#water conduit Reggie save me

[unhingedbutaware]

Brothers

Had this idea for a while, inspired by a fanfic I saw,,,

Insane time to post I'm so sorry

[phantoms-lair]

I:SS A Better Future

(Here brain, Reggie Conduit good ending, please be appeased and let me work on what I want to)

A long shower after a day of work had become a godsend for Reggie. It was something he used to do when days were particularly bad, but now it was after every shift. Feeling the warm water get absorbed and heal any tired muscles or aching joints (not that he had as many as he used to) was something he wouldn’t trade for anything.

It still felt unreal. He could remember waking up in the hospital, still covered in concrete, and being asked if he knew he was conduit-active and if so what was his element since it would help him heal faster.

As shocked as he’d been, it wasn’t until much later when he realized the true impact of the exchange. He was asked if he knew, not declared a bio-terrorist and turned over to the sickos in the DUP. Even a week earlier he knew it would have gone differently. Instead he was treated with human decency and - once they found his element was water - kept him immersed until his healing factor pushed the concrete out.

That bothered him a bit, that the process had taken less than a day. If they had just put Del next to a bonfire or something, he could have been back on his feet in a day, rather than have concrete spurs in his legs for a week. But knowledge on how to help conduits had been in short supply.

And then, once he was cleared, he just...went home. Home to the rest of the Akomish, healed from Augustine’s attack. Home to Delsin who didn’t even try to hide his crying that Reggie was alive. Home to the two troubled teenagers he’s onced tried to arrest who’d turned around and helped his brother save the world (or at least Seattle).

And now he was still working as Sheriff of Salmon Bay. His new state of being relatively bulletproof and being able to subdue a culprit (or troublemaking younger brother, or said brother's equally troublemaking friends) with a single shot of water from a distance made him more efficient at his job than ever. And he would never let Delsin know how much he enjoyed 'hydroplaning' by creating water under his feet and just sliding along.

It was funny. He’d become a police officer to make the world safer for his brother to live in. And rebellious Delsin had turned it around and made the world safer for him instead.

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Ten — Settling

Was it Mom? Was it what happened in the alley? My eyes trailed off, looking away — I couldn’t stand seeing Dad like that — and instead landed on the height chart of him and his brother. Reggie. Dad never told us much about him beyond his name, a few stories about how he always bailed Dad out of trouble — but I didn’t know how he died. Did this run deeper than just Mom? Was Dad haunted by his brother? Could be his parents too — if they died from the Ray Field Plague, then that means they weren’t Conduits. He didn’t…he couldn’t be blaming himself for that either, right?

3.2 words | 10 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: familial loss

We all eventually collapsed on our various spaces in the living room, Dad taking the couch and sleeping at our heads after we had a huddled movie night around Dad’s phone. Morning came with the sudden noisy hum of the fridge and the HVAC’s heating pushing through, that weird stench of it not being used recently filling the house. “Oh, electricity’s on, good,” Dad mumbled huskily, relaxing. “We can do the basement today.”

Well, we were gonna, until Dad forced study time on us.

I don’t know how he could expect us to be able to study for exams with everything that had happened. And to think this was literally all I wanted to do — study, stress about exams, only have the mundane to worry about. It felt superficial now to frantically try to find study material for AP Lit since my textbook was a state away.

Dad made us split his phone, Brent stealing it to open up tabs on Chemistry while I sort of fumbled around. At least I had a study packet — otherwise this would have been useless. Dad took to disappearing through a door in the hall while we slummed away at our studying, trying hard to actually pretend to care.“This is stupid,” I heard Brent mutter.

“You’re one to talk,” I whispered back, “Architecture just got way easier for you. You can just make your little buildings whenever you want. How the fuck am I supposed to use water in art?”

“Watercolors.” He tried to deadpan, failing as an amused smirk slid on his face. “It’s in the name.”

I raised a hand and flicked my fingers towards him, water condensing on their tips and flinging onto his face. He sputtered, flinching with the splash and then warning me how I was so lucky he couldn’t do the same.

