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screechthemighty · 2 months

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Me @ me: maybe these chapters would go a lot faster if you didn't take every chance you had to write plot-irrelevant witty banter between these idiots Also me @ me: but. the sillies. Anyway, sorry this took so long, in my defense it is a very lengthy chapter and a lot happens. Also, sorry to the one person who voted in my poll, but you were not correct about the Thing That Does Not Occur. The thing you voted on may or may not happen later, though. Anyways!

the unknowable tomorrow: a tristamp fanfic part fifteen: meryl and wolfwood

cws: pandemic, religious/cult trauma and religious cults, grief, brief mention of strangulation

The first thing he noticed was the smell of gunsmoke, and the second was a town surrounded by a very robust barricade. None of the situations Vash had found himself in so far had been great, but something told Wolfwood that this one was going to take the cake.

“Do you hear that?” Meryl said.

Wolfwood listened carefully. The crunch of footsteps and the sound of someone talking to themselves was familiar. “There’s our man,” he said. “Stay close.”

Meryl nodded. She had one hand on her Derringer already. Smart girl.

They moved carefully towards the sound of Vash’s voice. “…and listen, I know we started off on the wrong foot, but I really feel like we can work this out. I…” His voice cracked, and a manic giggle slipped out of him. “Oh, this was a bad idea, bad stupid idea, Vash…”

“Psst!” Wolfwood hissed before leaning around a piece of ancient debris. “Vash!”

Vash spun around. He wasn’t hurt, but the dark circles under his eyes said he hadn’t slept in a week. Even the way his face lit up when he saw them couldn’t hide how exhausted he looked. “Oh, I am so…wait, have you two had dustlung before?”

Ah, crap. “Yep. I’m immune,” Wolfwood said.

“I am, too,” Meryl said. “Has there been an outbreak?”

Vash nodded and pointed towards the barricade. Wolfwood noticed that he had two bandannas tied to his upper arm, one black, one blue. “They’re still in the middle of one. They’ve got it under control, but that’s not the issue.”

“The fatal lung rot isn’t the issue?” Wolfwood repeated flatly.

“Nope!” Another manic giggle escaped Vash as he gestured for them to come closer. “They are. Kind of.”

Wolfwood and Meryl joined Vash. There was a group camped out in front of the barricaded town. It looked like they were setting up for an attack or a siege. “The settlement was built over a wormfall,” Vash explained, “so they’re set for treatment. But these guys came from a town with another outbreak…”

“And the wormfall guys don’t want to share?” Wolfwood finished.

“More like they can’t. They’ve been picking away at the worm for a while now. Whatever’s left can get their people through a full treatment course, but…”

Meryl raised her hand. “Refresh my memory, here,” she said. “The best treatment for dustlung involves a fungus mostly found in great worm corpses, right?” Vash nodded. “If it’s just a fungus and they have access to the corpse, can’t they cultivate more?”

“They’ve tried, but it’s finicky,” Vash said. “Even Ship Three has trouble, and they’ve been researching it for years. And it grows too slowly to be help in an emergency.” Vash started pacing again. “The new group came for help, but the settlement still has a lot of sick people. They can’t spare much. I was going to see if they’d accept enough for an incomplete treatment course, but that still leaves them at risk.”

Wolfwood grimaced. He remembered when it had gone around the orphanage. They’d all gotten partial treatment, and he’d been one of only three not to have long-term problems. One had died later from a different infection his body was too weak to fight off. “So, it’s a standoff,” he said.

“Unfortunately. They already tried negotiating once and it didn’t go well. The new guys think the townspeople are lying about how much is left, and the town council didn’t want to give them even a little at first. They could change their minds at any time…” Vash sighed. “And I don’t even know if the new group will talk to me. They could try to invade and take it all.”

A no-win scenario. Wolfwood thought back to their conversation a few jumps ago, and how much it sucked being right. “Okay,” Meryl said thoughtfully. “Here, let’s figure this out.” She pulled out her notebook. “Do you have figures on how much of the fungus is left?”

“Not concrete ones. They wouldn’t give me that. But I can guess.” Vash crouched next to Meryl as they started talking math. Wolfwood kept one eye on the new guys as they did. The other group was staying put for now, but all the signs were there: they could, and probably would, invade if they wanted to. He found himself scanning the town and wondering how long its defenses would hold.

He wasn’t sure it would be very long. And depending on how much of the town was sick…

Wolfwood was starting to wish he had a vial or ten. And a bigger gun. And backup that wasn’t so softhearted. Though I reckon we won’t have to kill anyone, just hold them off until them getting the medicine is a moot point…not that I think Vash has it in him to do that, either…

“Okay, I think that’s everything,” Meryl said. “Except…how are you going to explain where we came from?”

“We’re near a pretty well-travelled route. I can always say I saw you passing by.” Vash stood back up. “I don’t know how dangerous this is going to be…”

Meryl started marching towards the camp. “I’m not worried about it,” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Vash glanced Wolfwood’s way. Wolfwood responded with a shrug. “Hey, I’m not going to talk her out of it,” he said. “You saw how she clobbered me last time.”

Vash laughed weakly and started after Meryl. “Yeah, good point.”

Wolfwood took up the rear, rifle ready, even though he desperately hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

She’d been outwardly confident for Vash’s sake, but Meryl’s nerves were in high gear as they approached. These people clearly meant business: they were all armed to the teeth, some in makeshift body armor, and had desperate looks in their eyes.

Desperation could be even more dangerous than outright malice. She knew that now.

“Hi!” Vash called to some of them as he jogged to catch up to her. “I, uh, don’t know if you remember, but we tried to talk…”

Several guns were leveled at them immediately. Wolfwood went to raise his own rifle, but Vash stopped him. “…and I want to try again,” Vash finished, his tone still hyper-cheerful. “There’s no need for all of this.”

