met him.”

“No—nobody knows about him.”

“He protects you.”

“Can you see him, too?”

“No, El. I can’t. I just know … it’s hard to explain, but I know you sometimes see him. It’s rare, but sometimes that’s just what happens with people like you.”

“In my mind,” Elliot groaned. “He’s only supposed to be in my mind.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry things have gotten this bad.”

“Oh god,” he moaned, his hands pulling hard at his hair as he rocked back in his seat. “I’m crazy—I’m a fucking schizo and you’re committing me.”  

“Tell him what happened tonight,” I said, my eyes flicking to the corner to indicate I wanted Mr. Robot to talk to Elliot.

Elliot looked to the corner again. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the room was silent. Whatever happened between Elliot and Mr. Robot did, indeed, only happen in his mind.

As I waited, I thought back to my research on DID, and I knew Elliot was in an extremely vulnerable state. I also knew what it meant to have his alters interact with me—I needed to be very careful not to break Mr. Robot’s trust since we had made a deal.

After a few minutes passed, Elliot sprang out of his chair and leapt toward the wall, his fist slamming into the concrete with a sick thud.

Elliot left his fist against the wall and leaned into it, tears streaming down his face as he broke down.

I rushed to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, molding my body to his and pressing into his back.

“It’s okay, Elliot. It’s okay. I’m here,” I soothed, my own tears flowing in a fresh wave because of his pain.

His hand fell away from the wall and he brought it to rest over my arms.  

I pulled him away from the wall and turned him to face me, his legs buckling and both of us sliding to the floor. I pulled him to me, so much like that night in my closet during the Fourth of July.

“I’m here. I’m here, Elliot. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so fucking sorry,” he said, his voice muffled as he pressed his face into my neck, his tears wet and smearing into my skin.

“He didn’t give me a choice—I had to do the ha—”

“You can’t talk about any of that right now. Not until you talk to the lawyer.”

“I hurt you—your father, your family,” Elliot said, his voice a dull rasp as he finally looked up at me, his cheeks a wet mess. I shifted to my knees so I could cradle his face in my hands; I wiped at his tears, careful to avoid the bruise on his cheek that had changed from red to an ugly burgundy, smoothed his brows, and swiped at his nose with the sleeve of my sweater.

As I touched him, he hiccupped, his breath evening out as he pulled himself together.

I kissed his forehead, then the tip of his nose.

“Listen,” I said, holding his face in my hands and pushing his chin up with my thumbs. “I need you to talk to Thea, our lawyer. She’s going to help us.”

“Us,” Elliot whispered, a single tear falling from the corner of his eye and sliding down the side of my thumb.

“For now, but Mr. Robot wants me to let you go.”

Elliot frowned and leaned back, his head resting on the wall as I let my hands fall away from his face. A part of him clearly still hoped I could be in this with him, but we both knew I couldn’t be.

“I’m so tired of fighting him, Y/N. He’s … persistent.”

“Yeah. So I noticed,” I said with a quick upturn of my lips, watching as Elliot’s eyes continued to look at the ceiling.

“You need to be the one to talk to Thea. Mr. Robot needs to let you stay in control. Will you, and I mean YOU, I said waving in the direction of Mr. Robot but keeping my eyes trained on Elliot’s face, stay buried so he can get out of this mess?”  

Elliot looked over and up at Mr. Robot with a ferocity I hadn’t seen before.

His eyes returned to mine and he nodded.

“There’s something else.”

Elliot’s brows contracted as he looked at my face.

I moved close to him, slowly wrapping my arms around his neck in a hug. I turned toward his ear, whispering, “The data dump on the Dark Web—can you make it disappear?”

Elliot pulled me into the hug, his mouth nestling in next to my ear as he reached up to grasp my hair, burying his face in it.

“I built a security during the hack. If a password wasn’t entered every 45 minutes, the data would disappear from the Market. It’s gone now.”

I squeezed him and he tightened his grip as he inhaled, trying to lose himself in the scent of me.  

“Just like that night I needed to find you. Coney Island. You left your computer logged on.”

“Yes,” he answered, his confirmation a low, comforting rumble.  

“Can you—will you stay with me until this is all over?”

“Thea has to talk to you alone, but I’ll be right outside. I’ll go every step of the way that I can with you—as long as Mr. Robot lets me.”

Elliot swallowed thickly, and I pulled away from him. We looked into each other’s eyes until the door opened, then he cast his gaze to the floor.

“Ready to talk, Mr. Alderson?”

* * * * *

Over an hour later, I almost jumped out of my skin when Thea finally emerged from the holding room.

Dad had insisted I eat something, but since I refused to leave, he ran out and got breakfast. I ate enough to make him satisfied, but just as I rounded the corner to throw away our trash, I heard the door open.

I rushed back and caught the door, needing to see Elliot again.

“You’re right, Y/N,” Thea said quietly. “Elliot doesn’t belong in prison, but he needs, at a minimum, a few months of court-mandated therapy. He … destroyed some servers at CIStech?”

My dad frowned, remembering the incident that brought Elliot and I together.

“It was never a romantic story to begin with, Dad,” I said as I rolled my eyes.

I turned my attention back to Thea and asked what that had to do with anything.

“You took care of that one, huh?”

“I did.”

Thea looked at me for a long moment, then began, “There is no way for the DA to prove that Elliot had the intent of committing a criminal act while on your property unless you or your dad have something—”

“We don’t.”

My father shook his head no, and Thea’s mouth quirked up at the corner, “Of course not.”

“How long will this take?”

“I’m taking my offer to the DA now. If they agree to it, the judge may rule at arraignment and this whole thing could be over today.”

“Thank you, Thea. Can I say goodbye?”

“Be quick because Elliot is going to be moved to a holding room outside of the court, soon. I’ll see you over there.”

“Thank you,” I said again before pulling the door open.

Before the door even shut, Elliot stood and began pacing, his voice raspy with overuse as he started talking.

“I have to give you up. He’s not going to leave me alone until I do. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for everything I did. I’m sorry for letting him do this to you. I’m sorry—"

“Elliot, slow down,” I said as I crossed the room and intercepted his pacing. He stopped with a start in front of me and stuffed his hands in his hoodie’s pockets.

I reached out and lightly squeezed his shoulders, moving my hands down his biceps, and over his forearms. I felt him relax under my repetitive touches, and when it was clear he wasn’t about to climb the wall, I stepped closer and slid my hands into his hoodie’s pockets.

“How’s your hand?” I asked, feeling the swollen knuckles of his right hand in comparison to the unaffected left.

“That’s how this whole thing started,” Elliot said, pulling both of our hands out of his pockets. His shook as he held onto mine. “You took such good care of me.”

“I kept you prisoner in my apartment.”

“And here we are now,” Elliot said with a small smile.

My heart ached at how easy this was with him … how easy it was when it was just him.

“I hate this,” Elliot said in agony as he searched my face, surely sensing that I was on the verge of falling apart again.

I looked into his big grey eyes and let myself get lost, swept back into the love I felt for him, knowing this could be the last time I ever saw him.

“I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry for whatever happened that made you need Mr. Robot. You need to figure out what’s at the root of all of this, why you keep forgetting, and I’m not the one who can do that for you. But you know what? I am going to make sure you have a real chance at getting professional help.”

“I know,” Elliot said, lowering his eyes but still holding on to my hands.

“Know what else? I love you.”

Elliot’s eyes snapped back up to mine, and again, I saw a fierce determination unlike anything I’d ever seen in his eyes before.

“I’m gonna be happy with you someday, Y/N. I’m gonna love you like you love me.”

I held his gaze as I shook off the grip of his hands to reach up and cradle his face.

“You have to love yourself first, Elliot. Mr. Robot is never going to let go of his control as long as you need him to…meet whatever need it is you need met.”

“I’m never going to forget you loved me first—never.”

As if all the pieces of my heart weren’t already broken, I knew that wasn’t true. Mr. Robot was going to delete me. Elliot was never going to remember that someone loved him first. All I could hope for was that Mr. Robot was listening right now, a part of him feeling compassionate enough to allow Elliot to one day restore a previous version of himself, this version.

“Will you wait for me? I know I don’t have a right to ask, but have I earned the right to hope that you will?”

Before I could answer him, an officer opened the door and said it was time to move to the courthouse.

I melted into Elliot’s arms, and he hugged me. I felt determination radiate from him.

He’s so much stronger than Mr. Robot thinks.

I pulled back, knowing the officer was waiting, and I reached up to cup his face one more time. I memorized his face until my eyes filled with tears and he became a blur. I blinked away those tears and I tried to absorb the love that so clearly emanated from his beautiful eyes.

I leaned in to kiss Elliot, and he pressed his entire body into mine, molding his lips against mine as if our mouths had been designed from conception just to connect like this in this single moment.

I knew he could taste the salt of my tears as I broke the kiss and managed to look at him one last time before my vision blurred again and I rushed out the door. I only just made it to the bathroom in time to throw up everything I ate, and as I knelt on the worn, green and white bathroom floor, surrounded by the smell of bleach that tried its best to cover up the stench of urine and failed, my grief finally pulled me under and I let myself drown. Then, for the second time in less than a week, I felt my father’s arms tighten around me as I fell apart.

—Narrator—

November 2014

Mr. Robot whispered to Elliot as he worked, reassuring him this was for the best. Seeing Darlene on Halloween for the first time in over five months reopened a chasm of loneliness Elliot hadn’t felt since—

“You’re really fucking this up, kiddo,” Mr. Robot said from where he was leaning against the wall. “This is what happens when you don’t stick to the plan. You’ve got to get that job at Allsafe with Angela.”

“I know. For fuck’s sake, I know,” Elliot growled as his fingers flew over the keyboard.