Betty eventually saved us from the torture, the trunk of her little Beetle full of refrigerated essentials; milk, eggs. A tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream she insisted counted. Dad emerged, a box in hand, greeting Betty with a joking, “Finally — thought you were trying to get out of helping us unpack,”

“I would never!” Betty balked. “I’m not one to pass up being nosy, Delsin, you know that.”

“And yet you’d always yell at me for it,” Dad rolled his eyes.

“Well it was my job to make sure you grew up better than me, after all,”

Dad made Brent help with moving the mattresses into the master bedroom, a task made far easier and yet absolutely hectic as he went to pull the mattress up and instead launched it towards the ceiling, knocking the spinning fan and making it wobble around.

The sound made poor Betty jump in place, her ankles popping with the sudden movement as Dad launched forward to catch the mattress before it tumbled into the fireplace. “Jesus Christ, Brent,” Dad breathed out on a laugh, struggling to balance the mattress in the air before pushing it to the side, away from the fire.

Brent was 3 shades redder than normal, muttering apologies that Dad waved off. But he wasn’t willing to drop the subject yet. “I mean, I got stronger when I got my powers, but not like this,”

“Do you think it’s his powers, perhaps?” Betty chimed in, hand still clasped to her chest.

“I mean, if his skin can turn metal, why not muscles?” I added.

Dad nodded slowly, messing with the 5 o’clock shadow that was overgrowing on him quick like a yard after a storm before suddenly slapping his hand on Brent’s bicep. “Flex.” He demanded.

“Dad—“ Brent stressed, somehow getting redder.

“C’mon son,” Dad insisted. “I’m not asking you to strip or anything,”

Way he was acting though, Dad may as well have.

Brent was the sporty one, football in the fall and baseball in the spring with weightlifting in between, and has always been on the stronger side. The bigger side. But now, with the room being warm enough to not need a carhart and with his sleeves rolled up, I realized he did look different. Not bigger, but like…defined, I guess. The muscles in his arm were showing more now instead of coexisting with his skin, straining the hem on the arm of his Akomish Rez shirt.

Brent relented, tensing his arm under Dad’s grip. His hand moved violently, his skin refusing to dimple under Dad’s grip when he gave a gentle squeeze. “Holy shit, Brent, I think Jean is right,”

Brent became our sideshow, being poked and prodded as we realized his muscles were, literally, solid steel. I copied Dad when Brent was doing his full mimicry, flicking his bicep and flinching away at the pain of hitting steel. “That’s not fair! Why didn’t I get that?” I complained. Why does he get to be the cool superhero with the pecks and the bull-like strength?

These Conduit powers better have at least erased my lactose intolerance.

Betty took my place, asking Brent and Dad a million questions like your power is steel? and are you doing that voluntarily? I moved back a few steps, leaned back against the same wall I was on when they pulled into the driveway, watching Dad and Betty fuss over him, encouraging him to go full steel to see if it would affect anything.

Dad and Brent were in the middle of seeing if he could concentrate making only a single part of his body a normal epidermis when he yelped, jumping suddenly as the little circular red magnet I threw stuck itself to his forehead with a loud CLACK.

“Huh,” I said, smirking a bit as Brent glared at me. “So you’re probably not stainless steel,”

“You couldn’t think of any other way to test that?”

“Shut up before I stick a report card on you.”

“She has a point,” Dad said, peeling the magnet off of Brent’s forehead. “Aren’t there a bunch of different kinds of steel? We should test and see if you have any limitations. In fact,” he looked over at me. “I want to do that for both of you, later today. See how far you can take your powers. After that, we’ll have to…well, we’ll have to train you to fight—“

“Oh, Delsin, you don’t think that’s necessary—“ Betty began.

“They need to. Whoever sent those Akurans to attack us in Portland isn’t going to give up.” Dad looked at Betty, something pleading in his eyes. “They’ve got to learn to protect themselves in case I…if I can’t…”

I never understood what people meant when they said silence could be deafening. Yeah, sure, there've been instances that the silence seemed to speak louder than words; that bad comedy bit during the talent show that one time, the assembly when we were told our 3rd grade teacher had passed. But deafening? I hadn’t really gotten that until now. Dad’s voice died off, his face almost distressed as he shot back to whatever memory was holding him captive.

