#very fun comm :')c had a good time drawing it!

[toxungen]

luna

[cdroloisms]

take a shot - dsmp!mcc fic

MCC FIC! MCC FIC! MCC FIC! To be clear, I outlined this weeks back, when teams were first announced, and I took very very little from the actual MCC itself when it came to actually writing this - all I have are the same teams, but it really exists in its own continuity outside of Real Life MCC (obviously, as it’s using the dsmp characters) and everything like that as a whole! Just to be clear :D)

The worldbuilding is also Absolutely Bullshitted start to finish, as well as any and all medical information. Rip. We’re here for a good time, not for a long or particularly accurate one - hope you guys enjoy regardless!! I had a LOT of fun writing this fic, dsmp!mcc aus my BELOVED

title obviously from win it all by derivakat

---

Michael loves MCC.

But it’s one thing to love the normal Championships and quite another when his team looks like it’s falling apart from the inside out - and as the games progress, it becomes more and more obvious that losing, this time, might not be an option.

tws: C!QUACKITY CRITICAL (sorry i promise i love him but he is NOT portrayed very nicely here, very dark portrayal of him), implied trauma, abuse, torture, panic attacks, manipulation, gaslighting, needles, hospitals, MCC-typical violence, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault themes

(16k words !! :D long boi) 

Michael loves MCC.

Of course he does! It’s fucking MCC - like, who wouldn’t love it? MCC is how he met so many people, how he met Dream, that one time, the two of them teamed with Techno and Burren and winning it all - MCC is a goddamn blast and he’s thankful every time he gets the invite that he’s able to compete. 

Still- it’s hard not to be a little more nervous, now. 

Dream gave him an invite to his SMP right after they teamed, but it wasn’t until months later that Michael actually cashed it in. Entering the server, it became very obvious very quickly that the DreamSMP, as it’s known, isn’t quite the same as its shiny media appearance. The spawn was covered in blocks, creeper holes littering the ground. The people he passed were grey-faced, too stoic to be the same, smiling faces he remembers from only less than a year ago. The air stings of gunpowder and iron. Worst of all are The Crater, shoddily covered in glass that does nothing to hide the damage done, rending the server in two straight down to bedrock, and the Prison, looming on the horizon. Absent-mindedly, Michael rubs at his left shoulder, remembering the Warden setting the prongs of his trident against the skin in warning, just hard enough to barely draw blood. Yeah, that place is bad news. 

The fact of the matter is the server is a mess. And like, okay, whatever, Michael gets it. Everyone has their issues - it’s just the DreamSMP seems to have more than most. Despite his original worries, it’s honestly not been as bad as he originally feared upon logging in; yeah, Bad and Puffy and Foolish and the rest of them are a little more trigger-happy than he might’ve expected (and he’s not going to say that Bad crying over turtles wasn’t a little startling when he first joined, but honestly he thinks Bad is just Like That.) There’s way more death than he’s really comfortable with, and Puffy keeps mentioning Bad murdering her son (Foolish? He thinks? The guy is also a literal God but like, families are weird, who’s he to judge) in a way that’s way too casual to come from anyone entirely well-adjusted, but overall his experience has been alright. 

Still, he gets the feeling that nobody exactly wants the outside world to know about the issues with the place. It’s not an issue for him usually, not when his sleeping schedule is the exact opposite of most of the people he knows and he spends most of his time screwing around on the server, anyway (usually harassing the Warden until the asscrack of dawn if he’s being honest) but with MCC, with everyone watching - he’s starting to get why everyone from the SMP was so damn tense all the time, now. 

Anyway- he loves MCC, he really does. But even that doesn’t stop him from wincing when he sees his team card, the names Dream and Quackity and Sapnap written in Scott’s looping handwriting. He’s not seen Sapnap at all since joining the server, has only heard a little about his place (something Kingdom, not that he was paying attention) from Foolish, and has no idea what the man has been up to. Quackity is his own unique can of worms; Michael doesn’t know exactly what’s up with him and his country, but everything he’s heard so far has sounded like nothing but bad news, casinos and schemes and a trail of wreckage following wherever he goes. And Dream-

Michael looks out his window, chewing on his lip, looking directly in the direction where he knows the prison stands, impenetrable, intimidating. Where Dream’s cell is, in line with his house, where he’s been hidden for months without a trace. Where the Warden had confronted him that one night, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, blood splattered on his boots. 

There’s no real ignoring an MCC invite - not without good reason, not without the admins picking up on something being up. There’s not really a choice, here, but for Michael to duck his head down and pretend everything’s fine just like everyone else from the SMP. He directs one last glance at the prison before walking away, setting the invite on his counter. If he’s lucky, everything will turn out fine. 

(He ignores the part of him that asks what’s going to happen if they’re not. No point in worrying about what hasn’t happened yet - right?) 

---

Weeks pass, the tournament creeping closer, and Michael gets no alerts from his teammates on his comm. No one comes to his house to check in, say hi, not even a ‘hey, we’re kinda competing in a massive tournament in like, seven days, you ready?’ Hell, he even starts checking his goddamn mailbox for a letter or something only to come up empty-handed every time. Never mind performing well - it’ll be a miracle if their team manages to arrive at the tournament at all. 

It isn’t until the day before MCC, the sun high in the sky at what must be near noon, when he finally gets a message on his comm. Michael fishes it out with a frustrated huff, seeing Quackity’s name pop up first when he manages to turn on the screen. 

Quackity whispers to you: you down for some practice?

It takes a couple seconds for him to blink away his shock - out of everyone he expected to arrange practice for their team, Quackity was definitely not at the top of the list. He half-thought they would have to drag him to the tournament kicking and screaming; from what he’s heard, he’s been nothing if not devoted to his country. Shaking his head, he goes to reply; practice is practice, and their team really needs it. 

You whisper to Quackity: sure. practice server?

Quackity whispers to you: yes

Pulling up his server list, Michael scrolls for the practice server, finding it and then letting the server transfer do the rest. A few nausea-inducing seconds later, he’s at the practice server spawn, standing in the middle of a neatly paved road surrounded by colorful arenas and signs. 

“Michael!” 

He turns; there, by the Battle Box arenas, Quackity is waving at him, already dressed in a red varsity jacket and a pair of shorts, the jacket bearing a front pocket embroidered with a rabbit and a large R stitched onto the back. He reaches behind him for a red bag, throws it his way for Michael to catch mid-air. 

“Got these outfits for us last minute - hope it’s alright with you,” Quackity smiles, and Michael tries to prevent his eyes from clinging to the scar spanning the entire left side of his face. “Anyway- how are you, man? I feel like we haven’t seen each other at all on the server. How’s it been?”

“I’m good- it’s been good.” Michael opens the drawstring bag, cataloguing the contents - there’s a jacket, just like Quackity’s, a pair of shorts and sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a headband, all in varying shades of red and white. “Nice outfit- thank you. Is anyone else around?”

Quackity waves a hand behind him. “Yeah- Dream’s here. Should be coming out of the arena soon, actually.” Michael looks over behind his shoulder to where he’s pointing - there, walking down the stairs, is another figure wearing all red that must be Dream. “There he is- hey Dream! Michael’s here!” 

Dream hurries down the stairs; unlike Quackity, he is wearing the sweatpants along with the same jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets. His hair is a lot longer than Michael remembers, pulled back behind his head in a ponytail, mask, as usual, fastened over his face. He settles behind Quackity, giving Michael a small wave; his hands are covered by a pair of fingerless gloves. 

“Hey, Dream!” Michael grins; it’s been such a long time since he’s seen his old teammate, and despite the circumstances and everything that’s apparently happened since then, it’s still pretty damn nice to see him. “How’ve you been?”

Dream seems to freeze for a moment, before shaking his head. “Good,” he says, quiet, sounding almost breathless. Michael’s eyes go to the slivers of skin that show on either side of his face, to the slight shake to his hands. 

“You alright? You look a little pale,” Michael asks, and he definitely doesn’t miss the way Dream stills at the words, muscles tensing, gaze averting to the side even with the mask - doesn’t miss how Quackity steps forward, looking Michael in the eye as he tosses a casual arm around Dream’s shoulder, smiling brightly. 

“Don’t worry. This idiot has just been practicing a bit too much before you got here,” Quackity gestures with a flippant twist of his wrist, “You know how he gets. Right, Dream?” 

“Um- yeah. Ha,” Dream responds just a little too late to be strictly normal, shoulders tight and nearly pulled to his ears under Quackity’s arm. “Practice- I’m a little out of shape.” 

“You sure?” Dream’s breathing hitches and Quackity steps forward, just a little bit, eyes still fixed firmly on Michael’s own even as he shifts his gaze to try and look at Dream. “We can take a break if you need, Dream-”

“I’m fine!” Dream smiles with a little stuttered breath that turns into a small laugh, “It’s- uh. It’s fine. Thanks Michael, but we can practice. Not much time left to waste, you know?”

“You sure, Dream?” Quackity says, suddenly, voice soft and sincere. “I guess it has been a while since you’ve been able to practice- you sure you don’t need a break?”

Dream shakes his head firmly. “No- it’s fine. Really- where’s Sapnap? He should be coming soon, right?”

“If you say so, pal,” Quackity replies, doubt coloring his tone as he pulls out his communicator. “I told Sapnap to come, he replied a couple minutes back; he should be here soon, I think. You want to go meet him at spawn?”

Dream nods, and they begin to set out towards the center of the server, Quackity and Dream quickly taking the lead as Michael falls back. After a minute, Quackity falls into casual conversation, rambling about something as Dream nods, Michael trailing behind the two of them and adding his own input as he sees fit. Sapnap arrives soon after, and the noise level picks up even more after that, Sapnap and Quackity falling into an easy rhythm of banter and quips as they set out to practice Battle Box and Parkour Tag, carefully working their way through the different games under Dream’s tutelage and advice. 

And here’s the thing- Michael isn’t stupid. Yeah, he’d hardly consider himself a top tier MCC player, and he’ll be the first to say that he’s nowhere near qualified to deal with the literal laundry list of issues that affect every member of the SMP, but even so, he’s not clueless. He’s good at looking at multiple sides of a situation, doesn’t easily give into intimidation or manipulation, and he’s observant as all hell. So when Quackity wraps his hand around Dream’s wrist, fingers wrapping all the way around until his knuckles pale, when Dream winces, muscles in his arm locking before letting it go limp, not protesting when Quackity drags him forward except in the tiny, tight expressions that flit across his face every few moments, tight and gasping and shaky at the corners - Michael notices. 

“See you at the tourney, yeah?” Quackity calls to him after practice with a wink before clapping Dream on the back, Michael watching silently as the muscles of Dream’s neck pull tight, head ducking to his chest. “Good job, big guy,” he says, laughing. “Keep this up for tomorrow and we’ll be good.”

“Mmhm,” Dream mutters after a brief second, “We’re- we’re gonna win.”

“Betting on it, pal,” Quackity replies, voice light in a way that completely fails to explain Dream’s full-body flinch. “MCC, huh? Can’t fucking wait.”

“See you tomorrow, Quackity,” Michael says as he presses DreamSMP on his server list, pretending that a chill doesn’t crawl down his spine at the smile that the other man throws his way in return. 

---

There’s no real easy answer.

Michael comes to that conclusion at some point in the middle of the night, restless and pumped on way too much adrenaline to go to sleep. He can’t outright antagonize Quackity, can’t let him know he knows something’s up - not when Quackity had already spent the majority of practice keeping one dark, narrowed eye on him at all times, lips pursed in a slight frown whenever he thought Michael wasn’t looking. He’s not stupid; whatever’s happening between Dream and Quackity is secret, and kept that way for a reason. His mind goes back to the brief flashes of anxiety that had moved over Dream’s face before he could react fast enough to school them back into a carefully neutral position; whatever it is, he doubts it bodes well for Dream in the slightest. 

Unfortunately, his hands are pretty damn tied. He knows public opinion on the masked man in the server is overwhelmingly negative, but has no damn idea how far it extends. How many people are in on whatever’s happening in that damn prison? How many people know what would make Dream, bold and bright and recklessly confident in all of Michael’s (rather limited) memories, into someone so quiet, unimposing, nervous? His head spins with the possibilities, with the ever-present reminder to not make a fuss, let the tournament pass on, to never, ever let anyone find out what’s going on within the SMP. Should he do anything at all? 

Too soon, it’s morning, and he drags himself out of bed with a groan to glare at the sun streaming through his window. Somewhere, Quackity and Dream and Sapnap are also waking up, are preparing to compete in one of the biggest damn tournaments to exist. Michael sighs, glancing over to where he’s set out his outfit, freshly pressed and waiting. Any other day, and he’d probably be fucking ecstatic. Here, he buries his head in his hands, muffling a frustrated groan against the palm of his hands. 

He loves MCC, but he sure as hell doesn’t like whatever the hell is going on with the rest of his team. 

Getting into the server goes smoothly enough. The outfit is comfortable and looks damn good, props to whoever made the thing, and the sight of the multicolored crowd successfully manages to tamp down some of his nerves. He busies himself with saying hi to all of the members waiting in the lobby, happy for the chance to talk to some people he hasn’t seen in ages, feels the night of anxieties wash away with every stupid joke told and burst of laughter drawn from his lungs. 

They come back the moment Scott steps up in front of the lobby. “Teams, it’s time to head to your team rooms! The tournament will begin in fifteen minutes,” Scott says, expression sunny and bright, “we’re wishing you all luck for a great performance today! May the best team win!” 

In a flurry of movement, they’re all whisked to their rooms for a final few minutes of preparation and morale-boosting, and Michael enters the glorified dressing room to Quackity, Dream, and Sapnap already standing there, seemingly in the middle of conversation. 

“You ready to win?” Sapnap yells, and Quackity whoops, and Michael manages a small cheer of his own. They’re all visibly nervous; Quackity has scarcely stopped moving, pacing from one side of the room to the next; Sapnap is basically jumping in place where he stands. Dream stands at the very back of the room, looking tense; Michael directs a wave his way and gets a small one in return. 

“Game plan, game plan,” Quackity mutters, “do we know what games we’re playing first? Dream?”

He nods at Dream, and Dream stands up straighter, mouth falling open.

“Oh- um,” he hesitates, a strand of hair flopping forwards as he tilts his head in thought. “We’ll want to save Parkour Tag and Battle Box towards the end- maybe something more high-risk at the beginning, but not first, just to boost morale,” his teeth catch on his bottom lip, “Maybe something like To Get To The Other Side? If they have that- or Build Mart, if we can get it out of the way.” He shakes his head. “If that’s alright- I mean-”

“Great,” Quackity cuts in smoothly. “Sapnap? Michael? Does that sound good to you?”

Sapnap flashes a thumbs up, and Michael nods. “Yeah, sounds great. Thanks, Dream.”

Dream’s head snaps towards him, mouth slightly open in shock. The sight of it makes Michael’s gut twist uncomfortably; there’s something about how surprised he is, at the nervous hesitancy with which he spoke that was nothing like what Michael remembers of his easy leadership in that MCC with Techno, that doesn’t sit right at all in his stomach. Even with his expression largely hidden, there’s no mistaking the clear, genuine surprise on his face at the idea of someone thanking him - Michael tries to tell himself that he’s reading too much into it as Quackity continues to speak. 

“We’re going to win,” he grins, just a little too sharp at the edges, “so get out there and play like your lives depend on it, yeah?” 

Sapnap cheers, and again, Michael and Dream follow. It’s not until he’s outside the door, within the clamor of screaming teams and people counting down with the timer that Michael realizes that Quackity was staring at Dream the entire time. 

---

Michael curses, frustrated, when he’s knocked off a platform again, making sure to flip Krinios the bird before he falls into the Void entirely. When he makes it to the other side, Quackity and Dream are already deep in conversation - if you can call it that. Even from here, it looks worryingly one-sided.

“-were you thinking, falling off there-” Quackity’s hand is on Dream’s shoulder, Dream standing stock-still in front of him, “you better be taking this seriously, Dream.”

“Hey- sorry about that,” Michael calls with a wave, “I swear Krinios had it out for me. At least I made it across, right?” 

Quackity turns, startled, and in the split-second that it takes for him to register Michael’s appearance, his expression smooths over into something friendlier, more inviting. “Michael!” He says, enthusiastic, and it’s like the anger that had filled his words just seconds before was never there at all. “Don’t- don’t worry about it, man. We all kinda dropped the ball on that one, right Dream?” 

The words should be encouraging, just simple ribbing between teammates. Dream’s mask is still ducked down, facing the floor, shoulders slightly hunched in. 

“Um- Sapnap did pretty good,” Dream says, quiet, “he got top ten, right?” 

Michael looks over to where Sapnap is standing a little ways away, seemingly busy typing on his communicator. Quackity laughs, sharp and loud. 

“True,” he punches Dream lightly on the upper arm, and Michael watches the way he freezes the second the fist makes contact with his jacket, “come on, man, you’re losing your touch. You really gonna let yourself get beat by Sapnap?” he shakes his head, still laughing as he pulls open his communicator. “Jesus- even I beat you in that last round. Watch your spot, Dream, I’m coming for you.” 

“I mean,” Michael says when a second passes and it becomes clear Dream isn’t going to respond, “Dream was doing pretty well with the last two rounds, right? I thought I saw his name pretty far up there.” 

Quackity takes a second before responding, again, staring at Michael oddly as he does. “That’s true,” he concedes, “hey- I was just making a joke, don’t worry. It’s all for fun, right Dream?”

His gaze goes to Dream, and automatically, Michael follows. Dream seems to startle under the attention, twitching Quackity’s direction in the awkward silence that results. Michael watches as the mask slants slightly to face Quackity, as Quackity looks back at him with an intense, unreadable expression, shoulders strangely tense. Whatever unsaid conversation that seems to pass between them is entirely lost on Michael as Dream finally responds with a sudden, almost strangled bark of laughter. 

“Yeah- just jokes,” his fingers twist over one another, hands held close together in front of his body, “Though Qu- Q’s right, I- I should probably pick it up. We’re playing to win.” 

A ding alerts them to the end of the round, and Michael steadies himself in preparation for the teleport to the next map. As he turns, he catches Quackity’s expression, once again, and the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he continues to look at Dream. 

“Good luck,” he calls just before they enter the next round, and tries not to think too much about what he’s saying it for. 

---

They manage pretty well for the rest of To Get To The Other Side, finishing with a second place overall that got cheers from Sapnap and even a slight smile from Dream. Hole in the Wall, on the other hand, has been a lot less successful - though Michael will be the first to say that it’s his fault. His practice in the last few months has been lackluster (at best) and it definitely showed in the arena. 

He leans over the railing, watching Dream and Sapnap through the crowd of participants left that have yet to be knocked out by the giant walls of slime. Quackity’s standing next to him, having been similarly thrown off the platform early in the round, expression tight and lips set in a small frown, and looking at him for too long makes Michael uneasy so he looks down at the arena again. They’re in the last round, and they’re supposed to be making callouts anyway for their teammates still participating below.

Without thinking, once again, Michael looks over at Dream. Sue him, he knows the guy best and Dream has been acting odd all day, to put it lightly. Even ignoring the part of him that’s screaming that something’s wrong, that there’s something up that has everything to do with the beanie-wearing man standing besides him, it only takes a few minutes of observation to see that Dream is - for the lack of a better word - off. Michael watches as he vaults over another wall, only barely managing to bring himself to his feet in time on the other side. Dream’s movements - even to his untrained eye - have always been fluid, effortless. He jumped and vaulted and ran like gravity didn’t exist, like every physics-bending maneuver he made was as easy as breathing. Michael remembers watching him sprint over the parkour course before, time completely unmatched as he appraised each obstacle and basically flew his way through, sounding hardly even winded when he whooped loudly in victory from the top of the salmon ladder. In total contrast, Dream jerks away from the coming wall again, movements sloppy and harsh as he scrambles to the other side of the disc-shaped arena. He’s still fast, and still making jumps, but everything is strangely angled where it had once been fluid, stopping and starting suddenly, moving in bursts of speed and then skidding to sudden stops. 

“WEST!” Quackity shouts, and Michael watches as Dream’s head turns jerkily at the noise before he dives out of the way of the incoming wall and manages, barely, to twist around the side. Michael winces at the tumble he takes on the opposite side, clutching his chest slightly as he stands back up again. 

“North!” Michael calls, because he should probably actually help his teammates, huh, and Dream manages to move around this one better, jumping through a hole in the wall and tucking and rolling as he lands. “Nice jump- East!” 

It’s an easy wall, thankfully, and both Sapnap and Dream visibly take a breath as they stand in place for the wall to pass over them. As it passes, a droning buzz comes from the speakers, and the walls below them speed up. 