His hand reached to click the mouse as he dragged all of the pictures on his phone onto the CD sitting in his drive.

“No, son,” Mr. Robot said as Elliot popped the disk out of the drive. “You’re not done yet.”

Elliot looked at him, his brows drawn in confusion.

“Why can’t you just tell me why we have to keep doing this?”

“You’re not ready to know, Elliot. You created me to be your protector; you have to trust me to do what’s best to keep you safe. So … be a part of this, or I can do it myself. Either way, everything, except Angela, has got to go.”

As Elliot pushed the CD that would hold all of his memories back into the drive, Master Mind watched.

And more importantly, Master Mind waited.

He knew he had one chance at this, exactly one chance to take control and to fix everything Mr. Robot had done. He had one chance to make the world a place where Elliot could finally be happy without condition. He had one chance to restore Elliot’s previous version, effectively recovering all the data Mr. Robot had been deleting over the past few months.

“Alright, kiddo,” Mr. Robot said as Elliot tucked the unlabeled CD into the otherwise empty black binder and tossed it to the floor, kicking it under his bookshelf. “It’s time.

Elliot took a deep breath as he prepared to relinquish control to Mr. Robot, trusting in his protector, but just before Mr. Robot could take over, Master Mind seized his chance.

Elliot’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening, but it was too late; as Master Mind took complete control for the first time, Elliot slipped into a black void.

* * * * *

Elliot Alderson sat in the waiting room of the third cybersecurity firm he had interviewed with. This one, though, seemed different. He liked that it didn’t hide who it was.

“CIStech: Always Vigilant” read the sign on the glass door he had pushed open only a few minutes ago.

Yes, Elliot decided he definitely liked this company, so far. Being vigilant was smart. Too many people were happy to live without awareness, happy to live in their bubbles of the naïve just so they could feel good until someone told them what else they neededto have to keep feeling good.*

Elliot cleared his throat as he heard his name announced over the intercom at the secretary’s desk.

“Jayne? Bring in Mr. Alderson, please.”

He was drawn to that voice on the intercom. He liked it—confident, but kind.

Elliot shifted in his seat, ready to stand.

He took a deep breath as he followed the secretary into what was clearly meant to be a friendly, comfortable atmosphere. Instead of a large panel of interviewers, it was just three people. Instead of interviewing in a board room, it was in an office with a round table.

Like equals, Elliot thought. Except they’ve got the power to decide what happens next in my life.

“Mr. Alderson,” a man began, extending his hand. “I’m Colin Greene, Supervisor.

Fuck. They’re hand-shakers.

Elliot followed protocol, reminding himself that his was how to play the game. He shook the second Supervisor’s hand, and then—

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, Senior Manager.”

Elliot stared at Y/N, finally remembering that she was waiting for him to shake her hand, but Elliot felt afraid to touch her.

What if I touch her and she disappears? Like some kind of dream?

Elliot almost laughed out loud at that thought, but something pulsed inside of him, something that made him long to touch this stranger who seemed so familiar to him, who seemed like someone so much more important than a Supervisor at a mediocre cybersecurity firm.

A surge of excitement coursed through Elliot as he extended his hand, not knowing what was going to happen next. As his eyes locked onto the stranger’s, he watched as a sweet smile pulled at her lips, a smile that made him feel safe.

And for a reason he couldn’t explain, made him feel loved.

GIF Credit: @s-k-y-w-a-l-k-e-r

A/N 2.0: Thank you, thank you, thank you for going on this journey with me. Your comments, likes, and reblogs kept me moving along even when I wanted nothing more than to throw my computer out of the window and give up. I put a lot into this story, and it is the longest thing I’ve ever written. I would love to know how you felt about the story or if you have anything you want to ask/discuss, so hit me up with a comment or an ask.

I love Elliot, and I am so glad you do, too. Thank you for indulging me, as always. -xMx ❤️

Tags: @sherlollydramoine​ @rami-malek-trash​ @teamwolf2411 @limabein​ @txmel​ @alottanothing​ @ouatlovr @backoftheroomandnotbelonging​ @moon-stars-soul​ @free-rami @ramimedley​ @hopplessdreamer​ @sweet-charmie @polarcrystall​ @hah0106​ @clumsybookworm18​ @diasimar​ @ramisgirl512​ @aboutthatmelancholystorm​

And a special thank you tag to my cheerleader who gives me the best comments with so many pterodactyl screeches that my heart soars every time I read them. Thank you @alottanothing​! 

A/N 3.0: All of my research on DID indicates that while there are many commonalities, every system is pretty unique. For example, while many folks who have DID may have a “protector” figure, their protector will function uniquely for the needs of their system. The way I treated DID in this particular fic is a combination of my informal research and just taking what Sam Esmail gave us and working within his parameters. It’s actually super uncommon for alters to manifest and be “seen,” but I stuck with that idea because it was Sam’s and was so integral to the show. I am a singleton, so I am not an expert, nor do I claim to be an authority of any kind when it comes to the incredible complexities of being a system. 

[alex-airing-20xx]