“Have they decided to stop bullshitting us?” asked one person, a darker-skinned man who looked just as exhausted as Vash. There was a slight rasp to his voice that said he was getting over a dustlung infection himself. Meryl was honestly surprised he wasn’t bedridden; her case had been comparatively mild, and she’d been out long enough that a few people thought she’d switched schools. “Because we’re not playing around anymore.”

“I didn’t think you were. We’re not playing around, either. We have numbers we can show you.” He gestured towards Meryl. “Lots of math.”

Meryl nodded. They were lucky; Vash knew the history of the place and they’d been able to extrapolate from there how much of the fungus would be left if they’d followed standard harvesting and cultivation procedures. None of the numbers were official, but hopefully it would be enough to convince the group that they weren’t being shortchanged. “We won’t take up too much of your time,” Meryl added.

The group looked skeptical of her and Wolfwood (especially Wolfwood), but Meryl noticed they seemed a bit more accepting of Vash. Granted, they still had a gun trained on him, but it was only one gun, and the guy holding it didn’t look too ready to pull the trigger. “…fine,” said the sick man, “but only because you’ve been straight with us so far.”

The man, whom Vash addressed as James, gathered up the rest of the group to hear what they had to say. Meryl stuck close to Vash and hoped it didn’t turn into a repeat of the oil fires. Vash laid out the math they’d worked out, showing them Meryl’s notebook as he did. Only two people actually double-checked their math; those two whispered between each other as Vash finished up his pitch. “…so they’re really not lying,” he said. “What they offered is all they can spare. It was a big ask to convince them to spare that much. They risk running out themselves if more people get sick and their cultivation program is already stretched thin. They have to think about the future, too.”

He sounded convincing to Meryl, but she wasn’t so sure the others bought it. “You said that these numbers are just your projections,” James said. “You’re sure there’s nothing that might’ve given them more to work with? Extra cultivation you don’t know about or anything?”

“I…well, no,” Vash admitted. “They didn’t let me check out the wormfall personally. I don’t think they’d have any reason to keep that from me, though.”

“You’re an outsider. That’s plenty of reason far as I’m concerned.”

Damn it, that was a good point. “I can try to get access to the wormfall and see,” Vash said, “but I can’t think of anything they’d do to make their cultivation more efficient. All the equipment and techniques I know about – “

“You know about. But you don’t know everything, right?”

“I know a lot more than you’d think.”

“At your age?”

Vash laughed nervously. “Uh…how old do you think I am?”

Wolfwood sighed. “Look, you can grasp at straws and fairy tales all you want, but this is your most likely reality,” he interjected bluntly. He faced the two people who’d double-checked their work. “Am I wrong?”

“Er…no, the math checks out,” one of them admitted. “If it were us, I’d be nervous about outside distribution, too.”

No one liked that answer, but they mostly expressed that through irate glances at the town. Meryl was still bracing herself to have to jump to Vash’s defense, but so far, they didn’t seem to want to shoot the messenger. Good. That’s good. Maybe they’ll still be willing to listen…

“If that’s the case, you should probably go,” James said finally. “We’ve got some things to consider.”

“Right, yeah, of course. Talk it out. We can…” Vash flinched when James suddenly started stepping towards him. “…uh, I mean…”

“Can I have a word?”

Meryl straightened up, and saw Wolfwood do the same. “Anything you want to say to him, you can say to us,” Wolfwood said sternly.

James’s face hardened. Vash was quick to intervene: “It’s okay. They’re actually friends of mine from out of town. I ran into them on the way and they volunteered to help, too. They’re good people.”

James examined them both. “When I say you should go,” he said finally, “I mean you should get out of town. For your own good.”

…oh.

Vash took a deep breath. “What are you planning?” he said quietly.

“Nothing a guy like you wants to be involved in.” James patted Vash on the shoulder. “Listen, you seem like a good guy. I get that you want to help. But I’m not gonna ask you to pick a side one way or another. This isn’t your fight. Look after yourself first.”

He was giving that advice to the wrong person. Meryl knew that Vash was incapable of looking after himself first—even the times he ran away from a fight were to prevent others from being hurt, not so much to save himself. James didn’t realize that, though; he was too busy walking back to his group to notice the horrified look on Vash’s face.

Wolfwood noticed, though, and responded to it with a heavy sigh. “Come on,” he said quietly.

“We…we have to talk them out of it…”

“Look at their faces. They’ve been thinking about this for a long time.” Meryl could see it, too. Their faces had looks of grim inevitability. Vash’s words had only served to make them sure of their decision. “Nothing you can do about it. Come on.”

Vash stared at the group for another moment before following. There was a distant look in his eyes, though it wasn’t just one of dread. He was thinking hard. She could see his eyes darting back and forth as they walked back to the road, as if he were trying to select from different options.

It didn’t seem like any of them were good.

“If we warn the town,” he said quietly, “then they might want to strike first. Then more people will get hurt. But if we don’t say anything…”

“People are gonna get hurt regardless,” Wolfwood said. It seemed that he had been doing some thinking of his own from how steady and certain his words were. “Did you leave anything important back there?”

“What?”

“Can you get it without tipping anyone off?”

Vash’s face finally looked horrified. “You want to just leave?”

“What else are we supposed to do? If you don’t want to pick a side, the only reason you’d stay is to get yourself hurt and then self-flagellate about all the people you watched die.”

“Wolfwood!” Meryl gasped.

“What? Am I wrong?”

“You’re being an ass,” Meryl snapped before turning her attention back to Vash. “Do you think if the town council knew there was a real threat, they’d be willing to negotiate more? Or are you sure they’d strike first?”

“They’ve already started figuring out rationing for a siege. Most of them would take an attack as an excuse to withdraw support entirely,” Vash said. He started pacing again, his hands clenched into fists. “Damn it.”

Damn it, indeed.

