#this wasn’t a snap decision to jettison anything the way it first appeared

[coffee-at-annies]

Yeah idk

DKSportsPittsburgh Feed Link (gotta scroll cause practice is gonna bury it)

[analisegrey]

Because I love it when he suffers, Shiro and "hostage video?"

For the ‘hostage video’ square on @badthingshappenbingo

Sorry it took so long to answer this but I apparently needed to recharge. And boy howdy, it sure looks like Season 6 did the trick. This got…long. Oops? (no spoilers for the new season this is still back in ‘random point in an earlier season’ type of time frame).

Hope it was worth the wait :)

Waking up tied to a chair was not one of Shiro’s preferred ways to wake up; the fact that it had happened often enough to be in the running just irritated him.

He was thankful he’d woken up slowly enough that he’d had the presence of mind to keep feigning sleep, and evaluate the situation. His arms were pulled behind his back, and he could feel the heavy cuffs on his wrists, the chair pressing uncomfortably into his back. If he could feel that, it meant at least some of his armor was missing, and that wasn’t great. It was manageable, though, and could have been worse- they could have taken all his clothes. He wasn’t sure what that said about his state of mind that he’d woken up cuffed to a chair and his first thought was ‘at least I’m not naked’.

He did a quick review of his physical state, and was pleased to discover that the only thing that was wrong was the lingering mental fuzz and dull, all-over headache he associated with being knocked out with chemicals. He listened carefully, and not hearing anyone nearby, took a chance and opened his eyes.

He was in a smallish room. The walls were smooth, and curved up on one side in a way that made him think of some of the rooms in the Castle. If he focused, he could feel the vibration of engines through the floor, and oh, that wasn’t good. If he was on a ship, that would make escape a lot more difficult.

He shifted on the chair, trying to get more comfortable, and was amazed to discover that while his wrists were cuffed, they weren’t actually cuffed to the chair.

“No…there’s no way it’s that easy.”

Shiro shifted his legs back and levered himself up, and yeah, apparently it was that easy.

Huh.

Shiro folded over and threaded his legs back through the circle of his arms so his wrists were in front. He looked at his right arm, and- no. Whoever had grabbed him couldn’t be this stupid. He hoped they weren’t, or he was going to feel even worse about being grabbed in the first place. He concentrated on the feel of his right arm, and with the speed of thought it lit up, melting through the cuff around it and freeing his wrist.

Fucking quiznack, seriously?

He carefully melted through the other cuff, and made for the door. He hit the button to open it, and came face-to-shoulder with a very surprised looking Galra soldier.

“Hey.” When the soldier just continued to stare, Shiro punched him in the jaw hard as he could, and ran.

His luck ran out just as he was about to reach the ship’s hangar and he was grabbed from behind, a huge clawed hand gripping the back of his neck, points wrapping around to prick at his throat.

“You will stop, or I’ll rip your throat out and leave your corpse floating in space for your comrades to find.”

The claws dug in deeper, and Shiro froze.

“Smart choice. Hands behind your back.”

Shiro gritted his teeth, but did as he was told. Another set of cuffs were locked around his wrists, and this time he could feel them fitting an inhibitor cuff around his right forearm, too. Once he’d been secured, the hand moved from his throat and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, turning him around. The Galra who had grabbed him towered a head and a half over him, and wore the armor of a commander, insignia glowing bright on the chest of his armor; a couple of sentries waited just to the side.

“You caused some trouble, but don’t worry. We won’t be making the same mistake twice.” The commander turned and started walking, and Shiro stumbled, hurrying to follow so he wouldn’t get dragged, the sentries following behind.

They ended up back at the room where Shiro had started, but the commander threw him to the floor instead of into the chair; Shiro landed hard on his side, swallowing a grunt of pain.

“The idiot who was supposed to secure you before has been dealt with, but I prefer to take a more proactive approach to prisoner containment.” The commander moved before Shiro could react, and stomped down hard on Shiro’s left shin.

There was a loud snap; for an instant there was no pain and Shiro thought maybe the commander had missed and hit the floor. Then the first wave of pain streaked up his leg and Shiro curled forward, choking on a cry.

While Shiro was trying to get a grip on himself, the commander caught his arm and yanked him up off the floor and onto the chair. The movement jarred his leg, and Shiro clenched his eyes shut, trying to will himself not to pass out. He couldn’t afford to be unconscious; not here, not now.

His arms were pulled up and over the back of the chair again, but this time he could feel the cuffs being locked into something, holding him in place, not that it was really necessary. It was going to be really hard to run with a broken leg.

He was still gasping for air and trying to find some sort of way to breath through the agony in his leg when the commander stood up and wrapped a hand around Shiro’s throat again just under his jaw, forcing his head up. Involuntary tears of pain spilled down his face, and Shiro tried to blink them out of his eyes as a view screen popped up in front of them. Oh, that probably wasn’t good either.

“Hail by audio frequency first, and prepare for video on my mark.”

The sentry at the control panel nodded, and with a hiss and a click, Allura’s voice came over the speakers, words clipped and angry.

“Why have you hailed us?”

“I am Commander Srik of the Imperial fleet, and I have something I think you want.”