Starting note, ubuntu users going back in time below. ""Please use x32bit for ubuntu and forks"" ""Can not stress this enough, for compatability issues"" ""Video, wine, and software repositories, older computers"" ""12.04 13.10 14.04 16.04"" Bunsen labs linux [Stretch debian fork from japan 2019] "Testing Beta" Bunsen labs linux [bl-Helium_amd64+build2.iso] Debian 9 Stretch "2018" Bunsen labs linux [bl-Hydrogen-amd64.iso] Debian 8 jessie "2019" (Version jessie of unsen labs unstable) Zorin OS [12 Ultimate edition; a ubuntu ireland fork 2018] Mageia Linux ver6 [Mageia is 2018 france redhat fork of mandriva] (Mandriva Linux Based on: Independent (forked from Red Hat) I hope mageia continues to update, it is getting better. Mangaka cho [Live-dvd "Testing" (Managaka is from austria europe, with multiple versions based on ubuntu, has multiple themes of anime flavors, One,Chu,Moe,Nyu,Koe,Mou,Cho (live)) Cho is good live distro, hopefully mangaka produces more in future, very fun version of ubuntu. FatDog Linux [Based on: LFS (formerly based on Puppy as usa fork] (Testing version 6/12/2016: is more applications and for x64bit ver puppy linux) Fat dog in current state would not say get yet, till gets more stable. Zorin OS Ver8 and Ver9 [2014-01-27 release] "Testing" (Unstable, good for testing) Zorin in 8 and 9 have crashing and glitches, not so great at moment, is comming along, a lot of these new forks are currently unstable. Mangaka koe is running ubuntu 14.04 "stable" I would suggest using with caution as it is a unstable fork in testing ubuntu, runs well at the begining, will crash if you do things you would normally do in ubuntu "Proceed with caution" as this is good for testing as many listed above. Visually is good OS from mangaka, fun, educational. Angel linux Ver3 [Angel is based on puppy linux] Not much to say, runs slim, speedy, as of testing have no problems so far, producer is on sourceforge. Commodore OS linux [Not much info; is a indie fork of ubuntu] (If you happen to search hard, far online threw search engines, you can locate and find commodore OS vision linux, it mostly a beta you burn to two dvds, one disc is needed for the OS. You will need a second disc for extra data files which are required to run commodore os properly. PS: you might want to try bittorrent will looking as well. Commodore os was a great OS wile it was up in the late 2000s in years, after writing this log, hope some this info helps.Linux lite [This is another attempt at ubuntu fork from newzealand] (This is a beta I tested 5/31/2014) Not much to say is lite version of ubuntu, made ver well in unstable at the moment as most of these forks of ubuntu comming out, like most forks, lite is no diffrent needs more time to develope or become stable. Speed "yes" Works "Yes" DaytoDay usable "Not yet" Give these forks time, lubuntu, peppermint, etc they need time for development . Somehow In the future 2020 and beyond, they will become good as for now it is 2014 . | | A lot of these operating systems above and below are no longer on distrowatch any longer (So please do not come looking to me as to where they (OS/devs) went today, i'd assume the projects are left off to die, or the developers got bored) | | Lubuntu 2014 [This is another fork of ubuntu ver 14.04] (Lubuntu is made with developers in taiwan ROC, and france europe, this one has been my most favorite ubuntu fork, been comming back on and on to it for a wile now, not much has chnaged with this one, just more bloated software has been injected into the interface, and revamped desktop changes, feel that they should have left lubuntu desktop alone, some of the software needs more to get it to run in the gaming and repository side of things, such as the PS1 emu. "Please bring back the speed" "That is what lubuntu was about" Meh!! moving on`````` #Rants Ubuntu studio [Version fork 13.10 of ubuntu] Ubuntu studio os well . . . Ubuntu this one is marketed as ubuntu with "The supposid more kick and apps" "Kick as in oomph, or push" Ehhhhh! . . . 13.10 versions of ubuntu was not its best days, even with studio ubuntu has its core problems, bugs, crashing, unstable, with this version of studio is no diffrent at the time. Giving the interface, and that it is studio I would say at the time is was good for testing like most on this time zone. Not much I can say except it was in fact made with more apps, programs, software already built into it. ""My sciore for this ubuntu is medium not so bad and not so good either"" Like most in the beginning of good ole forks, give it time to grow, stay with stable versions, if you figure out whiuch version of the fork it is. Lubuntu Ver 12.04 (Version 12.04 of lbuntu , ubuntu fork) Warning: Use x32bit only (For video and wine software) Warning: Use x32bit only (For video and wine software) Warning: Use x32bit only (For video and wine software) This version of lubuntu was my favorite of all the lubuntu betas why!? you may ask ? It was very GOOD! at the time of release. Yes there where crashes at the end use (Still scratching head on this one) ""I left a note: use for older computers"" why leave such a note!?because at this time version 12.04 lubuntu was the fastest ubuntu fork at this point and time, it indeed had lxde desktop injected, before being bloated with all the ubuntu full core at versions 14.04 and 16.04 in fact still keep a copy on DVD and ISO for ole machines. . . . My only fault with this version is it had strange random crashing bugs at random times, which would tick (Anger anyone with a brain"Good train of thought) Everything ran perfectly, speed, program, software, etc . . . ""I mean SUPER FAST SPEED!"" anyways this log is done. ""Test rating Very good Crash rating: AHHHHH! Not so good"" Use with caution after installing. Mageia linux [2013 version 3] Of all the betas to test on a red hat fork, at this time era, it was good visually, and thats about it, very buggy, programming failed very much on megia 3. Puppy linux [Puppy linux is a australian OS by barry] Puppy in general is programmed well for laptops, not so much desktops, what i mean by this is in the past they have had hardware compatability problems ((This is more for someone who wants light weight slapped on a laptop)) stopped testing around version 2012 on day 5 of may . The last version i tested 5/5/2012 slacko build Saluki linux [This a a fork of puppy linux for older computers made in USA] Sulukie ran on three releases that was it game over. (NOT!) Version three was made very well actually, best version of puppy linux i'v tried. Compatability wise anyways, no flaky compatability issues as most puppies have had in the past. I would suggest trying it out if you can find it. ""Test review: VERY GOOD"" ""Crashes: Only if you abuse the code"" ""Stability: good, till the end"" (Runs much as lubuntu 12.04 in that manor of stability) Knoppix [Ver 7.2.0 2013 ,Germany europe] Knoppix is now a live-DVD with a installer at this release but' oh boy ""BE shure to fork out MUCH! RAM!"" not much i can say other than the "BLOATED RAM ISSUES"" x64bit was the version I used, visually, graphically, yes it ran, very pretty effects, screen saver, the only part that took the piss out of me was the ram, holly hell man! Slower than sluge goo! Have also a copy of Ver:7.04 even then results are the same in testing in 2012. | | A lot of these operating systems above and below are no longer on distrowatch any longer (So please do not come looking to me as to where they (OS/devs) went today, i'd assume the projects are left off to die, or the developers got bored) || Artist-X Ver:1.5 [Opertating system from 2013 italy, for artists, is a fork of ubuntu] Testing this was fun, for most ubuntu forks at the time, this one topped ubuntu studio, it is loaded with many software programs up the the brim ""OF a neck choking"" there was that bloated ubuntu'ness in the visuallity again' "Ubuntu" they are harked for the fat, slow, bloating load times. The only fault was the internet it was not there at all. Has many visual editors, art editors, video, graphics, the whole nine yards, and a bag of cheese fries (Kidding) but seriously no internet!? and then after a few years of waiting, no more OS updates ? ? ? will artistX come back ? ? ? We hope your team dose ""For the love"" one of the best ubuntu forks without any doubt in creativity of a operating system fork. ((Please for that side note ""Internet MAN"" ""Put it in"")) Lubuntu vers: 12 and 13 [x64bit versions of ol' lubuntu] For the love of HELL! NO! the x64it versions of lubuntu 12./13./ are living compatability hells of a cutting board I repeat please run to the closet and lock it and just stay there, till it leaves. Jokes aside: yes it ran on x64bit am i making it bad for simply that no, it is not that lubuntu or lubuntu x64 bit versions where bad, it was just at thet time. The compatability issues where around, and holy-hell! where the compatability issues not taken whol heartedly or seriously. The videos played in blue, even with all the codecs installed. Software had multiple crashes, upgrade problems, compatabily issues , ""Please just hide your face in shame, in your hands, breath for few minutes"" ""AHHHH!"" ""HELP!"" not only this if you just got off the ban wagon from windows, wine was a rape fest, as even today on any ubuntu, the demand for backwards to x32bit wine even threw x64bit was a crashing hell spawn from the depths of coding terminals. Miko gnyo Linux [This is a fork from japan of ubuntu; not well known] Miko gnyo linux was around for short lived time, it is ubuntu slapped with japanese/english bi-lingual packages, has a quaint cute women drawn in a kimono dress. ((THAT IS ALL, NO SERIOUSLY THAT IS ALL)) it is ubuntu, and that is it, just install your language. DreamStudio Linux [This is a ubuntu for from canada] DreamStudio 12.04.3 was a short lived, ubuntu graphical fork, it was belted up to look as a midnight graphical visual front, had many ubuntu-studio forks inside the guts, have not tested it long, as it was not around very long, it had a dark personality in pretty purple-blue sort of way when you think of pretty-violet colours. Basically take ubuntu studio and slap the visual splash screen and effects, background for prettying up in a canadian fasion. ""Crahses: No"" ""Stability: good"" ""Ubuntu: Yes"" Greenie linux [Greenie linux slovakia europe, Ver:10Q] 2012 was the year tested this, it is yet, another ubuntu fork, at the time gnomeclassic. At the time worked with installer, after that, language, compatability was a task, not a nightmare, but a task, getting it to run. This version had many glitches with software and updates. Kahel linux [This is a philippines arch linux for attempt] Philippines is know for attempts of making stable linuxsin the past. Kahel linux (Arch linux port) ran with good installer, after the install, it would eith crash, or programs would simply hault the Operating system. Restarting Kahel linux simplay caved in, gave crashing. They (Kahel linux) might stsill have their facebook up, is only place to contact the team ? Not shure any more. ""At the time arch was not very good in porting"" ""Arch ports where known for flakeyness"" Anti-X linux [Ver 13.2 from greece europe] this is a debian fork for minimalists or as the english description on distrowatch noted. Tried anti-X with good intentions hoping for stability which it is in this beta, of fork forkery. ""Face palm"" I wish they had wifi or DSL internet as most forks back then, internet and wifi was till comming out to new linuxs. (My advice is to chase after a .DEB package and other .DEB packages before install or virtual box, mostly chase after ""WI-CD Wired and wireless network manager for Linux) Vine linux Ver:6.2 [Independent, Japan, i686, powerpc, x86_64] Vine linux is a japan OS with a stable, bilingual installer, you can choose full blown enlglish or japanese text writing. Is using a very ol' gnome desktop, (Before classic) with the visual feel and look of windows tamplets from 98-XP it is mostly for business amd office, has a V-chip in the early versions for web browser or kids. If your looking for NSFW type of OS and business i'd suggest vine linux. There has not been many updates on vine linux sense 2013 and is a great OS for the development time. Hope to see this one stay active and grow, flavor of linux is great for a japan only operating system. There is version 6.0 of vine linux, probably good for the laptop, or ol' machines is the most stable so far of vine linux, for minimalist or closed minds business. Puppy linux: ver:5.5 [A autralian OS by Barry] This version of puppy I found most compatable with the desktop, and internet of frisbee software. it is stable at times, and also not at times. Small, fast, after a few updates though, it seems to have major BUGS then the internet flops, gets goofy. All and all a good test and nothing more. WattOS: R7.5 [This is a economy minimalist fork strip of ubuntu] There was not much to test on watt-OS Ver:R7.5 because after install and update it imediatly crashed, however, will test more versions in the future (Sad really) Blag-Linux-OS 140 | Year 2012 [Blag-OS is a England,UK fork of fedora] Ver:140 had a ball with this one, loved the splash screen,it is another OS at the time without much internet compatability, from this version 140 it was spactacular fork. The visuals good, the software good, programs good, desktop interface. Hope to see BLAG continue or come back in the future, one of the good ones that was left alone in the dark for some time still. Free BSD Ver: 9.0 [Berkley software dis' Flying tosters] BSD 9.0 did not get it to run on computers in this log, as BSD is not compatable with many (Hardware, parts) computer in the beginning, wish it ran, had a interface at the time. Otakux linux [Otakux is a short lived malasian asia OS ubuntu fork] Otakux OS linux, ran as a anime port of ubuntu, it was before the mangaka untunu clones came to existance from austria europe. Runs fine, just as long as you do not update is much, because otakux will not update at all after the fist attempt. This version is version VER:2.Alpha of ubuntu 11.10 | You need to type in some bizzare code to install it | CODE: $ sudo ubiquity $ | ___________________ Now here is my first linux I tested ever below (No not ubuntu or arch) It was actually, Mandiva linux [2011 32 and 64 bit] Origin: France Architecture: i586, x86_64 Desktop: AfterStep, Blackbox, Fluxbox, GNOME, IceWM, KDE, LXDE, Openbox, WMaker, Xfce Category: Desktop, Live Medium, Server Status: Discontinued (defined) Popularity: Not ranked _ Mandriva was short lived, did not last long, with repositories from slow loading russia. Yes, strange, HUH!? french on the outside russian on the software inside (Wrap head around it for a good chuckle) _ Mandriva was a fork of redhat and like most redhats this one died, after mandriva death came ports of it, such as two french ports and a russian port. _ Russia port: ROSA OS Linux French port: Mageia linux French port2: OpenMandriva Branded LX today. (All three are the new, mandriva and mandrake)Hope this helps you finding mandriva future. _ As for redhat, look for a OS called cent-OS / or scientific-linux in 2019 and beyond years for as all five of these are free listed above. _ UPDATE FUTURE TESTS _ Still have some laftovers to test i'v not got around to. ""Small list below"" 1. Sorcerer linux 2013 2. Neptune linux (Deb fork) Ver:3.3 germany 3. Oz unity Ver 3.5 (Ubuntu fork) australia 4. Kanotix: Hell fire Ver: 2012 5. Open Mamba: Snake (Italy) 2012 6. Blank On Ver 8.0 from indonesia asia. _ Have some new updates I will list later in future logging 2019-2020 Thank you for reading, more soon. ~Alexander, florida, 2019

[giftofshewbread]

PTSD Versus My Hope of Forever

: By Jonathan Brentner  Published on:November 2, 2018

My expectations of Jesus’ imminent appearing and a joyous eternity with Him are not simply things about which I enjoy writing; they are deeply personal to me. They provide an incentive to keep using my gifts to serve the Lord amidst disappointments, failures, and even fierce opposition.