Was it Mom? Was it what happened in the alley? My eyes trailed off, looking away — I couldn’t stand seeing Dad like that — and instead landed on the height chart of him and his brother. Reggie. Dad never told us much about him beyond his name, a few stories about how he always bailed Dad out of trouble — but I didn’t know how he died. Did this run deeper than just Mom? Was Dad haunted by his brother? Could be his parents too — if they died from the Ray Field Plague, then that means they weren’t Conduits. He didn’t…he couldn’t be blaming himself for that either, right?

Brent turned full human again, the action pulling Betty’s attention from Dad’s gaze and prompting her to say, “Well, let’s at least get the house more livable before you do any of that. You two move the beds to the room, Regina and I will start bringing up boxes from the basement.”

That was enough to change the atmosphere of the room, Dad nodding and then making a joke of warning Brent not to send the bed through the roof the next time he lifts it. Betty motioned for me to follow her, us leaving the boys to begin trying to fit the mattresses down the narrow hallway as she led me to the same door Dad emerged from earlier.

Most of the house was wood, a sort of vintage vibe stocked with paneling and patterned shag carpet that I imagine was older than Dad. Which is why the sudden dive into a modern looking staircase, followed by a steeled blue and gray hallway took me by surprise. It was like stepping back into the 21st century. There were three doors, Betty choosing the first on the right, which was already cracked open.

There weren’t as many boxes as I thought there’d be — sure, there were a good dozen, but they only took up half of the room. The other half was empty save for a yellow and white striped surfboard propped up against the soft artichoke colored walls, a pile of gray and white bedding absolutely covered in dust on the ground beside it. “Huh, I didn’t know Dad could surf!” I exclaimed, going to grip the board. Whenever we got to go to the beach, he’d never avoid the waves — but he never volunteered himself to try surfing, even when Brent did.

Betty, looking between two boxes and their labels, simply replied, “He doesn’t.”

Dad…doesn’t? Then whose…

I took a better look at the room: green, split halfway down the wall with a partitioned border that gave away to an eggshell shade. Dad hated green, to a comedic degree. The only time I’d ever gotten him in anything remotely green was my 6th grade Father Daughter Dance, and honestly, that was just for the fun of hearing his sarcastic quips about how he looked like Shrek the Ogre. All over a shirt! The entire suit wasn’t even green! His room wouldn’t willingly be green, not in a million years.

It was around this time that I noticed another box, a lone, small one helping hold the surfboard up. Gently leaning the board forward, I looked at the box, Reggie’s photography stuff written in a shaky form of Dad’s handwriting on top.

This was Reggie’s room.

A thousand questions ran through my head. Dad’s past was always sort of illusive; he’d shut down whenever we’d ask him about his past, would sort of trail off in the middle of a story when he did reveal anything, falling into nothing but pursed lips and sad eyes. At least, now I understood there was a layer of safety to why we never knew anything about anyone. But I just wanted to know, with the proof all right here; who was Reggie?

Betty definitely wasn’t the person to ask, though. She probably knew him, but Dad deserved the chance to make good on that honesty promise.

Instead of satiating a single question, I asked Betty, “What kind of stuff are we unpacking? What should I leave?”

She heaved a box against her hip, spinning to face me. “Any of them, really. They’re mostly old house supplies, so hopefully they will help you all settle in easier.”

“And Reggie’s things?”

Betty’s eyes trailed over to the surfboard, and the box I exposed by moving it. “Leave it for your father to decide.”

Betty began out the room, leaving me to scramble for a box and rush behind, almost tripping on the first step. Dad and Brent were just emerging from the nursery as I entered the hall, Dad immediately offering to take the box I held and sending me back down with Brent.

I led him back down, Brent cracking a joke at how modern the basement looked. “Wonder why they didn’t do the whole house? Upstairs looks like a scene from That 70’s Show.”