Allura scoffed on the other end of the line, and Shiro drew breath to try to warn her, anything, when Srik’s hand squeezed on his throat, cutting him off.

“What could you possibly have that we would want?”

Srik nodded to the sentry and suddenly Allura’s face appeared on the screen, the look of determined anger on her face quickly cycling in seconds from surprise, to worry, and back to anger.

“As I said. I have something I believe you want, even if you didn’t realize he was missing yet. I will tell you what my demands are, and you will comply. You have five vargas to surrender the lions and the Castle to my control. I will even let you live.”

Shiro struggled, pulling at his arms and trying to get enough air to talk, to tell her not to even think about it, but Srik’s hold was like a vice.

Allura drew herself up, her face going stoney. “And if we do not comply?”

“At the end of five vargas he goes out an airlock without a suit.”

Allura’s eyes widened, but that was the only sign of what she was feeling.

“We will check in at the beginning of every varga; I wouldn’t want you to forget how dire this is for your pet paladin. For every varga you make me wait, know that he’ll be suffering. I eagerly await your surrender.” With that, the connection was shut down, and Srik released his hold on Shiro’s throat. Shiro coughed, lungs burning, each drag of air painful but also amazing. When he spoke, his voice was rough, and he knew he was going to have nasty bruising if he survived this.

“They won’t do it. Voltron’s too important, and worth more than the life of one person.”

Srik gave him a look. “That might be true, but I think you underestimate your friends, or perhaps overestimate their willingness to sacrifice you to the greater good.”

Shiro slumped back against the chair, but didn’t break eye contact. “They’ll make the right decision.”

“We’ll see about that. See you in a varga.”

With that, Srik left Shiro, the sentries following him out.

Shiro gave himself a minute to breathe, to process. His throat ached, his lungs still burned, and he was really trying to ignore his leg. He wasn’t going to be able to run even if he could get loose, and with his galra arm deactivated, he was no match for the heavy cuffs holding him to the chair.

He was stuck, for now.

He was also torn.

He fully believed what he’d told Srik; he trusted the others to do the right thing, to not do something stupid that would jeopardize Voltron and the alliance just to save him. They could replace him as Black Paladin- he already knew Keith could pilot the black lion- but they wouldn’t be able to easily get the lions back if they surrendered them. They had to know it wasn’t worth the risk.

That didn’t mean he wanted to get jettisoned into space, either, though.

Faster than he’d have liked, the first varga passed; the door hissed open and Srik strode in. Shiro glowered at him from under his hair, but kept his mouth shut.

“Ah, the strong and silent type, I see. Imagine how disturbing it will be for them to hear you scream.”

Shiro tried to prepare himself for whatever was coming. “Not gonna happen.”

Srik smiled, full of teeth, and Shiro barely managed not to flinch back. “Yes you will. It may not be now, but sooner or later everyone does. I’m patient. As long as they see you suffer it is enough for now. They can always hear you later.” Srik knelt down next to the chair, and Shiro was suddenly intensely aware of how close Srik was to his broken leg. His leg throbbed with every beat of his heart, and even the thought of anyone touching it made Shiro nauseous. This was going to suck. He clenched his fists behind him and locked his jaw shut tight. He could do this, he’d been through worse. He’d lost an arm. He could make it through a quick video chat without screaming, no matter what Srik was going to do.

He hoped.

The video screen blinked to life, and this time it wasn’t just Allura. Keith and Coran were there, too, looking grim and just as angry as Allura. Pidge, Hunk, and Lance were nowhere to be seen, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

“Princess. Are you ready to cede the lions and Castle to my control?”

Shiro had seen that look on her face before and almost sighed in relief before shoring himself up again. She was going to say no. They’d butted heads often enough for him to recognize her stubborn face, the one she used when she refused to give in on something.

“We are not ceding anything to you, not now, not ever.”

Srik nodded, not looking at all surprised. “I would have been amazed- and suspicious- if you had given in so easily. That’s alright. As I told your friend here, I’m patient. But I did promise you something last time we spoke. I believe I told you for every varga you made me wait, I’d make him suffer.”

Shiro had a second to see Allura’s face tighten before Srik’s hand went around his shin over the break, and squeezed.

Shiro couldn’t help the pained whine that escaped, along with a few more tears that squeezed out. His hands hurt from clenching them so hard, but when Srik finally let go, Shiro drew a ragged breath. He’d done it. He hadn’t screamed. He felt almost giddy, and he realized that was probably endorphins kicking in, at least a little.

He managed to lift his head up, and if he’d thought his friends had looked angry before, it was nothing compared to how they looked now. They were livid, and if Keith could have jumped straight through the screen, Shiro thought he would have. He smiled at them, even if it felt strained at the edges.

“4 vargas left. We’ll see you soon.”

The screen shut off, and Shiro forced his shoulders down from where they’d crept up near his ears. It was ok. Whatever happened, it would be ok, even if not for him personally.

“That must have hurt quite a bit, I bet. ‘Strong and silent’ type, indeed.” Srik stood up and looked consideringly at Shiro. “I suppose when I return I’ll just need to try harder.” He reached out and roughly patted at Shiro’s cheek. Shiro tried to pull away, but couldn’t move far enough for it to matter. “I’ll be back in a bit, paladin. Sit tight.”