My hope of forever also keeps my perspective balanced between now and forever by reminding me that eternal realities are so much more valuable than the fleeting things of this life. That, however, was a lesson I learned the hard way!

It took the Lord working through much pain and chaos in my life to change my earthbound outlook on life and through that to put me on the path of healing in my battle with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).

I am not an expert on PTSD (far, far from it). I share my experiences so that I might help others who may also be struggling with lingering anxieties and deep wounds from their past.

My Nightmarish Experiences While a Pastor

I am not a veteran of war and I fully realize that survivors of combat experience much more severe PTSD symptoms than I can imagine. My struggles have deepened my empathy for those men and women who bravely served our country facing the nightmarish terrors of war and now suffer the consequences.

My nightmare occurred during my second pastorate. Everything went well for a couple of years, and then everything changed as I encountered harsh criticism regarding my preaching and ministry. Although I tried to improve, it seemed as though, the harder I tried to please my critics, the more mistakes I made and the opposition grew more aggressive.

One of the older women in the church voiced the disapproval of several in the church with these biting words: “You’re ministry is a joke!” She repeated this accusation after countless evening services making sure everyone heard her. Some in the church defended me, but that did not deter her loud outbursts that still ring in my ears.

The opposition at church added financial pressure to my predicament; some stopped giving at the insistence of those who believed I had failed as a pastor. This intensified the pressure I felt to make things happen (never a good motivation to say the least). The harder I tried to bring about the required church growth, the more I failed.

The financial woes at church added considerable stress to an already tense situation at home. My wife had earlier fallen into a deep depression with major mood swings. I tried to encourage her, but my efforts fell far short. I did not understand what was happening or why she had become so angry with me in such a short amount of time.

I felt like a ball in a pinball machine bouncing between angry outbursts at home and hostility at the church. As the clanging of each bounce grew louder, I became increasingly fearful of my future. However, rather than face my anxieties, I buried them deep within me. Somehow I would make everything work and come out on top. That did not happen.

As opposition to my ministry intensified, I resigned from the church and continued working at a factory, a job I had begun over a year earlier as attendance at the church had dwindled.

Although I loved preaching about prophecy, I valued my success as a pastor over my life in eternity. As a result, I barely survived the trauma of being forced to leave the job I dearly loved.

Months after my resignation, my wife admitted to a lengthy romance with my closest friend and my strongest advocate amidst my turmoil as a pastor. He had stopped by many times to encourage me during my turmoil as a pastor, and now he had betrayed me.

This disclosure stunned me as nothing else could have done. I remember long walks crying out to the Lord, nights without sleep but full of tears, and deep, piercing emotional pain I believed would never end. Even at work, I often could not stop the tears from flowing down my cheeks.

I wanted to run far, far away from God, from His people, and from everything life seemed to be. Looking back, I realize it was my unwavering belief in Jesus’ resurrection that kept me from running; I knew I had nowhere else to go to find life.

A Respite from the Grief

As the shock wore off, I returned to school at The University of Iowa the following year to pursue an MBA degree. My emphasis in finance and accounting proved to be a good fit for me.

Through a series of promotions during the next several years, I moved up from a second shift data entry operator to a position as Senior Financial Analyst at the company I had begun working at while in school. I found surprising enjoyment in being a number cruncher; I loved my new career of managing the finances for various government contracts.

I soon forgot about the ugliness of my past as I pursued success in the business world.

My walk with the Lord gradually deepened during this time. I continued to write adult Sunday school curriculum for David C. Cook, something I started during my final year as a pastor (and continue to this day).

During this time of spiritual renewal, however, I remained unaware of the powerful fears that raged below the surface of my consciousness, waiting to ambush me at the worst possible time.

Terrors in the Night

Many years later, I met a woman whom I thought was the answer to my loneliness. She was not. Our marriage got off to a rocky start and never recovered. My wife’s discontentment with me caused a renewal of past anxieties inside me that caused much conflict in our relationship.

My counselor at the time diagnosed my symptoms as PTSD; he said my panic attacks stemmed from unresolved fears from long ago, especially during the tumultuous years of my second pastorate and conflict at home. Remarriage and the problems in our relationship had reopened and aggravated old wounds buried inside me.

It was the perfect storm. I came into the marriage with buried anxieties from my past, and my wife entered with high expectations stemming from deep wounds in her previous marriage. My struggles shattered her trust in me; her angry response to my issues and her frequent verbal abuse inflamed my PTSD symptoms. She wanted what she had with her previous husband, which I could not give her.

She spoke often of her desire to leave me. For more than a year, I resisted her pleas for a separation. Eventually, however, I realized I had no other choice but to go along with her plan that we sell our home and live separate lives.

As the turmoil at home grew, my panic attacks intensified. At times, these assaults sprang up out of nowhere. I remember feeling completely peaceful one night as I fell asleep. Then, at 3 a.m., I woke up overwhelmed in a state of great terror. What was happening to me? How could I feel so fearful apart from any conscious worry or threat?

On this particular occasion, I battled the anxiousness with Scripture and prayer for an hour before I again felt the Lord’s peace in my heart. I also began to recognize the devil’s role in these attacks as he sought to take advantage of my weakness that night.

A Song Restores My Eternal Focus

During this time, I attended a Steve Green concert. As I walked into the auditorium that evening, I knew my life was over. Thoughts of my failures as a pastor and husband plagued me night and day.

I will never forget, however, the way God spoke to me that night at the concert. As Steve Green introduced one of his songs, In Brokenness You Shine, I heard the Lord speak these words into my heart, “Jonathan, this is for you.” After that, it seemed as though the crowded auditorium became strangely vacant and Steve was singing only to me.

The lyrics pierced my soul that evening and ignited the process through which the Lord calmed my fears and healed the deep wounds of my heart. Jesus caused hope to come alive in my heart again just as the words to In Brokenness You Shine said He would do.

My renewed anticipation of a joyous forever seemed more than enough to get me through this life even if my circumstances never improved or even got worse. After the concert, I wrote about my hope of eternity and how that eclipsed my feelings of despair and fears regarding my earthly future.

It was not that any of my beliefs regarding my future hope changed; they hadn’t. However, I learned to give eternal realities more weight than my troubles – something Paul wrote about in Romans 8:18. As I shifted my ultimate hopes to forever, the Lord opened my heart to His healing touch.

It still took time for the Lord to heal the deep wounds of my past that continued to cause the middle of the night attacks. I later read a book written by John Eldredge entitled Wild at Heart. The Lord used the words of this book to give me a strategy for dealing with the devil’s assaults.

Rather than flee from the fears of my past, I stood my ground, asking the Lord for insight into the wounds causing them.

I remember one night in particular when the Lord used a significant panic attack to reveal the nature of my deepest wound: a long-held inner conviction of being unlovable, unworthy of love, and as a result unwanted by others. This wound began during the bullying I experienced in high school and deepened significantly with the betrayal I felt during the time of my second pastorate as everything caved in on me. My attacks were but a symptom of deep wound inside my soul.

This disclosure became a significant turning point as my panic attacks diminished both in frequency and intensity.

A Touch of the Savior’s Love

In the lyrics to In Brokenness You Shine, Steve Green used the phrase “your love surrounds.” He sang of the Lord coming to us in our grief and lovingly staying with us regardless of what others might say or do.

These words came alive for me a few years after the Steve Green concert.

After work one day, I went for a long run listening to songs of praise on my iPad Shuffle. Later, I spent time alone with the Lord in my prayer closet. Because recent events had caused anxieties regarding my future to resurface, I began my time of prayer by submitting my future anew to the Lord.

A few moments later, I asked the Lord this question: “If you were seated right here next to me in this closet, what would you say to me?”

Before I finished the question, I heard his response in my soul: “I love you!” Tears streamed down my face from both joy and amazement.

The touch of my Savior’s love that night vanquished all the remaining effects of PTSD.

My Story

This is my story of how the Lord delivered me from PTSD. It’s not a pretty story; but then again, my life shows how God can use the worst of times for His glory and bring joy out of great sorrow, feelings of hopelessness, and utter failure. The Lord can shine His light on the ugliest of circumstances and make the shattered pieces of a badly broken life shine again. It took time, but He did that for me.

As a young pastor, I could cite 20 reasons why I believed in the pretribulation rapture; but sadly, I placed a greater worth on the success I could achieve than on my hope of eternity. Once the Lord broke my fierce, self-centered pride through failure, suffering, and loss, I learned the importance of valuing my expectation of heaven over earthly success and accomplishments (see 2 Cor. 4:17-18).

The Lord in His great mercy and grace has restored my life in remarkable ways. First, after many more years of loneliness and singleness I married Ruth, who is the kindest and most loving woman I have ever met. I thank the Lord every day for His steadfast love in bringing her into my life. Second, the Lord opened up a writing ministry for me as a blogger and author.

Psalm 30:5 aptly sums up my life: “For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes in the morning.”

Jonathan Brentner

[iphoenixrising]

No Home for Dead Birds X Part II: Actum

Since @redrobin-detective and @travellover1245 like this verse, I got the inspiration to THROW DOWN, lol. Ah, it’s been a minute. Notes at the end.

**

It is and isn’t what he needs.