“Can’t imagine it’s cheap. Plus, I dunno,” I opened Reggie’s door, “Kind of gives it a sweet rustic vibe.”

“Yeah,” he snorted, rolling his eyes, “Okay,”

It wasn’t surprising when Brent rushed over to the surfboard; out of us three, he was the only one that ever had the nerve to get on one. “Woah, look at this,” he hummed, gripping the board and turning it in his hands. “Hey, Jean, think you can make waves in the Sound?”

I paused for only a moment while grabbing a box: waves? That would be awesome. But we needed to lie low, and I wasn’t sure messing around and accidentally causing a tsunami or something was discreet. So instead, I teased, “Sure you’re not just gonna sink like lead?”

Brent sort of tossed his head aside, contemplating the possibility as he looked back at the board — and down at the box. I could see him go through the same realization I did, looking around, back at the box, then to the board, which he gently replaced.

But Brent wasn’t one to be serious for so long, settling the info somewhere deep in his mind as he asked, “So is it too late to call dibs on this room? I like the colors,”

We cleaned out Reggie’s old bedroom, the only thing left being the small corner of his possessions, which grew to gain two more boxes. Unopened. We seemed to be in silent agreement that it wasn’t our right to open those. “I should get Dad,” Brent said. “Ask him what to do with all this.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, wiping my brow. Definitely didn’t gain any fun strength powers. “Yeah, okay. I’ll go start on the other room.”

So we left, Brent walking down the hall while I walked across to what I assumed was the door to the other bedroom. I entered a surprising fight with the hinges, them screaming in protest as I made them move for the first time in nearly 18 years; but finally, after a good shoulder check, I stuck my head in—

And lost all fight once I looked around.

Without a doubt, this was Dad’s room. It was graffitied to hell, only little splotches of white peaking through the blues and reds and blacks as negative space. Even the ceiling wasn’t spared, his name tagged against the texture of the popcorn, faded from who knows how long. The work around the room reflected Delsin Rowe — er, Dad’s — style found in Seattle, a bunch of tongue-in-cheek bits: a man using a red-and-blue tinged stock line as a whip on poor retail workers, a traditional Akomish with red warpaint that looked more like blood than paint, especially with the pile of bodies in the background with a politician standing atop them like that pic of Iwo Jima. The red stripes of the American flag acting as a jail cell for a black man.

It was all Rowe, but it looked…wrong? Like a case of uncanny valley. And it took me an embarrassing amount of time to realize it was because these pieces were rough around the edges, a testament of a budding artist.

These were the firsts of his work. Him finding his style, his expression.

“Jesus, these look bad,” Dad laughed behind me, making me jump so hard I knocked my head against the doorframe. I slipped up, cursing, receiving a, “Jean, words,” from Dad as he turned me to face him, checking my temple.

“You scared me,” I laughed, trying to shake away the pain in my head. What was it about door frames that seemed to increase the pain?

“Well, if you weren’t standing in the middle of the hallway,” he jokingly chastised, releasing his gaze on me and laying a hand on the door, pushing it open further with an annoyed grunt. We’d definitely have to invest in some WD-40.

I walked in at Dad’s insistence, looking at the wall the door was a part of for the bit of art I missed. There was more hiding behind the piles of cardboard, I imagine — but what I saw was enough to leave my mouth agape.

At least, until Dad cleared his throat behind me and I spun on him, crossing my arms. “So, this whole time — every time I’d talk about Delsin Rowe’s art—“

“Oh, yeah, that was uh,” Dad laughed breathlessly, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Quite the ego boost, lemme tell you.”

“I hate you.” But there was no malice; the words were followed by chuckling, me rolling my eyes as Dad shoved his hands in his pockets. “And you used to yell at me about drawing on the walls,”

“Hey, to be fair, my parents weren’t exactly excited about me doing this, either.” Dad walked past, running a finger along a stream of blue paint to see if it would give away. “This room used to smell terrible, too. I probably have some kind of disease from sleeping in here with those paint fumes.”

God, spray paint smell in a basement room? I’m surprised he didn’t asphyxiate.