Shiro growled under his breath. ‘Sit tight’? Really? Now the bad guys were making puns? As if his leg didn’t hurt enough, now he had to suffer this indignity.

So unfair.

Shiro spent the next varga making a more serious effort to get the cuffs unhooked from the chair; even if he couldn’t get the cuffs off, just having them detached from the chair would be a good start. 

Unfortunately, when the door swished open again to reveal Srik, this time carrying a control stick loosely in one hand, he was no closer to getting them loose than he’d been a varga ago. Shiro eyed the control stick and felt his heart sink. Time for a change of plans; not screaming wasn’t an option anymore if that thing was coming into play. Shiro had encountered them more than he was really happy with, first in the hands of the Arena guards, and once or twice on missions since then, and if there was any sort of constant with them, it was that it didn’t matter what he tried to tell himself ahead of time, he always ended up screaming, usually sooner rather than later. Once he accepted he was going to scream, it was easier to control what came out of his mouth; there were some fun curses he hadn’t used in awhile, and it might almost be worth it to see the look on the other paladins’ faces when they heard him. He usually tried to keep his language on the clean side around them- he knew he wasn’t actually their CO, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel a certain responsibility to try to control his language around them.

Srik stepped closer, thumbing the switch on the side of the stick until the points on the end crackled with purple sparks of energy. Shiro dragged his eyes away and focused on the wall where the view screen would appear, and tried to remember that whatever Srik was about to do, if precedent was any indication, it would only last a few minutes at most, just the length of the video communication. He just had to make it that long. He could make it through pretty much anything for a couple of minutes.

Srik moved behind him this time, and while he knew this was going to hurt regardless, Shiro was also immensely grateful that he didn’t seem to be going for his leg. Srik dug his clawed fingers into Shiro’s hair and gripped tight, pulling back until Shiro’s neck was stretched in an uncomfortable backward arch over the chair back and his scalp prickled painfully. He felt the points of the control stick, sharp against the soft spot under his jaw, though Srik must have shut it back off for the moment.

The viewscreen popped back up again. Allura and Coran were still there, but now Keith was gone, Hunk in his place. Shiro’s heart ached; he’d never wish witnessing this sort of thing on any of them, but he knew Hunk was one of the more tender-hearted ones in their small group. This would hurt him, and for that, Shiro was sorry, even if it wasn’t his fault.

“We’re down to 3 vargas now, Princess. Your paladin’s time is quickly running out.”

From what he could see, Allura’s expression remained steely and unwavering. “We will not be giving in to your demands.”

Shiro felt the points move from his jaw, and braced as he heard the low whine of the control stick powering up.

“That is a shame.” The grip on his hair tightened a second before the points on the control stick made contact with his ribs through his flight suit. The scream that ripped out of him hurt his already abused throat, but that was nothing compared to the sparking agony in Shiro’s side. How did he always forget how much it hurt? Maybe it was his mind’s way of trying to protect him.

As soon as it started, it stopped, and it left Shiro shaking, gasping for breath.

“Perhaps you’d like to reconsider, Princess? Or would you like another demonstration?”

The points moved from his ribs up to the meat of his right shoulder, and Shiro couldn’t help the hitch in his breath. The control sticks were awful no matter where they were used, but he’d found since getting the arm the right side was worse; it seemed to conduct the energy somehow, making the pain spread even further.

There was only the smallest waver in Allura’s voice when she told Srik ‘no’ again.

“Well, you do have 3 more vargas. By all means, take your time.” Srik activated the stick again, and Shiro’s screams echoed in the room for a few moments after the screen shut off.

“There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Shiro wanted to hurl the curses at Srik he hadn’t been able to get out during the video communication, but he was still shaking, muscles spasming, and didn’t feel up to provoking a response just yet. Srik smirked at him, and left without a word.

Shiro had no idea what would happen the next time Srik came to broadcast, but he knew things would only escalate. The closer to the deadline they got, the less careful Srik was likely to be, which only spoke to bad things for Shiro.

He had a feeling the others were up to something, and he didn’t begrudge them that. If their positions were reversed he’d be doing anything in his power to get them back. He knew that was hypocritical on his part, expecting them to just leave him behind when he’d move planets to get the others back, but well he was human, too, and had his own failings. If being a hypocrite was the worst of them, he thought he was doing ok.

He got as comfortable as he could and tried to rest. The next encounter was probably going to be terrible.

And he wasn’t wrong.

When Srik returned, there was thankfully no control stick, but there was a wicked-looking knife in his hand, the light glinting off the blade.

“Your time is quickly running out, paladin.”

Shiro swallowed, watching the knife warily as Srik grew closer.

“They’ll make the right choice.”

“I’m sure they will. Let’s continue, shall we?”

The video screen once again blinked to life, and it was Allura, Coran, and Hunk again. Hunk’s face was blotchy like he’d been crying, though now his expression matched the other two, angry, stoney, and Shiro wasn’t sure he’d ever actually seen Hunk angry before; it was kind of intimidating, though Shiro didn’t think Srik could fully appreciate that.