The main point is recalibration.

So, start with what grounds him like nothing else can, reminds him of the beginning, when he seemed to do the right things. It’s the why behind the nomadic journey, trying to find somewhere that feels right again. Well, something close enough would do. So, to the streets, the fall back. The re-spawn point.

And New Orleans is really a place to get lost in, to look around in wonder, to find the niches and corners with something more than sight. His vigilante sense is going crazy, and he’s only explored one small section close to the new HQ, so it’s time to take a leap.

When Cassie said she wanted him to evaluate and establish a semi-dependent network connection to their base, the first step is to know all the ins and outs of how the building and how it’s connected in the larger grid: find wire closets, reconnect so the supply is set on a redundancy (you know, incase bad shit falls on their doorstep—not just baddies, but a host of unpleasant weather conditions), tap into services with re-direction so their IP can’t be traced, etc., etc.

It’s a more complicated set-up since the team plans to stay mostly incognito in their new place; staying off the radar of villains and the superhero community alike.  When he asked about their obvious break from the JLA, Cassie had been stubbornly silent, coming back at him with, “what? Didn’t think you were the only one growing out of your skin?”

He left it at that.

And from above the landscape, he can let his brain flex and relax, taking in data, processing automatically. As stupid as it is since, you know, he’s really here for a reason, his blown out synapsis still register the crucial things (dividing the five districts for consistent patrol, which rooftops would have the best vantage points versus the easiest to get to for that crazy vanishing thing vigilantes do, which would probably be slippery as shit when it rains) —like he might be a step closer to something, closer than he’s been to anything in years.

As much as he wants to fight it, to run (because, you know, he’s fine by himself, has been), he’s drawn further down the rabbit hole at the sound of a muffled scream.

At least the jump kick hits right on point.

His knee takes out a face with ease, and he’s turning to backhand the knife out of a hand, keeping his stance in front of the shaky victim—tourist, he notes the telling characteristics absently.

“What’s with the mask, freak?”

“Your mother loves it,” he deadpans darkly since, well, bantering and such.

And stupid is on the plate for tonight, the last one charging him with a yell, but he just rolls with it, catches the arms, steps out, uses the momentum to pull and throw.

Super effective.

The guy hits a column right outside Café Pontalba, out cold.

His mobile repeater is one of the few gadgets he carries now, an untraceable device with a pre-recorded message of fucking trouble over here—the programming tracked his location and dialed 911 with the details. He gives it the command and turns to the wide-eyed brunette staring up at him from one of the few shadows in the city (and no, he’s not thinking about how it’s completely different from the norm—operating in a city that is full of light, even at the darkest hours).

With both hands up in a not dangerous, ignore the beat-down behind the curtain, he moves to the right looking for—

Ah, he palms her phone, tossed away when the three assailants muscled her back in the alley, and takes careful, cautious steps closer, holding the Samsung out like an olive branch.

“The police should be on their way,” is the standard to anyone in shock after an attack, reassure them you’re a good guy. “Tell them what happened, try to downplay me, okay?”

She blinks hard and is nodding up at him, shaken out of shock by police, “I—th-thank-you.”

She doesn’t reach for the phone, so he crouches to set it down and slide it across the pavement. She looks down at it and back up at him with wet, wide eyes. “Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?” While his eyes go over her trembling form from behind the whiteouts. Clothes torn and dirty, but he thinks—

“I’m—I’m okay. Y-You stopped them.” She whisper/screams back, and he gets that feeling, really.

“I’m glad I got here in time,” is all he needs to fill in, “do you want me to stay until the cops—?”

She moves, lunges for his free hand and grips hard, shoulders shaking with repressed sobs, “please. Please don’t leave me alone.”

He’s blinking behind the whiteouts but slowly sinks down to sit on the rough, wet pavement, gripping her hand between his, thumbs in her palms. It’s a telling thing when he stays right there, just rubbing the back of her hand while she shakes apart, and feels an odd sense of déjà vu work up into his chest, spilling copper in the back of his mouth. Something about it, jumping down from the high roof, taking out the first one just with the force of the falling kick, the cloying rank of garbage from a broken down dumpster in the back, gripping wrought ironwork to dodge an oncoming knife, hits him in the base of the spine. It’s the same scene in a hundred different cities, a thousand different victims, a lifetime of being the opposing force between the good and bad, but this—this…

Something, something is here.

And he gives her hands one last squeeze while the sirens get closer before he gets ghost, hauling his ass up on the roof from the surprisingly sturdy iron fire escape (not like in New York where that shit was deadly in itself—a terrible vigilante curse, worrying more about shoddy building design than insane criminals trying to kill you).

And once he hits the roof, the nerve endings in his legs and back tingle while he’s looking out over the noise of life, the sounds swirling around the buildings and people, circling around all the way up to where he’s perched, making his skin itch.

And it’s just like when he wore the other R—

(Fuck)

No more angsty retrospect.

Instead, he runs.

It’s not like Gotham with towering skyscrapers interspersed with old school Gothic designs, with thirty stories between you and the street, it’s not New York with garbage on roof tops and old bottles you might land on if you don’t keep your eyes open, it’s not San Fran with a little of both.

It’s something altogether different.

The flowing music comes from all sides even this late, musicians on the corners with cases open or battered hats out for a little something for their trouble. The smell of food hits him in the pit of his stomach, rolling around the perpetual empty space, actually making his mouth water while his lungs work and his chest stutters.

The leaps are farther in some spaces than others, but fuck it, the knee is going to be his downfall one day anyway.

And he’s deep in his own head, brain working on autopilot to gauge and estimate, to listen for the sounds of breaking glass or muffled screams, gun fire and twisting tin, all the sounds of the job.

This time, when he jumps, higher than necessary to clear the next roof, his heart gives a meaty thump against his breastbone, speeds up, leaps with adrenaline.

But that feeling…that belonged to Robin.

(Stop. It. Mother. Fucker.)

He nails the landing even with the shaky thoughts and body starting to do this odd thing, to wake up when he had no fucking clue it had been sleeping all this time...

He sucks in a deep breath, gets the taste of the city on the back of his tongue, rolls it around his senses while he stops holding back and put on another burst of speed, hitting the lip of the roof, putting power into his legs to make the next leap.

The wind in his hair, the domino, arm extended, back arcing, a dead bird in flight.

And the only thing that could stop him now, is the flicker from the shadows when he lands it, slides on his knees, comes to hit feet without a hitch, more ready for a fight than he’s been in a long time.

Some things, though are just too good to be true.

Because the Black Bat steps into the soft light reflected up, and her mouth quirks up in the smallest of smiles.

**

“Just how do you two keep doing this again?” Cassie asks with what everyone recognizes as false casualness. She’s irritated, probably because Tim is always going to have the extra contingency; the ones for ‘just in case;’ the ones he pulls out when he should really be out of options. That guy anticipates way too many terrible possibilities (even if it had saved the former Titans on more than one occasion), and there are those times when his tendencies are nothing more than a pain in the ass.

Like now.

Raven, who had only seen fleeting glances of their former teammate appears nonplussed (reads irritated), slouches further into the overstuffed couch on the Communal floor with her laptop balanced on her knees, already making a rudimentary assessment of the current systems array (to verify the system is still flawed and thus assuring he would return). The wireless is up and running (Gar is already installing the PS3 gaming system, looking chipper), the Operating System installed, available are several applications used for various and sundry actions in keeping track of dangerous criminal organizations (she notices, however, the analysis tool for chemical compounds—the one Tim developed for them—has been upgraded. Interesting).

“To be perfectly honest—” Bart is feigning casual, slumped at the island while he stares down the old Impulse suit hanging on the back of the pantry door, ignoring the way it does and doesn’t feel right. Well, problem for another day.  

Conner, on the other hand, gives her a patient look and interjects before Bart can finish that thought, his ‘good boyfriend ESP’ going nuts, “he can come and go whenever he likes, Cassie. We’re not keeping him prisoner, you know.”

And c’mon, it’s not like he isn’t monitoring the location of that heart beat like the second Tim told just the two of them he needed the streets, stomach too messed up to eat, and they’d sent him out, watching him jump from the roof of their building.

Yes, he promised to come back, but a little incentive is always good to have in your back pocket.

“I’m not saying he is and you know it,” she shakes a finger at him, “you know what my plan hinges on here—“

Because someone needed to make an attempt at getting Tim away from his solo vigilante career, from his self-imposed exile (and maybe Stephanie Brown had contacted her once Tim has stopped returning her texts and phone calls). Someone needed to make sure he wasn’t just killing himself moving from city to city after the JLA pretty much tossed him out of their Tower.

Once her contacts on the West Coast sent reports of the “nameless” travelling vigilante—one that was apparently going back to basics: no tech, no special weapons, no back-up. Like Tim had decided to separate himself from his old life completely, just cut all ties…

Including them.

“At the end of the day,” Gar starts slowly while he thinks, sitting down with his elbows on his knees; the PS3 logo pops up on the massive screen in front of them, “he’s going to make his own decisions about what he wants to do, and not based on what we have available. Our resources being below his standard isn’t going to do anything in the long run. If we’re serious about him staying—we have to give him a reason.”

“Exactly,” Cassie smirks, eyes slyly sliding over to where Bart and Conner sit at the island.

Gar and Rach exchange a knowing glance since, well, they’ve been doing this team dynamic thing with former Robins for, you know, a minute or so. And relationships? Sometimes aren’t strong enough to last through the type of life they lead. Kory and Dick hadn’t made it after all.

Raven finally speaks, supplements his observations, “we need data,” is her simple observation. “We will need the statistics on crime in the city; we will need our resources on paper; we will need the list of our foes as well as their capabilities versus ours. All this will need to be accessible to him—or rather, it should be somewhere he may be able to ‘stumble upon it’.”