“South-to your right!” Michael shouts as they turn, eyes turning between all of the false walls before finally focusing on the right one, his shout echoed by a similar one from Quackity. At each one of the calls from the man besides him, Dream seems to tighten further, movements increasingly erratic as he dodges and weaves around the walls. There’s still a lot of people left - Michael follows Dream through the crowd with a frown, watching as he and Sapnap jump the next wall, Dream’s foot nearly catching on the top edge. 

“West-” Dream flinches, jumping over the two-high wall at the last possible second, landing completely off-balance on the other side and falling to the ground. He scrambles to his feet, but there’s already a wall at the west edge of the platform - his head turns, still searching for the wall - Quackity yells.

“LEFT!”

Something in Dream’s movements seem to shift, even in the distance - Michael watches as he immediately, almost robotically, steps to the left at Quackity’s voice, not even jumping, not turning his head to take in his surroundings, just moving instinctually at the words, and slams into the coming wall hard enough to get flung into the middle hole in the platform. Quackity curses, fist crashing into the railing as Dream falls and the chat message shows on their communicators, and a second later he’s materialized beside them, face oddly slack and mask focused somewhere faraway. 

“Shit,” Dream mutters when he seems to come back into himself, shaking his head and then turning to the two of them, still by the railing, “Dammit. Sorry, I-“ 

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael cuts in before Quackity can speak. “You did good.” 

“I-” Dream catches Quackity’s gaze, then pushes his head away, mask facing the ground. Something about it and his raised shoulders and the dark, angry glare that Quackity directs over the railing when Michael looks back makes him shift in place, uneasy. “Could’ve done better, ha. Sorry.” 

The three of them watch, silent, as Sapnap continues to compete. He manages to get pretty damn far, making it to the top three, but getting knocked off-balance by a wall and off the platform just before the timer sounds. Michael cringes back at the sound of it over the speakers, watches the other contestants settle into place, panting, in victory.

“Great job, Sapnap,” Michael shouts when he materializes in front of them, and the other two are quick to echo his sentiments. If they sound a little duller than they should be, if Quackity’s jaw seems clenched and Dream’s all coiled up like a spring, far too tense, it’s from placing lower than they wanted and slipping in the rankings, not anything else.

Keep your head down, Michael reminds himself, and everything’s gonna be fine. And if the words ring more and more hollow with every repetition, well, that’s for him to ignore and for everyone else to never, ever find out. 

---

Buildmart is chosen next, which they all groan at, but at least it’s going to be out early and not left to ruin all of their scores later. Michael takes his place at his build, one third from the left side - it’s some abomination of colored glass and white concrete meant, if he is to guess, to emulate a stained glass window. He’s between Dream and Sapnap, the former positioned in front of a flower-dotted grass field with a picnic table, the latter staring down a miniature car with black concrete for tires and stone buttons for detailing. He breathes a steady breath as they await the countdown, already planning for his trip to the Colors section to grab materials for his build and the others’- Buildmart isn’t his strongest game, but it’s not his worst either, and he’s damn well going to try his best. 

He skids into the portal with an armful of colored concrete and glass, spilling half of its contents inside a chest before running to his build. He pulls himself to the crafting bench to craft - he squints at his build - he needs four red glass panes and 3 yellow, right. As he brings the panes to his inventory and begins laying out the frame of the build in concrete, he looks over to Dream, who is noticeably struggling with placing the flowers in his build and getting the placements to match that of the original. He knocks away a white tulip with a muffled curse, sounding frantic as he looks back to the original, and places it again to no avail. 

It seems that his struggle hasn’t only caught Michael’s attention, as the statue to the leftmost side of the room explodes in gold coins and confetti - Quackity has finished his build and is now looking at Dream with narrowed eyes. Dream places the flower again, and the build refuses to respond. Quackity’s gaze narrows further, and he opens his mouth-

“Hey Quackity!” Michael starts speaking before he’s even noticed that he’s opened his mouth, fumbling as he regains awareness of what he’s doing and tries to find a direction for his sentence to go, “do you have any concrete?”

Quackity looks at him like he’s grown a second head, which is fair, considering there’s a block of white concrete pretty obviously visible in his hand. “Um- no? Weren’t you supposed to go to Colors?”

Dream finally manages to place the tulip where it belongs, and the build between them disappears in another explosion of gold glitter. Michael laughs awkwardly. 

“Sorry- haha. I got a little mixed up.” He places the last piece of white concrete, watching as his own build disappears. A little wooden cottage takes its place, made of what appears to be just oak wood and cobblestone. “Are you going to get wood? Or should I?”

“I- You get wood,” Quackity shakes his head, visibly frustrated, “And I’ll get stone. We have to hurry, we’re falling behind.” 

After that, Michael finds it a little too easy - or maybe not easy, but at least tolerable, to interrupt when Quackity looks a little like he’s about to fall on the side of being angry versus just annoyed, stepping between his angry glares at Dream with a forced smile and an incessant string of annoying questions- 

“Hey Quackity, do you have any spare iron?”

“Hey Quackity, I think you placed that a little too far back.”

“Hey Quackity, can you take a look to see what I placed wrong?” 

It’s not perfect. It’s hardly even functional; Michael knows that Quackity has begun with the habit of directing death glares at his back whenever he thinks he’s not looking, his responses to Michael’s questions becoming more and more clipped, often paired with irritated grumbles and sighs. Sapnap, when Michael looks at him, seems largely engrossed with his own builds, but he’s also begun looking over at the two of them with a vaguely dissatisfied expression, and Dream only seems to be getting more jumpy with every frustrated growl out of Quackity’s mouth. Even Michael’s forced levity and falsely ignorant questions can’t do much against Quackity’s anger when they walk out of Buildmart dead last for the minigame, dropping their team all the way down to seventh in the overall rankings, and the tension within the team as they walk out - Quackity nearly stomping, Dream following with his hands wringing around each other and head ducked fearfully - is almost enough to make Michael scream. He looks at the scoreboard with a worried expression as he enters the Decision Dome, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his gut. 

There’s still five more games to go, and he’s not sure how long they can last before something snaps. 

---

Battle Box is chosen next, and they react to the game with quiet cheers and slightly grim faces. Michael’s been in enough MCCs to know that this game, of any, is crucial - after their lacking performances in the last two games, a good showing at Battle Box will be crucial to pull them back into the competition and raise morale. With Sapnap and Dream, if this were any normal game, they should be able to sweep through a good amount of the competition without much effort. As it is, though, Michael looks at the two more combat-oriented members of his team with a worried expression, the two barely even able to meet each other’s eyes. Their interactions so far have been less than promising- if they can’t hold it together for this round, well. 

Michael shakes his head. They’ll do fine. They have to. 

Even so, the first round only seems to confirm his concerns - they get woolrushed almost immediately, and in Dream and Sapnap’s stumbling to get to mid, nearly crashing into each other and focusing their efforts on the same player by accident, the other team manages to fill out the wool, sending them back to the spawn box even more frustrated than before. 

“Amazing teamwork, guys,” Quackity snarks immediately, and Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Like you did that much.” 

Sapnap is still staring at Dream oddly, Dream turning his head to avoid his gaze. The two of them look largely oblivious to Quackity and his whole deal, even as Quackity whirls around to give him the stink eye. 

“You didn’t do anything either, if I remember correctly,” Quackity mutters, and Michael shrugs. 

“Fair.” 

A ding alerts them to the round’s end, and they resign themselves to preparing for the next round. Michael picks the extra arrows from the wall, knowing that no one else will want the kit, and watches as Dream anxiously runs his hands over the crossbow. 

The next round goes better, barely; Michael and Quackity end up knocked out pretty early, but Dream and Sapnap manage to kill the rest of the team soon after. He watches from the box as they fill in the wool, Dream looking awfully tense as he shears away the white wool for Sapnap to fill it with red. Quackity watches them both with a tight expression, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

Michael turns away, ignoring him, going back to watching Dream and Sapnap still standing within the arena. Both of them look awkward, oddly out of step with each other - Michael’s not watched them fight much, but he knows that they have a reputation as a pair, was there for the Sky Battle round where they completely wiped through the competition. Even here, Sapnap moves forward and Dream flinches back - there’s something heavy and tense between them, lingering in the few words they’ve spoken to each other, if they’ve even spoken to each other at all, one always rushing forward too fast or following just a little too slow. They’re still brilliant fighters, almost unrivaled in hand-to-hand combat and with swords, but the faltering communication is sure to hurt them more in the future. 

His worries come true just three rounds later, the two in between being narrow wins for their team, each a little more shaky than would be comfortable. Michael has found himself easing off the worst of his anxiety in verbally sparring with Quackity, jabbing at the other with offhand remarks and little needling jokes to keep his attention off the other two, especially as his glare has become more pronounced and his words more angry. Even so, nothing he does or can do will fix the odd tension between Dream and Sapnap, whose communication remains as stilted and awkward as ever. 

They’re facing a stronger team, PVP wise, with Punz and Seapeekay, and Michael ends up falling in a bow duel against Jack. He watches as the Captain falls to a potion by Sapnap, then as Jack is taken out by a crossbow bolt courtesy of Dream, just before Quackity falls to a well-timed bow shot from the opposing team. 

That leaves the strongest PVPers to battle it out, and Dream and Sapnap manage to team up and kill CPK - but not without taking a nasty damage potion to the face that must leave the two of them low. Michael watches Punz, booking it to mid with a crossbow, anxiously - both of them would be a oneshot with the thing, and on the condition that he takes no damage before fighting with either of them outright, he’s probably got enough health to hold out a few hits. 

Sapnap pulls out a health potion, and Michael grins - that’ll be good for the two of them, and should secure them the win - only for him to gesture roughly with his sword and for Dream to stagger backwards, panic flashing over his face. He only seems to grow more fearful at the sound of glass shattering on the ground, falling backwards further - far enough to be largely out of range of health pot - and in their shock, Punz manages to catch both of them off guard and nail Sapnap with a crossbow bolt that downs him for the round before similarly dispatching Dream in two hits of his sword.

Sapnap explodes upon respawn in the box - “What was that? I had a health pot!”

“I-” Dream fumbles, face still oddly pale, “Sorry I didn’t- I- I-”

“We had that round!” Sapnap’s arms flail forward as he gestures angrily, Dream freezing further as one hand skims past his shoulder. “I can’t believe- I had a health pot! Punz was on, like, half! We could’ve killed him!”

“Easy, easy,” Quackity moves forward, putting a hand on both of their shoulders - Sapnap seems to relax immediately, while Dream, if anything, only looks more tense. “It’s time for the next round - we’ll talk about this later, alright?” 

Dream nods, movements overly tense, and Quackity flashes a toothy smile his way as Sapnap moves back, still mumbling to himself. He and Quackity move to talk in the back corner, words quiet enough that Michael cannot make them out, and something sick and cold slithers over his spine. Sapnap and Quackity are fiancés, aren’t they? 

Michael looks over at Dream, mask still covering his face as he looks away through the glass to the arena, shoulders still tight as Michael’s pretty sure they’ve been for as long as he’s seen him since he came onto the server. He remembers the panic that make itself obvious on his face every time Quackity came up to him, even as covered as it is, the similar- if not the same- fear that had painted his face when he respawned fresh off of the Battle Box round after Sapnap’s sword had passed a little too close to his body. 

Quackity and Dream- he’s sure, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that there’s something going on there, dark and dreadful and poisonous. Who’s to say that Sapnap isn’t involved, as well? 

---

They finish Battle Box decently well, but not as well as they’d hoped, pulling them up to fifth place with a decently large gap between them and fourth. Quackity and Dream disappear immediately as the Audience Votes begin coming in, leaving Sapnap and Michael to stand awkwardly in the lobby to wait for the rest of their team to come back. Michael watches the crowd for a glimpse of Quackity and Dream, comes up empty. A sigh fizzles through his teeth as he looks up into the sky, the endless blue doing little to ease his nerves - he’s worried, even if he doesn’t want to think about it, for his teammates. For Dream. 

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the man is scared of Quackity, that there’s an odd sort of history there that Michael conveniently has no information about. Whatever it is, it’s left Dream unsure and uncharacteristically nervous, left the entire team floundering without proper leadership to tie them all together. Really, a part of him knows that the Championships should be the least of his concerns - if he were braver, or a little better at combat, or a little less inclined to just let things pass as they always have, then he’d be raising a fuss. Getting in the way, talking to Dream, doing something other than making backhanded compliments to Quackity that he’s sure have been doing little more than annoy the man further. 

“Michael?” Sapnap comes within his line of sight, lips pressed together in a carefully put-together expression that Michael is sure will collapse the moment they’re away from others’ prying eyes, “Can we speak for a moment?”

Michael forces another easy smile to his face as he turns towards his teammate, feels a little disgusted at the amount of them he’s had to use to simply function with the rest of his team. “Sure! Where to?”

They walk at a brisk pace to the team room, Sapnap’s eyes focused forwards the entire time, not speaking. If he’s being honest, it’s a little awkward, but the lighthearted comment on his tongue to break the silence dies out the minute Sapnap closes the door and looks back at him with fierce, focused eyes boring into him. 

“What’s your deal?” He hisses immediately, words pitched low even though he doesn’t really have to - there’s no one nearby, and the team rooms are decently soundproofed. Michael feels his hackles rising as Sapnap’s arms cross in front of him, eyes still focused on his own as he talks. “I’m not going to lie- I don’t know you that well, even though you’re on the SMP now, but can you quit it with Quackity already?”

“Quit what?” Michael snarks - sue him - matching Sapnap’s tone with irritation of his own. 

“Don’t- you’ve been antagonizing Quackity all day,” Sapnap’s hand runs through his hair, messing up his hair and tangling it into knots, “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re kind of in the middle of a competition here? So it’d be really nice if you could save the fighting for until after we’re done?”

“Says you?” Michael can’t help the retort this time, huffing irately at the offended expression that flashes over the other’s face, “I don’t really know if you’ve noticed, but your teamwork has been a little less than stellar, today. Pot calling the kettle black, much?”

“What-” Sapnap looks confused, even through his anger, gesturing more and more wildly. “What do you even mean?”

“Oh, so are we just ignoring what just happened in Battle Box then?” 

Sapnap’s eyes flash as he closes into himself again, hands gripping at his upper arms as he crosses his arms in front of his chest once again. “That- that’s different. That’s because of Dream.”

“Oh, just keep blaming it on the other guy, why don’t you?”

“No-” Sapnap shakes his head furiously. “You haven’t been on here for nearly as long, you don’t get it, Michael. Dream- he’s-,” Sapnap flails, and Michael groans at the familiar words. 

“Dream’s what? I was on the team with the guy before, you know. It’s kind of the reason why he invited me in the first place?” He raises an eyebrow. “We worked together perfectly well then - am I supposed to believe that his self-proclaimed ‘best friend’ can’t do the same?” 

“You don’t understand,” Sapnap repeats, expression hard and oddly far away, “Dream- he’s changed- he’s done so many terrible things. I don’t know what he’s said to convince you, but he’s bad news, man. He’s hurt- so many people.” 

“Oh- you want to talk about hurting people?” 

Michael isn’t quite sure what comes over him - only really realizes a white-hot flash of rage lancing through his chest, a sleepless night and half a competition’s  worth of anxiety and frustration and build up combining into a sizzling spike of fury that briefly tinges his vision red. 

“How about the way Dream looks like he’s about to keel over whenever anyone gets close to him? How about how he flinches back at literally every loud noise and fast movement? How about how Quackity’s been making these stupid, angry comments at him for the entire competition that make him freeze for a minute each time? Or how about when you were in Battle Box and Dream backed away from your sword like he thought you were gonna drive it through his chest?” Michael barely feels himself stepping forward with each word, jabbing his index finger into the other’s chest. “You want to talk about hurting people? How about you go talk to that fiancé of yours and then come back to talk?” 

A loud, droning buzz comes over the speakers, alerting them of the end of the break. Michael steps back, face flushed in embarrassment, before the world whirls away and they’re teleported back into the Decision Dome. 

He adamantly refuses to meet Sapnap’s eyes as Quackity and Dream materialize in the sector with them, Quackity’s hand clamped around Dream’s upper arm as the other man keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, looking even more panicked and frozen than before the break. 

“You ready to win?” Quackity laughs, and Michael watches as his hand tightens around the sleeve of Dream’s jacket, knuckles paling from the strain. 

“Yeah,” Michael tries to cheer, and it feels like ash on his tongue. “Let’s do this.” 

---

Survival Games ends up being picked next - Quackity and Sapnap quickly pull up to the front of the group, close enough to be within eyesight but too far to really pick up their conversation. Michael keeps an eye out for the reddish glow of their bodies as they scout the surrounding areas for chest, staying back with Dream as they look at the other side of the road. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a smug sort of satisfaction of Sapnap seemingly confronting Quackity about whatever the hell has been going on, as awkward as his whole outburst had been. As it is, some time with Dream is nice without Quackity watching over his shoulder like a hawk - he directs a small, genuine smile at the man by his side that Dream seems to do a double take at before shyly returning it with one of his own. 

“There- I think I see a chest,” Michael points under a lamppost, running to the wooden box and flicking the lid upwards. He pulls out a chain chestplate that he promptly puts on himself, then throws over the iron boots to his teammate as well as a small stone axe that he’s sure Dream will make better use of. “We should probably catch up to the others - don’t want to be caught off guard while separated.”

Dream nods, and the two of them pick up the pace before finding another chest that Dream rummages through, this time, finding an iron sword that Michael takes for himself and a cake. 

“You’ve been doing really well so far,” Michael says after a few minutes of quiet, words becoming more firm when Dream looks up at him with a surprised expression. “Seriously- you’ve been doing great, man.”

“Thanks,” Dream smiles, words quiet and terribly sincere, and the sinking pit in Michael’s gut returns at the tone. “Not as good as I should, though. I’ve been underperforming a lot,” he laughs a little at the words, but even to Michael’s ears it rings hollow. “It’s not over yet, though.”

“No it’s not,” Michael concedes, rearranging his inventory as they run. “But it’s good enough, man, really - just look at my rankings.”

Dream huffs. “You’ve been doing good, Michael.”

“And you’ve been doing a hell of a lot better than me,” Michael tips his head in his direction. “Give yourself some more credit, man. You’ve been playing well.”

Dream smiles again, but even now the corners of his mouth seem tight, tense. “I need to play better, though, if we want to win,” he says, matter-of-fact, analytical to a damn fault. Michael rolls his eyes, but nods to concede the point. 

“Sure, but that goes for all of us, Dream,” he shakes his head. “And it’s okay if we don’t win, you know?”

“No.” 

Michael turns, frowning. Dream’s tone has become oddly flat, eyes dead as he continues to stare at the pavement under their feet. He seems to be chewing on his lip anxiously, startled out of his own thoughts when he looks up to meet Michael’s gaze. “I mean- I don’t know. I really have- want to win.” 

There’s something so carefully worded about the admission, quiet and scraped open and raw in the slow sincerity of the words. Michael wants to poke at it, wants to understand what’s left him so unsure of every step, what determination lies behind the words that has left desperation clinging to every shallow breath he draws. A crack of thunder on the horizon, heralding a player’s death, reminds him that now is not the time. 

Keep your head down. 

“Alright,” he smiles thinly, hoping that the fracturing, yawning pit of emptiness in his chest isn’t obvious in the words. “Then we’re going to win.” 

---

Michael skids to a stop at the finish line, feeling the elytra deequip as he’s thrown into spectator mode. He runs his hands through his wind-tousled hair, feeling it strain against his fingers as he roughly finger-combs it back into place. Dream and Sapnap are off to the side, standing next to each other but seemingly not speaking - Michael smiles as he floats over, still shaking the adrenaline off from the race. 

“Hey,” the two look up, smile in recognition, and Dream waves; there’s a small smile on his face, strained but present. “You both did really good!” 

“Thanks, Michael,” Dream laughs, earnest, “I did decent, I guess- haha. Top ten at least.” 

Sapnap whoops. “We’re popping off!” Michael cheers in agreement, and their efforts manage to pull Dream’s smile a little wider as he ducks his head to look away again. 

“Thanks, guys.” 

They watch as Quackity flies through the finish line, appearing in front of them and shaking his arms out as he gets his bearings. 

“Geez- that trident,” he shakes his head, looks up. “Hey, there you guys are. How’d we do?” 

“Dream got seventh,” Sapnap scrolls through his comm, looking through the rows of contestants and their times as they come in, interspersed by the occasional chat message, “And I got 10th. Michael got- 28th, I think? And you got 32nd.” 

“Hmm,” Quackity hums, “What do you think, Dream? Is that good enough to pull us to Dodgebolt?”

Once again, Michael watches as Dream stiffens under the scrutiny, head ducking down and looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Um- I don’t know,” Dream mumbles, “I messed up a trident- fell into the void once, probably could’ve done better otherwise-” his voice trails off, tensing further as Quackity takes his usual spot by his side, jabbing an elbow none-too-lightly into his ribs. 