“Princess, will you give me the Castle and the lions?”

Allura’s jaw ticked, but otherwise her expression didn’t change. “No.”

“You know,” Srik moved so he was behind Shiro again, and leaned forward, using one large hand to grip at Shiro’s right shoulder, squeezing and pulling him back hard against the chair. Shiro winced at the feel of claws digging in, but was more concerned that Srik had positioned the point of the knife in front of his left shoulder, the tip pressing in just hard enough to dimple the fabric of Shiro’s flight suit. “If you didn’t want him back at all, you could have just said so. It would have saved us a lot of time.” Srik began to apply more pressure, and the tip of the knife slid easily through the fabric and into Shiro’s shoulder. “Though maybe you like watching him suffer.” The pressure on the knife was slow but inexorable, pushing steadily deeper. It hurt, a lot, and there was nothing he could do about it, Srik’s grip on him keeping him from even trying to flinch away.

Shiro gritted his teeth, and tried to remember it wasn’t just him and Srik. He had to be strong, he had to be steady. He didn’t want them doing anything any stupider than whatever they were probably going to do anyway. The knife was in halfway to the handle when Srik paused, looking back up at the screen.

“I’m sure you know the routine by now, Princess.” The grip he had on the knife handle changed, and he started to twist it, just as slowly as he’d pushed it in, and Shiro almost bit through his tongue in an effort not to scream. “Two vargas left.”

The screen winked out, and Srik let go of Shiro’s right shoulder, but to Shiro’s dismay, gave the knife one last push into his shoulder, and left it there. Shiro could feel the sweat gathering at his hairline, but he felt chilled; yeah, that was probably the outer edges of shock. Not great.

“I think I’ll just leave that there. It’s in rather deep, and we wouldn’t want you to bleed out unnecessarily while we wait.”

When the commander had left, Shiro slumped back into the chair, trying not to look at the knife sticking out of his shoulder. He knew it was there, obviously, but looking at it made his stomach turn, and he had enough problems right now without making himself sick. He could feel blood soaking into suit around the wound, and ugh, if that had a chance to dry it was going to be hell to get it off later, though at this point he wasn’t sure it would be a problem. He’d come to terms awhile ago that he likely wasn’t making it back to earth. Five young pilots from Earth fighting in a ten thousand year war against an entire empire- expecting everyone to make it back alive was foolish, and he knew without a doubt that given a change he’d take a hit for any of the others, lethal or otherwise. He was as comfortable with the idea of his own mortality as he thought anyone could be, really; he didn’t want to die, but he understood it could happen at anytime, and there was no point in worrying about it.

Shiro blinked his eyes open when the door opened, and oh, maybe he was losing more blood than he’d thought, because he didn’t remember closing his eyes. Srik didn’t have anything in his hands this time, and Shiro wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. Srik looked him over, and clucked his tongue. “You’re not looking so good.”

Shiro muttered something in low Galran, and Srik walked over, looking unphased, and if anything, slightly amused. “My, the language one learns hanging around the Arena.” He moved to stand behind Shiro again, and Shiro twitched as Srik’s hand wrapped around the front of his throat again, claw points digging in to the already tender and bruised skin. He squeezed just enough to constrict Shiro’s air, but not cut it off completely. It was hard to breathe, Shiro knew he wasn’t getting enough oxygen, but there was just enough that it was ok.

For now, anyway.

The screen popped up and now it was only Allura and Coran on the other end. Shiro idly wondered where the others had gone, but he noticed that while the two Alteans still looked angry, they didn’t look as grim. They certainly didn’t look happy, but some of the edge from their expressions was gone, and he wondered what was happening. Before he could wonder too much about it, he felt the grip on his throat start to constrict further, now completely cutting his air off.

“Hello again, Princess. As I’m sure you’re aware, your time is almost up. One varga left before he goes for a very permanent space walk. Will you be ceding the Castle and lions to my control?”

Shiro could barely hear Allura say ‘no’ over the rushing in his ears. Srik’s grip on his throat had tightened, and wasn’t loosening again, and Shiro couldn’t breathe. He was trying to stay calm, but there came a point where he couldn’t control his body’s response anymore, and he started to struggle, twisting, trying to dislodge Srik’s hand just enough that he could get even one tiny gasp of air, but the hand on his throat was like iron, immovable. He didn’t know what kind of expression he was making, but he saw Allura and Coran starting to look worried. Black spots were creeping in at the edges of his vision, and Shiro tried to kick, forgetting momentarily about his leg. The pain was agonizing and immediate, the rush of adrenaline temporarily pushing the fog from his vision, but if Srik didn’t let go soon, he was going to pass out.

Something happened off-screen and Allura’s whole expression changed, going from angry and worried to triumphant.

“Release him right now, Commander Srik, and we’ll let you live.”

Srik scoffed, his grip tightening, and Shiro was fading, vision going gray, when the whole ship rocked from an impact.

“What the-” The hold on Shiro’s throat suddenly released, and Shiro coughed, dragging in lungful after lungful of glorious, wonderful air.