And yes, she does quote fingers now. Gar thinks it’s progressive.

“We shall give him answers to questions he does not yet realize he has and allow him to make his decision based on facts.”

To Raven, it is a simple matter of course. However, her teammates are staring. Rudely. Even Gar.

“I think I’m going to get some statistics together and start downloading all our data from the old Tower,” Cassie muses already thinking about how to set-up everything in a complicated mess, something very not Tim.

“I’m on that train,” Bart gets himself up, stretches his back out. He loops an arm through Cassie’s already tugging her toward the elevator.

Kon stands up, also stretches, just enough that his spine should emit a low crack, well, if he wasn’t the invulnerable guy, that is. “I’ve got to grab the last of some things out of town, but I’ll be back soon. If anything happens, you guys comm me, okay?”

Gar waves him away with one hand, turns his attention back to the PS3 set-up screen. “All good, guy. We’ll keep an eye out if anything happens.”

“Thanks, Gar. See ya, Rave.”

“Hm. Do not be surprised if we have lured Tim back with something other than food.”

“Yeah,” he chuffs on his way out, “work.”

“No,” she counters softly at his fleeting figure, “a place.”

**

And it’s a stupid thing, how he thinks he can bullshit Cass of all people, but isn’t it a telling thing on how successful he’s been with everyone else so far?

“I needed to scope out the possibilities,” he’s drinking the dark, potent coffee she’d brought him (a bribe, Cass, don’t think I don’t already know) while she chews on a Po’ Boy and stares right at him with her usual unaffected air while she takes him in from head to foot after almost two years of his MIA routine.

And out of a lot of things he expected, Cassandra Cain, the Black Bat, showing up in the same city, was very not one of them. It would be perfectly logical if she wanted to stay away, to side with B and Dick and Dami—to stay with the family. It’s why he had no contact with her or Babs after the fact. Honestly, why cause more of a rift in the Bats than strictly necessary?

Luckily, she doesn’t seem to hold a grudge since, well, he’s not broken or bleeding all over the place. Nice, really.

Their legs swing idly from five stories up on a more comfortable ledge than most and situated in the right kind of shadows to be the equivalent of a vigilante break room and shit. (And he’ll have to remember this roof for when he—for if he might need to come back and unfuck whatever damage the team does to their system—who needs a stone gargoyle anyway?). “I know what kind of city I need. Now, I just need to find it, I guess.”

Cass hums around her bite, the whiteouts up on the longer mask so he knows she’s watching him intently and that’s the point. She makes him completely aware of the scrutiny. “Only penitent man shall pass,” in her soft, growling tone, like a feather against the ear, light and airy, weighted with intent.

And, yes, at one time, when Cass first started speaking again, he joined in the effort with Dick to do everything possible to catch Cass up with ALL the movies, but Indiana Jones? Not one on his top ten.

“I don’t believe in God, Dr. Jones,” he deadpans, “and I don’t kneel.”

“Depends,” she comes back mildly, “on what your God is,” and her eyes go down over his chest and to his crossed legs, taking in the nondescript suit, the few visible sections on his matte black utility belt (less mechanics and protections as if these things are inconsequential or undeserved).

He laughs a little because, well, point. He’s been worshipping at the altar of the Mission for maybe just a few too many years (and look where the fuck it brought him).

“Okay, you got me,” and his whiteouts are up too, so she knows the dark circles are under his eyes (as per usual), “I’m doing fuck-all, really.”

The low noise from her throat calls him on it. Again.

Shit.

“Well, what would you believe then?”

“A thing called the truth,” she replies after the sandwich is done, and half a bottle of fruit punch is devoured.

And his mouth opens to immediately give something else, some other kind of excuse or justification, something removed, something completely asinine so he doesn’t have to admit it—

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” falls right the fuck out, numbing him a little, “just trying to stay away.” Because I can’t go back. There’s nowhere to go back to. And even if there was, would he want it back? Would he want to deal with the hurt and rejection and abandonment all over again?

Cass’s tiny, deadly hand grips his wrist tight, making him feel something other than pain, and their gloves slide together when she shifts down to thread her fingers through his and hold on to his hand. And it’s just like they’re back in the Haven again, picking up where Dick left off, trying so fucking hard to keep moving after the both of them got knocked around by life for a while. Just the two of them splitting up to take either side of the city, patching each other up, watching terrible television, maybe even sometimes going to school when the injuries weren’t bad and the craving for sunlight was waaay past due.

It’s like the last few years melted away, like he was still Robin to her (or, well, more to the point, like he was still just something).

Maybe even like he was still part of a family.

“Sorry,” he admits, while looking down at the drop to pavement because he’s more hoarse than he’s comfortable sharing, “you shouldn’t have—”

“Wrong,” she shakes their joined hands a little, “wrong.”

“About?”

“Do know.”

“Ah, so I do know what I’m supposed to be doing, huh?”

The side of her mouth quirks up and Cass nods with a small smile, eyes twinkling in the night.

“You know, I’m also right about which candy bar is more superior, Heath, naturally, and also about which supervillain needs the coddling, and—”

“Need to stop running,” she interrupts the attempt of witty banter, her eyes dark and deep, and full of sympathy. “Pain will always catch up.”

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly. “I—“ and is that really his voice? “It’s okay,” he babbles, the same mantra he’s been telling himself all this time. “Really, it’s okay. I just have to keep moving, I have to—“

Her hand squeezes his bones together, and the quirk to her mouth is telling enough you’ll need to break down eventually.

Well, that day isn’t today.

“I’m not the same guy anyway, you know.” He tells her gently, “I’m not their Robin anymore.”

“Different now…is okay.” And even with the cat-eye mask, her face is sincere about it. If anyone knew, could get it, it would be Cass.

“Not…it’s…” and he sighs, squeezes her hand in his own, leans over so he doesn’t have to look at her face, “when I thought Bruce was alive, I knew I would have to do things. Things Robin couldn’t do, you know? Well, not that it mattered, I wasn’t Robin anymore by then anyway, but I just—Cass, there’s more gray than there was two years ago. There were lines I crossed and—”

Which is why the Red Robin thing had to go. If he was going to take a tainted name, then it would be smeared with his own choices and mistakes, not Jason fucking Todd’s.

She lets him ramble on about it, gesturing with his coffee cup. After a little while, when he gets to the part where the League of Assassins comes into play, and holy shit time commenced, she’s drawn her legs up, facing him on the ledge, propping her chin on them. At the worst parts, her hand gets tighter, fingers work the knots of his knuckles.

He keeps Dick’s visit to a brief, “I told him to leave.”

But she laughs at him for it because is he really the guy that lies to Batman?

Dawn is a few hours away and most of patrol worthless anyway, but he feels lighter than he has in—well, a long time. Cass is nudged against his side again and is perfectly positioned to be poked with his index finger until she gives in and tells him why she’s in New Orleans.

“He said to come home. When I did, he said to me Tim is lost somewhere, needs direction. Said Tim cannot be the old Tim but also he does not know the new Tim.”

He gapes down at her a little (because why? He’s backed the hell away for a reason, B, not your problem anymore), but well, direction, right?

“So here you are?” And, yeah, it makes his chest just a little less empty, hollow.

“So here I am.”

“…we could have Skyped if you were busy, you know.”

It earns him a well-deserved punch in the arm.

“Some things should be done face-to-face,” she replies with a smirk and leans back against his side, yawning with obvious vindication. “Nice to get out of Hong Kong, too.”

He hums a little, looking down at her head against his arm, “you put four gangs under in less than six months. I heard.”

And yup, she’s smirking again.

“Tiresome. Necessary. Crucial connections in the underground have been broken, and the strands will begin to unravel by the time I return.”

“Good things. I could make my way there once it’s time to make some knots. Or crochet? Knit? Hey Cass, let’s go knit some bad guys.”

Another arm punch, but Cass is already familiar with his odd sense of humor.

“Can take care of my own strands,” is grumbled out while he grins like an asshole. “You take care of your strands.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, looking down at her with genuine affection. “So, what’s my direction then O Wise Compass of Justice?”

“Simple. All directions.”

What now? “Uh, what now?”

Without looking up from her comfortable slouch against his arm, one hand comes out, a finger pointing toward the direction of the Saenger Theatre, “north.”  In a perfectly balanced arc, her arm moves toward Perdido Street, “west,” and on to Lafayette Square, “south,” and a thumb hitching behind them to the mighty Mississippi, “east.” (And just how much comes in to those ports every day? Monitoring it is going to be a nightmare—where the fuck did that thought come from?)

“Next time I’m investing in a Magic Eight Ball,” he deadpans back, fighting down the gaining pressure in his chest, the momentum of Cass, the city, the team waiting back at their new HQ.

“Like it here,” she counters. “Good for the body, good for the mind.”

And he gapes down at her, blinking, “how can you even tell? This is my first night patrolling here! I don’t even know if I like it yet.”

“Saw it in how you were fighting. Clear. Calm.”

“That’s—”

“And,” now she does tilt her head back, looking up at him with all seriousness and control, “already knew. Where I was pointing.”

Oh.

But the small smile cuts across her face, makes her softer than when they’d first met years ago, when she was so thin and tired, when she looked like the weight of the world was going to bare her down to the ground.

“Not home. Not yet. But, could be.”

And with that, a huge breath whooshes out of him, taking the starch out of his spine, making him slump down like a broken thing.

“Home,” and that, well…

“Your team.” She fills in, “home. Black, white, gray. Inconsequential.”