“But you didn’t, though,” Quackity says, tone flippant, “so what do you think? With those placements- is it going to be enough?” 

“Hey, we did great, man,” Michael glares at him, more forward than he’d usually be - but all he can see is the shoulder that he has pressed against Dream’s arm, the way Dream’s stood stock still since the moment he made contact, “Lay off of Dream, would you? He did great.”

“Yeah, Q,” Michael’s eyebrows raise in surprise as Sapnap chimes in from the side, rising further when Sapnap moves forward to link his arm with Quackity’s own and half-drag him away from Dream. “Chill out, man, we popped off. We’re gonna fucking win this, ok?”

Quackity’s lips press together; he’s still smiling, but there’s no mistaking the seething darkness that lingers in his narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows, gaze still trained on the pale off-white disk of Dream’s mask. Still, with the rest of the team against him, he’s in a losing fight and he knows it; Michael watches as he visibly backs down, rolling his shoulders back as he lets Sapnap pull him further back. 

“We’re going to fucking win this,” he repeats, and Michael wonders how he manages to make the words sound so much like a threat.

---

“Sky battle,” Sapnap calls as the decision dome below them lights up in confirmation of the penultimate game, expression immediately becoming more focused as he turns back to the rest of the team. “Alright- strats, what are we thinking?”

“There’s the iron at spawn,” Dream starts, interrupted by the teleport to the Sky Battle arena, making him cut himself off comically and take a second to shake off the resulting disorientation, “And then there’s the iron in the nearby island. We gotta pick one, tower as soon as we can.”

“Got it,” Sapnap looks down, seemingly calculating, before looking up again - Michael has heard him compared to fire before, but he thinks this is the first time he’s really seen it; there’s a veritable blaze burning in his eyes as he looks at each member of the team, easily taking charge as they prepare for the first round. “Same buddy system as Survival Games - Q, stick with me, Michael, stick with Dream. I’ll tower to the next island- Dream, you good with getting the iron at spawn and crafting armor for us?” 

Dream startles, before flashing a small thumbs up at the other - Sapnap smiles wider, teeth bared dangerously.

“This is our game,” he cheers, and Michael enthusiastically whoops in reply, “we’re winning this, you got that team? Let’s go!” 

This, Michael thinks, is the way the games should’ve gone - they jump into action upon the start of the game, Michael watching as Dream races through both chests on the spawn island, getting the iron and jumping down cleanly with a water bucket before following Sapnap’s bridge to the other island. He tosses over a pair of leggings and boots as he lands, then takes Sapnap’s excess iron to craft the other pieces of iron for himself and Sapnap as the other man begins shooting at opposing teams. Their communication is near wordless, simple one- or two-word requests communicating all they need as they follow each other seamlessly into the main arena area, sealing off their entrance as they search the ring for other teams.

Sapnap, especially, seems to have shifted - instead of waiting for Dream to take the lead, he seems comfortable barrelling on forward on his own, trusting for Dream to follow his steps. Michael watches as the two of them easily work through the two lagging members of Orange, shooting through a gap in the wall to catch an unsuspecting Yellow player chased by the border. Michael ends up dying to an unlucky block of TNT placed on his head - curses out what appears to be Quig, bounding over to the other side of the arena, and follows Dream and Sapnap as they continue to fight their way through the competition. 

It’s not perfect, for sure - Dream hesitates at a bad place a minute later, ending with Sapnap getting 2v1ed and exploding in a flash of red sparkles. Dream is similarly dispatched a few seconds after, and the three of them watch Quackity, caught in the crossfire of two other teams, before he also goes down. 

“Good work, team,” Sapnap says as he appears, disoriented, in spectator mode, and they watch the remaining two teams battling in a rapidly shrinking border before Fruit falls as well, leaving Pink as the winners. “That was close- we’ve got this.” The conviction in his voice leaves no room for argument, and Michael, briefly, feels bad for anyone that stands in the way of it. 

With the second round, they once again fall into rhythm without any major hiccups - someone tries to cut them off before entering the main arena, but are made quick work of by Sapnap’s relentless onslaught. As Michael watches, Dream seems to regain confidence as well, moving more to fight with Sapnap side by side instead of just playing support, tugging him back from a risky play and catching Punz in a nasty combo that does him in when he manages to slip past Sapnap. 

The four of them end up in the final stand off in the middle, but end up getting caught too high up and killed by the border before they can jump down. Sapnap hisses at the narrow defeat, but the disappointment has hardly seemed to dim his determination - if anything, it seems to burn brighter. 

“Last round,” he mutters, and Michael watches as Dream walks up to him, bumping him lightly with his shoulder. 

“This is our game,” he says, a small smile appearing on his face, and Sapnap returns it with a fiery, blinding one of his own. 

“Ours,” he says, and even just standing on the side, watching - Michael believes it. 

Still, his concerns have yet to disappear - they linger in his mind as they jump into an adrenaline-filled last round, jumpy from excitement and victory just within their grasps. Dream is still more jittery than he should be, taking a second more than usual to react to fights, and his teamwork with Sapnap - while good - is still noticeably rusty. Michael’s lips thin at the memory of Dream backing away from Sapnap’s sword in Battle Box, hunched into himself, almost on the floor, with a clearly desperate edge to his expression - and no matter how he tries, he can’t quite manage to shake it off. 

Unfortunately enough, the third round doesn’t bode well for them from the start - Quackity gets bowed off while bridging to the main arena, and upon entrance there they end up flanked, hard, by another team in a conflict that gets Michael killed within seconds. Sapnap and Dream book it to the other side of the arena, where they manage to work through a full team without too much trouble - but the next minute brings another half-team flying at them from the back, catching them in the middle of trying to recuperate. The two focus Dream in the middle of eating a steak, and Michael watches as Dream steps back instead of moving forward to fight, that same shade of fear making his muscles seize as he stands, stock still, watching helplessly as swords fly his way- Michael cries out, but there’s nothing he can do-

Between one blink and the next, Sapnap is standing in front of Dream, a snarl painting his features as he whirls through both players in a fury. Michael watches, awed, as his sword weaves and dances between the two attacking Dream, making quick work of them both until they’re no more than items scattered over the ground, then grabs Dream by the wrist and drags him up a nearby ladder onto the upper floor, plopping him by the wall and then backing off. 

Sapnap stands back as Dream sits against the wall, breathing fast and labored, dropping to his knees with his hands in front of him, palms up, no weapons in hand. Michael watches, frantic, for the signs of any teams nearby - with Dream panicking and Sapnap’s back to the rest of the arena, they’d be easy pickings - but for once, luck seems to be on their side, because no one comes. Dream heaves a breath through his lungs, deep and shuddery - Sapnap watches, lips flat from concern, but doesn’t speak. 

“You good to continue?” he asks, when Dream seems calm enough to recognize his surroundings, and Dream looks up at the words, jaw slack from shock and disorientation, before his head dips in a firm nod. 

“Good,” Sapnap smiles, tight-lipped and fiercely determined, fiercely loyal, as he reaches out a hand that Dream moves to take. “Let’s go fuck them up, yeah? You and me, just like we used to.”

Michael watches, heart in his chest, as they stand together to face the rest of the competition, towering towards the middle and facing off with the remaining teams,  watches as they move forwards through explosions and buckets of lava, coalescing onto the middle island, as they battle through the remaining opponents as one in a clean spiral of clashing blades and flying arrows, fighting with their backs to each other in the center of the arena. He watches as a well-placed fishing rod by Dream knocks their final opponent off the platform, leaving them in the middle, triumphant, as the only remaining team - 

Watches, a brilliant, bubbling laugh in his chest as Dream and Sapnap take their spots in the middle of the arena, standing side by side as Sapnap raises Dream’s hand in victory, both laughing and cheering  into the sky.

---

Their performance in Sky Battle manages to pull them to third - but second place still stands a few hundred coins away, and they watch anxiously as Parkour Tag is chosen as the last game and they are transported over the arena. 

“Last game,” Sapnap calls, “We’ve got this, alright?” 

He gets terse, short nods in return - it’ll be a close game, and even Michael is feeling the pressure. He breathes a soft, quiet breath through his teeth as they prepare, looking over to the opposite team as they choose their hunters and runners. 

“Dream, you up to hunting first four?” Sapnap seems to be watching the effects of his words more, waiting for Dream’s agreement before moving forward, sliding into the position of leader easily when Dream seems to struggle. Dream nods and steps into the hunter’s box, lips pressed together, flat and focused, and Michael turns back to the arena to plan out his route. 

Parkour, by far, is not his strong suit. It hadn’t been his strong suit during Parkour Warrior and sure as hell isn’t it now - he enjoys it well enough, but with the pressure of a hunter on him or the time creeping past and the competition standings hanging over his head like a guillotine, he’s prone to slipping up and he knows it. The map is full of dizzying, multi-colored structures and difficult jumps, the twists and turns of the arena making his head spin. Being good at parkour is more than being good at movement - it involves being able to make split-second decisions and execute them with no time to hesitate. Unfortunately, Michael isn’t particularly good at any of that, so Parkour Tag mostly just stresses him the hell out. 

He sets out to the arena, listening for callouts over comms as he fumbles over the buildings. Halfway through the game, Dream’s voice comes through comms, quiet, focused. 

“Gottem.” 

“Nice, Dream,” Michael smiles, trying not to trip over a particularly hard jump, only to fall to being tagged in the back by the opposing team’s hunter - Ant, if he remembers right. “Sapnap and Q are still in- we’ve got this.”

Once again, each time, Dream races through the opposing team in seconds, seemingly going faster with each round. Michael has heard his reputation as a hunter before, but only now is he really appreciating the extent - the speed at which he manages to dispatch all three opponents is downright terrifying. They manage to win all four rounds, lingering around second place overall on the leaderboards, before Sapnap and Dream switch off for hunting. 

With each round, Michael watches Dream in the lobby, watching as he tenses further in focus and determination and no small degree of fear, but it hadn’t been nearly as obvious in between rounds. Now, with him in the arena with Quackity and himself, Dream’s jumpiness is all that more palpable, adrenaline making him pace and jump in place from where he stands at the edge of the place. The glass lowers, and he explodes into motion, bounding on top of the nearest tower to wait for the hunter to come towards them. 

Michael ends up caught first, early in the round, once again, and resolves to following Dream over the glass to watch his movements and make callouts for the hunter chasing behind him. Watching Dream move through the arena, dodging below fixtures and through tunnels and jumping from tower to tower with seemingly no regard for gravity pulling him down, it’s become all the more obvious that this is his element. He makes another hairpin turn around a pole, kicking himself up over a tower and then diving from it to a nearby building, landing on a ledge inside it, hands clutching the wall - Michael watches, quietly awed, as he outlasts the hunter, landing in small, panting breaths in the lobby. 

“Great work,” he cheers, quiet, as Dream shakes off the last dregs of the adrenaline, all of them watching the leaderboard anxiously, “Just three more rounds, alright?” 

The rounds that follow continue in much of the same vein - Dream, once he’s gotten started, seems near-impossible to chase down; Michael and Quackity provide support, distracting the hunter for as long as they can until they get tagged, but part of him wonders if it’s all even necessary. Dream flies from structure to structure seemingly unhindered by The Laws That Be, expression firm, if a little frantic, as he parkours his way through the arena. To their credit, the hunters chase, and several come pretty close - but Dream, worked up on adrenaline or anxiety or some twisted mix of the two, races over and around the buildings within the arena like his life depends on it.

It’s a surprisingly (if sickeningly) apt description - the skill in parkour is far from unacknowledged on Dream’s record; they all know his reputation with Parkour Warrior, all know that there are little that can match his skill as a traucer - but there’s something newly desperate in the way he runs, the muscles of his body tight and taut even in between rounds, expression permanently tight at the corners from fear. His movements, lacking in their usual fluidity, are made up with sheer speed and mad scrambles up walls that no one else seems to dare replicate. It’s concerning, even to Michael’s untrained eye, how frantic he seems the entire time, the flashes of expressions that he’ll direct towards the hunter like being caught by them will be his end, but- if anything, at least it’s effective. 

Between his parkour and Sapnap’s own skill, they manage to dominate the other teams without much issue, and the bonuses from eliminating the other team first combined with Dream’s survival points each round land them a first place for the game by just a few hundred coins. The four of them watch with bated breaths for the event standings, whooping and cheering together when it shows the red rabbits in second - 

“DODGEBOLT, BABY!” Quackity cheers, loudly, and the rest of them join him, laughing and screaming incoherently, “LET’S FUCKING GO!” 

“LET’S FUCKING GO!” Sapnap punches the air with a loud, resolute whoop of joy, and Dream - still shaking off the jitters of his last round in Parkour Tag - soon joins in with a few cheers of his own. 

Michael watches them all with a smile on his face as they cheer in victory - Dodgebolt has them against the Yellow Yaks, which will be a hard match up, but between Dream and Sapnap’s skill, if they all stay focused, they shouldn’t have any issue. 

They’ve done it. They’ve made it to Dodgebolt - if they keep their heads in the game, then they should win. All he has to do is keep his head down a little longer, long enough to win them the game, long enough for them to go home with new crowns and new coins, long enough for him to go back to living his quaint little life in his quaint little house - going back to heckling the Warden at night and hanging with Bad and Puffy, working on builds and living life away from the rest and pretending that nothing is wrong. The server will go back to normal come tomorrow, and it will all be okay. 

The smile slips off his face. 

They’ve done it. And then they’ll go back to the SMP, and Dream might evade whatever immediate consequences come with losing, but there’s no evidence that whatever’s caused that heartstopping, devastating fear that has characterized his every move is going to stop. They’ll win, and they’ll go back to the SMP, and they’ll keep dying and fighting wars and keep pretending that the world they live in is normal; they’ll go back to the server, and Michael will go back in his house while Dream goes back into his cell directly across from it, still locked in a black box with no way in or out, no means of communication with anyone outside, locked away with the key thrown away for anything to happen with no one to know-

Michael glances over to Dream, to the tense edge of his shoulders that has never left for as long as the tournament has continued and long before. To the grey-faced, grey-eyed inhabitants of the SMP, coming to the Championships with sealed lips and a shared determination to never reveal that anything is wrong, to pretend that things are normal and move on. 

Michael’s hands clench into fists at his side, then unclench, the helplessness cutting through his excitement like a splash of cold water straight through his chest. They’ll win the Championship, and then what? They’ll go back to the server, and then what? 

He looks up at the sky, avoiding the eyes of the rest of his team as they are teleported to the arena. Around him, nothing comes in reply. 

---

“Shit-”

Sapnap disappears in a flourish of red particles, and Michael winces as Dream picks up the arrow he left behind, biting his lip as he watches the opposite side maneuver on the ice.

Both of Dream’s shots hit true, and Michael switches to dodging over the ice as the opposing team begins to shoot. His mind is still buzzing with uncertainty, questions whirling around his skull and making his head spin, the reminder to just let things be raging against the anxiety that has wormed its way deep into his bones for the better part of the day. His performance has fallen a bit as a result, and they’re tied, 2-2, for the last round of Dodgebolt against Yellow - winner takes all. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to tell, but he wants to fall back into the background. He wants to make a difference, but also wants nothing more than to go on pretending that everything is fine. It would be so, so easy to move on and wash his hands of the whole affair - it’s not like anyone else will know, only himself and the guilt that he’s sure will haunt him to remind him of his failures. Is there even anything he can do? He’s no genius at combat, or parkour, or strategy- all he has are his eyes, his ability to see what the hell is happening with no means to change any of it. 

An arrow whizzes towards him, too low to hit, and falls to the ice by his feet. Michael feels it plop into his inventory as he runs past it, shivering slightly from the cold or adrenaline or some mix of the two - not that he can really tell. The other team still has an arrow, the gleaming arrowhead catching the light as the person shooting - Jack, it looks like - moves it from one side to the other, looking for someone to aim. Michael lets the arrow into his hand, feeling its weight.

A sudden shock of clarity. 

He staggers back and nearly trips over his own feet, feeling relief rock his body when he manages to catch his balance - his eyes rake over the rest of his team, still dodging over the ice, completely focused on the opposing side. He worries his lip between his teeth - it’s a risk. It’s a hell of a risk, and if he messes up - they’re fucked. They’re more than fucked. There’s a good chance that this does more harm than good, a good chance that it won’t do anything at all. 

Michael takes a deep breath, and nocks his arrow. 

With his bow pointed to the floor, he doesn’t think anyone’s noticed yet - especially the rest of his team, gazes still trained over the centerline to the other side of the arena. Michael plants his feet, raises his bow, aims - he’s standing still, too still, and he can already see Jack swinging the bow towards him from the corner of his eye, preparing to let the arrow fly directly at him. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

Keep your head down. 

Michael lets go, and Quackity manages to turn just in time to see the arrow hit him between his eyes.

Not this time.

Michael just manages a wicked, satisfied smirk before the world disappears in a flash of red. 

---

“What the hell was that?” 

Michael teleports into the middle of the MCC main lobby, finding Quackity already mid-yell in front of the podium, where the Yellow Yaks have taken their places as the winners of the Championships, new, shining crowns on their heads as they greet the crowd with smiles and cheers. Michael turns to where the rest of the team has gathered in the corner, Quackity hissing angrily at Dream, curled into himself against the fence. 

“I- I-”

“You lost us the fucking game, that’s what you did,” Quackity grabs him by the arm, rage painting his features as he yanks Dream closer to him, ignoring the other’s panicked yell at the proximity and flailing to get away. “What the fuck- you had both the arrows. How the fuck did you miss that?” 

“Back the hell off, Quackity.”

Michael steps forward, bodily shoving Quackity out of the way - Dream’s head rises just enough for the two eyes painted on his mask to look  above where they’d been hidden behind his arms, though Michael’s far too lost in his own anger to pay any mind to him at the moment. Quackity turns his furious direction towards Michael, only seeming to get angrier as he meets his eyes. 

“Oh, fuck off, Michael- you-” he rakes a hand through his hair, “You fucking- we fucking lost because of you, you know that? We had that! We were going to win that, you fucker-” 

“And then what, Quackity?” The words Michael had been pushing back the entire day come forth, mixed with his simmering anxiety and muffled anger that he’d been forced to push down, game after game after game, one bubbling mess of emotion underscoring his tone and making Quackity rear back, “Then you’ll go back the SMP and pretend that everything’s fine and dandy? Go back to your shiny little country with a shiny new coin, beat up Dream a few times to work off the adrenaline because, hey, it’s not like anyone else is gonna know if he’s black and blue inside of that shitstain of a prison, is that right?” 

The flash of panic that makes its way over Quackity’s face is more than enough to confirm the worst of Michael’s assumptions, and the rage that has made a home in his chest only burns hotter. 

“What- what the fuck did he say?” Quackity barely manages to catch onto his tone, pressing harder with narrowed eyes and a snarl, “He’s lying, you fucking idiot, that’s all he ever fucking does-” 

“He’s not told me shit,” Michael presses forward, forcefully pushing Quackity away from Dream, who is cowering from both of them behind him, “But you would know a hell of a lot about that, wouldn’t you Quackity?”

“I have no fuckin’ clue what you’re on about, pal,” Quackity shakes his head, hair whipping past his eyes, “And I’d recommend you shut your fucking mouth before you go around hurling baseless accusations- I could have you sued for defamation, you know-”

“Oh, we’re talking law, now? Fine! We’ll talk legalities- how about we start with that casino of yours and work from there?” 

Sapnap moves over, quiet thus far as he watched from the sidelines, and Michael watches as Quackity relaxes, minisculely, at his approach - only to tense further when Sapnap presses a hand to his shoulder, meeting his eyes with blazing eyes staring right at his.

“Q,” Sapnap says, voice uncharacteristically serious, “tell the truth, now- what did you do?”

Quackity laughs - it sounds unsure, even in Michael’s ears, “Sapnap? You can’t tell me you believe-” he waves his hands frantically, “this- this fucking asshole, now, do you hear him? He sounds- he’s literally out of his fucking mind-”

Sapnap shakes his head, firm. “Quackity, I’ll need you to cut the bullshit. What did you do?” 

“He’s backing up Dream, Sapnap,” Quackity focuses his gaze on Sapnap, something creeping up in his tone, sweet and cloying despite the bitter tone, that Michael can’t quite recognize, “You know what Dream is like- he pulled the same shit with you, remember? You and George? Tommy?” He waves a hand at Dream, who ducks down further at the attention, “He hasn’t changed, man! He’s still pulling the same bullshit, still manipulating people for the hell of it- you know, the exact same thing he did to you? Don’t fall for that again, man.”

“I-” Sapnap seems to hesitate, conflict warring over his features. 