The ship shuddered again, and alarms started blaring, the emergency lights flashing purple around them. Srik snarled. “I will not surrender. I am a Commander of the Galra Empire. My options are victory or death, though I don’t see why I should have to choose just one.” Srik reached forward and yanked the knife from Shiro’s shoulder, flipping it to hold the point to Shiro’s throat. “If you do not cease the attack on my ship right now I will kill him while you watch.”

“Allura, no-”

Three things happened almost simultaneously: there was another massive shudder through the ship, the sound of an explosion nearby near deafening; the door to the room opened, and Shiro had just long enough to catch a glimpse of blue and white in the doorway before a blaster shot flew over Shiro’s head. There was a gurgle noise behind him, and a thump, and when Shiro turned his head, Srik was on the floor, unmoving.

“Shiro! Guys, he’s here, I’ve got him.”

On the view screen, Allura visibly relaxed, slumping into Coran’s side. “Oh thank quiznack.”

Lance rushed into the room, quickly clearing it before taking a look at Shiro and sticking his head back out into the hallway. “Hunk! Get in here, you’re gonna have to carry him and I need help getting him loose.”

Shiro blinked. “Wait, what?”

Lance grinned as Hunk hurried into the room after him, going around the back of the chair to start working on unlocking the cuffs.

“Pidge figured out a way to track the signal of the broadcasts.” Lance frowned, gently touching a gloved hand to Shiro’s throat. “Sorry it took so long, we got here fast as we could. Pidge and Keith are outside keeping them distracted. But we’re here to get you out.”

There was a quiet noise of triumph from behind him, accompanied by a click, and Shiro’s wrists popped from from the cuffs. He hadn’t realized they were most of what was keeping him on the chair until he started to list sideways. Hunk barely caught him before he tipped out of the chair, and Shiro couldn’t help the moan of pain when it jarred his shoulder and his leg, both.

Hunk apologized, and picked him up as carefully as he could. Lance looked up at the screen and gave Allura and Coran a thumbs up. “We’re on our way. Get a pod ready.”

Shiro wanted to stay conscious, if only so the others wouldn’t worry, but the combination of encroaching shock and blood loss were pulling him under. He’d have to find out what exactly they’d done later so he could decide whether or not to gripe at them about doing something stupid, but for now he was safe; he trusted them to get him out, and he let himself get swept under.

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

Multiverse is a Curse Word (8)

I’m pretty sure there’s going to be one more chapter after this. What a ride!

Addi, the Dimension Jumper AU, and the Drifting Dimensions AU belongs to @hntrgurl13. The Adrift AU belongs to @the-subpar-ghost, and the Addiford ship to @scipunk63. Kudos to these dudes and their cool-ass brains.

@deadpool-demon-diva and @thejesterlyfictionista, TAKE IT.

AO3  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11

Chapter 8: A Resistance of Butt-Faces

Adeline shook her head. Well, that was the best last-minute gift idea I’ve ever seen someone think of, she thought. Ford was so lucky she had an unreasonable amount of technology.

She decided to go see the results, the idea of watching Mabel’s face light up like Christmas enough of an incentive to get her out of bed. As she reached the girl’s room, however, both she and her uncle barged out excitedly and crashed into her. Barely pausing for long enough to give her a kiss, Ford’s words trailed behind him as they rushed past: “Backsoongonetotestgunout!”

Mabel gave her an equally quick, but bone-crushing, hug, and said, “Thanksomuchloveyou!” and then they were gone.

I guess it went well.

The door of the room that had just been so exuberantly vacated swung a little in the breeze. Addi glanced inside briefly, and then did a double take.

There was a locator lying on the floor. That was strange. Mabel or Ford must have accidentally pocketed one of hers . . . except that she had checked the sell-bag, and everything had been accounted for.

The locator wasn’t hers, and it had been in Mabel’s room. That was concerning. She had given Julian a locator when she met him, recognising that she might need his help in the future. So, it must be his then . . . but he wouldn’t leave something like this lying around in an infrequently-used guest room.

Locators were rare. Extremely rare. They came as a set with portal beacons. Portal beacons had only been invented in one dimension, where she had fixed up a fairly broken down one that no one else had needed. Otherwise, they were not given away lightly. She knew of hardly anyone who had visited that dimension . . . apart from the resisters she had been temporarily stranded there with.

She squatted down to pick up the piece. As she rose, she turned it over to examine the curved edge. Her stomach dropped as she saw the frequency number of the beacon it was tuned to: not hers. Not good.

Addi remembered being stuck on a planet overridden by technology with a friend. She remembered patching up a broken portal beacon, and laughing as her friend somehow acquired a fully functional one. Years later, she had told her friend about Stanford Pines, a genius who could do anything if he put his mind to it. Her friend had been intrigued, and had commented on how much of a valuable asset he would be. She remembered Ford being holed up in a briefing room with her friend for almost an entire day, where, hypothetically, a tracking device could have been planted on him at any time.

The device slipped through Addi’s fingers, making a crack on collision with the wooden surface and bringing her back to the present.

There was an active locator lying on the floor. That was alarming. It belonged Wesley. That was . . . great. Just great.

She sprinted towards her sword.