Wolfwood watched Vash with a tense jaw and an exasperated expression. “Look, I will drag you out of here if that’s what it takes.”

Vash whipped around to glare at him. “Don’t you dare touch me,” he said. Wolfwood’s eyebrows shot up. “Nico, I mean it.”

“Okay, okay. Vash are you…?”

The sound of a truck horn made all three of them jump. They’d been so busy talking that they’d missed an approaching convoy. They got out of the way. Meryl noticed how Vash kept his distance from both of them.

That had been a strong reaction to what was probably a hyperbolic threat. He’d flinched earlier when James had tried to touch him, now that she thought about it. “Are you okay?” Meryl asked as the trucks drove by.

Vash hesitated before deflating. “No,” he admitted. “I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep and I’ve been helping around the hospital. I think it brought back bad memories…feel like my skin’s going to crawl off if anyone gets too close. Not your fault.” He glanced Wolfwood’s way. “Nico, I’m sorry.”

The tension in Wolfwood’s face melted away. “You don’t have to apologize for that,” he said. “No dragging. Promise. But I stand by the rest of…”

“Bastards!” They all jumped again at the furious scream. “Sons of bitches…!’

A few members of James’ group were screaming after the trucks. “Were they from town?” Meryl asked.

Vash shook his head. “It’s probably a supply convoy going to July City,” he explained. “I get why they’re so angry. July is right next door and they haven’t done anything.”

Meryl suppressed a shudder at the detail. “No help at all?”

“Nothing. They stopped returning alert calls and threatened to shoot any refugees from infected towns.” Vash looked visibly disgusted. “I’d understand if they wanted to protect their own citizens, but they took it too far, threatening to shoot.”

Meryl hummed in agreement. When she glanced Wolfwood’s way, he was still staring after the truck. He had his sunglasses back on, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but the tightness of his jaw made her nervous. “How far away is July?” Wolfwood asked.

“A couple of hours on foot, less on wheels or a thomas. And I haven’t felt Nai in the area, anyway. I’m okay here.”

Wolfwood kept staring after the truck. He started rubbing his heel against his bruised shin, as if it itched him. Meryl reached for his arm; he started at the near-touch, and didn’t relax much when he registered it was her. “I don’t think okay is the right word,” he said. “Look, you want me to try taking a stab at those guys alone? Metaphorical stab. Might be able to get them to see reason.”

Vash raised an eyebrow. “They’re pretty closed off…”

“And I’m an asshole who gets where they’re coming from. Give me five minutes. You watch town and make sure they don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be right back.”

Vash still looked nervous, but he nodded. “Okay.”

Wolfwood held out a hand when he saw Meryl step towards him. “Stay here. Keep him out of trouble.”

Vash frowned. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Clearly you do, otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“I…” Vash thought about it, then sighed dramatically. “I guess.”

Meryl saw Wolfwood’s point, too, but she couldn’t help feeling suspicious. Something about this didn’t sit right with her, but she couldn’t articulate the feeling enough to protest. “Yell if you need help,” she said.

“Trust me, you’ll know if I do.” Wolfwood slung his rifle back over his shoulder. “Can I have my lighter?” Vash pulled it out and tossed it to him; Wolfwood caught it easily. “Thanks.” He lit a cigarette as he started walking back towards the group. “Be back in a minute.”

Meryl waited until Wolfwood was a good distance away before turning to Vash. “How good is your hearing?” she asked.

“I…” Vash’s cheeks flushed pink. “He knows what he’s doing, right?”

“Didn’t he punch Brad?”

“I…yeah…” Vash started after Wolfwood, his teeth worrying away at his lower lip. “Yeah, he did.”

Wolfwood had reached James by that point and started chatting with him with his back to them. Not knowing what he was saying drove Meryl crazy, but the guilty look on Vash’s face made her dial it back. “We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable,” she amended. “He’s just…not really the negotiating type, so I was curious.”

“I understand what you mean, but…honestly, I’m sick of negotiators.” Vash huffed bitterly. “They probably are, too.”

That was fair, she supposed. That didn’t stop Meryl from watching Wolfwood more carefully than she watched Vash. His body language hadn’t changed: still his usual slouch, hands in his pockets, deceptively casual. James was a bit harder to read. It looked like he was listening, and he didn’t seem hostile. He wasn’t any more tense than he was before. So, the conversation was going well, but…

Wolfwood suddenly turned around and waved to them. Vash took off like a shot, Meryl close behind. “You trust me, right?” Wolfwood said as Vash got closer.

“I…” Vash tilted his head. “Yeah, of course I do.”

“So you can vouch that I’m not just some bullshit artist, right?”

Vash nodded and turned to James. “I do vouch for him. Really.”

That seemed a bit overgenerous to Meryl, but she tried to keep that feeling to herself. It seemed like Wolfwood might have been making some progress, and she didn’t want her complicated feelings about him to ruin that. James looked at Vash, then examined Wolfwood’s face carefully. Whatever he saw there, it made him turn back to Vash. “Do you think,” he said carefully, “you can still get us the amount we discussed previously?”

Vash’s face lit up. “Yes! Yes, I definitely can. I’ll go right now.”

“We’re not going anywhere until we get it. But…we’ll take it.”

“Okay! Okay. I’m sorry, I know it’s not much, but…”

“Vash.” Wolfwood waved a hand in front of his face. “Burning daylight, here.”

“Right! Right, of course, sorry…” Vash started for the road, so fast he almost tripped. “We’ll be right back!”

Meryl started after him, but slowed down when she realized James had pulled Wolfwood back to mutter something in his ear. Whatever it was, Wolfwood only rolled his eyes in response. “Yeah, yeah, tough guy. Give it a rest.” He shrugged the hand off his shoulder and started walking. “What’s this planet coming to? Shit…”

Meryl glanced warily at James as she and Wolfwood walked away. “What did you say to them?” she asked.