“Look at me, Sap - you know what Dream’s like. He pretends to be your friend, makes up some stupid bullshit to justify his shit - Michael hasn’t been around for as long, not like the two of us, remember? He doesn’t know.” Quackity brings his hand to Sapnap’s own, ignoring Michael’s protests as he laces their fingers together, “I care about you, Sap. All of this- I’m just worried that he’ll end up manipulating you again. I’m just trying to protect you.” 

“...liar.” 

“What?”

Sapnap steps back, wrenching his hand out of Quackity’s own. His expression, out of what Michael can see from the sliver of his face that is facing him, is stormy with fury and no small amount of regret - Quackity steps back, unease finally beginning to flicker in the corners of his self-satisfied expression as Sapnap stares him down. 

“You’re a liar, Quackity.” Sapnap draws himself up. “Now, I’m asking this for the last time- what did you do?”

Quackity’s expression stutters, falls, as Sapnap stands back next to Michael, the two of them between him and Dream. His eyes flick between their faces, then to Dream, then back again, frown deepening with every pass he makes between the three of them. Michael keeps his arms crossed in front of his chest, feeling his muscles tense with every second of silence that ticks by, Quackity seeming to grow more and more angry and tense under their scrutiny and unforgiving stances-

-a second passes, and he throws himself forward. 

“Quackity!” 

Michael only manages to throw himself out of the way of the man barrelling towards him just in time - too late, he realizes that he wasn’t Quackity’s intended target. He tackles Dream to the ground, pinning the taller man underneath himself onto the ground in a rough thump that seems to knock all the air out of him. Dream immediately begins to thrash aimlessly, jaw going slack in panic as Quackity levels his arm against his neck, going still as Quackity presses harder against his windpipe. Michael is only barely close enough to pick up what he says over the sound of the surrounding screaming, Sapnap rushing forward to pull Quackity off to no avail-

“-make what I did two weeks ago look like a fucking joke when we get back, going to make you wish you fucking died-” 

The world explodes into white.

When Michael’s vision clears, he’s face to face to the stony face of one of the MCC admins, their status displayed by the proud red [Admin] by their nametags and the fact that they’re floating several inches off the fucking floor. He backs away, strangely winded - probably from the panic or adrenaline or yelling or, more accurately, all three, as Quackity is pulled back effortlessly by an admin, easily caging his flailing limbs with a snap of code as he is frozen into place - and Michael whoops. 

“LET’S GO!” 

(The arrow hits Michael in the shoulder, and he disappears in a flash of red - only instead of going to his usual place above the Dodgebolt arena, standing with the other competitors, he finds himself teleported in front of a dizzying array of screens and buttons, too many to have any idea where they connect and how they work. Michael turns to meet the faces of the MCC Admins, each one looking at him with odd, concerned expressions and furrowed brows. 

“You shot your teammate,” one says - Noxite - and Michael nods to concede the point, not quite finding the words to speak. “Why?”

“If you had such a big issue with the teams, you could’ve just talked to Scott,” another one pipes up from the back, “I’m sure we could’ve worked something out.”

“I know, I know,” Michael runs his hand through his hair, both relieved at the plan working better than he could’ve ever fucking imagined and suddenly lost for words in front of the admins, each one looking at him with their full attention. Every nerve in his body rails against the scrutiny, reminds him to pretend that nothing is wrong - but it’s too late to pretend, now. It’s been too late for a long, long time. 

He remembers Dream, looking away all competition, voice dead and lacking all of its former vitality - remembers Puffy, hair a little greyer from stress, grief painting her face whenever she thought anyone wasn’t looking - remembers Bad, hands still shaking despite his attempts to hide it - the prison, looming on the horizon, unbeatable, impenetrable - himself, helpless, for all this time, to do anything but watch and wait. Until now. He takes a deep breath, steels himself- 

“Something’s wrong with Dream.”)

“Thank you for your information, Michael,” Noxite smiles at him, and relief throws itself through his system so fast that it makes him dizzy- “We’ll handle this from here. Good job.” 

“Holy shit- when did you get time to contact the fucking admins, Michael?” 

Michael ignores the clamor around him as the lobby bursts into activity and people talking over each other, each one probably trying to figure out what the hell just happened, ignores Sapnap muttering, awed, from beside him, to move towards Dream, still sprawled out over the floor. There’s an admin by him, standing by to seemingly keep the crowd away but not engaging with Dream directly, and Michael ducks by them to kneel down by Dream and meet his gaze. 

“Hey,” Michael smiles, still shaking from the leftover adrenaline as he presses his hands to the ground to try and hide it, “We’ve got you. It’s over- Quackity’s gone. You’re safe now.” 

“Michael?” Dream’s voice is so damn small when his head twists to look over, hair having fallen largely fallen out of his ponytail to land in wisps all around his face. “You- how-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael shushes him, chest twisting painfully. “It’s alright.”

“...I don’t feel so good.”

Dream coughs harshly, and Michael quickly maneuvers him to a sitting position as his shoulders shake with another one, hand flying to his mouth as he is wracked with loud, wet-sounding coughs. Concern wells up in his throat, watching as Dream shakes with more coughing, nearly choking as he curls into himself, muscles tense. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls his hand back, and Michael gasps at the sight.

“Dream-”

There’s blood, and a lot of it - mixed with the saliva in his palm, shiny and stringy over the planes of his hand, dribbling past his lips and down his chin. His teeth are similarly stained red when his mouth opens slightly, stance wobbling before he collapses altogether against Michael’s body - Michael can barely hear himself shouting for a medic as Dream heaves a rattling, wet sounding breath into his shoulder. 

“Th’ts not g’d,” he mumbles, quiet, before going completely limp. 

---

When you first get strong enough to go to the Nether and collect blaze rods and brew potions for the first time, the first thing that gets beaten into your head forwards, backwards, left, right, and every way in between is that health and regen aren’t a replacement for actual recovery. Instant health pots are famous for their tendency to heal everything affected to the same degree - which is bad when you have a particularly deep injury, as it’ll often finish healing it near the surface while the injury persists underneath. Regen pots tend to be better at that front, but even they cannot completely fix a serious injury - the two can only act as a temporary, emergency fix for severe wounds, often being an invaluable resource to stop the worst of the bleeding and hold everything together for long enough to bring someone to proper medical attention. 

Unfortunately, when someone tries to use health pots and regens to completely bypass the time and rest needed for the body to properly heal itself and recover, what usually ends up happening is internal injuries - not completely healed by the potions alone - continue to be jostled and irritated, which can lead to further, worse, problems with internal bleeding and bones shifting out of place if they’ve been broken, which can then pierce through muscle and organ tissue - to be honest, Michael was never the best with all the medical stuff, and he’s half-sure that the horror stories he’s heard were exaggerated to beat it into his head never to be an idiot that thinks that potions can solve everything, but either way, he’s never tested his luck with the things.

Unfortunately, Dream doesn’t seem to have done the same, as the entire day’s worth of intense activity, between practices and MCC itself, were more than enough to fuck over the healing effects of whatever health potions he apparently downed before coming to the Championships. From what Michael has heard, it got a little harried after he was first brought into the hospital, but he’s apparently stabilized since - recovery will be slow, both physically and mentally, but at least he’s out of that damn prison to actually start on that path.

“Simply put, your teammate is a bit of an idiot,” Scott tells him when he finally catches him in the waiting room, hair fluffed up at the sides from where he’s evidently messed it up in Admin-related stress. “But he should be alright now, with proper medical attention and lots of rest - make sure to tell him to actually rest, will ya? No more parkouring for him - he can wait until after he’s out of the hospital to show us all how it’s done.” 

Michael laughs, relief settling into his chest, “Thanks, Scott.” He directs a playfully accusing look towards the other, a grin tugging at his lips, “but you know, he’s only my teammate because you made it that way. Kinda sounds like your own fault there..” 

“Oh, quiet, you.” Scott laughs- he looks stressed, and Michael feels a twinge of sympathy. The administrative side of things after his whole stunt at Dodgebolt, and then especially with what happened in the main lobby, must be an absolute nightmare. “Anyway, I need to go back - Admin meeting,” he shakes his head, already looking at his comm. “You should go see Dream, by the way. I think he’s awake.” 

“Thanks for everything, Scott.” 

Scott smiles at him, soft, sincere. “Go see your friend.” 

He disappears in a flash of white light, teleporting away, and Michael looks at the empty space where he stood for a few seconds before standing up out of his chair to move towards the door. He hesitates at it for a second, hand on the doorknob but not yet turning it to the side - it’s suddenly awkward, without the pressure of the competition at his back and the relentless questions of what he should do. He doesn’t even know if Dream knows what happened, or if he’ll be happy with him - for all he knows, Dream was the one who started the whole ‘don’t tell the Championships what happens in the server’ deal. His teeth catch on his lip as he stands, lost in thought, at the door.

Well. Here goes nothing. 

He eases the door open, getting a glimpse inside the room - it’s white, clean-looking, the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. There’s a bed in the middle of the room, a chair on the side with his Championships clothing and what appears to be some sort of padded body armor laid over the cushions. Dream, as expected, is lying down in the bed, unmoving; for a second, Michael thinks he’s sleeping, before he suddenly twists his head over to look at him.

“Michael?” 

“Hey,” Michael smiles, moving into the room and closing the door behind him. For the first time today, Dream’s face isn’t masked, a glimpse of it visible behind him on the dresser by the bed. He blinks up at him owlishly, eyes wide and green, looking even bigger combined with the hollow planes of his cheeks, overlaid by pale, slightly raised scars. “How are you feeling, man?” 

“Um-” Dream tries to pull himself up, visibly struggling, and Michael rolls his eyes as he hurries over to help raise the back of the cot because you’re supposed to be resting, Dream, just let the fancy bed do its job, and settles back with an odd look on his face as Michael pulls over a chair. “Good? I think? I mean-” he flails his hands a bit, “this is weird. And I kind of hate this gown- but um. Yeah.” 

“That’s fair,” Michael laughs, and Dream huffs a small laugh out of his own, settling back into his pillow. He looks strangely small, with all the layers stripped away, frail and skinny against the sheets. His skin isn’t that same paper-white shade it had been when he collapsed in the middle of the fucking lobby, but it’s still pale enough to be vaguely worrying, especially combined with the IV and other wires hooked up to him. 

“Apparently, I’m dehydrated,” Dream drawls when he catches Michael staring at the IV, making a small, frustrated sound through his teeth as Michael turns to look at him, “figures, I guess, but still sucks. I hate needles.” 

“Ouch,” Michael winces in sympathy, “yeah, those don’t look that fun.” Dream smiles up at him, before his expression shutters, dulls, and he looks away, not meeting his eyes. The sight of it makes Michael frown, quiet, remembering the way he’d drawn back from them all over and over again throughout the day - that fear and trauma won’t go away in a day, but it hurts all that much more to see his face as panic flashes across it and he pulls back, gaze carefully detached. 

“Dream?” Michael moves closer, but is careful not to make contact, “you alright?”

“Hmm?” Dream directs another small, tight smile his way, strained at the corners as his eyes flick away to the floor once again, “yeah- I’m- I’m fine.” 

Michael sighs, but decides not to push it. “Have you done anything else here, yet?”

Dream shakes his head. “No- I think that someone’s going to bring food over soon, I’m not sure. Not really hungry,” he mutters, half to himself, and Michael tamps down the concern that wells up in protest, “But we’ll see, I guess.” 

“That’s good,” Michael nods, and Dream looks up at him, expression startlingly unsure. 

“Um- do you know?” He wrings his hands together, eyes darting across the room nervously before flicking over Michaels’ face, and Michael tries to make himself look as calm and comfortable as possible, “I mean- do you know what’s going on with- everyone?” 

Ah. Michael winces internally- he probably should’ve expected this question, but in the fallout of what happened in the lobby and Dream, you know, passing out in his arms, he ended up brushing off or ignoring a lot of the chaos that resulted. He wracks his head for snippets of information that he’d seen in his communicator and from visitors to the waiting room, including people that had been there with him that had been pulled for questioning and meetings, Tommy’s expletive-filled yelling from the lobby still ringing in his head. 

“Um- I think that they’ve got a team of moderators pulled up to investigate the server, figure out what’s been going on,” Michael ticks names off on his hands, mentally going through the list of people that he’s been given information on, “They have Quackity in custody, I think, for the moment- they’re still waiting for more information on what to do with him, but they’ve got a whole MCC lobby’s worth of witnesses that saw him assault you so far, if you plan on pressing charges and stuff- um- Sapnap got pulled for questioning, nothing too major right now, I think that they’re going through the other server members that were attending the Championships for the moment.” 

“Are they- putting them in jail?” Dream’s voice sounds slightly tinny despite his forced calm, arms crossed in front of him, and Michael shakes his head firmly. 

“No- legal stuff between servers is weird, and I think they’re holding off on anything like that for now. Quackity’s just there at the moment because of assault charges on the MCC server - stuff in the SMP is still technically outside of their jurisdiction.” Dream visibly relaxes, and Michael smiles thinly, “It’ll be rough for a few weeks as they collect evidence and figure out what to do, but for now, they’re just focusing on recovery - giving people medical attention if they need it, lining up therapists,” he laughs, quietly, “lots of therapists.”

Dream hums, looking away. The corners of his mouth fall, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes a shuddery sigh through his lips.

“I- never wanted it to get this bad,” he opens his eyes, looking down at his hands, lip slightly trembling, “I don’t- I don’t know where it all went wrong.” 

“Hey,” Michael slides closer, ducking to meet Dream’s eyes with a soft smile. “You’re not alone anymore, alright? You don’t have to fix it all by yourself. Focus on yourself, on recovering.” 

Dream hesitates, breath seeming caught in his throat, wide green eyes staring into Michael’s own, before ducking his head to look away with a slight nod. Michael leans back in his chair, watching as Dream turns to the side, curling in on himself slightly with a small wince, eyes fixed on the window.

“Didn’t think I was going to see the sun again,” Dream says after a while, gaze still trained behind the glass to where the sun is slowly setting, rays of sunlight streaming past the slits in the blinds and casting glowing stripes of honey-gold throughout the room and over Dream’s face. Michael feels something cold press against the back of his throat, the quiet admission making air stutter in his lungs at the image of Dream, alone, huddled in the middle of an obsidian box for months and months and months, never knowing if he’d see anything other than the same black walls for the rest of his life. 

“You’re not there, anymore. You’re safe now.” 

Dream doesn’t reply, continuing to look out the window silently, breathing slowly as he moves his hand through a sunbeam, watching the way it streams between his fingers and warms his skin, seeming mesmerized by its soft glow. 

“Michael?” Dream looks over, and Michael feels the air punched out of his lungs at the soft, disbelieving sincerity held within his expression, the fearful edges for once pulled back far enough for the light to catch the quiet, heartfelt appreciation gathered in the slight quirk of his lips and downward slope of his eyes. He looks away a second after, a band of light cutting across his face and landing over the bridge of his nose, smile still on his face, voice almost too quiet to make out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Michael feels his own smile widen, looking out the window himself- it really is a beautiful sunset. “What are friends for?” 

[votederpycausemufins]

Surprisingly Familiar Ch 1

The first chapter of the sequel to Summoning Family. I'm going to be working on my scattered au fic more, but you might still see some chapters of this scattered around

@petrichormeraki made the hermit!Tommy au, and @helleborusangel did amazing rambles for the chapters of Summoning Family.

Now, Let's see how things have gone since the ending of Summoning Family.

It had been eleven days since Grum’s birthday and now it was Jrum’s. He was excited by the party, playing games and trying to scam people of their diamonds. Cake was nice, his mask getting a special cake of his own with diamonds since Grum had gotten the same. And then it came to presents.

Jrum was especially happy at any toys he got and glad if he was just getting diamonds. Kokatori had also managed to get another ribbon around its neck and try to be a present again. Jrum wasn’t the most pleased about that since he was still coping with everything that happened with the egg, but he still took the present before handing them off to Grum.

Just as the presents were just about all gone, two more were placed on the table, each one with a different label. Jrum went to grab the last present when he saw the new ones being placed, so he looked up at who was putting them down, surprised to see an unfamiliar face. “Um, who are you?”

The question made everyone look over, most people looking confused, but three people had different reactions. Phil looked surprised, recognizing the man. Grian was also surprised, but also awestruck. Lastly, in Grum’s arms, Kokatori hissed.

“What the heck are you doing here? Who even let you in?” Phil asked, walking over to the man.

“I let myself in. I mean, I sort of already had permission to be here, just never used it. Building big was never really my thing.”

“Who are you then?” It was Scar who spoke up. The person looked at a few of the hermits who seemed to also look as confused as Scar sounded.

“I think the beard is messing with them.” Phil said, elbowing the man, who then ran a hand through his beard.

“Right, spend a month on an abandoned island and then get captured by pirates and you can’t really do much for that. Anyone got a raz...or…” he trailed off as Jrum pulled out some special shears. He was stunned by the bot having such a thing, but took them with a thank you and stepped out of the room.

After a few minutes, he stepped back in, and immediately some of the hermits were no longer confused. “Oh my god, it’s been so long!” Bdubs was the first to say, going over to the man. “What have you been up to!”

“Eh, mainly family. You’ve been working with someone named Scar?” Bdubs nodded and gestured to the mayor. “Got it. Nice to meet you.” He moved over to Doc. “And how about you? How’s the family life?”

“Eh, some days are always better than others, I haven’t been around here as often because of it. What about you?”

“Well, the kids are all grown up at this point, I’ve got more time on my hands so I’ve gone back to filming.”

Doc nodded. “Sounds good to me. I’ve got to tell you more about what we did last season.”

“I’m sure you do.” The man chuckled, moving over to Keralis. “Hey, can’t wait to see your city. The pictures seemed crazy enough. I can’t believe you built all that.”

“Why spank you, but I have had help with designs.”

“Yeah. And you said you own it with someone named Cleo now?”

“Yes, in fact, she’s got a relative that is in Bub’s troop last I checked.”

Cleo spoke up at this point. “Yep! Got an order in for popcorn just the other day.”

“Nice to hear. By the way, Etho’s behind me, isn’t he?” The hermits unfamiliar with the man were surprised by that comment, as Etho was indeed behind him. Pretty much no one could tell when Etho was sneaking around, so this new person doing it was very shocking. “I’ll be asking everyone about your shops so I can stay awake from them.”

“Oh come on, some of them would be fun for a survivor like you. In fact we could get Tango to open up decked out for a session for you.”

“Right, sure Etho. Now is Beef around?”

“No actually. He had something really important come up.” Etho answered, another hermit nodding to agree with the statement.

“Ah, that’s too bad. Well, I guess the only person left to greet is ol’ rap battle over here.”

Wels suddenly looked embarrassed. “Oh that’s why you look familiar. You’re the OBP leader.”

“Yeah.” The man nodded. “You know green wasn’t really your c-”

“Please don’t bring that up again.”

The man laughed. “Alright, I won’t.” He then looked at the rest of the hermits. “Well, I think I know a few of you from the letters I’ve gotten from these guys.” And he gestured to the hermits he had been talking to. “Like I know Scar and Cleo now, then TFC and Xisuma I’m familiar with, also Zedaph.”

“Yeah, so who are you exactly?” Mumbo spoke up. “While I’m glad you’ve come to celebrate Jrum’s birthday, I’m not familiar with you.”

“Right, forgot to give my name I guess.” The man started to say. “I’m-”

Grian cut him off. “You’re the Soarvivor Paul! I remember watching your shows when I was in highschool! I had some friends at my school in England who went to an event of yours!”

“Wait, this is Paul?” Scar spoke up. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about him from Doc and Bdubs.”

Paul smiled at that. “Yep, that would be me.”

Grian took over the conversation again. “So wait, you said you were recording again, are you making MvM again?”

Instead of answering happily like Paul had to everyone else, he just gave Grian a bit of a nod before giving him the cold shoulder.

“Wait, are you that uncle Phil’s always talking about?” Tommy asked. He had stayed out of the conversation when he had no clue what was going on, but now that he recognized the name, he had some things to say. “The one he always complains always uses letters instead of a phone call or texting.”

Paul nodded. “Yeah, that would be me. Letters are the most reliable when you’ve got a job like mine.”

“Then stick to a comm then Paul.” Doc said, resting his arm on Paul's shoulder. “I’ve offered to make you a special one who knows how many times. I’m sure your kids wouldn’t mind it either.”

“Why do I feel like I’m still missing something?” Tommy spoke up again, Doc explaining for him.

“A number of us hung out with Paul in the past. Most of us he knows from the old Minecrack worlds, but he met Keralis on some other worlds.”

“Yeah, and met Wels when we were dealing with an apocalypse world. Beef was there too.” Paul sighed. “So Phil, what’s your family been getting up to other than the obvious?”

“Well, Tommy’s actually living in hermitcraft now.” Phil answered. “Wilbur’s getting through some things, and Techno’s trying to keep up his hardened warrior mask, but Grian’s kid is making that hard.”