⃝

The rockslide was the most pleasant-looking disaster area Mabel had ever seen. It was towards the base of the volcano, where the ground just began to slope upwards, and all the sharp edges of broken boulders were softened by the leafy plants slowly but surely overwhelming them. As Mabel and Ford approached, the rocks started small – coming up to her uncle’s knees in height – and slowly increased until it was as if they were wandering through a canyon, and the wide sweeping fields around Julian’s house, as well as the volcano itself, were blocked from view by the monoliths.

“Mabel, I am sorry.” Ford said suddenly. She looked up at him, and they paused on top of a wide platform. “I should have been there for you last night.”

Mabel laughed, trying to brush off his seriousness. “Grunkle Ford, you worry too much. It wasn’t that bad, I was just a bit homesick this morning,”

Whoops. Well that did nothing. She could see his guilt resurfacing like a whale, it was so obvious.

“Okay mister, you need to hug it out.” she said decisively, opening her arms and advancing threateningly. “Stop feeling bad, and sad, and mad at yourself! And other things rhyming with ‘ad’!” She hugged him aggressively. “You have romance to deal with now, which is a good thing, so don’t go ignoring Addi for dumb, unnecessary reasons like me maybe having the occasional nightmare. You’re not dumb, Grunkle Ford! Don’t push away something good!”

“Well I don’t want to ignore you either, Mabel.” he replied in a muffled voice, his face buried in her hair. “A relationship is no excuse to place less importance on you. You come first. Always.”

Those words warmed Mabel from her heart all the way to her fingertips, firmly driving back any dark, lonely thoughts lightly prodding at her. “Thanks . . . but, like, don’t let the last few days fool you. I can handle myself, mostly. You don’t have to worry all the time. If I need you, I’ll come get you,” she reassured him.

“Promise?”

“Promise,”

Their moment was interrupted by the sound of a portal opening nearby.

“What the-” frowned Ford. A blue glow permeated the space behind a giant, jagged pillar ahead of them.

“I wonder if anyone came through,” said Mabel. She rounded the corner and moved towards it, Ford following more warily. “Huh, I guess not.” The portal flashed out of existence, leaving no one behind. “Well anyway, is here a good spot – AAAH!”

A person suddenly sprang from a crack in the rocks, stretching like an elastic band and squeezing out of the impossibly tight space. Other stealthily disguised figures revealed themselves all around them, some shifting colours like chameleons, some shifting shapes like, oh no, the shapeshifter back home, one even straight up flickering out of invisibility. It would have been awesome, if there hadn’t been weapons pointing at them from all directions.

Ford pulled her roughly back against his chest, drawing his own gun and spinning around. They were completely surrounded.

One enemy spoke into a transmitter, saying something she couldn’t understand. Ford could though, and Mabel heard him draw in a quick breath at the garbled response. After that there was a tense silence.

It was getting a bit awkward now, to be honest.

“Do you want something?” Ford snapped angrily.

“We’re waiting,” someone responded. She was purple, with antennae, and had multifaceted red eyes.

“For what?”

“To regroup.” Anticipating Ford’s next interrogation, she continued. “We don’t have orders to hurt you, Stanford Pines. As long as you don’t try to escape, you’re not a prisoner.”

“This reasoning is very questionable,” Mabel muttered.

The alien looked at her blearily, then addressed Ford again. “Honestly, I’d rather be in bed, I got about two hours sleep, but you know resistances. Workers on-call, and all that. And the boss didn’t say anything about a kid, so I’ll let her go if you want. We don’t need her. Anyway, you’re coming back with us, and welcome to your new job, I guess,”

Mabel’s mouth dropped open. Are you kidding?! she thought. No WAY are we going back to that place! And what the heck, hasn’t anyone figured it out yet? She narrowed her eyes. I am NEVER letting anyone take my grunkle away from me. With those words echoing around her head and building to a crescendo, a hard lump of a resolution formed in Mabel’s stomach, and an idea of her own particular brand came into being.

“Your resistance is filled with butt-faces!” she blurted out fiercely, dimly thinking that the words didn’t do her feelings justice.

“Sure, whatever, kid,”

A wicked grin appeared on Mabel’s face. Oh, these jerks were so gonna pay.

“In two seconds you’re gonna wish you hadn’t underestimated me,” she promised.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. GRAPPLING HOOK!” she whipped the gun out from under her coat and aimed it at the top of the rock face behind the conversationalist. She hoped Ford’s arm was locked around her tight enough.

With her usual pin-point accuracy (that had never failed her no matter what Dipper said, don’t listen to him), she pulled the trigger, and the disc that had formed on the end of the gun when her uncle had originally cocked it made a clunking sound as it flew towards her mark, biting into the stone. The only problem was, no cord was attached to it.

Great. She’d just jettisoned a useless grappling hook and her only weapon.

“Um,” she said into the surprised quietness. She pulled the trigger again, just to make absolutely sure their situation was as dire as it seemed. The surprised quietness became even more surprised when an immense attractive force nearly ripped the gun out of her hands as it shot to its other half. Fortunately, she had an iron grip, and so did Ford.

Her uncle torqued around just as their feet left the ground, which probably saved Mabel from breaking her elbows and knees as they collided with the top of the pillar. As it was, all that happened was Ford getting winded.