“We had a friendly discussion about the risks of starting a fight when you can barely stand,” Wolfwood said calmly. “They’re desperate, not stupid. They just needed a firmer hand to remind them what’s at stake.”

All of that sounded plausible, but Meryl still wasn’t sure she bought it. Maybe it was her still-lingering mistrust of him after July, but something about this situation felt off. “That’s all?”

“Yes, Miss Nosypants, that’s all.”

“Miss…? Wow. Real mature.” Wolfwood grinned at her. “I don’t know how you’ve convinced anyone of anything. Ever.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Wolfwood snatched her hat off her head and jogged forward to plop it onto Vash’s. “Stay focused, Stryfe. We’re not out of the wastes yet.”

If Vash hadn’t been there, slowing down to give Meryl her hat back with a cheerful smile, she would’ve kicked Wolfwood again. Instead, Meryl nursed her disbelief and kept as close an eye on Wolfwood as she could.

They had to stay outside the town gates while Vash went back inside for the fungus. The townsfolk watching from the tops of the barricades all looked pretty distrustful; Meryl tried look casual and unthreatening, but it was hard with so many eyes on her. Wolfwood remained calm and quiet throughout the wait. The only sign that anything might be wrong was that he started chain smoking, only stopping when Vash emerged with a box in his hands. Then again, Wolfwood chain-smoked at the slightest inconvenience, so that didn’t mean too much.

They passed off the fungus to James. His group packed up and left without a shot fired or another exchange with Wolfwood. Vash waited until they were specks on the horizon before he flopped to the ground, a relieved laugh escaping his lips. “That,” he said, “was scary.”

Wolfwood grunted in agreement and lay down in the dirt next to him. “I’m just glad they saw reason.”

“Yeah.” Vash rolled over so his face was pressed into Wolfwood’s shoulder, muffling his next words. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Wolfwood wrapped an arm around Vash and raised an eyebrow at Meryl. See? the look seemed to say. Vash trusts me. Vash doesn’t think I lied.

That was big talk coming from someone who thought Vash was too trusting, but Meryl kept that to herself. Instead, she scanned their surroundings. “Well, I don’t see a portal,” she said as she sat down next to Vash. “Do you need more help in town?”

“Probably. If you’re comfortable. Most people are starting to improve, but there’s still more sick than healthy in town, so…” Vash rolled back over so he could look at Meryl while still staying nestled at Wolfwood’s side. “Every little bit helps and all.”

Meryl smiled and held out her hand. He took it carefully with his prosthetic. She was surprised how cool his fingers still were, even after so much time outside. “It sure does.”

Vash started to sit up, but Wolfwood tugged him back down. “Five minutes,” he said. “You need floor time.”

“Isn’t that something babies do?”

“That’s tummy time. Not the same thing. Everyone needs to lie on the floor sometimes. It’s good for you.” Wolfwood lifted his head enough to look at Meryl. “You, too.”

Meryl rolled her eyes, but lay down next to Vash. The sand was tightly compacted from James’s group camping out there. Vash kept holding her hand as he hummed contently.

She hadn’t expected lying in the dirt to feel so peaceful, but it was.

It was longer than five minutes before they got up, but Vash did seem a lot calmer. They dusted themselves off before heading back into town. “So, uh, what fake names are you using?” Vash asked as they got closer. “Are you using fake names?”

Good question. Meryl decided that other people knowing who she was probably wouldn’t be safe, especially when it felt like they were getting closer to her actual birthday. (She tried not to think about that too hard.) “I can be Claudia again for now,” Meryl said.

“Brad,” Wolfwood said with a deadpan expression.

“Wh-“ Vash laughed. “You can’t be Brad!”

“Why not? He’s not here, and it’s better than when you named your bird after him.”

Vash kept giggling. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The process of getting them inside wiped the smile off of Vash’s face. He had to spend a worrying amount of time insisting they were friends of his, here to help, promise, before all three of them were let in and allowed to register. Once they put their names down—Claudia Smith for her, Brad Thomas for Wolfwood because he was an asshole who thought he was funny—they were given black and blue bandannas and told, very sternly, to wear them at all times while in town. “What for?” Wolfwood asked skeptically.

“They’re tracking exposure,” Vash said. “You’ve been around me, so technically you’ve been exposed…” He tapped the black one, then the blue one. “…and you were immune before the outbreak. Just keep a safe distance from anyone in white or red. They’re at higher exposure risk. The quarantine zone is that way, but that’s only for the people who are actively sick.”

“You’ll make sure they follow all the quarantine rules, right?” interjected the guard sternly.

“Absolutely. No problem at all.” Vash was all smiles until they were a safe distance away. “Sorry about that. They’re nervous about outsiders after…” He gestured at the wall behind them. “Anyway, eastern side of town is where they’re keeping everyone who’s been exposed, but not sick. That’s where I’m staying. It’s not too far.”

Meryl scanned their surroundings as they walked through town. It was as miserable as you’d expect from an ongoing pandemic. The streets were largely abandoned, and a lot of the shops were closed. They walked past a section that was entirely closed off, with large signs posted nearby. Her eyes scanned them quickly, taking in as many details as she could. Visiting hours, special permits needed for the non-immune to enter. That must have been the quarantine zone. An aura of sadness hung over it, worse even than the streets outside.

At least we were able to prevent a shootout. Or at least, Wolfwood says we did. Meryl wasn’t sure how much of a fight this town would’ve been able to put up.

Eventually, they reached one of the few open businesses, an inn with an attached general store. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get separate rooms, but I can probably find us some cots or something,” Vash said apologetically. “And food. I’ll find more food for you guys. Do you need anything else?”

“Does this place have running water?” Wolfwood asked. “Because as long as there’s running water and the windows don’t leak sand, I’m good.”