“Well, this group seems to have that effect on people.” Paul nodded. “And how’ve they been doing with Xelqua?” Paul jabbed a finger on Grian’s direction.

“Right, shit, forgot to say that part. Grian is Xelqua.” Phil quickly explained, Paul’s mouth turning to a small ‘o’.

“Ah, I guess that explains that war and the hippies I heard about in letters. At least It’s a little tamer in a world like this.” Most of the people in the room were confused, and at first Grian was one of them, but then he made a connection and his legs were suddenly struggling to keep him up. “He has told you about Tokyo, right?”

Before anyone could answer, Kokatori was hissing in Grum’s arms again, drawing Paul’s attention. He pulled out a stone sword and immediately the hermits that knew Paul were holding him back. “No! Hey! Paul, that is a kid’s pet!” Bdubs said. “I know you don’t like them but that’s like the one chicken you’re not allowed to kill!”

“Just get him a pet other than a chicken! You can’t trust a chicken! They’re spies, killers and thieves.”

“Killer chickens?” Wels, who wasn’t holding Paul back, asked.

“Oh no, he’s telling the truth about that.” Doc answered. “I saw it for myself.”

“How do you get killed by a fucking chicken?” Tommy asked.

“You forget to kill it first.” Paul answered, finally putting his sword away. “Well, you said that kid’s one of Xel’s.”

“One of Grian’s.” Phil corrected. “And yes. That’s Grumbot, or Grum, the older of the two. His birthday was a week and a half ago.”

“Well, figures they’d just try causing more problems.”

Phil rolled his eyes and then grabbed Paul’s arm. “Alright, you and I. Talk. Now.”

When Phil and Paul had left the room, Grian finally allowed himself to go to the floor. The hermits that knew Paul were immediately apologizing for him, not sure why he was acting that way. But Grian knew. And Mumbo helped Grian up, pretty sure he knew too. “I’m going to help Grian lie down. Grum, maybe I should take Kokatori with me so they don’t cause more problems.”

Grum nodded and handed the chicken over, it being very upset about being moved and pecking at Mumbo’s arms. But he was too worried about Grian to let that stop him. So soon they had left the room too.

For a while, everything was silent. But then Jrum spoke up. “Well, for my birthday, I want to eavesdrop! And no one can stop me!” And he ran off to listen into Phil and Paul’s conversation, leaving the rest of the party members confused on what to do.

[honekitteh]

Fic: Countdown - Chapter 6

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: M Genre: Angst, H/C, Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor,  Canon-typical levels of poor decision-making Synopsis: A distress call leads the Jedi Battlemaster to Ziost, but time is running out.  Follows the storyline of The Rise of the Emperor and inserts missing scenes.   Warnings: See Chapter 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |  Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Crossposted to AO3

“This is a door?”

Kira nodded to me as I walked towards the circle window like fixture on the left side of the entrance hall of the People’s Tower.  I tried to keep my focus on the entryway to the next level of the building as opposed to the corpses now laying at our feet.  The amount of bodies that were being thrown towards me to try to prevent us from our path, with little more purpose than for just simple mayhem and death, was overwhelming.  There were very few meditation techniques that could fully block out the scent of the dead at this point, but I needed to press on.  The fate of this world felt like it was slipping out of my grasp and it felt like it was up to me.

Again.

I couldn’t find the way to open the door easily, looking around for the controls.  I reached out with my senses.  “Locked.”

“Typical Imperials,” Kira huffed, “So rude to guests.”

I frowned as tried a few things with the Force.  “I’m not sure I can bust it myself.”

My friend took a step up and closed her eyes.  Then she shook her head.  “I doubt even the two of us could do it alone, even if one of us was on the other side. Unless Lana is miraculously right there, we’re on our own.  We need something else.”

I frowned.  Not really willing to give up quite yet, I tested the door again with my senses.

“Jyana, I think we need something with a bit more explosive power.”

I sighed heavily. “Fine.  What do you have in mind?”

Kira scanned the entrance hall.  There was a large holographic map of Ziost on display on the middle console.  She took a scan beyond it.  “There’s something over there, but I think we’ll have to fight our way there.”

“Sounds about normal,” I sighed.

We worked our way over there quickly, myself leaping into battle with a Sith Lord.  I only felt slightly bad about engaging him in battle, cause I was fairly sure he’d want to thwart whatever we were planning on his own volition.  I couldn’t tell how long he’d been under Vitiate’s puppetry, but it didn’t matter now. A poor imperial medic was unfortunately in the crossfire, which was something that I did feel terrible about. But our situation did not give us a lot of time to reflect or regret.  We had to keep moving.

When the enemies had fallen, as they refused to stop until they were ended, I noticed the thing Kira thought she had seen.  I picked up the rocket launcher and looked at it with great suspicion.

“That looks promising,” Kira said.

“This might be overkill,” I stated looking at it and checking to make certain it was loaded.

“Pft,” Kira waved that off, “No such thing as overkill.”

“Let’s move.”  I put the rocket launcher over my shoulder, loosely letting the strap on it secure it there.  I looked back towards the door and frowned.  “Did you invite more friends to the party?” I asked motioning towards the four imperial commandos that were now between us and the door.  

“I need to hire a new party planner.”

I was getting so tired of fighting, but I tossed my lightsabers to draw the commandos’ attention. I wasn’t sure I was quite comfortable opening with my typical leap into the fray.  Adding the rocket launcher to my back would wreck the physics of the leap or at least set it off that I wasn’t sure I had the right read on it. I already had a habit of overexerting and I really could not afford to do it at this stage.  I was already exhausted.  I knew the final battle was soon, but I could not completely estimate how much longer I had to go.  I couldn’t go overboard now, not at this stage.  

Kira pushed the last of the four back as he fell.  She frowned looking down at them.  A glance up at me showed me she was feeling what I was.  Overwhelming sorrow.  Both of us knew what it was like to be out of our own control.  Both of us had broken free, but it did not pass without some level of scars.  Such was our life.

We got to the door and I unholstered the rocket launcher.  This wasn’t my first rodeo.  I checked all the mechanisms, made certain the ammo was set just right.

“Maybe we should knock first?” Kira asked.

“This is me knocking,” I said and fired.

The explosion shock the building and threw both of us back.  Startled at the reaction I dropped the rocket launcher and used the Force to cushion our fall.

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

I stared at Kira as I picked myself up off the floor.

“I gotta get me one of those!” she said as she was pointing at the rocket launcher.

“Later.  We don’t have any way to reload it and we’ve got to keep moving.”

“No fun.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes and jumped through the door.

It felt like Vitiate had an endless supply of bodies to pile up between us and our destination.  It also took a great deal of concentration to focus on jumping up along the elevator shaft to the next level of the building.  The screams of the dying, the terror, the fear, all the feelings of deep buried rage kept trying to overwhelm my senses.  

“Watch out!” Kira shouted as turrets opened fire on us after we gained our footing on the floor.  

A flick of the lightsabers sadly was not all it took, but we did make fairly quick work of them.

My wrist computer blinked at me, telling me that I had an incoming call.  I flicked it on as we were besieged by another group of soldiers.

Lana’s voice came through the call saying, “Before we go ahead with this... you and I should talk—in person.  I’ll see you shortly.”

I frowned then looked down at the coordinates now showing on the small data viewer after the comm cut off.

“This way.”

I looked at the forcefield over the door to the room that Lana had indicated and let out a heavy sigh. Kira motioned there were electrical panels on the outside of each door.  Nodding we both threw a wave of the Force at the panels, causing them to explode.  This knocked the forcefield down.

There were many civilian employees within the room.  I tried to raise my hands in a defensive pose.  “I don’t want to hurt any of you...” I said before they started to lunge at Kira and I, shooting and even some just trying to go at us hand to hand. I sighed, looking at each of their eyes as they fell, fighting to their last with no control of their own bodies. The silver eyes, showing their actions belonged to him.

In the corner of my eye, a green and black cloak flicked by, moving towards the console in the back of the room.  Kira and I sheathed our sabers and moved to join Lana.  

“You’ve made it,” the Sith Lord stated without looking up as she pushed on the controls, “Good.  Time is short—so is reliable assistance.”  She fiddled with the holo communication controls on the console and continued talking without really looking back at me. “I have Agent Kovach assembling a suppression team out of whatever droids he can find, so I approached another agent to assist us.”

Theron Shan appeared on the holo and he looked around between us and did what could only be described as striking a pose.  He rested his hand on his hip with ease and comfort that belied the exhaustion that was evident in his eyes, even from within a holo communication.  I raised my eyebrows and gave a sigh.  I partially wondered if he was trying to play it cool with Lana.  Then again, this is Theron.  There were so many layers behind the surface.  I am not entirely sure how many I’d seen behind, but there was a selfish part of me that would like to think that I was one of the few that had.

Of course, now was not the time to think about those kinds of things.  Lana addressed him quickly, “Are you in position?”

“Yeah, but this setup isn’t anything like what you described.”

“So what you’re saying is you can’t figure it out.”

“Don’t get all…” he sighed and put his hands in front of him, “I’ll figure it out.”

“We’re about to begin, so that would be nice.”

“He has Teeseven with him, he’ll be fine,” I quickly cut in.

Theron gave me a grateful nod and cut out the communication.

As soon as his image flickered off, I asked, “What exactly are we about to begin, Lana?”

“You’re going to make Vitiate angry.  So angry that he’ll place all his attention on killing you.”  She punched in some controls on the console and then turned to look at me.  If I didn’t know better, she had a very Jedi way of masking her emotions, but that could be partially from how she had to keep her mind focused on defense, lest the incorporeal former Emperor decide to take her body for a ride.  She continued on, “When the time comes, you’ll lead him to an electrostatic weapon stored there, in the heart of New Adasta.  It’s meant to be a last resort against major civil uprisings, but Theron’s modifying it to be non-lethal.  With the reduced charge, its radius of impact will diminish.”

I raised an eyebrow and shared a glance with Kira before looking back to Lana.  “You have a weapon designed with the sole purpose of killing your own people?”

Lana waved it off as if it was a non-issue.  “It’s not as if we install one in every metropolis.  We nearly lost New Adasta to unrest once before.”

“Well in that case...”

I could see her eye slightly twitch, but she ignored my snide remark.  “Shall we get started?” she asked and pointed towards the holo comm device.

Suppose it was time for my performance art masterpiece of a monologue.  I really hate monologuing.  But certain people seemed to love it.  Maybe it will do the trick.  

I took a deep breath and nodded to Lana and she opened the comm.  “Vitate!  I am the Battlemaster of the Jedi Order.  I’ve struck you down once already.  Today, I’m finishing the job.  Today, you will face justice.”

Lana cut off the communication and glanced over at me, her expression unreadable except for very obvious exhaustion.  

“I think that did it?” I questioned, pondering over if I should have monologued longer, or been harsher, and I almost got caught in my train of thought until Lana cut me off.

“I have to go now. There’s much to be done.”  She sighed heavily, “Too much.  I shouldn’t have come here, truth be told.”

I reached out and took hold of her shoulder.  A year or so ago, she might have flinched at the contact, but not today.  “Be strong, Lana.  Stay focused.  You’ll be fine.”

She offered me a tired smile.  “Thank you. We’ll see if you’re right.”

I looked behind me after I pressed the button to call the elevator to the top floor.  Master Onok and Master Landai were both unconscious, but free. I could still hear their voices demanding for me to kill them, even though they weren’t really their own voices.  I electrocuted them.  They would make it.  Doc and Lord Scourge were on their way to retrieve them and get them off world as soon as they could.  I needed to focus though.  

As I stepped in the elevator and punched the controls to take us up, I wondered if Lana’s plan would work.  Kira gave me a poke.  I gave her a tired smile.  She was right.  There was a time and place to dwell on what has happened since I stepped foot on this planet, and now was not one of them.

We walked onto the platform to find Theron and T7 working on opposite sides of the entryway.

“That’s it, Teeseven,” he called out to the droid then looked up from his work to see us.  He gave a quick nod and what I thought was a slight smirk to me and continued, “Got it set up for as big a non-lethal burst as we can manage.”  He looked over to T7 as the droid unplugged himself from the wall socket.  “Thanks buddy,” he said to the droid then turned back to Kira and I.  “Should be enough to zap anyone in range into a nice, long, involuntary nap.”

I looked up at the large device that was on the ceiling over the open air platform.  Frowning I muttered lowly, “Should be?”

Theron shrugged. “Hard to come up with a one-size fits all solution.  Lot of guesswork involved.  Wish there was a way Teeseven and I could have done a test run before...”

As his vocalized thought trailed off, I looked back towards the entry point I had just come through. I didn’t sense anything quite yet, but I could feel it wouldn’t be too long.  

“They’ve got to be closing in,” Kira stated aloud, echoing my own thoughts.

“Then come on,” he said, waving me over to where he had a device waiting for us, “We need to be shielded.”  I followed him, still studying my surroundings.  He straightened up after ensuring the shield was properly set and looked to me.  “Okay. We should wait until they’re good and close.”  

I closed my eyes briefly, allowing my senses to reach out to get a good feel for how much time we had. It wasn’t much.  I moved slightly closer to Theron and said softly, “I wasn’t sure when I’d run into you again.  Not the greatest circumstances, but still.”  I very nearly reached to him but halted myself with a small glance behind me.  It wasn’t Kira though that I sensed when I could feel we weren’t alone.

He offered a weak but knowing smile.  “Maybe next time the lives of an entire world won’t be in danger – but, yeah, feeling’s mutual.”

I felt my heart flip flop a bit at his smile and met his with my own.  Soon though, I could feel them.  His amber eyes shifted from mine to behind me.  Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I took a deep breath, then reopened them to follow his gaze.  Kira had already drawn her dual-saber, its green light reflecting against the metallic floor.

Theron pulled out his data pad and started tapping. “Okay, here comes the puppet brigade.  Fingers crossed…”

It was a fairly sizable group, Imperials, Republic troops, and even some Jedi.  I silently cursed the Chancellor and added it to the growing list of matters I will add to a report, should I bother to file one.  At this particular moment, the choice words I had planning were significantly less Jedi than they had been the beginning of this entire fiasco.  The horde moved closer and Theron triggered the device.

That Theron even had to modify it to be non-lethal was not lost on me.  As I saw the soldiers all be stunned and fall to the ground, I could not help but wonder what the result would have been had that modification not been made.  The Empire, putting a weapon in one of its capital cities with the capability to kill a vast amount of their own citizens?  If they had one of these in New Adasta, they could have it on Kass City, or in a number of other cities.  But why?  Because of riots?  Gee, I wonder why anyone would riot against a ruling body that had no regard for their lives.

My eyes glanced over to a Republic soldier that had collapsed.  Were we even better?  The Republic should be better than this.  Theron followed my eyes and let the shield dome collapse.  He approached the soldier and knelt.  “This one was closet, took the biggest hit.”  He reached for his neck, checking his pulse as I walked up beside him.  I looked out towards the door and across the landscape of unconscious bodies.  “Still alive,” Theron confirmed, relief in his voice, “We did it!  Let’s just hope we got all of them.”

“Let’s hope,” I murmured, still scanning the surroundings.  Something still felt off.  This moment was far from over, I could feel it.

“We should call Lana now, see if she has a plan for what’s next.”

The bodies began to float in the air.  “I have a better idea,” a booming male imperial voice spoke through the woman sauntering onto the platform.  With a small flick of a hand motion, the bodies crashed back away from her, clearing a path.  Her eyes yellow and wild, she smirked as she drew her lightsaber.

“Master Surro.” Theron’s entire stance sunk and he moved to stand between me and the unconscious puppet army and the approaching Jedi Master.  “No...” I lightly reached an arm to his shoulder, trying to pull him back and shift him behind me, but he stood his ground.

“Watching you believe you had a chance; it’s amused me.”   Master Surro raised her hand sluggishly as if it were pulled by string, the Force lifting a dazed Imperial lieutenant into a sitting position. “Now this whole charade is pathetic.”

I shifted my own position, trying to assess the situation and moved in front of Theron.  Not soon enough, as Master Surro summarily executed the dazed man she’d just set up.  The range of emotions in the man beside me went from shock, to horror, to anger. It took a great deal of my own willpower and Force meditation to not absorb Theron’s pain and have it fuel me and complement the dread that I felt; the very dread I’ve been feeling rising since the moment I’d received his distress holo.

Master Surro’s lips turned in a cruel sneer.  “Now, how do you wish to die?  In combat or on your knees?”

Lana raced from within the building, lightsaber drawn and poised to attack.

“Go away, little Sith.” Master Surro easily shoved the approaching Sith Lord with a shove.  Theron moved in front of me again and drew his weapon but was immediately lifted in the air.  He gave me a wincing glance before he was unceremoniously thrown against the wall and crashed the ground.  I looked between Lana and Theron and took the last reserves of my energy to take a deep breath.  

Glancing back to Master Surro, I furrowed my brow and drew both my shoto.  The Emperor controlled puppet smirked.  “This has nothing to do with your friends.  This is you and I.”

Igniting my sabers, I leaped into the air.

The original clash was brief, a flurry of blades.  Kira flanked our opponent, trying to keep her busy.  There was no way that she was going to let me fight alone, even if I sensed that was what Master Surro desired.  We just had to stay vigiliant.

If I could keep my eyes from glancing over at Theron long enough to stay focused.

Of course Surro, no… not Surro, Vitiate… he figured out my distraction and pressed the attack on me, completely ignoring Kira who was trying to sneak attack from behind.  I tried to block a downward strike with both my shoto but I lost track of my direction and Surro took the opportunity to kick me and Force push me at that moment.  The push knocked me near complete off the edge and drop my shoto completely.  I reached out quickly and barely grabbed hold of the edge.

I took this time to reflect on my life choices.  Trying my hardest to keep as many people alive as possible, even the possessed jedi that Vitiate used to try to taunt me.  Kill them, he had said, I won’t mind—and neither will your dear ally.

I sighed.  I tried so hard to compartmentalize my feelings.  It wasn’t working.  I took a deep breath.  Theron’s been through worse, he’ll be fine.  They’ll all be fine.

I heard a squeak as I sensed Kira get knocked out, not far from where Lana was.  Closing my eyes, I found my sabers and lept into the air.

I landed on the other side of Master Surro, flipping overhead her before she’d noticed I’d gotten there it seemed.  She gave me a sneer.  “Why won’t you die, little girl?”

“No matter how powerful you are, I’ll never fall to you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Confident—to the end.”

My lightsabers returned to my hands, I ignited them and pressed the attack.  I did not relent, I would not back down, and he had to know that.

It took some time until Master Surro finally collapsed at my feet.  I took a deep breath and studied her, not wanting to take any chances. When she looked back up, her eyes were their natural color.

[zrtranscripts]

Season 7, Mission 3: Mr. Brightside

Separation anxiety

SAM YAO: Okay. Jody, Five, Janine's evacuating the peace conference. The Last Riders took off in their big rig after you blew the World's End barrier. How's it at your end?

JODY MARSH: The water's gone down a bit, but we're still marooned. We turned Chelsea into a lake, and me and Five are stuck on a concrete pillar in the middle of it.

SAM YAO: Yeah, I can see you on the cams. Uh, well, you could try swimming.

JODY MARSH: Through zombie-infested waters? Wait, can you hear that?

[boat engine runs]

BRENT VALMONT: Ahoy, Abel runners!

SAM YAO: Is that - is that Brent Valmont? In the speedboat from Moonraker?

BRENT VALMONT: Samuel! Yes, it is. Sorry, I hope you don't mind me hopping on your comms channel. And talking of - Jody, Five, hop on board.

JODY MARSH: What are you doing here?

BRENT VALMONT: Well, rescuing you. Also recruiting you for a mission that's conveniently en route. Hang on, I haven't quite got the hang of driving this thing yet. Roger Moore made it look deceptively easy.

SAM YAO: Wait, what mission?

BRENT VALMONT: One that concerns you, actually, Sam. I would have used ANNIE, only the old girl's not quite herself at the moment. You wouldn't have any clue what's up with her, would you?

SAM YAO: Uh, no. Haven't heard anything.

BRENT VALMONT: Oh well. I'll get to the bottom of it eventually. But in the meantime, I've tracked down some files that might be useful. I think they'll tell us what happened to some of the missing immune women, including your sister, Sam.

SAM YAO: Oh. Yeah, thank you.

BRENT VALMONT: Think nothing of it.

JODY MARSH: Have you heard anything, Sam?

SAM YAO: No. Her name was on Sigrid's books, but I talked to all the women we rescued from the serum factory, and none of them had met a Nicky Yao. She was always tough, though. If anyone survived, it'd be her.

BRENT VALMONT: Well, we may learn something to our advantage today. Here we are. Abel runners, dry land.

JODY MARSH: Dry-ish. It's dead muddy!