But Dad, the Rowland I once was convinced he was…that man never did art. Always said he was bad at it. “Dad? When was the last time you did something like this?”

Dad hummed, brows furrowing for only a moment as he processed what I meant. This. Art. “Oh. Well, the last big project I had was…well, the nursery.”

18 years. Has he not done anything else in 18 years?

Dad must have seen my shock, because he rushed to say, “I mean, I’ve done some sketches. I actually have a journal hiding in my file cabinet at COLE. But I haven’t been able to…to do anything that could be seen by someone. What if they saw my art style and traced it back to Delsin Rowe, y’know?” He shrugged, obviously bothered and trying his hardest to appear not to be. “Had to be safe.”

That list just kept growing. There was so much of Dad he had to leave behind to keep Brent and I safe. I didn’t even know he was Akomish until we rolled up on the reservation! He told us we were Italian!

He practically scrubbed himself from existence, put on this façade of a man to…keep us safe. How lonely was that? Unable to even say ‘hey, I like to draw!’ without worrying it’ll kill your entire family. It sounded so isolating. The fact that he didn’t just explode at the seams from holding so much of himself captive was a mystery to me.

But we were in the midst of honesty, right? And I think I was being too selfish, wanting all his truths for myself; maybe we needed to reserve some for him. Which is why, after another glance around, I asked, “You mind, well…” God, why was I suddenly bashful? This was Dad. “Well, I’ve always thought tagging was cool. Maybe we could…”

He cocked his head to the side, confused for only a moment at what I was asking before, slowly, a wide grin spread on his face. “Sure, if you want. ‘Course, we have to figure out a way to do it legally. Can’t tell you how many times I was arrested while tagging.” He shook his head, chuckling gently. “You sure you want to try graffiti, though? Don’t think watercolors would be a better choice?”

“Brent already made that joke,”

“Damnit.”

[tia-heights]