“Same here,” Meryl said. “You should really focus on resting…”

Vash shook his head. “Too wired. If I don’t have something to do, I’m going to start doing pushups again.”

“In that case, food sounds great.” Maybe if they could get him to sit down for a meal, he’d unwind enough to sleep. “Thanks, Vash.”

As Vash had expected, he was only able to get them spare cots. He and Wolfwood started setting those up while Meryl rinsed off in the shower. She was hesitant to take her eyes off Wolfwood, but Vash would be with him. She trusted Vash a lot more than she trusted Wolfwood.

It was nice to get some alone time to think. Meryl mulled over what they had seen so far and what Vash might need help with. It was possible that he might need some personal defending, like he had at the oil fires, or he might just need them to help take some burdens off his plate. It was obvious he was worn out from working so hard. A few extra hands couldn’t hurt.

Or maybe Wolfwood was wrong and those guys will be back. What do we do then? Try to help, or focus on getting Vash out? It was a tough decision. As much as Meryl hated to admit it, Wolfwood was right. Vash wouldn’t be able to choose sides here, even when one was clearly an aggressor. And honestly, Meryl couldn’t blame him. They were aggressive out of desperation, not malice or greed. That made things a lot more complicated

Meryl caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was a little surprised how tired the face looking back at her was. Then again, she’d been through a lot in the past few months—more than she’d ever expected to go through when she’d left with Roberto. Even more than what was usual for the cruelties of No Man’s Land.

She picked a bit of loose dried skin off her forehead and tried to smile. It didn’t really help, so she let it drop. “You need food,” she told herself sternly. She’d think better on a full stomach.

As Meryl opened the bathroom door, something hit the ground dangerously close to her foot. It was her notebook. It must have been propped against the bathroom door. She hadn’t put it there, and neither of the boys were in the room.

Weird…

Meryl hesitantly picked up the notebook and flipped to the first empty pages. Wolfwood’s handwriting—a messier variation of it—marked one page.

Have to do something. Be back by sun up. Do NOT let Vash follow. -NDW

…oh, no.

Of course, that was when the door re-opened. Vash stepped in with a large paper bag in his arms. “Oh, good, you’re out!” Vash said cheerfully. “I grabbed something for you to change into since you’ve been…” He trailed off when he noticed the bathroom door was wide open, showing no sign of Wolfwood. “Where’s Nico?”

“He’s not with you?”

“No.”

Panic set in. Meryl reread the note, indecision gripping her body. Wolfwood had expressly asked her not to let him follow, but if Wolfwood was going where Meryl thought he was, he might get in trouble on his own.

Correction. He would definitely get in trouble.

“Meryl?” Vash said hesitantly.

She couldn’t keep the truth from him. He was going to look for Wolfwood no matter what; at least this way he’d know what the stakes were. Meryl held out the notebook. “He was gone when I got out,” Meryl admitted, “but he left this by the door.”

Vash put the bags down and read the note, probably multiple times from the way his eyes moved across the page. Eventually, his eyes met Meryl’s. “Do you think he went to July?” he asked. “He seemed weird when he saw the convoy go by, and if he doesn’t want me to follow…”

Meryl nodded. “That’s what I was thinking, too. Do you think July would have more of the fungus?”

“If anyone would, it’s them. But he’d have to steal it. We can’t let him do that alone.” Vash passed Meryl back the notebook and started digging through the bags he’d brought up. “I know he said not to let me follow him, but I can’t let him get hurt. I’m going.”

Meryl wanted to argue with him, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop him. He was Vash the Stampede; when he put his mind to it, nothing would stop him. But she couldn’t let him run into danger alone, either.

“You’re sure your brother isn’t there?” Meryl said.

“I’m positive.” Vash sat down and started loading his pistol. Meryl wanted to ask why he’d gone to a confrontation earlier with an unloaded gun, but decided to focus on the crisis at hand. “I swear, I’d be able to tell.”

“Okay. I have conditions, though. I’m going with you, and we can’t be too obvious. Do you have anything you can wear as a disguise?”

“Funny you should ask…” Vash pulled something out of the bag and tossed it to her: a pair of sensible linen pants and a light gray poncho-style coat with a high enough collar and big enough hood to obscure her face. “I figured you’d be sick of wearing the same clothes for a few decades and I had some extra money, so…”

Meryl smiled. “Thank you, Vash. This is perfect. What about you?”

“I’ll wear Nico’s. We’re about the same size, I think.” He pulled something else out of a bag—some ammo and a holster—and held it out to her. “It’s not much, but hopefully you won’t need it.”

Meryl swallowed nervously. “Hopefully,” she agreed.

They were headed into July City, though. Meryl was prepared for anything to happen there.

Wolfwood may have asked Meryl to make sure Vash didn’t follow, but he also knew the chances those pleas would fall on deaf ears. That awareness sped him up as he moved through town and to the wall. There were guards along the makeshift barrier, but they were mostly armed civilians who, judging from the wheezy coughs, were just barely over their own infections. Getting past them and through a gap in the barrier was a lot easier than he’d braced himself for.

One obstacle down.

From there, he made his way to the road and started in the direction of July. He kept his rifle drawn and kept scanning his surroundings. He wasn’t just watching for military police, raiders, anyone else who might start trouble. His temporary partners were somewhere along this stretch of road.

Unless they’d backed out. James didn’t have any reason to believe him. Hell, for all Wolfwood knew, he was walking right into a trap. Alone.

But he’d seen something in the man’s eyes, a spark jumping from Wolfwood’s dangerous words and blossoming into a more dangerous hope.

There’s more of the fungus in July. I’ve seen it. I can get it for you.

It was the truth. Wolfwood had seen it, and he could get to it, in theory. Doing so would save a lot of lives, and spit in the Eye of Michael while he was at it. But he was still kicking himself for saying it with every step he took towards July.