SAM YAO: Also the boat engine's attracted a bunch of zoms. I mean, you do have the cure.

BRENT VALMONT: But what's the point of getting cure side effects when we can get some fresh air instead? Don't worry, I have a plan. And like all my plans, it's both daring and fun!

JODY MARSH: Then let's run!

BRENT VALMONT: What's that up ahead I see? Could it be the Little Venice canal colony? Why yes, it could.

JODY MARSH: Oh, it's pretty, isn't it? All those barges roped together with multi-colored shacks on top of them.

SAM YAO: Like a sort of low-budget British Waterworld.

BRENT VALMONT: More importantly, they're in possession of a certain object my plans require. Although I was expecting a welcome by now, especially once they spotted your T-shirt, Runner Five. They're tremendous fans.

JODY MARSH: Uh, the lights don't seem to be on anywhere. You sure it's still inhabited?

BRENT VALMONT: It was a week ago. Let's try looking on one of the boats.

[door creaks open]

JODY MARSH: Oh, it's a primary school! Tiny tables with tiny chairs and crayon drawings on the wall. But no kids.

BRENT VALMONT: This drawing's you, Five! But really, your ears aren't that big.

JODY MARSH: Look, blood stains on the floor. What happened here?

BRENT VALMONT: Attack by another colony. Strategic retreat now the Ministry can't guarantee their borders. Zoms. Distribution of the cure has been slapdash since Sigrid's demise.

SAM YAO: Guys, you've got zoms coming up the canal path. You need to get out.

BRENT VALMONT: Just let me grab this little fellow. [rodent squeaks] He's a key part of my plan.

JODY MARSH: Um, that's a chinchilla, the class pet. Why do you need a chinchilla?

BRENT VALMONT: All the best plans do, don't they, my little one? Yes, they do! All right, come on! Let's get out of here before those zoms eat him. And us.

SAM YAO: And you're zom-free. You lost them in IKEA, ironically.

JODY MARSH: Uh, that looks like a station at the end of the road. We could get a train the rest of the way!

BRENT VALMONT: Yes, you could. If the trains were running, which they're not. Not since you took down Sigrid.

JODY MARSH: Over there, Five, can you see? People are living in the trains.

SAM YAO: Oh yeah. There's washing hanging out of the rusty windows. And oh look! Someone's sunbathing on the roof. [laughs]

BRENT VALMONT: Did you meet that Colonel Sage at the peace conference? He's an interesting chap. Lots of theories about how societies break down, and more importantly, rebuild.

JODY MARSH: He's the guy Ellie went to work with. He was the only one standing up for Janine at the conference.

BRENT VALMONT: We need people like him to get through this, or we'll all end up living in broken-down trains that are going nowhere.

[metallic banging]

SAM YAO: What the hell is that?

JODY MARSH: An alarm. The people are rushing back to the trains and closing metal shutters on the windows. Are you sure we lost those zoms?

SAM YAO: Uh, yeah. I'm trying to see what spooked them, but they just keep looking toward - ah. No, I get it. It's not a zom alarm. It's a people alarm. They're hiding from you.

[child cries]

JODY MARSH: It's okay! We're harmless!

BRENT VALMONT: Hmm, they don't seem convinced. Let's hide behind that rhododendron ponticum until they calm down. [foliage rustles] Now here, Alejandro. Have a little nibble. [ALEJANDRO squeaks]

JODY MARSH: You've called the chinchilla Alejandro?

SAM YAO: Bugger. That alarm's attracted quite a large group of zoms. You'd better get out of there fast.

SAM YAO: Okay, guys. You've crossed the boundary into Edgeware. Wait, are those - are those Welsh flags on the buildings?

BRENT VALMONT: The Edgeware Dragons are a Welsh separatist colony. All right, before we go further, let's hide behind this statue of Owain Glyndŵr. You lot aren't terribly popular here.

JODY MARSH: What have we ever done to them?

BRENT VALMONT: Everything bad that ever happened, according to Sigrid. They were one of her closest allies. Very keen on law and order, this lot. Look over there. That underpass leads straight to Sigrid's facility. That's where you'll find the files.

SAM YAO: There's a checkpoint. Armed guards.

BRENT VALMONT: That's where Alejandro and I come in. When you hear the word "backdated," make a run for it.

JODY MARSH: But what are you - ? Nope. He's gone.

SAM YAO: Um, he's waving his chinchilla cage at the armed guards. Is that sensible?

BRENT VALMONT: Hello, friends!

GUARD: Mr. Valmont, nice to see you again. If you show us your paperwork, you can walk right through.

BRENT VALMONT: Ah, yes. Slight problem. I'm afraid there's not just me that needs an entry visa. There's also this little chap. [ALEJANDRO squeaks]

GUARD: Gareth, come and look at this. He's only gone and brought a chinchilla.

GARETH: Oh dear. Still, if you fill in accompanied rodent pet form 23Z, then you'll be okay.

BRENT VALMONT: Good, yes. Only well, I have to confess, I did let him nibble on some rhododendron ponticum. He's got some on his fur. That's an invasive plant species, isn't it?

GUARD: Now that is a problem. Gwen, Aeronwen, come over here. I need some advice on what form to use.

BRENT VALMONT: We could always "backdate" 542E.

SAM YAO: That's it! That's it, guys! That's the signal! Run for that underpass!

BRENT VALMONT: Guys! Guys, can you hear me? Look, the guards are getting form 362Zβ, so I can talk. Are you through the underpass?

JODY MARSH: Right at the end. There's a door. It's not locked. [door creaks open] Five, can you find a light switch?

SAM YAO: What can you see? Is it Sigrid's facility?

JODY MARSH: Uh, looks like it. There's a big picture of her on the wall looking all noble and thoughtful and not all like a homicidal maniac.

SAM YAO: And the files?

JODY MARSH: Yeah. There's definitely something here, Sam. The cabinets are locked, but Five's jimmying them open.

[metal clatters]

SAM YAO: Is there, um... well, is there anything about immune people? Or where Sigrid sent my sister? Look, I was thinking like... well, maybe because she was quite good with numbers and stuff, she might have had a job somewhere.

JODY MARSH: There's a lot of names, but they're not filed alphabetically. Instead by "instruments of leverage." Each file is a person. This one's Gerald West but labeled "Romantic." It's got a photo and all these notes.

"Two sisters, one deceased, other estranged. Wife and boy. Boy asthmatic. Wife have an affair with D. C. Darby, ref. 44AZ." Oh. Romantic leverage!

SAM YAO: Huh. Well, we knew she was spying on people.

JODY MARSH: There's so much detail, though! "Allergic to penicillin. Strongly motivated by greed. Coulrophobia." That's the word for being afraid of clowns, isn't it?

SAM YAO: I think the word for that is "sane."

JODY MARSH: There must be thousands of files here, Sam! There could be something on your sister, but...

BRENT VALMONT: You haven't got time to find it, but according to my intel, there should be floppy disk copies of all the data. Why floppy disks, you might ask? I couldn't tell you.

JODY MARSH: You're right. They're in those boxes. If you take one, Five, I can carry the other.

BRENT VALMONT: Grab them and get out! You must have set off a hidden alarm. The locals here are sending a welcoming committee with guns - so more of an unwelcoming committee, really - anyway, get away from them, and meet me outside the eastern border.

SAM YAO: Run!

BRENT VALMONT: Ah, there you are! Boxes of disks in hand. Overall, a plan well-executed, I'd say.

JODY MARSH: Except we haven't got anything at Abel that reads floppy disks. Since we're not, you know, living in the 1980's.

BRENT VALMONT: Oh, I can take care of that. ANNIE might be on the blink, but I still have access to her hardware. We can go through these for you. I can't promise they'll contain information about your sister, Samuel, but they should be useful regardless.

JODY MARSH: No, they won't. We're not going to start blackmailing people or threatening them into joining us.

SAM YAO: No. We didn't get rid of Sigrid just to start doing things the way she did. Now that's not us.

BRENT VALMONT: Entirely understandable, but... there's a power vacuum at the heart of this country. If you don't fill it, there are plenty of other undesirables more than willing to do so. You didn't get rid of Sigrid just to replace her with another Sigrid either, did you?

JODY MARSH: No. That's why we held the peace conference!

BRENT VALMONT: But I'm afraid the peace conference failed, so maybe you should start thinking about what comes next. Here, take Alejandro back to Abel. [ALEJANDRO squeaks] With the way things are going, you're going to need all the friends you can get.

[honekitteh]

FIC: Countdown - Chapter 3

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: M (this chapter) Genre: Angst, H/C, Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor,  Canon-typical levels of poor decision-making Synopsis: A distress call leads the Jedi Battlemaster to Ziost, but time is running out.  Follows the storyline of The Rise of the Emperor and inserts missing scenes.   Warnings: See Chapter 1; corpses

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Crossposted to AO3

“Again?” I flinched slightly but held my ground, waiting. “No. I don’t think so. When this world turns to red and you choke on torrents of blood, remember that this was your chance to flee.” Master Surro then put her hands to her head as she continued speaking. “A chance I… gave…” She collapsed to the floor, the silver of her eyes giving way to a more natural hue. She took a few deep breaths. “There is no… contemplation… there is only… duty…” she screamed and then collapsed further into an unconscious heap.

The forcefield was between me and the Jedi Master. I wanted to reach to her, to help. I wasn’t entirely sure what I could do at that exact moment.

“We’re wasting time here,” Kovach interrupted my thoughts with rational logic, “The armory’s safe. You go ahead. I’ll be close behind.”

I nodded to Kovach and then looked back to Master Surro. The Sixth Line Commander was no longer there, vanished somehow. I frowned, wondering how she’d managed to get up and slip out in the split second I had turned to speak to the Agent. The stealthier ways of the Force tended to elude me on most days, requiring a bit more concentration than today’s events appeared to allow. I sighed a bit and looked over the next objective. I needed to scan for the air defenses around the Outpost so we could take them down. This required a set of quality micro-binoculars. Thankfully a pair of them were readily available and Kira and I picked them up, attaching them to our belts and then we wrapped back up for the cold outdoors.

I tried to walk more carefully this time, avoiding large piles of snow and more slippery areas. Sadly, I wasn’t entirely prepared to trip over a dead imperial officer. Which, of course I should have been prepared, there were quite a few of them. I heard static coming from this particular corpse’s comm. I knelt carefully, adjusting my scarf over my nose, despite the stench of death and decay not quite setting in due to the body’s newness with its current state. I picked up the comm and listened to the voice over.

“If anyone can hear me: I have received clearance, but air defenses are not reading me as friendly. I cannot land. Repeat: I cannot land.”

I frowned slightly and picked up the dead imperial’s data pad. According to Imperial regulations, evacuation protocols for this area required the use of a nearby emergency landing field. The former Emperor’s new friends seemed to have interrupted the evacuation proceedings and disabled area landing beacons, surprising no one.

“Teeseven, I’m forwarding you some coordinates. I’ll be rerouting the data we get as we scan the air defenses, but until then, I need you to see what you can do to repair these Landing Zone Beacons.”

The droid beeped acknowledgement, then pointed out that Evacuation Droids were also not properly deployed in the area.

“Kira, see what you can do about those Evacuation Droids.”

“On it, boss.”

I took up a small perch on the wide railing outside of one of the buildings and scanned the horizon. There were four air defense satellites that I needed to scan to secure the link. I was going to scan those links, reroute them to T7, who would then connect them back towards the Administration Office Agent Kovach had indicated as our next meet up point.

“That’s one Evacuation Droid reassembled and back on task,” Kira announced over the commlink, “It’s still a right mess out here.”

I sighed as I studied the next satellite and turret. “I don’t think this is going to be over any time soon.”

“Lord Scourge doesn’t think we should linger too long. He says it’s too late.”

“What do you think we should do, Kira?”

“Have we heard anything from Theron yet?”

“No. Nothing.” My heart fell at the thought, but I just had one more satellite to find.

“Well, I think we should stay. Not just to make sure he’s okay… but all these people. None of them deserve this.”

“I agree.”

“To hell with Scourge’s ‘practicality.’”

“Watch behind you!”

Kira startled and suddenly force pushed a group of soldiers away from her, knocking them down.

“Unconscious?”

“Yes.”

“Okay good, let’s try to avoid killing anymore people if we can at all help it.”

“Already on it, boss.”

T7 beeped an alert. I looked up at a display. Emergency Form 98BG-HM7 was filed. This designated the current emergency as a hostile invasion by ground forces. Power was routed to the ground defense network to repel the invaders. The readings on the power draw indicated that the ground defense network was not in place. T7 made a comment about the protocols were not being kept. Honestly, I thought it was good that the ground-defense turrets were offline. I didn’t need additional bolts to deflect and dodge.

Once both T7 and Kira acknowledged their tasks were completed, we made it to the Administrative Office. We quickly made our way to the appropriate console and shut down the air defense network. Agent Kovach was not far behind and took over the console from me once my task had been completed.

The relief in his voice was evident. “I can confirm it: defenses are down. Between those weapons and the armory, a lot of their killing power’s out of their hands now.” Both Kira and I shared a small sigh of relief. Agent Kovach continued on, “Should be able to start evacuation efforts as well. The fewer potential targets on Ziost, the better.”

I nodded and leaned back against the wall as the agent worked on the console.

The squish of the door opening startled everyone in the Administrative Office. Kovach drew his blaster and Kira drew her saber. I, on the other hand, just froze.

Looking every bit the walking disaster we had expected, Theron Shan walked in the door with a smirk saying, “Hope you haven’t had too much fun without me.”

There was a collective sigh of relief and Kira just rubbed her face with her palm.

I approached him slowly. “Thought I’d lost you. Nice to see I was wrong.”

“Yeah,” Theron offered a small smile, walking slowly towards me as well, “Circumstances aside…”

“Sir…” Kovach cut in. “I thought it would be wise to disclose my role in all this, so I did. I hope that’s all right.”

“Sure, of course. Saves us the trouble of playacting our way into an alliance in front of someone we can trust.”

My face heated up a bit and I took a glance down as Theron’s gloved hand brushed mine. I then studied the array of bruises around his face. I was sure there were more hidden somewhere underneath his trademark red coat and light green shirt. I very nearly reached towards them, before glancing towards where Kovach was. The Agent had moved back to the console to monitor the current situation and wasn’t really looking back to where Theron and I were. I sighed slightly and said, “You look a little worse for wear, Theron.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it,” Theron replied with a sigh, lightly hooking my pinky with his own, after sharing a glance at the Agent’s location. “Way things are out there; I can’t believe I even made it this far.”

I glanced down at our hands, hooked together by pinkies, and allowed myself a small smile before looking back at him.

“Soon as I crashlanded, the Emperor’s puppets started coming for my shuttle, just like that. Maybe figured on some easy kills inside.”

I frowned but nodded. If I was honest with myself, which sometimes was not the case, I was just glad he was here.

“Did the only thing I could think of,” he continued, “Rigged the ship to overload, fry everything in and around it. Tried to shield myself but still scrambled half my implants.”

I furrowed my brow. “And that stopped the attack.”

Theron rose an eyebrow at the statement. “They went down, yeah. Some of them got back up, but they seemed out of it.” Theron thought about it for a moment before adding, “Not possessed—dazed… OW!”

“Good to see you too, Theron,” Kira smirked at him, twirling the now empty kolto injector in her fingers.

Theron opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by Agent Kovach shouting, “Intrusion!”

Theron shot a glare at Kira and rubbed his neck after letting go of my pinky. He then moved over to the console next to the other agent. “Vitiate’s pawns…?”

Kovach nodded, then tilted his head. “I have a thought.”

I raised an eyebrow watching the agents work on the console. Looking over on the view screen I saw a couple of Imperial soldiers approaching the building. With a push of the button, Kovach had them electrocuted. The agents then stepped away from the console and went out to the door to investigate. After a few moments, the two of them dragged the stunned imperial soldiers up to the conference table.

Kira moved over to help them put bindings on them as they situated them in their chairs. She smirked over at Theron, “Don’t holo, don’t write.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Been a little busy…” he muttered trying to keep the unconscious Imperial from flopping out of the chair in a heap. The Imperial looked to be one of their officers as opposed to a normal soldier, at least if the markings on his armor gave me any indication. Probably a Lieutenant if I had my imperial officer designations properly memorized.

“Takes like two seconds to say ‘hi,’” Kira continued.

“Kira, now really isn’t the time,” I said with a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” she pouted slightly, but her tone was light and playful.

Theron gave me a slight glance of thanks, but there was an apology behind his eyes I could sense. I just shrugged and gave him a tired smile. He stepped back after securing the Lieutenant and looked across the rest of us. “Be ready for anything…”

The Lieutenant and his fellow officer started to slowly wake up. Blinking a few times, he began to speak as he took in his surroundings. “That was a… a nightmare… What’s?” His gaze started to come into focus, he glanced over between the agents, then his eyes landed on me, and glanced down to my lightsaber. “Is that what this was? Some kind of gutless Jedi mind trick?”

My eye twitched in response and I frowned. Shaking my head, I went to take the bindings off the two officers. “Go, get somewhere safe if you can. Off world would probably be wisest.” The Lieutenant nearly protested for a moment, but I quickly cut him off, “Now, before I change my mind.”

“Change your mind to what?” Theron asked, frowning slightly.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Either keep them bound or execute them. I’d rather not either.”

“Executing them would’ve been pretty cold.”

“And wrong.”

He nodded slowly.

“Though it would’ve given us two less people to have to fight later,” Agent Kovach mentioned as he was studying his console. Theron, Kira, and I just stared at him. He seemed oblivious to it and continued, “So now we know, shock them unconscious and the tie is severed—for a while, at least.” He continued working on the console, his mind obviously working quickly. “Hit enough of them hard enough and they’d be out a good, long while.”

“Yeah, but how do we do that?” Theron fidgeted his feet for a bit, also trying to sort out the problem in his head.

“I have some ideas. I need to consult the New Adasta municipal systems.”

Theron raised his eyebrow at that. “You going to need a hand with that? Some backup?”

“No,” Kovach responded, “I’ll be in touch.” He picked up his data pad and left the Administration building without a further word.

T7 wandered over to take Agent Kovach’s place on the console, Kira right behind him as he plugged in. He beeped confirmations of what was going on around the Outpost.

I watched them for a moment as Theron approached me. I felt my ears heat up a bit as he brushed my hand.

He also gave a glance over to Kira and T7 before looking back at me. “Kovach has been amazing. I just wanted eyes and ears inside Sith Intelligence, and he gets himself saddled up next to Lana.” He chuckled slightly. “Lana Beniko, Minister of Sith Intelligence. Who’d have thought it right? When I met her on Manaan, she was in over her head. Seemed to be at least.”

I smiled, stepping closer to him. “I know what you mean. She’s not always what you’d call direct.”

“You don’t have to tell me. My bruises still have bruises thanks to her little deception on Rishi.”

I reached towards his face, lightly tracing my fingers along the bruises around his implants. He flinched at my initial touch, so I withdrew my hand. The kolto Kira had injected into him seemed to be starting to work its magic, albeit slowly.

He shook his head at me. I frowned a bit and tilted my head. He made a small motion to his implants and I reached back to touch the bruises. This time instead of the flinch, he leaned into the touch with a sigh. “Still,” he continued, closing his eyes slightly, “Who am I to talk? I should have never sent my team here.”

I frowned shaking my head, leaning in closer to study his injuries.

“I made a bad situation worse, and now…”

“Shh… It’s not the time for blame…”

He smiled lightly, leaning in, his lips lightly touching mine before a beep from the holoconsole startled both of us and we quickly moved at least a meter and a half apart. “… And now I’ve got a priority holocall.” He sighed heavily, his voice heavily dripping with sarcasm, “Great.”

I thought I heard a small giggle and I shot Kira a glare as Theron answered the call. Then I blinked as the Republic’s Supreme Chancellor, Saresh, appeared on the holo.

“You’ve been busy, Agent Shan.” Her voice was accusatory. I blinked and looked between the two of them.

“Chancellor?” He seemed confused. His emotions were a whirlwind of guilt, surprise, concern, and frustration. I tried to clear my mind of my own thoughts and emotions as well as trying not to absorb everything he was feeling at that exact moment.

“An off the books mission to Ziost. A secret team of Jedi that—I don’t even know where to start with you about them—.”

I blinked and looked over at Theron.

He spoke rapidly in response, “Everything’s happened so fast. You don’t realize—.”

“No, I do realize. I realize that you declined to inform me of a prime opportunity to cripple the Empire and face the Emperor head-on.” Oh… no… I shook my head rapidly, my eyes widening. Saresh either did not notice I was there or did not deem to acknowledge my presence. I suppose it didn’t matter because she kept speaking. “We’re taking advantage of the chaos on Ziost, starting with New Adasta. I expect your cooperation.”