Back Home

Desmond Miles (Assassins Creed) x Delsin Rowe (Infamous Second Son) (Warning: English is not my first language) ~~~~ Delsin nearly tumbled into the couch when he looked for Desmond in the make-shift kitchen of the longhouse. He was so exhausted. “You’re already at the couch. Sit down.” Normally Delsin would have argued but his limbs and head were heavy, so he unceremonially plopped down into the cushion. The contours of his boyfriend’s back swam in and out of sharpness. A small smile came to his lips. Never thought he would get a boyfriend out of this mess – especially not someone badass like Desmond. With a small clank Desmond put the pan aside before turning around. “Hungry?”, he asked. Any other day Delsin would have loved the smell of Desmond’s self-made meals but today he wanted to puke at it. He shook his head. Desmond nodded, turned the stove off and fished a soda out of the mini fridge. “Can’t you make me one of your famous cocktails?”, Delsin half-joked. Desmond sat beside him, pressing the soda can into his hand. “Not going to serve drinks to boyfriends who just exhausted themselves with conduit powers”, he softly scolded. “Worth a try.” Delsin gave a half-smile. His hands shook when he opened the soda can. It had grown quiet in the longhouse around them. Most people were up and running again after Delsin had removed the concrete from their bones. Hospital beds had been moved back to their original place. This little kitchen was now tucked away in a corner with a few meters empty space between it and the next make-shift room. It was isolated. “Rest, Delsin.” Desmond’s fingers carefully treated along Delsin’s neck. “There are still some people I need to help”, Desmond protested, but it was a weak one. He was so tired. He didn’t understand it. In Seattle he had used his powers much more than today in the longhouse… “They will understand that you need sleep, too. They know you are still human.” Delsin looked at his boyfriend; the dark hair, the distinctive nose and jaw, the scar at his mouth. Said mouth was curved in a smile Delsin knew very well by now – a sliver of home and love, a warm and cozy blanket put around his mind. He sighed, all tension suddenly leaving his body. He couldn’t even tell Desmond how much he hated him and his smile for that. By the soft chuckle, Desmond already knew. “Lay down for a bit. I’m not going anywhere.” With a groan Delsin put the soda can down before indeed laying down. His head found place in Desmond’s lap, face against his stomach. He didn’t want to see anything from the longhouse, anything that reminded him of the lives lost because of him, the pain, Reggie… Delsin’s attempt not to cry at the thought of his brother came out as a broken hiccup.  His chest tucked painfully, the sinking cold feeling coming back. Desmond shifted a little, then his hoodie landed over Delsin’s body. There wasn’t the usual teasing or protest from Delsin and yeah, maybe he needed a break for a minute. Desmond’s smell and warmth was all around him, a protective and save barrier between him and the world. Desmond had taken out a D.U.P. control point without anyone noticing, he would be able to kill anything coming to disturb Delsin. Nifty fingers slid under Desin’s beanie, massaging his scalp. Delsin closed his eyes, unable to resist any longer. This, he never wanted this to end. He longed for a day where this would be the only thing on his mind – being with Desmond, comfortable with his need for comfort. Now, there still were pictures in his head, disturbing any peaceful thought. Betsy and the other Akomish pinned with concrete; pictures of cells and experiments that weren’t his to remember; Augustine’s cold, satisfied face whenever she managed to hurt him; Reggie hanging over the deep water with concrete at his feet and Delsin unable to do anything and… Desmond’s thumb stroke soothingly behind his ear, his boyfriend clearly sensing his distress. “It will take time, Delsin. Let it. Supressing it will make it worse.” There was something about the way Desmond talked that Delsin had never figured out. Sentences like this should sound flat as they do from most people. But not from Desmond. He sounded old like he had already lived four lives and more. It never seemed to quite fit with his usual snarky, for-fucks-sake attitude. With his own quest Delsin had never stopped to ask about all the curious things of one Desmond Miles – not the killing ability, not the black arm… All that had made Reggie wary about the bartender, had made Delsin feel safe. “Will not”, Delsin promised, muffled against Desmond’s shirt. “You’re doing something for Reggie?” “There’s a big advertisement with his face on it…” “I think he will appreciate it this time”, Desmond giggled. The thought brought tears to Delsin’s eyes. “If you need help…” Now it was Delsin’s turn to snicker at the quite pressing tone in Desmond’s voice. “You just don’t want to be alone with Betsy again.” “Nooooo?” “Des, I told you, she already likes you. She’s just messing with you for good measure.” “Still. I am not entirely convinced she will not use the stapler against me…or curse me.” “You are stereotyping”, Delsin accused jokingly at Desmond’s believes. “Oh, believe me, this is very serious. I don’t need to deal with Gods again. Had enough for a multitude of lives.” Tired Delsin shifted. “So, you’re gonna tell me about your arm and all that? Still curious why you are deadlier than me.” There was a brief moment of silence, then: “Do what you need to do now, Del. And when you healed enough, we can go into that territory.” “Promise?” “Promise.” “Wow, we are finally doing it, ha?” Desmond laughed at that and happiness bubbled in Delsin’s chest. His mind grew heavier with every second. “I warn you. Nothing happens in this place. Ready to bore yourself to death?” “I have you as a boyfriend. I don’t think boring will be on the agenda. And even if, I am so ready for it.” Delsin smiled. “You’re the best”, he slurred. “Never leave.” “You, too”, he heard before finally sinking into the blackness of sleep. He didn’t registered the rest of Desmond’s whispered words. “ I will not leave. Minerva knows better than to break her promise.” ”