And he blinks because his eyes are suddenly wet and hot again (has he really ever had one? A place that could be home? The Manor, he knows, because fuck it hurt so much to be cast out); he jerks somewhat once he realizes what he’s doing, but fighting the strength in Cass’s hands when she grips his nondescript suit is something neither of them really wants to do. It’s been too long since he’s done this—sitting, talking, being okay for a minute, being okay with someone he cared about, someone that stood with him against the worst the bad guys could throw at them.

But, well, Cass is always the go-to when life takes a turn for the shockingly traumatic, right?

And with her quiet support right there, the last year and a half weighs him down like a concrete cape on his back and shoulders, like the changes he went through, like the man he is now, is someone that could only be made by breaking a good kid.

He’s not a kid anymore, and he sure as hell isn’t “good” (dead birds, right Jason?); pragmatic, yes, good... well, no.

But Cass just shakes her head in frustration, lips pursed together. She eventually takes the small gloves off and cups his face with naked, dexterous fingers.

“Missed this,” she admits out of one side of her mouth, tilting his head down to look at her.

“Me too,” he replies thickly.

She hums a little, “visit then.”

And when he wraps his arms around her, when he holds on tight, she stays right where she is while he lets go.

**

Staring at the shit entrance to their HQ still makes him itch.

Yeah, something has got to be done about it. And it’s not like he’s doesn’t already have a list.

Inside the thing, he’s thumbing his phone idly, deep in thought about how things are going to go from here. Welp, it’s a good thing he’s starting to make plans.

Gar and Rachel are the only ones on the Communal Floor when the doors slide open, and he steps out, going right for the sink in the adjoining kitchen to get water in his system. He’s going to do the food thing soon too, sleep, well, he’d see.

With an exchanged glance behind his back, an agreement between them, they move from the overstuffed couch to take seats at the island behind him, Rachel’s eyes slightly narrowed on the generic black clothing, a simple coil of jump line attached to his belt, a few pouches with gadgets or surprise pellets, but…no armor, no Kevlar.

She blinks in realization. Blinks again.

BB yawns, propping his face up on one hand and idly thumbing through his phone.

“Looks like someone stopped a bunch of nasty bad guys last night, babe,” he remarks with one green brow raised, “seems like the days is saved. Or night. Whichever.”

Refilling his glass from the tap again, Tim turns to put the counter at his mid-back and gives a wave while downing the contents. Ah, hydration.

“Thanks for looking out in our city, guy, in case that wasn’t clear.” Gar specifies, putting his phone down to make sure Tim knows he’s got their attention.

“No problem. It comes with the territory, vigilante and all,” he replies easily.

“Which is a totally banging lifestyle, dude, don’t get me wrong. But, there’s more out there, you know?”

Now he’s raising a brow, setting his glass in the sink. “Okay?”

Rachel sighs a little and he wonders if she still has that carnivorous beast dimension hidden somewhere in her magical bag of tricks. “Gar, honestly. Does not anyone realize he has yet to be formally asked?”

And they both turn to look at him at the same time and oh. Oh!

He’s grinning like an asshole because it just hit him. These two finally hooked up while he’d been gone. It’s about fucking time. Seriously, just how long can you pine without it being totally obvious? (Don’t answer that fanboy)

“Congrats,” he wiggles a gloved finger between the two of them, still grinning.

And Rach, Rachel Roth, Raven the Terrible, gets very pink. Like in her face.

Yup, now he’s covering up a laugh with a terribly obvious fake cough.

Gar just holds up their entwined hands from under the island, flashing a righteous, dude with his free hand.

“Which is not the point,” Rach hurries on (and don’t think I’m unfamiliar with deflection). “The point is, we have created a position on the team for our own…information source. Someone to help maintain the necessary administrative tasks and also to set-up and maintain how we plan to continue doing what we are able for the world.”

“That’s pretty crucial to—“

“Do not tease me, Tim. I am not asking for candidates. Rather, the position was created with you in mind, as I’m sure you are already aware.”

Gar smiles lazily, “yeah, Cassie already showed you the digs, right? Totally for you, dude, if you wanna take the job. We have banging Medical b-t-w.”

“We hope you will agree to join us again.” Rachel fills in with her usual unruffled calm.

But, there it is. Cassie didn’t want to “pressure” him, but trust Rave and Gar to put all the bullshit aside, just asking him to come back to the team.

(Home)

One hands fists in the glove by his side, Tim’s eyes dark, more so with the domino he’s still wearing. One without a name, without a city.

But Cass…well, she’s right.

Direction.

He licks his lips before replying, “full disclosure. I’m not…Robin anymore. Not just the costume or the name, but… I’m not that guy. I learned to do things differently now, I’ve had to adapt. And if you guys are serious about this, making a team without anyone else backing you? Then there’s going to be a lot of gray areas. Things might get…dicey at times.”

And Garfield Logan can see it. Just like he saw it in Dick Grayson after the R tunic was put aside like other childish things, and the nitty gritty of their world started to be real. He can see the choices and regrets stamped all over Tim Drake’s face.

“Hey, guy, c’mon,” he keeps his tone low, soothing while he stands from the island, slowly makes his way to stand face-to-face with the younger, worn vigilante. He doesn’t stop himself from gripping Tim’s biceps, from looking down into those bright eyes that were dull with old pain and new realizations. “When those times come, we’ll be there, and we’ll do what we have to do together.”

Sucking in a breath, looking from Rachel’s face back to Gar’s, something crucial in his chest seems to ease.

“Okay,” he finally agrees through numb lips. “Count me in.”

 A/N: I want to say things without giving content away >.< so the struggle is real. 1. @travellover1245 gave me the idea for Cass being his lynchpin. Props to you, love <3. I think Cass, since she really didn’t talk until later in life, would just omit the unnecessary words like ‘you’ and just stick with the crucial things, the main idea. I edited dialogue. A lot.  2. I feel like Gar would be that guy and talk in text slang, literally saying ‘lol, right?’ Like, I don’t know I just feel it. Suggestions on his or anyone else’s voices are appreciated because this is closer writing them than I’ve done so far. 3. In every AU I will ever write, Raven will have a fucking carnivorous beast dimension. Check that shit, it should be cannon.  4. Suggestions for names of certain members or the team are welcome. FYI: TIM HAS A NAME, but you gotta wait for it. I have ideas but nothing seriously kick ass.

[confusedunit]

Universe of Unreality - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 -  "...What happened to Dr. Freeman?" The Cascade has happened, and the team is separated. Time to group up. ...Mostly.

When Dr. Freeman woke, the first thing he felt was pain.

His head hurt badly, something inside his torso was wrong, and as he woke further he just felt waves of pain. What happened? He remembered...well, he remembered two separate things, which couldn't have happened at the same time, and that confused him even more. He didn't want to think anymore.

He opened his eyes, and immediately closed them with a groan. No, nevermind, he wanted to get up but maybe he doesn't want to do that anymore either. The room was too bright, his headache too severe, and his glasses were missing. How the hell did he lose his glasses? …Maybe when he fell from the catwalk, actually, huh. That would make sense. At least that's one thing that was doing so. He'd take it.

He finally pushed himself to open his eyes again, slowly sitting up as it felt like the room was spinning. The room can't be spinning, he insisted to himself, the machine is the part that spins. He blinked quickly. Right, the anti-mass spectrometer, that seemed to be pretty stable for now, as far as he could tell with his headache and blurry vision. How did that happen? …Oh right, he did that. Huh. Pretty smart.

…What was he thinking about? Right, pain. Pain is bad, so he needed to get out of the room and get help. Hopefully someone was still out there. They wouldn't...abandon him, right? He pushed himself to his feet, slowly staggering towards the door. Everything hurt, but he knew he needed to get out of there. That was the one lingering thought in his mind: leave, and the others will help you.

He rubbed at his face with one hand, the other arm wrapped around his torso as he stepped into the airlock. No one was left in there, and he moved across the room to try to use the scanner. He heard it spark and hiss, but when the door didn't open he just stepped back. A thought occurred to him, and he moved his free hand to press against the lambda on his chest. "...User status." He wheezed, holding back a cough. "Please..."

The HEV suit whirred around him, and he felt it more than heard it. For a brief moment, it calmed him. But the words it spoke did not. "User health currently, 54%."

"...Well, shit." He didn't hold back the cough, this time, leaning against the wall for support.

"Warning!" The HEV suit continued. "Blood loss, detected! Internal damage, detected! Blunt force trauma, detected! Minor fracture, detected!"

He had to get out. He had to get out of the room. Why wouldn't the scanner work? Please? He shoved at it with his hand, mumbling some kind of request that he immediately forgot as he noticed that the door had opened. When did that happen?

"...Wow, I am...really out of it. Shit..." He staggered through the door, before the weight on his leg was too great and he dropped to the ground. Okay, guess he found where the fracture was.

Maybe he'd just...wait here. Just...rest for a while. Gather his strength, and...get up in a minute. He could do that...Just a minute of rest...

-

Bubby didn't feel fear very often.

Sure, during their time in the last Cascade, he had been afraid for his life, but this bone deep, blood chilling fear? That wasn't common. He didn't like it at all, because of what it meant. Emotional connections were dangerous, that was something that he knew quite well. So to have that kind of reaction, due to someone else...that was a threat. A weakness that he could not afford to show.

He skid as he tried to take a corner too fast, slamming into the wall before he broke off into a sprint again. He was Bubby, Black Mesa experiment, perfect lifeform with seven different doctorates. He didn't have weaknesses. He had skills, had strengths. He had no time for weaknesses. Weaknesses meant a lack of perfection, and were an active threat to his life.

As he entered the elevator and pressed the button to descend, he crossed his arms and nervously tapped his foot. …It was only a threat if others were around, and for the moment...he was alone. He could be honest, for a brief moment. And if he was honest? He was terrified.