Theron’s face paled. “Wait. Please, before you send the order–”

“You don’t seem to understand, Agent Shan. There’s nothing to argue.”

I stared at the Chancellor, my eyes wider than they had any right to be. I muttered under my breath, “What?”

“Our ships are in orbit,” the Chancellor continued, “The invasion’s already begun.”

The holo communication blinked off. Theron pinched the bridge of his nose and rested one hand on the edge of the console looking down.

My thoughts were going a kilometer a minute. My hands balled into fists for a brief moment, then I released them. I repeated the motion for a good few minutes while I tried to settle down my own thoughts. When they started to coalesce, the just under the skin irritation would not leave. “Well this is just fantastic. Now I have to clean up an even bigger mess,” I growled.

Theron didn’t look at me but muttered in response, “Great, yeah just go ahead and clean up after me.”

“Wait what?” I responded startled, “I was talking about the Chancellor’s brilliant idea to send more soldiers to the slaughterhouse. That’s got nothing to do with you.”

He whirled around at me. “I’m the reason she’s here in the first place.”

Okay, he had a point. “Demented soldiers; slave and civilian populations under fire? You should have called me first.”

“I didn’t know for sure. I had to get more intel before I brought you in on it.”

“And now the Sixth Line are under his control.”

He looked down. “I know…”

“Why didn’t you contact me first? You knew I had experience with this.”

“I didn’t want to bring you in unless I was sure.”

“Are you sure now?”

“Going in alone? You could’ve been hurt or possessed!”

“And you could have died!” I snapped.

He blinked at me. I blinked and looked down and tried to calm my own breathing. “Jyana…” he said softly after what felt like about five or so minutes.

I was silent for another moment before stating simply, “I’m going to New Adasta. Teeseven, stay with Theron. Kira, with me.”

T7 beeped an acknowledgement in a confused and concerned tone while Kira just nodded and tossed her large bag of kolto at Theron.

He was startled by the toss and it caught him in his face. He barely managed a quick and smooth recovery and did not end up dropping it to the floor. He looked back up from the bag as I had already made it to the door. “Jyana…” Theron continued.

Without looking behind me I just pulled up my hood and walked out into the cold breeze of the Ziost Outpost.

[jsmulligan]

“You've got to hold those zones!” the voice of Lord Shaxx, Crucible Handler, rang through the arena, frustration evident in his tone.

Shaxx was a legendary figure, a mountain of a man who had lead famed charges into harrowing conflict, then built the Crucible as we know it to train Guardians to be ready for anything that would come their way.  He was very hands on with his creation, monitoring each match that happened.  He served as announcer for some matches, others he would just chime in from time to time with comments directed toward the competitors.  Normally, hearing him getting so caught up in a match was nearly as entertaining as the action itself.  When it was directed at your team, the entertainment value dropped substantially.

“Oh, is THAT what we're supposed to be doing,” Hunter Celeste Etain muttered to the left of me.  “And here I thought we were just supposed to dance around them and look at the pretty flags.”

As she spoke, Celeste spun out into the open, drawing her Void bow and loosing an arrow at Zone B.  The arrow pierced through one defender.  Where he fell, a ball of purple Light blossomed with tendrils of energy lancing outward to snare the other two.  I followed her action up by tossing grenade that attached to one and exploded.  The energy of the explosion transferred through the Void tethers, killing both of them.

“Maybe that's what Baruch was doing,” Titan Kana-4 chimed in over the comms, her tone teasing.  “It would explain why we lost C just now.”

She sprinted into view, performing a crisp slide into the circle that marked the Control point.  Celeste and I quickly moved into it as well, the three of us watching for approaching enemies while waiting to be awarded the capture.

“I was not dancing,” Titan Baruch Maor groused after a few seconds, his usual lack of humor evident in his tone.  “They shot me out of the air before I could land my slam.  I had them dead to rights.”

“And that is why you don't leap high in the air before you do it,” I chided.  “At least until you've managed to better control you speed of descent.  We've talked about that.”

He did not reply to that, but I could imagine the Awoken man grumbling under his breath.  Despite being newly risen, Baruch was very self-assured.  That could be a good thing, but it often turned into arrogance or just thick-headed stubbornness.  If I could manage to shape it properly, it could result in a stalwart Guardian that others would follow into anything.  For now, however, it just made me want to beat my head against the Wall until visions of prancing Thrall filled my skull.

“Tanton.  Astrid.  How are you progressing?” I asked.

“Got one,” was the Hunter's terse reply.

“We found her by A and took her out,” Astrid's young voice replied.  “About to move to capture.”

“Nice work,” Celeste complemented.

“Thanks,” Astrid said, the mini-Titan's voice full of joy.  “She never saw me coming.  Dove into the back of her knees, then Tanton finished her off with his knife.”

“You and knees,” I muttered, not necessarily intending to be heard.

“It's fun,” she said.  “No one ever expects it.”

Motion to my left.  I turned and fired, three rounds leaping from my Parthian Shot pulse rifle.  They found their mark, striking a Guardian who had tried sneaking up on us.  Kana reacted and fired an inaccurate spray from her auto rifle.  It was not the best bit of shooting, but enough rounds found their mark to finish off the enemy combatant.

“Heavy ammo inbound,” suddenly sounded through the arena.

“We'll get the close one here,” I said.  “We'll do out best to wait for the rest of you to get here before opening it.”

“Not me,” Baruch stated.  “I've still got a Fist of Havoc that I need to hit someone with.  I'm going after the other drop.”

The heavy ammo crate trasmatted into its designated spot.  I erected a Ward of Dawn around it, giving us protection while we grabbed the ammo synths and loaded our weapons.  Across the bottom of my HUD, I saw several notifications scroll by in rapid succession:

BRAVO has picked up heavy ammo.

Baruch Maor killed Baris-7, Fist of Havoc

Baruch Maor killed Lee Christoph, Fist of Havoc

Baruch Maor killed David Ryn, Fist of Havoc

ALPHA has taken the lead.

Jarus Corbin killed Baruch Maor, sniper rifle

“Four of them got the heavy ammo, but I took out three,” Baruch said moments later, after being revived and transmatted back into the arena.

“Nice work,” I replied.  “Let's finish them off.”

Having five members of our team with heavy weapons available, versus only one of theirs, gave us a strong advantage.  We stuck together, working to take out approaching Guardians before they could pick us off or unleash their Light.  This let us stretch out the slim lead Baruch had gotten us, and we were able to hold on for the victory. It wasn't the prettiest match I had ever been part of, but a win is a win.  The team seemed to be coming together nicely.  Well, the team and Astrid, the irrepressible “Wild Child”.

Once the match was called, Celeste made her way to the nearest control point and was started dancing near the flag.  Kana cheered her on while clapping a beat.  Baruch, Tanton, and Astrid gathered nearby and were watching the two of them.

“Alright everyone, let's call it a day and get out of here,” I said.

“Aww, but I'm holding the zone like Shaxx said,” Celeste jokingly pouted.

“Yeah, someone has to show Baruch how it's done,” added Kana, casting a glance at the other Titan.

“Try it out next time we're in a match and see how it works for you,” the other Awoken man grumbled.  

“Well, if you want to stick around, that's up to you,” I replied, “but Fireteam Painted Truth is officially off duty for now.”

“Fireteam?” a familiar voice questioned behind me.  I turned around to see Jarus Corbin approaching.  He had already removed his helmet and a broad smile was creasing his dark features.  “Claney Beamard in an honest-to-goodness fireteam?  And here I thought I'd seen everything.”

“Jarus,” I nodded, extending a hand which the Hunter shook. “It's been a while.”

“Yes it has,” he responded, glancing past me at the other five Guardians.  “I thought you'd sworn off fireteams.  In fact, I remember you making a big deal about it when Iniko tried to get you to join ours a few years back.”

“It's a long story,” I said.  “But the short version is that it was something that I'd thought about for a while and the Vanguard assigned three kinderguardians to work with me and Celeste.”

“And the half-pint?”  Jarus asked.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said quickly, holding a hand up.  “Don't let her hear you say that, unless you feel like eating a Hammer. What's the phrase?  '… though she be but little, she is fierce'? And to answer your question, she's not fully part of the team. Astrid is still only allowed to participate in the Crucible. Officially.  Unofficially, I'd be willing to wager just about anything that she manages to slip out and get herself more field experience than anyone would guess.”

A warning appeared on my HUD just then.  We had remained too long and needed to clear the arena before the next match.  I'd seen people ignore those warnings and had no desire to be cleared from the arena by the Redjacks.

“Let's finish this conversation back at the Tower,” I said to Jarus before turning my attention to my team.  “Now it's really time to go.  Clear out, head back home.”

…

I changed out of my armor into something more casual while on transit to the Tower.  Jarus, the team, and I all transmatted into the Courtyard about the same time, and it looked like they all had the same idea.  We briefly discussed heading to the Hangar bar or the City, but decided to continue the conversation at the fireteam quarters.  Astrid opted to head back to the Anusky's.  We reached our destination and the Hunter paused at the door where Celeste had painted the team's name in large letters.

“Painted Truth?” he asked, glancing at me.

“Celeste picked the name,” I replied with a shrug.

“Don't be jealous your team didn't think of something as interesting,” she smirked and passed through the doorway.  

Jarus just shook his head and followed her in.  I let Kana, Baruch, and Tanton enter as well before stepping in last.  By the time I entered, Jarus and Celeste had each found seats in the common area. Baruch and Kana were looking for seats, and Tanton was disappearing into his bunk.  I watched him go and then dropped heavily into an empty armchair.

“Jarus Corbin, this is Celeste Etain, Kana-4, and Baruch Maor.  The one who disappeared into his room is Tanton Holter.  Team, Jarus.” I indicated each member of the team as I said their names, and they each nodded or waved in turn.  “I've worked with Jarus a few times in the past.”

“Yep.  And I saved his life every single time, regardless of what he tells you,” the Hunter said.  “So, I take it we have time for the longer version now?” Jarus asked.

“I suppose we do,” I said, then took a moment to gather my thoughts.  “Well, it starts with a woman...”

“The best stories always do,” Jarus commented, winking at Kana who gave an impressive roll of her optics.

“... named Zillah Arvid,” I continued, ignoring both him and the sound Celeste made at the mention of Zillah's name.  “An Awoken Warlock.  She, Celeste, another Warlock named Scott-20, and I went on a mission that turned into something much bigger.  She suggested we form a team.”

“I can't help but notice there's nobody here that matches that description,” he said.  “Is she...”

“Dead?  No.  She left shortly after making the suggestion and hasn't been seen since.  The other Warlock suffered some injuries during the events and decided he preferred life in his study to the field.  He is our unofficial sixth member, acting as an information maven as well as facilitating communications and tinkering with gear.

“That left me and Celeste.  We work together all the time, but two people do not a fireteam make.  It seemed like the end of it.  I've spent the better part of the last year stationed at the Tower helping to mentor and train newly revived Titans.  Celeste stuck around for a time, but then ventured back into the wilds as you Hunters do. Still, I couldn't seem to shake the idea of putting a team together. Eventually I convinced Celeste to come back and brought the idea up to the Vanguard.  They assigned Kana, Baruch, and Tanton to us to make the team, though there wasn't a sixth at the time.”

“Dad and I...” Celeste began before Jarus interrupted again.

“Wait.  Dad?”

“I was there when she was resurrected,” I said quickly.  “Right after helping you and Iniko, actually.  Have you seen any old cartoons where the baby bird hatches and thinks that whatever the first thing it sees is its mother?  Same basic concept.”

“Shush,” Celeste laughed, tossing a throw pillow at me.  “Anyway. Yes, my dad.  We agreed to the assignment and have been spending way too much time in the Crucible ever since to, as the old man put it, 'build team report.'”

“Well that just sounds super boring,” Jarus remarked, smirking at me.

“Oh, it is,” Kana agreed.

“Well, if you get tired of it, Team Tosia could always has room a few extra members.  We'd actually let you out to shoot stuff.  Just ditch the 'old man' here and come on over.”

“Poaching from my team and inciting mutiny.  Remind me to not invite you back,” I said, shaking my head.

“What can I say?  I like to stir the pot,” the Hunter replied.

“I'm well aware of that.  Speaking of Team Tosia, how are things?”

“Knew they had a boring name,” Celeste muttered under her breath. Jarus either did not hear or just ignored it.

“Not bad, not bad.  Broke in a new member not too long ago when someone left the team.  We've been keeping active; taking strikes from the Vanguard, doing work for the factions, the usual.  It is getting a little weird out there, though.”

“How so?”

Jarus shifted as he spoke, leaning forward, “The numbers of enemy combatants we're seeing and the way they're moving.  I mean, given everything that has happened over the last few years, taking the Black Garden, killing Hive Gods, stopping the Devils and SIVA, it would stand to reason that we would see changes.  But... I don't know.  Something feels off about the way it's going down.  I can't really put my finger on it, though.”

I nodded, thoughtful.  Baruch and Kana seemed to listen intently with a definite hunger in their eyes.  Maybe it was time to get them out in the field instead of just drilling in the Crucible.

“I will say one thing for sure,” Jarus continued, “there is something going on with the Cabal on Mars.  Something seems to have lit a fire under them and they are starting to push harder against us and the Vex.  Mobilizing in a way I haven't seen since they were right before Oryx wrecked them on Phobos.  Tosia has recommended to the Vanguard that we increase our presence there.”

“You think they're planning to try to move against us?”

“Maybe.  Or maybe they're a canary.”

“A what?” Baruch questioned.

“A canary,” Jarus repeated.  “Back long before the Golden Age, when people would mine underground for minerals, they would sometimes have a canary with them in order to detect lethal gas.”

“Did the birds offer some sort of warning?” Kana asked.

“No,” Jarus replied, “they just died faster than people.  So if the canary dropped dead, they miners would know there was a deadly substance in the air and get out.”

“Oh,” was the only response the Exo offered.

“And you think that the Cabal are reacting to something big coming that we haven't detected yet?” I asked.

“They were like an ant hill someone kicked over before Oryx came in, they're starting to get that way now.  One doesn't necessarily mean the other, but...,” the Hunter shrugged.

“You may have a point.”

Just then, my Ghost Elgan materialized and floated over to me.

“Sorry to interrupt, but the Vanguard are calling for you.”

“Okay.”

“They want to speak to you in private,” he said.

I excused myself from the conversation and crossed the room to my bunk.  I closed the door and sat on the far side of the small room. Elgan flittered over to hover just in front of me, the pieces of his shell rotating in opposite directions.  I looked at him, and he connected me to the Vanguard.  The calm, deep voice of Commander Zavala emerged.

“Claney?”

“Yes, Commander?”

“There is an urgent matter that the Speaker wishes to discuss with you.  He is requesting that you come to his study alone.  He says it is something of a sensitive nature and would prefer no one else know that you are coming to speak with him.”

“Any idea what so I'm not going in blind?” I asked.

“No,” the Commander replied, a slight hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.  He did not seem to be thrilled to have the Speaker keeping him in the dark either.

“Fair enough.  I will head there right away.  Claney out.”

The connection severed and I sat still for a moment.  For the life of me I could not figure out what the Speaker would need to speak to me about.  No point in keeping him waiting, however.  I emerged from the room and all eyes turned to me.

“I have to go deal with something.  I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Celeste gave me an inquisitive look, and I shook my head then headed out the door.

...

AN:

This is the first chapter of my recently started fic over at fanfiction.net.  I saw posts about Destiny week, and that it was fireteam day.  I hadn’t contributed up ‘til now, but better late than never?  The story itself is a sequel to A Not So Simple Patrol and lead in to Destiny 2.

As always, Astrid is the property of @yourspunkpunk

[dystovian]

I would love a part two for the lance 37 it was really good

WOW IM DEPRESSED THIS WAS DEPRESSING BUT HERE YOU GO ITS SUPER LONG AND ALSO ILL DO A PART 3 WHERE THEY GO BACK TO EARTH AND SUCH K BYE ;(

 original requested by: @decayedrosepart 1: https://takashishitogane.tumblr.com/post/159963806842/i-love-to-cry-so-maybe-lance-x-reader-with-32

 It’s been 5 months. 5 months since you died in your lovers arms. 5 months since.When your body was brought onto the Castle, and shoved into a healing pod. They waited. Lance never left your side throughout that whole time, not once.

 When Coran confirmed that you didn’t make it, everyone stopped. They stopped everything they did.

 Pidge and Keith stopped their search because it was no use, you were dead. Searching for the one who killed you could get another member of the team slaughtered. What good would that bring?

 Hunk stopped cooking only unless asked to. What was the point of cooking for fun when there wasn’t anymore around?

 Shiro stopped pushing the Paladins to train as much before, they deserved a break, after what happened to you, everyone deserved a break.

 Allura and Coran stopped sending the Paladins on dangerous missions. Though Coran designed new armor, one that covered all parts of the body. Thicker, safer.

 Lance kept track of the days. And every year, on the anniversary of your death, he would stare at the stars and planets in the sky and cry. His tears would leave burnt skin behind as they shot down his face.

 He dreams of you almost every night. Nightmare or not. He would dream of you smiling and laughing with him. He’d dream of the time you guys first met and what you’d look like at you and his future wedding. What you’d look like with your and his combined flesh and blood by your side.

 He had nightmares of that day, the day he lost you. The day he invited you to join him and the others. That was the day he regretted it all.

 Keith and Lance didn’t bicker as much anymore. In fact, Keith would check on Lance every night, knocking twice on his door and letting himself in, only to find Lance crying a little more than the night before. He’d sit on the bed. He wouldn’t even say anything, just sit beside him until Lance sat up and hugged him. Lance would sob, tears falling onto Keith’s shoulder, while Keith’s own tears seeped through his lashes and dropped onto Lances hair.

 Keith checked on everyone now. As soon as the door to Pidges room opened he’d look at his feet. And listen to her slowly stand and walk to him, only to wrap her arms around his back and try her hardest not to grip too hard onto him.

 Keith would check on Shiro and warn him to take it slow, don’t exercise too much, only for an hour or two. Shiro would nod, hug Keith, shut the door, and sign. Only to lay in bed and weep until his body shut off and he would reboot in the morning.

 Lance was the one who checked on Hunk more than Keith did, Hunk was across the hall from Lance, so it didn’t require too much energy. But each time Lance opened that door, Hunk would sit up, lift his arm up and beckon Lance over to him. They’d sit beside each other, Hunk rubbing the sides of Lances arms, and listen to his cries and apologies.

 Allura and Coran were the only ones who refused to cry in front of the Paladins. Staying strong was needed. Who else would stay strong if every paladin lost a part of themselves? They could barely stand without you. Luckily, they battled as though you were there, that’s only because they’ve started battling for you.

 “Paladins!” Alluras voice rang through the comms. Beckoning them to see her. And when they did, they sat at the long table and ate what Hunk had cooked for them.

 “You’ve been having a tough time with each other when it comes to forming Voltron. It reminds me of when you first came.” Her voice echoed through their ears. Keith was the first to speak.

 “We’re sorry princess…” He mumbled, staring at his empty plate with his head down.

 “Would you like to do a training exercise? Only one of course, I can’t push you too much and it’s very late.” She forced a smile, folding her hands together.

 Allura got a few “Yes”’s and “Sure”’s from them. Yet she didn’t stand, that confused them of course because they thought they’d be fighting gladiators or going through mazes as they did the first.

 “What’s it like?” She murmured, playing with a utensil nearby and looking solemnly at it.

 “What do you mean, princess?” Shiro asked, eyebrows drawing close together as he frowned.

 “What was it like when you lost her? I didn’t really know her all to well. So I genuinely wasn’t affected as much as you all were. I’m simply curious.”

 “It was horrible, Allura, absolutely terrifying. I don’t ever want to go through that again. I wasn’t there when it really happened, but just that fear of seeing her….I- It was so, so scary.” Pidge spoke, her voice low and wavering.

 Keith agreed, rubbing her back from beside her as he described the dread he felt. Almost everyone did.

 “Lance?” Shiro tilted his head, leaning a bit toward him. His head was down.

 When Lance looked up, his face showed exactly how he felt, his cheeks were clearly red as well as the areas around his eyes. A storm of tears came from them as they flickered toward Allura.

 “Can you tell me more about her? I- I really didn’t know her at all. I’d like to know, very much.” She made contact with Lance once, only to look down right away as his gaze bore into her.

 The others refused to answer for Allura, perhaps another time. But this was something Lance should do.

 “I met her in, uhm, 3rd grade. I moved there when I was really little and I remember becoming really good friends with her.” He paused, breathing in deeply.

 “Her mom, wanted her to be a doctor. She wanted to be a biologist. She studied in the medical and biology field, that’s why I brought her.” He laughed a bit, wiping away his tears as he leaned sideways in his seat.