~~~~ I wanted Desmond to have the chance of a calm, normal life, so there was a promise made by Minerva to ensure that. But he met Delsin so...goodbye calm life xD

[phantoms-lair]

Apparently my brain was NOT done with Good Ending Water Conduit Reggie

~

Survivor's Guilt was something they both had, Reggie knew. Delsin openly blamed himself for what happened at the longhouse, for the concrete spurs Augustine had struck through each member of the tribe, trying to determine what Delsin was hiding.

But how could Reggie blame Delsin? Delsin had told her the truth, tried to sacrifice himself for the tribe, but simply hadn't been believed. He'd had those same concrete daggers shoved into him, he'd just been able to recover because of his new condition. He'd tried.

Reggie, who was the new Sheriff of Salmon Bay, the one who was supposed to be keeping everyone safe, wasn't even there. He was being treated for smoke inhalation and a bruised femur. He hadn't found out until after Augustine was gone. Spent two weeks at the longhouse-turned-hospital. Listened to the doctors give their grim news.

There was a time when he feared he was going to be the last of the Akomish tribe due to the concrete growing from out their bodies messing with their blood vessels and muscles. Concrete that could only be removed the way it got in in the first place. Augustine's power, the face of the DUP herself proving why people with powers were called bio-terrorists. And Delsin wouldn't wake up.

But he had and now that situation had reversed. Delsin was the one who could only helplessly watch the concrete creep over Reggie's body, weighing them both down. Delsin could barely keep them both up, one arm clutching the ledge they dangled off of, the other holding his brother's hand. They couldn't both survive, but at least Augustine's dramatics of having the concrete slowly grow on him gave him time to say his last words, no matter how much Delsin was trying to deny they were so. He got to tell his brother he was proud of him, that he believed in him.

And then, for the first time since this started, he got to be the one who saved someone. A snap of the wrist and Delsin would not longer be weighed down, his only real regret being that he knew he'd be leaving his brother with even more survivor's guilt. And as he fell he hoped Delsin's crazy plan worked, that he could steal Augustine's power and heal the tribe. It would be hard enough on him being the last of their family. He didn't need to be the last of the Akomish as well.

Hitting the water hurt as much as he expected. It was agonizing. He could feel the concrete break apart into pieces. Pieces that were still sadly lodged in his body. But the pain was receding as the coldness of water washed over him. Was he going into shock? Probably. Nothing to do now but close his eyes and wait until he was reunited with his parents in the afterlife. He had no doubt he had a LOT of explaining to do about the past few weeks.

~

He wasn't sure what he expected of the afterlife, but he was sure it wasn't the taste of salt on his tongue or the feeling of sand in uncomfortable places. The wind was whistling by quickly and Reggie risked opening his eyes. The sight of Seattle wizzing far below him made him scream.

"Don't worry, I have you." Eugene's digitized voice, the one he used as He Who Dwells, reassured him. Oh right, he'd taken this ride before.

"You saved me?"

The giant knight-angel construct was silent. "I couldn't. By the time I broke free of the concrete, you'd already hit the water. I've had my sprite's searching for your...for you. I found you washed up on the beach."

For his body. They'd thought he was dead. Reggie couldn't help feeling a twig of gratitude at that, that Eugene had taken the time to look for his remains while everything in the city had to be hitting a boiling point. "Delsin? Where's Delsin?"

"Supposedly waiting for us at Fetch's. Honestly, knowing him, doing his best to get to us after I reported we found you alive."

As if on queue there was a burst from a nearby antenna and Delsin appeared from it, digital wings gliding towards both of them.

He almost crashed into Eugene, whooping in excitement. The Video Conduit considerately landed on a roof, since Delsin didn't have the same control over his flight he did.

Without preamble Delsin grabbed Reggie into a hug, squeezing him as tightly as he could then-

Reggie had always heard your life flashed before your eyes before you died. So why was it doing so now? Loosing his parents, trying to raise Delsin, fear for the tribe, Seattle's occupation, his own near death played before his mind. The next thing he knew he was on the ground. Trying to make sense of things.