It was a horrible plan. Absolutely fucked. There were a thousand things that could go wrong along the way, wrong in a very lethal way, and this whole mess was none of his damn business. If it had just been him, he would’ve left by now.

But it wasn’t just him. It was Vash, and Vash’s stupid words that Wolfwood had stupidly promised to think about, and it was the fact that a third option—the mystical winning option that Vash so desperately believed in—had practically been shoved into his face. Wolfwood wasn’t sure how much he believed in divine providence, but that truck might as well have been a glowing neon sign that said, Here you go, idiot.

Another voice had echoed in his head then, too: I’ll save both the town and the ship. There is a way.

And Vash had.

And he’d try again, if he knew the truth. But that would mean running into the lion’s den. Even if Vash wasn’t lying to Wolfwood about Knives not being there, taking him to find the fungus would mean questions. Peeling back layers that might expose the ugliest parts of what Wolfwood was. Wolfwood wasn’t ready for that. So, this was his compromise. He’d go. He’d do what Vash would do, and take the risks Vash would take.

He hated it, and he wasn’t even in July yet.

I hope you appreciate this, jackass.

The sound of movement off to his right made Wolfwood stop and raise his weapon. James stepped out from cover with his own weapon drawn. “Wasn’t sure you’d show up,” he said.

Wolfwood shrugged. “Yeah, well, I had a shadow I needed to dodge.”

“Right. And what kind of trouble is Vash in with July, again?”

That had been Wolfwood’s excuse for why Vash couldn’t be there. It wasn’t a lie, just…hard to explain. See, his homicidal maniac of a brother is secretly in charge of the city and wants to use him to murder humanity wasn’t an explanation most people would buy. Fortunately, there was another way Wolfwood could phrase this that wasn’t a total lie.

“Exactly the kind of thing that’s gotten him in this mess,” Wolfwood said. “You keep trying to solve everyone’s problems and you make as many enemies as you do friends. Especially in a place like that.”

James thought about it, huffed quietly, and lowered his gun. “Yeah, sounds right. How is he not dead yet?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” Wolfwood replied as he lowered his own weapon. “Did you bring the bike?”

“Yep. I’m driving, though. You navigate.”

It was fair enough, and the bike did at least have a sidecar. That didn’t stop Wolfwood from feeling twitchy the whole damn drive. Their destination didn’t help. There were a lot of stretches of empty nothingness around July, but the one to the north of the city was special. It didn’t just hold the solar panels that supplied supplementary power to the city. Underneath it was one of the Eye’s training compounds, and one of the places where they kept their backup uniforms. Grabbing two of those was their first step.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” James said skeptically.

“I know the routine.” Wolfwood unscrewed one last bolt and flipped open the ventilation shaft’s cover. “I used to come in and out this way all the time. They didn’t exactly have a backdoor for a smoke break.”

James still looked skeptical, and Wolfwood couldn’t blame him. He’d flashed his lighter with the Eye’s symbol, said that he’d quit, but he wasn’t sure how plausible that sounded to an outsider. “Is there some kind of machinery under there?” James asked. “I keep thinking I hear humming.”

“They’ve got noise makers on the surface. Keeps prying eyes away. You get used to it.” He set the rifle aside. “You promise you’re not going to shoot me?”

“Only if you try something.”

“Fair enough.” Wolfwood lowered himself down carefully. James followed; his pistol was still stowed, so Wolfwood decided to go out on a limb and start crawling. We’re both putting a lot of trust in each other, here, he reminded himself. Mutually assured destruction.

Not exactly the best way to make friends, but hopefully it would be enough to get them through this.

Wolfwood had hoped he’d never have to sneak back through these vents again, but here he was. At least if everything went according to plan, he wouldn’t be there long. And assuming the layout of the place was still the same…

Don’t be stupid. It probably took them ages to build this place. They won’t be shuffling rooms around much. Keep your head on and keep crawling.

Eventually, the metal beneath him was broken up by grates, each one looking down into a storage room. Food. Weapons. Ammo. He was tempted to grab some ammo while he was there, but forced himself to keep moving. The ammo would definitely be watched and counted carefully. The uniforms, not so much.

He remembered where to stop clearly, and fortunately, the setup was still the same. Boxes of freshly-made or mended uniforms were all lined up on shelves. No sign of the tailor or anyone else. And when Wolfwood experimentally pulled on the grate, it popped up easily.

Guess people really have been sneaking out this way for a while.

Wolfwood slipped off his shoes before lowering himself carefully into the room. He landed without a sound. James followed after a delay, having done the same trick. He landed a bit more heavily, but not enough to attract attention.

So far, so good.

It was easy enough to find something in his size; he had to hold up a few shirts before James indicated that one would fit him. “Haven’t you been sick?” Wolfwood said skeptically as he picked a corresponding jacket. “Thought you’d have less meat on your bones.”

“We’re doing fine with food. It’s the medicine that’s screwing us.”

“Lucky you – “

Wolfwood froze.

“What is it?” said James.

Get out, whispered a tiny, panicked voice deep in his brain. Get out now.

Wolfwood didn’t know what had triggered the thought. He couldn’t hear anything and nothing looked off. But that was a whisper born from years of learning how to spot even the smallest sign of danger, and in a place like this, he wasn’t going to question it. “Back up,” Wolfwood hissed. “Back, go.”

James made a dash for the vent. Wolfwood grabbed the last thing he needed, made sure everything was in place, tossed the bundle of clothes into the vent—

Footsteps. That was footsteps.

--climbed up after it—

Don’t panic, you’ll make more noise if you panic and then you’ll get caught.

--pulled the grate closed and got out of sight just as the voices reached the door—

Don’t move. Stay still. Stay quiet.

--and thank God he did, because Wolfwood knew that voice.

“…will have to discuss the latest candidates with Father William. His selection process has been lacking of late.”