 “She left once, I remember, in 6th grade I think. She came back in 9th at the Garrison and oh my gosh she was so gorgeous. She grew, obviously, got a bit taller but she was still shorter than me, told her so too. Ugh she hated me for that.” He smiled a bit, his eyes drifting off.

 “Her favorite color was Purple, then Pink. But when she came back it was (F/c). I remember getting her a bunch of balloons on her birthday in Pink only for her to tell me she didn’t like that color anymore. My mom adored her, same with everyone in my family. They thought she was the cutest most sweetest thing and I couldn’t agree because I would get a lifetime of teasing but now I regret it.” He choked out the beginning of a sob, his breathing becoming deep.

 “I regret it because I should have loved her sooner, y'know? She deserved absolutely everything, everything in the whole entire universe. And the one thing I couldn’t give her was me because I was so scared and set on the fact she only liked me as a friend. And now, I regret it even more because if I hadn’t been so in love with her she wouldn’t have come with us, I was absolutely selfish. She could be safe right now! It’s all my fault!” He stood, slamming his hands onto the table. No one said anything, they only flinched.

 “She could be alive, safe and sound in her home, maybe with my family probably comforting them because she was so good and nice. I have to be the one to go home and tell her mother and father that’s she dead! She’s dead and it’s all my fault because I was stupid and selfish and in love with her! I think about her…every. Single. Night. If she had lived we would be so fine, we would be absolutely happy and fine and great and I would’ve been going back to Earth with her. I could’ve married her and had kids with her and now I can’t.” His voice has risen in the beginning but dropped as quick as his heart had, he collapsed to his knees and lay his head on the table and wept.

 By the end of his long rant, the room was silent. Lances cries were the loudest. He sobbed loudly like a child who didn’t get what they wanted.

 The others wept as well. Coran stood behind Alluras chair, standing tall and holding it in so much but they still slipped out, he stared ahead and didn’t move a muscle.

 Pidge had her face in her hands, tears peeking through the cracks of her fingers and soaking her hands. She shook with sadness.

 Keith bawled, mumbles and sobs would occasionally come from him as he let all of his emotions out, letting them land in his lap, for all to see.

 Shiro and Hunk cried silently, staring as their tears fell as well, Hunk wiped his away. Shiro did not, what was the point of getting rid of them if they weren’t going to stop coming?

 Allura stood, going toward Lance and kneeling beside him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face into the side of his neck. The others joined. In a large, large group bonding exercise.

 “She sounds wonderful. She is wonderful.“ Allura murmured, her and all of their tears mending together, stitching and sewing their hearts back together. Mending the broken hearts you left behind in an attempt to save them all.

[redjayson]

I just thought about what if Jason accidentally fakes his death? Like the batfam thought his still in a warehouse or something when it blew, and his comms destroyed so they can't call him, and he just went to a safe house after to sleep and like he doesn't know until a few weeks later when he shows up at the manor to meet up with Alfred for tea.

would it be better or worse if he wasn’t even really getting along with the rest of the family at that point? either way you play it, jason has a bunch of redundancies for his safe houses, and he was trained just as well as any of them. there has to be at least one or two he’s managed to keep secret from the rest of the bats. 

jay doesn’t really make a habit of carrying explosives in his helmet anymore; that was really more of a one-off when he first came back to gotham. since then, he generally just carries more explosives with him to make up for it. because of that, and because he’s usually fighting standard-grade humans, it’s not all that likely that he tosses his helmet aside in the middle of a fight.

a warehouse blows. red hood was in it, they know that (it all but had “This Is A Trap For Red Hood” written all over it), and when searching it, the bats find the badly burnt remnants of hood’s shattered helmet. no body, but –

it’s easy to assume the worst. it’s already happened once, after all. they hold on to hope for a week, but they haven’t been able to find any sign of jason. he can’t be raised on his comms, he hasn’t been in any of the safe houses that they know of, oracle couldn’t find any sign of him on cameras. 

no sign of him in a hospital or even leslie’s clinic, no body matching his description in the morgue. (that last doesn’t mean anything. no body at the warehouse, but someone had set the trap – they could have easily dumped it somewhere else.)

there’s no sign of him, living or dead, anywhere in the city so far as they can tell.

red hood’s been throwing himself into ever-escalating fights since he came back to gotham, and finally they have to assume that this time, his luck didn’t hold long enough for him to get out. 

the family sinks into some kind of shock. it’s impossible to believe that they lost him again.

it’s not something that can even be explained to the public. how do you explain that you’re in fresh mourning for a son and brother that was declared dead over half a decade ago? 

then again, all the bats are good at hiding how they feel. 

they mourn quietly, but they mourn.

what happened is this: 

jason walks himself straight into a trap. he usually ascribes to obi-wan kenobi’s philosophy regarding them, but this time –

it wasn’t a good idea to spring the trap.

there are more men than jason realized there would be. one of them gets a lucky shot, glancing off his helmet and leaving him staggering long enough for another to slam his head down against the concrete floor. jason sweeps his attackers legs out from under him and rolls away, taking cover behind a crate, but his helmet is cracked and partially shattered all along one side.

jason really regrets not having explosives in his helmet anymore, though given all the different kinds of explosives he can see scattered around the warehouse, that might not be a very good option right now anyway.

(why in the hell do they have so many explosives–? but he doesn’t really have time to think about it.)

jason pulls his helmet off, because blood is dripping steadily down from a cut above one of his eyes, where the helmet splintered inwards, and at this point it will only hinder him. 

these henchmen, though. they were just paid to make sure that he stayed in the warehouse long enough. as soon as he walked in, the timer was counting down. when jason ducks back around the crate he sheltered behind, they’ve scattered. 

jason swears when he sees the flickering red numbers. it’s not a scream; he can’t waste the breath. it’s one quiet invective and then he’s running for it, the way that he hadn’t been able to in ethiopia. 

he grapples up and slams through a window, scattering glass everywhere, just as the timer hits zero. the bomb goes off. the very edges of the explosion catch him, flinging him away.

a moment of free-fall, a terrifying reminder of ethiopia when he feels the heat of the blast, a brief thought of no, please no, not again–

jason rolls over onto his back, coughing. blood is still trailing down his face; he has to rub it off one of the lenses of his domino mask. he’s pretty sure he has a concussion. he tries to sit up and he definitely has cracked ribs. 

jason gets up carefully, trying to make sure nothing is moving around in his body where it’s not supposed to, and then he staggers away. he’s not staying around to give them a second shot at him. 

it’s instinct to avoid the cameras. there aren’t as many in this part of the city anyway, and jason likes it that way. it’s near one of the few safe houses he’s sure hasn’t been compromised, and he’d like to keep it that way.

he’d definitely like to lick his wounds in peace. 

it’s not that he thinks any of the bats are going to come after him. he doesn’t even think about the fact that they’ll probably know that he was at that warehouse. he just doesn’t want them butting in on his business, which they’ve done a couple of times at some of his other safe houses.

jason does cursory first aid when he gets back to his safe house. he pays more attention to re-arming his security, and by the time he gets around to dealing with his body, he can tell he’s probably about to pass out. he’s got a bunch of scrapes – nothing too bad, though a few are deeper and bleeding more than he really wants to deal with right now – and he’s pretty sure none of his ribs are out and out broken. he should probably get medical attention for the concussion.

he’ll drop by leslie’s clinic tomorrow, if he really needs to.

jason gets his armor off, makes sure all his guns are unloaded, and then he’s in his bed and unconscious.

he’s pleasantly surprised to wake up in the morning. looks like he didn’t overlook anything life-threatening. 

he’s still kind of a mess, though. the ribs alone are going to take a week at least before he’ll be able to go back out on the street. he could push it, but between the threat of breaking them for real and how much pain he’s in just getting up and going to the bathroom, he’ll allow that in this case, healing is the better idea. 

he doesn’t even think about the bats. their relationship is still rocky at best, though at least it no longer involves any murder attempts. he was given comms to talk with them, but he hasn’t used them very much. 

(he didn’t notice the earpiece getting busted at the warehouse the night previous. he varied between carrying them around in his pockets in case he needed them and actually wearing them, even if he didn’t use them, but he’d been more concerned with saving his damn life than thinking about where he had placed fragile machinery. 

when he finally notices, a couple days later, he figures he can ask barbara the next time he swings by the clocktower. she’s infinitely easier to talk to than any of the other bats are.)

jason’s safe house is well stocked. he doesn’t need to leave for a good while yet. there’s a reason this is his favorite – and most well hidden – safe house.

after a few days, though, he starts going stir crazy. he can’t go out and do anything, but he’s dying by inches in here, waiting to be able to draw a full breath that doesn’t leave him wheezing in pain. there’s only so much daytime tv he can watch, and even when he concentrates on combing through gotham news and networks, it’s to find that a) there’s nothing big happening because b) the bats have been coming down hard on criminals this past week, and c) on top of that disappointment, jason can’t get at his damn contacts to tell him what’s happening on the street level but d) it looks like bats have been prowling along his patrol routes anyway, damn them, and e) apparently it was a good idea to hole up in his best safe house because f) he’s gotten alerts from at least two of his safe houses that they’ve been broken into by people who can only be bats. he assumes more than just the two of them were broken into, but the last one they must have been able to disable his security. 

he spends a pleasant time trying to redesign his security systems when he can’t see what the bats avoided or tripped up on. it’s something else to pay attention to, anyway.

he wonders why exactly they’re trying to find him, but since they’re the ones that broke into his places, he’s not really inclined to give them a response. they can call him if they really need to get into contact with him.

(it’s about then that he realizes the comm was destroyed, and that the only phone number he gave them was to a burner that hasn’t been charged in a week and is currently lying abandoned in his second-favorite safe house.

he doesn’t care that much. 

they’re not a real family. they haven’t been for a long time, if they ever were.)

“fuck,” jason hisses on the ninth day, staring at the date on his phone and the reminder that’s popped up. 

tea with alfred, because that’s one relationship jason is willing to cling to, and it’s fun to hack into bruce’s schedule and figure out what times he’ll be out. jason doesn’t want to have to chance running into him at the manor. he sets the most likely dates in his calendar and goes if he’s feeling up to human company.

jason is definitely up for human company after this week. he’s so damn bored. and honestly, he would love nothing better than to drink tea with alfred and talk about books the way they did when he was younger. 

(being laid up means he’s been reading a bunch of books in his endless free time. he’s just finished frankenstein and he has opinions.)

jason cleans himself up. he tries to make himself look presentable, not like he’s spent a week convalescing after a stupid mistake. he doubts it will fool alfred, but he has to at least try. 

it’s a slightly uncomfortable ride to the manor, but jason grits his teeth and bears it. he parks his bike in its usual spot just outside the manor boundaries, and then he sneaks in. he could blatantly show up, let himself get caught on camera and everything, but that would defeat the whole purpose of constantly hacking bruce’s schedule and only swinging by when he was gone. 

jason walks into the kitchen to see alfred dismally staring down into his tea cup. alfred looks up, something tired and old and sad in his eyes, and then he stands so abruptly that he actually knocks his tea cup off the table. 

jason automatically tries to catch it, but his ribs yell so loudly at it that all jason accomplishes is an aborted motion and a barely-stifled sound of pain. 

“master jason,” alfred said. 

ow, fuck, jason thinks. “you need company for tea time?” he asks, only in part trying to cover that betraying wince. tea and company is what he’s here for, after all. 

“you,” alfred says severely. “need to answer your comms when you find yourself in a bad situation, young man. at the very least, you might find it in yourself to tell us that you are still amongst the living!”

then alfred’s stepping around the table and grabbing jason in a hug. 

“ow, fuck,” jason says, out loud this time. it’s kind of the only response that he can make to that statement. and the hug. 

alfred draws back, eyeing him narrowly. “how badly are you injured?”

“it’s fine,” jason says dismissively. alfred gives him a look. “i busted up my ribs, but i should probably be fine in another week or two.” most everything else has healed up, or at least healed up enough that alfred can’t question him about it.

“the warehouse was quite obviously a trap,” alfred says. 

you might find it in yourself to tell us that you are still amongst the living!

“oh,” jason says. he understands now. his shoulders hunch a little, defensively. “it’s fine. i’m fine.”

“yes, so it appears,” alfred says. “however, we did not know that.”

jason hunches even more defensively. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. 

alfred sighs. in that moment, he looks all his years. “please,” he says. “we lost you once. don’t make us believe it’s happened another time.”

“sorry,” jason says. his eyes drop to the floor. there’s some kind of skewed humor, being back here and apologizing like nothing has changed in the time between, even if the apology is for accidentally faking his death rather than stealing cookies when he thought he could get away with it. it’s not very funny.

“would you care to join me for tea?” alfred asks, after a brief pause. 

“yeah,” jason says. he looks up. “i would.”

[nofomoartworld]

Art F City: We Went to Frieze, Part One: Seagull Poop, People Poop, and Demon Poop

The Frieze entrance. Photo: Paddy Johnson

Every year Frieze installs a massive tent on Randall’s Island and lures jetsetters from across the globe to its contemporary art fair. This year, the fair expanded its usual roster of contemporary art galleries to include a few secondary market stalwarts as well. Newcomers to the fair included Bernard Jacobson Gallery, Castelli Gallery, and Axel Vervoordt and Eykyn Maclean.

That’s not a huge change in the landscape of the fair, but notably the fair’s director, Victoria Siddall, told the Art Newspaper recently that there was a significant uptick in applications from galleries in this market. Is Frieze grooming the New York market for an edition of their London-based Frieze Masters (a fair focused on secondary market art works)? Only time will tell.  

Meanwhile, Frieze New York is much better than usual. Art fair standards that drag these events down—geometric abstraction, process based abstraction, and assembly line art works by A-list artists—were few and far between. Overall, the work on view seemed unusually fresh and thoughtful. Neither are words we normally use to describe art fair art, let alone that at Frieze.

Jon Rafman, Dream Journal, 2017, single-channel video

Michael: The first artwork we saw entering Frieze this year was a painting by Tala Madani of a man crawling away from the viewer, scrotum in tow. The last piece we saw was a Jon Rafman animation that involved voluptuous young women wearing a xanax cap, popping demons’ pimples, navigating holes in space time, and pooping balls of demon blood.

Paddy: Well, technically speaking the first work we saw was an Elmgreen & Dragset piece at Massimo De Carlo that placed a plaster vulture on top of a wire fence and gate with a sign that read “Miracle”. It seemed like an appropriate way to start the fair. I interpreted this message to mean that as fair visitors, we’re all scavengers seeking the false hope that art provides.  

Michael: Ha! I literally had to convince myself it wasn’t a reference to the gated-off holy town (with meta-promotion) in HBO’s The Leftovers. But I’m pleasantly surprised by how much we enjoyed Frieze this year. In a strange way, some of the booths reminded me of NADA a few years ago, back when we actually liked NADA. By that I mean the boring, fussy, predictable stuff we expect from “mature” fairs seems to have retreated significantly at Frieze. So many booths this year felt fun, for lack of a better word.

A few quickly-identifiable trends:

Political work that didn’t take itself too seriously (and some that did).

Less video and installation.

Artists referencing classical architecture in new ways (works that wouldn’t look out of place in an old townhouse with a very modern renovation, perhaps?)

Afro-centric photography

Playful paintings (Plenty of figuration including strange nudes or more-fun-looking abstraction).

More people wearing Comme des Garçons than I had ever seen in one room in real life. (Thanks Met Gala).

Text based neon

Mirrors on furniture

Seagull paintings with poop

Here are some of the highlights (and a few lowlights) from Frieze, with more to come tomorrow:

Elmgreen & Dragset at Massimo De Carlo

Tala Madani at David Kordansky Gallery

R.H. Quaytman, “D. Kasper”, 2017, Silkscreen ink, diamond dust, gesso on two wood panels with self. Miguel Abreu Gallery.

Paddy: Miguel Abreu Gallery’s stock and trade might best be described as careful formalism paired with academic intelligence, and the booth showcased some of the best versions of this ranging from a Liz Deschenes striped chromogenic print to a Hans Bellmer photograph of a doll dismembered and bound. None of these works photograph well, including the R.H. Quaytman above made with diamond dust. I’m assuming the work above refers to artist Dawn Kasper, who perhaps most famously transplanted her studio to the Whitney Biennial in 2015. Normally, Quaytman has a tome of background that goes into her paintings. None of that is visible here, though. It’s just a foot ornamented with lines diamond dust—a rather pristine representation of a performance artist whose studio looks like a hoarders depot.

Michael: That’s funny: this is the kind of work I was excited to see less of this year. I was bored almost immediately upon walking into the booth.

Paddy: Why?

Michael: I suppose it all felt familiar? I think I was in a headspace of wanting to be surprised all day and this just looked like such an art fair booth. Even when I found kinda average works from artists I really love (Marilyn Minter at Salon 94, for example) I just wanted to move on to something new.

Paddy: I’d agree that the Bellmer’s were lesser works from his overall oeuvre, but the quality of the Liz Deschenes wowed and surprised me. (It is made up of white glossy stripes and impossible to photograph, so sorry—no reproduction here.) It’s exactly the kind of work I’d dismiss as easy minimalist abstraction, except that in the same way that a Daniel Buren stripe painting can kind of vibrate from the wall, so too did the subtle undulations of the fading black and white stripes in her print. If there was any way to photograph it I would have made it a highlight.

Adriano Costa at Mendes Wood DM

Michael: I can’t tell if Adriano Costa’s work is terrible or brilliant… and for that I have a total art crush. We first spotted a painting comprising spray paint on ugly HGTV-makeover-show-looking tiling, which read “My Boyfriend is Vegan”. I literally LOLed. Another piece features real tools sewn to the canvas and another is covered in knee-length socks the artist has ironed-on phrases to. The majority of these socks just ask “FANCY A FUCK?”

Paddy: I suppose if you’re going to put text on socks affixed to a painting that’s a reasonable message?

John Currin at Gagosian, Installation view

I’m not sure I can forgive John Currin for being a Republican, but I have to acknowledge the skill of these drawings. The left half of the booth is weaker than the right, which tends to have a few more fully rendered images that have been more thought out. As per usual with Currin, the weirder, the better.

John Currin at Gagosian

Andres Serrano, “America” at Galerie Nathalie Obadia

Michael: Boy, French/Belgian Galerie Nathalie Obadia probably thought they had hit the mother-of-all-timely/conceptual-bombs when someone remembered “Oh yeah, didn’t Andres Serrano do a photo series after 9/11 where he took pictures of Muslim girls and Mexican workers and Donald Trump for some reason and American flags with blood on them and called it ‘America’? Like back when Donald Trump was just a weird C-List celebrity? So deep and prescient!”

The problem with this improbably hot-button-relevant series from over a dozen years ago is that the work is just terrible. The fact that Serrano’s response to 9/11 was to photograph “BLACK PEOPLE! WHITE PEOPLE! INDIAN PEOPLE! FAMOUS PEOPLE!” like a buy-the-world-a-coke commercial (that’s selling me what, exactly?) is so cheesy. That this series now looks important because it features Donald Trump as a sitter and he’s an asshole to the demographics of the other sitters just makes this more cringe-worthy.

Paddy: These aren’t even good commercial portraits. The backgrounds looks like they’re made from cheap colored gels and the only visual trick to the work is that he’s managed to infuse the skin tones with some of the same lighting tones. Someone needs to show his bunny rabbit series. There’s no intellectual heft to them either, but there, the cheeseball backgrounds seem funny—like intentional faux-preciousness for an already ridiculous concept—rabbit portraits. 

Roman Ondak, “Swap”, 2011, Performance, edition 3 of 5 at Esther Schipper.

Paddy: Okay, I know this looks like a terrible photo of this poor lad, but it’s actually incredibly illustrative of the annoying qualities in this performance, which is why we’re using it. (Also, it’s the only photo we have.) The performance title, “Swap”, tells a viewer everything they need to know—the guy pictured above sits at a table for four days, swapping one item for another, in the hopes of swapping upwards. It’s an art fair, though, so when we saw him all he’d been able to do was swap business cards.

Michael, you refused his business card swap offer when you were approached, explaining that that’s the last thing you want more of at a fair. When he tried to tell you this card would be art, I lost my manners. “OoooOOOOooooh, Art!” I told him, laughing hysterically. After that he refused to talk to me.

Anyway, apologies to the man in the chair, but this Roman Ondak performance deserves a special place in hell. What in God’s name is the purpose of this piece? To unpack and aggrandize the concept of swapping? Sell someone else.  

Michael: I kept thinking this performance was never meant for an art fair. At a gallery in a warehouse district in Berlin (the gallery’s hometown) I am sure the exchanges would be much more interesting. Here, of course the only thing people would have with them are business cards or maybe an overpriced bottle of juice. Don’t they make you check all your personal effects at the door of the tent?

Paddy: I still think he should have took the elastic a nearby photographer offered him. He could have done better with that.

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