Delsin was on the ground too, laughing and crying at the same time. Eugene had dropped his constructs and was just looking vaguely uncomfortable, like he did in most social situations.

"Delsin, what's going on?" "

You-you're..." Delsin couldn't speak, he was laughing too hard, genuine mirth mixed with grief. Reggie looked at Eugene who had no answers. The clouds answered instead, rain falling over the city as it often did. Except the rain on that rooftop fell differently, curving towards him and hitting his skin with small energy discharges. Energy discharges that felt soothing rather than burning.

"You're a Conduit." Delsin finally got out. "A water Conduit."

He was a Conduit. It didn't seem real. But he couldn't deny that he could feel the rain around him and that despite nearly drowning he found himself craving the water like a man who'd been trapped in the desert. And he found he couldn't blame Delsin anymore for trying to feed his powers when he first got them. At the time Reggie thought he was making the problem worse, but now he understood. It wasn't about becoming more powerful, it was something his body had needed. And he thought of all those Conduits in Curden Cay who were completely cut off from their element and wanted to scream on their behalf.

"I guess water's fitting." He said wryly, trying to stave off any internal panic and identity crises until he was alone. "Put out all the fire from your smoke and embers."

Delsin's demeanor shifted. "Yeah, honestly I've been leaning more into neon and video. More bright, you know? And once I get a good jumpstart from a core relay, I have water now too." He grinned, though it wasn't reaching his eyes.

But that didn't make sense. Smoke was Delsin's go to. It was the power he'd had the longest. He loved turning to smoke and letting vent fans propel him in the air. So why... "Delsin, did you stop using your Smoke because of Hank?"

There was no hiding the flare of rage in Delsin's eyes, the rage that had at one time scared Reggie. Eugene's pupil's shrunk to pinpricks too. It didn't make sense to Reggie. Like on one hand yes, Hank's actions had led to what they thought was Reggie's death and Reggie absolutely would hate anyone who got Delsin killed with the burning passion of a thousand suns. But why would Eugene be just as furious? He barely knew Reggie.

"I don't want any part of the fucking traitor," Delsin spat out and oh.

Reggie had never liked Hank. He was a serial criminal and prison escape artist. Quite possible the one person in Curden Cay who deserved to be locked up. Delsin and the others, though... With so much of Seattle taking an us-against-them stance in the sides of human and Conduit, all most Conduit's had were each other. The other three may not have especially trusted Hank as a person, but at least trusted him to be on their side against the DUPS. Him choosing to betray them to Augustine was unforgivable, even without factoring in his 'death'.

"I said it before, Conduits are people. And sometimes people are shit. And Hank? He was shit long before he was a Conduit. I had to get one right, at least." Reggie said wryly. "But that's not Hank's smoke anymore. It's the smoke you used to save Betty at the cannery."

"Fat lot of good that did." Delsin griped, but Reggie grabbed his arm.

"She has a chance now, one she didn't have before. You're going to steal Austine's powers and heal her, right?"

"Right." Delsin sounded a little more sure of himself.

"And I wouldn't want my little brother to go in to fight the big bad concrete queen with a lack of power."

Delsin laughed at hearing the words he'd used to convince Reggie to let him power up at the beginning thrown back at him. "Fine, I get it. Whatever it takes and fuck Hank." Delsin reached for the smoke coming out of the vent on the roof, but nothing happened.

"We're going to need more core relays." Eugene adjusted his glasses. "At least one to get Delsin's powers back online."

"And a second to recharge him after he gets Augustine's power. " Reggie reminded them. "I'll see what I can find. When's this going down?"

Because there was no way Delsin was going to let her 'killing' Reggie go unanswered.

"Tonight."

Well that didn't give them a whole lot of time. "Where's Fetch?"

At this Delsin was back to looking uncomfortable. "I think she needs some space. I got my big brother back-"

And Fetch didn't. Like Delsin Fetch's only family was her older brother. And unlike Reggie, Brent Walker had stayed dead. The 50% of DNA they shared hadn't included the Conduit gene. Like Hank, Reggie hadn't originally trusted Fetch due to her drug abuse history. But right now he'd give almost anything to be able to hand her her brother back.

"I'll try to find us a relay core. I know she's going through a rough time, but I also know she'd probably love to vent that rough time on some DUPs"

"I'll go talk to her, I'm probably less of a sore point." Eugene bravely offered.

"I'll send you the coordinates of what I find." Reggie promised.

"Gonna find us a relay core. Planning on powering up too?" Delsin teased.

"Hardly. I had no idea what my powers are beside 'absorb water' and 'survive long drops into the ocean'" Reggie said dryly. "I'm going to be more useful with my gun than powers. Power improvements go to you and others who might actually use them."

"Just saying." Delsin laughed.