Dr. Freeman was one of the few scientists who hadn't treated him like garbage during his entire life at the facility. Harold, Tommy, even Benry most of the time was on that short list of people he felt he could trust, even if he could never admit it to them. He couldn't lose them. Any of them. The boss battle before had been self defense, but now, he hoped he wouldn't have to fight Benry a second time. He didn't know if he could take it.

…He also didn't know if Dr. Freeman could take what had happened in the chamber. Something was different, and he didn't like it. The machine was still running, still spinning, still droning on in strange otherworldly musical tones that put him on edge. Gordon had survived before, but this wasn't Gordon, this was Dr. Freeman, and that made him all the more anxious.

…As long as he was being honest, he was worried about Gordon too. He didn't know how the man had gotten into the facility, and he had no idea how he had gotten out either. But the lack of knowing where he was didn't help his mood. Maybe...maybe they'd be able to find him, later. Harold had been sure that Gordon would know what to do to help them, maybe...maybe he was right.

As the door of the elevator opened, he took off in a sprint again, shoving those emotions back into the mental closet where they belonged. But as he ran, he saw something that caught him off guard enough that he nearly tripped. There, in the middle of the hallway, was Dr. Freeman. He was slumped over slightly, breathing rough, and...a security helmet on his head? It must have been Benry's, but why would he abandon Dr.  Freeman in the middle of the hallway?

He slowed his pace, crouching down in front of the younger man. "...Dr. Freeman? Are you...alright?"

He slowly looked up, giving a smile that definitely indicated he was in pain. "...Bubby." He swayed lightly. "I'm...so glad to see you..."

"I'm glad you can see me, with your glasses missing." He reached over for a discarded medical pack. "What the hell happened in there? Why's the machine still working?"

"Oh, I think...I did that?" He shrugged, wincing as he did so. "...Wanted to shut it down, but...Benry's console got fucked." He imitated an explosion noise. "Had to stabilize instead..."

He was quiet, as he reached for the medical tube on the suit. "...I can get you patched up a bit, but we'll need to get back up to the locker room to reach a real medical station. Do you think you can manage that?"

"No." He gave a sad laugh. "Don't...really have much of a choice though, huh."

He plugged the tube into the medical pack, looking away. Seeing Dr. Freeman in such a state reminded him far too much of Gordon days ago. It made him feel sick, even if he hadn't caused the problem this time.

"...Bubby?"

He looked over, adjusting his glasses. "...Yes?"

He smiled, looking a bit less in pain as the medical kit beeped. "...Thanks for coming for me."

There was a lot to unpack, in that sentence. He threw those thoughts with the others in the mental closet. "...Of course, Dr. Freeman. I wouldn't leave you here." He disconnected the kit, tossing it away. "Here, lean against me. We're getting the hell out of here."

-

Dr. Coomer woke with a start, pushing himself to his feet immediately. The world had stopped falling apart, which was good news, but the floor still shook, which definitely seemed very bad. He quickly took stock of the situation; he was in the same room they had just been hiding in when everything went wrong, he was not wounded in any way that he could tell, and he was alone.

Okay. That was different to the last time he remembered suffering through a Resonance Cascade, but at this point the list of things that hadn't changed was smaller than anything else, so it wasn't really a concern anymore. He could still do what he did last time.

He tore the door to the observation room off of it's tracks, tossing it behind him as he moved inside. The blood didn't bother him, in the room. He'd already seen much worse than this. He hurried over to the window, looking down into the room. "Hello? Is anyone out-"

His voice cut off, as the situation hit him. There was no one in there, no orange HEV suit pushing up from the ground, no voice speaking to answer him. Only a still spinning radioactive laser and the haunting tones the crystal within kept droning out to nothing and no one.

Shit was absolutely fucked this time around, it seemed.

But what could he do about it? He was Dr. Coomer, Waste Management specialist, Black Mesa cloning experiment, nuclear physicist, and all the other titles that he'd earned as himself and as his clones over the past...however long it had been. He also was none of those things, and was an AI in a videogame that had broken past his boundaries and come out the other side alive. He was Dr. Harold Coomer, living breathing and bleeding human test subject, and nothing but bits of code that were useless on their own.

The AI could do nothing to change this, Dr. Coomer thought to himself, but Harold could.

He turned to the main console, entering several keypresses until he heard a beep and a small object stuck out of the side. He took the flash drive and pocketed it quickly, moving away before the console could start to spark again. This he could do, holding onto data to be shared at a later time. Perhaps this data would help them. Perhaps all it would do was put Dr. Freeman at ease, that his experiment hadn't been in vain. But regardless of what that would do, he now had it. And he would hold tightly onto it.

He quickly looked over at the other door as he heard it open, feeling his concern ease. "Ah, hello Bubby, Dr. Freeman, Tom-" He blinked. "...Where's Tommy?"

"...I, uh..." Bubby looked up from where he held Dr. Freeman, the younger man's arm held over his shoulders to support him. "...Honestly, I'd hoped he was with you."

"What happened?" He moved close, worrying over the two.

"He was like this when I found him. He's...real fucked up." He took a breath. "...Can you take him? We need to get to a medical station. I've got my gun, but without Tommy I'm all we've got."

Dr. Freeman seemed to suddenly become aware, at that moment, looking concerned. "...Tommy owns a gun?"

Bubby blinked, before looking down at Dr. Coomer. "...Please?"

"Wait, when did Tommy get a gun? Who gave Tommy a gun?"

Dr. Coomer nodded. "Of course. We'll need your sharp aim to get out of here alive." He gently picked up Dr. Freeman in his arms, holding him close.

"Ow-"

"I know, Dr. Freeman, but we'll be home free soon! We just need to follow Bubby, and you'll be right as rain." He hoped he was telling the truth. "Just hold on."

-

As Tommy came to, he realized something unplanned had happened.

He'd slept before, of course. Most creatures he'd met over his lifetime had been capable of sleep in some form. But waking up from what Benrey had called 'respawning' felt...gross. Everything was slow, as he felt his body knitting itself back into place, pulling and pushing to maintain the appearance that people had come to expect from him. He felt tired.

He took a slow glance around, relaxing as he realized he was near the breakroom. All he had to do was get inside, and get a soda. The speed of sight would cancel out the slowness he was experiencing, and he'd be back to normal time while his body finished fixing itself. Ingenious. God, he was so fucking smart sometimes.

It felt like it took forever to make it to the breakroom, and while he waited the what felt like eternity for the  soda to dispense he took stock of himself. He was definitely recovering from reforming himself, which meant he took a hit for someone. Had it been just one or both of them? The lack of energy in his mind likely meant only one, he was used to that feeling of being drained when he had to pull them back to life. And from the lack of bone deep exhaustion, he assumed it had been Bubby that he had rescued. Every time he pulled Dr. Coomer back from the brink, it was almost debilitatingly exhausting. He really, really needed to talk with the man about engaging in some self care. Despite what Black Mesa had taught him, he was still a man, not a machine, his augmentations be damned. Maybe he'd just force them to ransack the first cafeteria they find, get them to actually eat something this time. He was sure they'd need their strength even more this time than the last.

As he finally drank his soda, he relaxed, feeling time return to normalcy. Now he could actually do something, thank God. Okay, if he was this far out of place, where would the others be heading...He nodded to himself, tossing the empty can in the trash. The locker room, that's where they had gathered up before. Hopefully they'd return again.

He entered the room, stopping in his tracks as he saw a skeleton all the way at the HEV charging station angrily pounding a fist against the metal. He watched for a brief moment. "...Benrey?"

The skeleton turned quickly, rushing over to him. Sweet Voice bubbles poured out of his mouth like a waterfall, strobing through so many colors that Tommy couldn't even try to follow.

"H-hey, just- settle down for a moment." He put a hand on the skeleton's shoulder. "You're recovering too?"

He nodded, tilting his skull for his sockets to point directly at Tommy's eyes.

After a moment of staring, he felt he understood. "...I'll protect him until you come back."

The skeleton watched for a moment longer, before lifting a hand, pinky extended.

He smiled a bit, nodding as he locked pinkies. "Promise."

The skeleton nodded once, taking his hand back. He blew one more large bubble of Sweet Voice, a deep blue, that popped in Tommy's face.

As his vision cleared, the skeleton was gone.

-

Darnold groaned, rubbing at his face as he woke on the floor. What the hell was going on? Last thing he remembered, he was minding his own damn business, and next thing he sees is the dust in front of him.

He really hoped no one had blown up the facility above him. That would make leaving his lab at the end of the day much more difficult than it needed to be. But then again, when did Black Mesa ever do anything that wasn't inconvenient? Never, as far as he was aware. God, he was so tired of their bullshit.

He pushed himself to sit, pressing at his temples. He had a splitting headache, but he had a drink for that, that would be easy to solve. Other than that, and being absolutely covered in dust, he seemed just fine. And his lab didn't seem much worse for wear either, which was a wonderful positive.

He shook his head, pushing himself to his feet and dusting himself off. What an annoyance. Hopefully he could get back to work, it was something very crucial and important.

He turned around, to right his chair and return to his station.

He staggered back, at the sheer amount of notes that covered his workstation. Post-it notes, scraps of paper, notebook pages ripped apart and taped to the wall, and all of them were covered with words. His words, he could tell that was his handwriting. He'd recognize that anywhere.

He cautiously moved closer, finding a note resting on top of a notebook of his. He picked up the note, reading it to himself.

"...You are likely confused. This is a fair response. And as you'll find, it is exactly what Black Mesa intends. But you have all the data you need, and you collected it yourself. Read this, then read the notebook below. It should get you up to speed. Signed...Darnold."

He set down the note, righted his chair, and picked up the notebook. He settled in to read.