“Haha! Yes!” crowed Mabel as they hauled themselves over the top and rolled over just as the resisters below came to their senses and starting firing. No shots were able hit them from this angle.

Ford sucked in a breath and clapped her on the back. “Nicely done,” he coughed, getting to his feet, “but do you think you could do it with a little more control next time?”

“Psssh, whatchoo you talking about? I did that perfectly,”

“Nothing is perfect, you can always do better,” Ford said immediately, then backtracked. “I mean, good, yes, but let’s see if we can get even more perfect. In fact, let’s do it now. We need to get back to Julian’s,”

“Why?” asked Mabel.

“They’re going after Addi,”

Mabel cocked the gun.

⃝

Thankfully, all the guests had left. This meant there was nothing stopping Julian from, say, backflipping off the bar and taking down two resisters at once with a glass bottle in each hand, or Clive from slamming into one who had been about to enter his son’s room so hard that he flew halfway across the pavilion holy shit. They had not gone soft in their retirement.

Addi thought that at this rate the fight would be over in under a minute. She really had expected more from Wesley – not that she was complaining.

Then Stanford and Mabel swung in on a grappling hook, bringing seven more assassins with them.

Adeline grabbed Ford’s sleeve and dragged both her companions behind an overturned table as a barrage of laser fire hit the metal on the other side.

“Wesley’s been tracking you!” she said to him.

“I figured!”

“I don’t think he likes you knowing his secrets!” said Mabel.

“Understatement,” snarled a soldier as she adjusted the intensity of her weapon and melted a hole straight through the table.

Addi sprang up and over it, Big Bertha swinging strongly to intercept the assailant. The gun disappeared incredibly quick and a baton came up to meet her, the resulting clash almost jarring Addi’s arm. She looked past the locked blades into her opponent’s face.

“Netessa!”

“Hi,” grunted the red-eyed woman. Adeline forced her back a step and broke the lock.

“I thought you left a long time ago,”

Netessa shrugged. “I came back,”

“Oh, well that answers all my questions.” Addi said, rolling her eyes and attempting a grin. “Come on, what have you been up to?” She noticed that the rest of the taskforce was in a shoot-out with Julian and Clive, and off to the side Ford was attempting to get Mabel to stay behind the bar.

“Do you really care? Anyway, I’m about to kill you. Why would I tell you?”

“So we could rekindle our friendship and you could help me instead?” Addi suggested hopefully.

As an answer, Netessa closed in impossibly fast and punched her.

⃝

Ford shot a man in the chest, grabbed his baton, and shoved him through a door.

“Take this and stay here,” he ordered Mabel, giving her the weapon.

“But-” she tried to argue.

“I said stay!” he turned to help Clive.

Heart in her mouth, she flinched as Julian was propelled into the front of the bar counter so hard it shook. He dodged several laser blasts before Clive tackled the shooter. Mabel heard Julian groan, then his hand appeared around the corner and he pulled himself to where he could see her.

“Mabel honey, could you please press that button? Yes that one right there, thank you,”

A sensation like a wave of static electricity passed over Mabel, the unfamiliarity fuelling the fear and uncertainty already coursing through her. Julian heaved himself up to his feet and went to rejoin the firefight . . . or what was now just a fight, actually. All the lasers had stopped working.

“Don’t worry honey, everyone’s going to be fine.” Julian smiled. Then he turned around. “ALRIGHT! TWO MINUTES WITHOUT GUNS! LET’S DO THIS!” he yelled, and decked an assassin. Now that Mabel could actually look at what was going on without being in danger of injury, she saw that there were only four of the original seven left. She kept her eyes on her friends and family. Addi was furiously battling sword-on-baton with the purple woman, and Clive and Ford were facing off barehanded against the other three. Julian wielded a broken glass bottle. Mabel wasn’t sure how long that would last against heavy-duty metal sticks, but okay.

She watched anxiously, wanting to help, but not knowing how to. Some of her dread was extinguished as Addi started calling out to her attacker between clashes. As always, when she was confident, she was fun. Best of all, it seemed to be getting on the other’s nerves.

⃝

“No really, what have you been doing?”

Ford planted a kick into an assassin’s midsection.

“Ugh, would you give it a rest already? We were never really friends!”

He dodged a swipe from a baton.

“I still want to know!”

He slid under another swing on his knees, coming up behind the person and grabbing their arm.

“I’m into sculpture now, are you happy?”

The arm was twisted but the alien did not have bones that broke like a human’s would have, and Ford lost his grip.

“Happier. How are the kids? WHOA!”

He kicked the person’s legs out before they could turn around.

“In high school – oof!”

Hoping that they had a windpipe, he pulled them into a headlock and crushed down on their throat.

“Doing okay?”

Julian was unconscious on the ground nearby, bleeding from a head wound, but it looked as though he had brought a shapeshifter down beforehand, so that was a win. Clive was being throttled against a wall. Ford would go there next.

“They hate it,”

The assassin’s struggles ceased. He dropped them and sprinted for Clive, pulling the next enemy around to face him and catching him off-guard with a swift right-hook. An uppercut took him out completely. Clive collapsed on the floor, retching.

“Fair enou-AUGH!”