In a strange way, the terror that gripped him was worse than what he’d felt when he’d seen Millions Knives. Knives was terrifying, sure, but even after July he was terrifying in theory. Chapel, though?

Chapel was personal.

“I don’t think he’ll be happy to hear that,” said a second voice, one Wolfwood didn’t recognize. All of Chapel’s ass-kissing underlings started to blend together after a while. It may not have been anyone Wolfwood knew at all. “You know he has Lord Knives’ ear. If he wanted to…”

“Lord Knives values results.” Wolfwood could hear things being moved around, the rustling of fabric as clothes were changed. He thought he caught a whiff of blood. Someone must have really pissed him off. “If Father William is not producing adequate results, I’m sure nothing he says about me will matter.” He paused. “I will see if I can oversee the next pilgrimage myself. Perhaps there are more suitable candidates that he overlooked…”

Pilgrimage.

Wolfwood didn’t realize how tightly his hands had gripped into fists until they started trembling. A pilgrimage meant blood draws and endless questions and little faces watching as one of their own was taken away. Would they be honest, or did they have older kids who told them to lie while they answered truthfully and bore the brunt of the scrutiny? Wolfwood had lied his ass off for years, until suddenly he was one of the oldest, until he’d met Livio and found himself with someone he’d pay any price to protect…

The door closed. Silence filled the room.

Wolfwood stayed still. At first it was to be sure that no one was coming back. It took James poking his shoulder to make him realize that he was frozen in sheer fear and dread and…frustration, that he’d been up here the entire time and hadn’t been able to do anything. At the thought that Chapel was going to hurt more people, and that just like with Knives, he’d been too chickenshit to stop it.

“We good?” James whispered.

No, whispered the animal fear in his mind. He tried to override it. No one saw you. You’re safe.

He gets his. You know that.

It doesn’t matter. Chapel might think he’s tough shit, but there’s a lot of people who’d be willing to take his place. Killing him now won’t change anything.

And then, loudest and most urgent: You’ve got two people who need you right now, and they’ll do something stupid really fast if you don’t get moving right now.

That was the thought that made him nod and tilt his chin back up the tunnel. They started crawling. Wolfwood didn’t remember most of it. Just dark, dark, dark, then the light of the moons overhead. James was up first, and held out a hand for Wolfwood to follow. The cold night air felt like daggers in Wolfwood’s lungs, but it was better than the air of that place.

“Are you okay?” James asked.

He sounded genuinely concerned. Probably worried that the whole operation was going to fall apart because of Wolfwood. “Sorry,” Wolfwood said. “Claustrophobic.” Not a lie. Not the truth. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

James didn’t ask any more questions. He just helped Wolfwood to his feet and started back for the bike.

That was one difference between his memories of this place and the present, Wolfwood reminded himself. He could leave any time he wanted to.

Even if leaving meant jumping feet-first into some other bullshit, it was better than what he was leaving behind.

There was no sign of Wolfwood on the road to July. Fortunately, Vash had a few ideas of where he might be.

“If he’s not going in the front door, there are a few other ways to get in,” Vash said as he surveyed the city with his binoculars. “Some need equipment he doesn’t have, so that narrows it down.”

“Should I be worried that you know multiple ways to get into July?” Meryl asked.

“More like I’ve thought about how I’d get out if I had to…” Vash winced. “That’s worse, huh?”

“A little bit.”

“Nai hasn’t reached out to me since…did Nico tell you about the town with the aquifer?” Meryl nodded. “That’s the last time I heard from him, honest. It’s just…I don’t know. That whole incident made me rethink some things.” Vash sighed quietly. “I’d say I’m probably being paranoid, but I think I need to stop acting like he’s not capable of hurting me.”

That was a step in the right direction, but Vash sounded so sad that Meryl couldn’t feel good about it. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Is what it is.” Vash straightened up suddenly. “I see him.”

“Really?”

Vash passed her the binoculars. “Coming in from the solar farm. There.”

Her view through the binoculars was tinted green, but she could still make out Wolfwood’s features. He was in the sidecar of a motorcycle being driven by someone who could have been James. “Well,” she said, “that was easy.”

“I think I know where they’re going, too.” Vash took the binoculars back from her and re-mounted his thomas. “I vote we just follow for now. Only jump in if he needs help. If he knows I’m here, he’ll waste time trying to make me leave.” He held out a hand to her. “Sound good to you?”

Meryl took his hand. “Works for me.”

He pulled her up into the saddle, and they were off.

Wolfwood and James had parked their bike exactly where Vash thought they would, near some kind of waste runoff from the city’s sewer system. She and Vash left the thomas a safe distance away before creeping up to eavesdrop. “…and let me do the talking,” Wolfwood was saying. “Even if you didn’t still sound sick, they’d clock you the second you opened your mouth.”

“We have some Plant worshippers in our town,” James said. He was changing into a different outfit, one that looked a lot like what the white-haired assassin had been wearing. “I know how they talk.”

“Not these guys. Trust me.” Wolfwood adjusted the buttons on a nearly identical outfit. It was closer fitting than his usual suit jacket, to the point of looking restrictive. It made him look smaller, thinner, like a lanky teenager stuffed into a formal suit they couldn’t afford to replace yet. He tossed James a gas mask. “You’ll want to get this on now. It smells as bad as it looks in there.”

Meryl felt a chill run down her spine as both men put on the masks. She’d seen people dressed like that when Conrad had been leading her and Roberto around. They’d been creepy then, and seeing Wolfwood forcing himself into the mold of one was…

You already know he works for them. What makes this different?

She didn’t know. She just knew it felt wrong.

Wolfwood and James climbed up a nearby ladder. Vash waited until they were in the pipes above before darting out from cover. He went for Wolfwood’s clothes first, snatching up his sunglasses and pocketing them. “Extra disguise,” he whispered. “Stay close.”