Ford whipped around to the last fighting pair, and saw Addi stumbling from a blow to the head. She fell to her knees and the purple soldier knocked the sword out of her hand. She stomped on the hilt and a spark of electricity showed him that the portable E-field had just been broken. Then, the staticky feeling to the air vanished. Two minutes had passed.

Addi did not seem able to get up.

The assassin turned and looked him directly in the eyes.

“Weapons are up,” she said softly, drawing her gun, aiming at him, and flicking to stun setting, “and I win.”

Ford reached for his own gun, but the holster was empty. It had clattered out of his hand long ago. Shitshitshit, she’s going to kill Addi once you’re out, think of something, think of something NOW-

With a sickening plunging sound, the blade of a sword came through the left side of her chest. That species did not have any blood to lose, but it must have hurt regardless. She screamed and reached behind her to remove it, throwing it off to the side and glaring down at Adeline, whose reserves of strength were severely depleted after that throw.

The soldier hissed and shot her in a burst of light. Ford’s heart stopped, but the way she fell silently was obviously displeasing to the assassin.

“Goddamn stun setting,” she said murderously, flicking it off and re-aiming. In her pain she had forgotten him.

Ford slammed into her and drove her to the ground. They were both grappling for the gun, the only available weapon. Despite suffering severe bodily trauma, she was still among the best fighters Ford had ever encountered. Her red eyes burned hatefully into his as they trapped each other in a lock. An endurance test then. He poured all his strength into attempting to overpower her, favouring her injured side. She yelled through her teeth . . . then twisted, slid out of his grip, and flung an elbow into his solar plexus to wind him and knock him flat. She put the gun to his head, and did not seem to care that it was no longer on stun setting. In the split second before she fired, Ford thought –

- he saw something move behind her.

A blur of black metal, a clang, a shudder that went through the assassin’s entire body, and she slumped over. Ford looked up into his niece’s wide grin.

“HA! Yeah! Take that you – you mean lady who Addi still likes for some reason!” Mabel dropped the baton she was holding and offered a hand to help him up.

“Well done!” he said, taking in deep breaths and pushing his multitude of aches and pains to the back of his mind.

“Is Addi okay?” Mabel asked worriedly as they knelt down beside her.

“She should be fine, she’s just stunned,” Ford reassured her, checking her breathing and pulse. Addi jerked up, grabbed his wrist, and was about to headbutt him when he said, “Whoa, Adeline, it’s me, you’re safe!”

“It’s all over, Addi,” Mabel said comfortingly.

Addi untensed and allowed them to hug her, still looking disorientated. “Ouch.” she said as she lifted a hand to her head. “Netessa was never into ‘going easy’,”

Ford gently removed the hand and examined where she had been hit.

“That was really quick, by the way,” Mabel observed. “I thought it would be like half an hour before you were up,”

“The more you get stunned, the more you start to resist.” she said nonchalantly. “It’s like my secret weapon now.”

“Cool,” grinned Mabel.

Ford winced. That had been one nasty blow. He held up a hand. “How many fingers do you see?”

“If you were anyone else, I’d think six was wrong.” Addi said warmly. Then she frowned. “I don’t think they should be blurry, though.”

“Most likely a concussion. We’ll find somewhere to rest,”

“Not here.” Addi said urgently. “We need to leave. Wesley’s still going to be looking for us. I charged the portal beacon yesterday, so we should stay ahead of him for now.”

A groan behind them. They looked to see Clive lifting Julian onto a miraculously undamaged couch.

“Clive, I’m so sorry,” began Addi, also trying to get to her feet. She wobbled precariously, and latched onto Ford.

“Addi, we know you wouldn’t have come if you thought you were being followed,” said Clive weakly, “so don’t beat yourself up about it.” Then with a bloody-toothed grin, he added, “If you need any help, let us know. We’d be happy to pay Wesley back.”

⃝

Ford knelt on the floor with Addi and helped her ready the portal beacon for reception.

“Okay guys,” They looked around at Mabel. She held out a faintly glowing something in each hand. “I have made these with love, friendship, and string!” she handed them over. “You will not use them for science experiments,” she glared at Ford, “or for technology,” she glared at Addi, “you will love them, you will treasure them, and they will act as lucky charms. Most importantly, they are impossible to separate from each other. I know this because I made them, so they have to do what I want.” she finished brightly.

“I don’t think that’s how lucky charms wor-” began Addi.

“Hush! Yes it is,”

Ford looked down at the item. Many small endo-ergon quartz crystals had been threaded through a ragged and dirty piece of string. Mabel had tied both ends of her own around her wrist.

She had managed to make the friendship bracelets.

“I don’t wanna lose you guys,” a very small voice said, so softly he was not sure Mabel had meant to say it aloud at all.

Addi carefully reached over and tied the ends for him. He did the same for her. Then he looked up in time to see some imperceptible lines of concern disappear from his niece’s face, lines which he had not even noticed were there until they were gone.

He turned slightly so he could take in both her face and Addi’s, who was staring at the bracelet with a small smile. How the hell did I get so lucky? he thought, pulling them both close. Mabel refused to let go for a while, and Addi kissed both their foreheads. The stars on their hands shone.