He didn’t have to tell Meryl twice. The coat he was wearing was dark grey, and he was swallowed up by the shadows of the tunnels almost instantly. She probably would have lost him if she hadn’t held onto his sleeve so tightly.

The tunnels (which did, in fact, smell awful) gave way to some much smaller but at least less smelly maintenance corridors. Vash kept them back so far that Wolfwood was often out of sight, but never seemed to lose him entirely. His hearing must have been better than Meryl’s, or else this was one of his potential escape routes and he was trusting that Wolfwood would follow the same path. The further they went, the louder the noises of the city above became, until they opened a door leading into an alleyway. Meryl could see bright lights at the other end, crowds of people enjoying what night time entertainment there was, and the sight of Wolfwood and James walking down the street. “I’ve never tailed anyone before,” Meryl admitted.

“Just follow what I do and you’ll be fine.” Vash slipped on Wolfwood’s sunglasses before offering Meryl his. “Don’t worry. We’ve got this.”

Meryl couldn’t help feeling some doubt, because right now they looked like two people wearing sunglasses at night while skulking around a city with their faces obscured. But she put the glasses on anyway and followed him into the crowds. Despite her concerns, no one seemed to give them a second glance.

She hoped Wolfwood and James didn’t notice them, either.

“Quit gawking.”

“I’m not – “

“You are. Side by side, remember?” Wolfwood slowed down enough to match James’ pace. Much as he wanted to get this over with, he couldn’t start dragging the guy. “I know, it’s shiny and all…”

“It’s disgusting.” The condemnation came in a harsh whisper, one Wolfwood could barely hear over the mask. “We’re out there dying while everyone in here lives like…this.”

Wolfwood knew what he meant. July was a city of immense wealth, a place where people by and large lived comfortably, even extravagantly. The fact that it was a slap in the face to people from the outside was just the surface layer of rot.

He’d always hated coming back here. He hated it even more now, crammed as he was in a deacon’s uniform and about to wander into a new lion’s den. But he shoved that all down and kept walking. “Just don’t pick any fights, all right? We’re gonna get your piece of the pie soon.”

People gave them a wide berth as they moved through the nightlife crowds, even the MPs. It made making their way towards the center of the city easier. They wouldn’t be heading for the tower, thank God. Instead, they walked towards a much smaller building near it. It had the same boxy structure a lot of the buildings did, but with red-tinted windows and a stream of men and women in the Eye’s uniforms entering. “Remember, it’s not gonna be pretty in there,” Wolfwood whispered. “Stay cool. Follow my head.”

James nodded.

A feeling of eyes on him suddenly weighed down Wolfwood, hard enough that he did a quick scan of the area. No sign of red or white jackets, but for a second, he noticed someone at an outdoor noodle place turn around, as if he had been staring. Broad shoulders. Sensible jacket. Didn’t look like much, but…

Do I know him?

No time to worry about that. He couldn’t slow down. Stay focused. Get what you came for.

If that guy was trouble, they’d handle it later.

“Should we follow him in?” Vash whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Meryl replied. “Everyone’s in those weird uniforms. We’d just stand out.”

Vash didn’t look thrilled, but he nodded. “So, we just…watch the building, if there’s gunshots or something we…” He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. “…we go in then.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’ve had a headache ever since we set foot in here. Nothing Nai-related, just…” He shuddered. “This place feels miserable.”

The dying Plants in the tower probably had something to do with that. Meryl felt horrible not telling him the truth, but it was better if he didn’t know. There was nothing he could do about it, anyway. “We never did have dinner,” Meryl pointed out. “Do you want noodles? Maybe that will help.”

“Sure. It’s worth a shot.”

The good news was, there were a few people at the noodle place in much more obnoxious outfits; as long as they sat near the night crowd, they blended in a bit. There was also someone in a waiter’s uniform for a different place, a few MP officers, and…

Meryl felt her heart stop beating.

Someone set a bowl of noodles in front of her. The night party group kept chatting and laughing. Vash started eating. All of that turned into a background drone. Everything, even Vash, even her worries about Wolfwood, suddenly didn’t matter.

She knew that man. He may have been younger, with shorter hair and a more well-kept beard, but she’d spent too long on the road with Roberto de Niro not to recognize him.

He’d warned James that the décor would be ugly, but there wasn’t any way to drive home how ugly. You had to see it to really understand.

All the lighting and windows were red, making it look like they’d been swallowed by something or forcibly submerged in a tank with a dying Plant. The central altar didn’t help. It was made of a a shattered Plant bulb suspended over a low table, with speakers arranged inside so the upcoming sermon would sound like it was coming from within. There were no chairs, no other furniture, no other décor except the pillars forming a circle around the edge of the room. Wolfwood thought he remembered them being painted some awful, clashing mix of colors that had looked even uglier in the red light, but he had only been in there a few times. Maybe he was misremembering, or maybe that hadn’t been added yet.

Doesn’t matter. Focus.

He led James to a wall near the only other door in the place and knelt down. James knelt next to him, imitating his posture almost perfectly. Just stay kneeling and look contrite. Pretend you’re contemplating the horrors of humanity. We’ll move once everyone else is invested in the sermon. Which meant having to hear Conrad’s voice, but Wolfwood was pretty good at blocking him out by now.

He'd forgotten how loud the speakers were, though.

“They called our kind the Sinners, for we had tried to yield a power that was not ours to yield.”

Yeah, Wolfwood remembered this one. The whole history lesson on how mankind had messed around with science and made the modern Plant, exploited them, blah blah blah, something something, bringing down the judgment of the angel. A lot of the Eye’s teachings were almost funny after all the time Wolfwood had spent with Vash. The little punk barely remembers to feed himself and has the self-preservation of a drugged thomas, and you wanna tell me he’s one of the angels who will bring us paradise?

It stopped being funny pretty fast, though.

He wouldn’t want this. Not that Millions Knives had ever cared about what Vash wanted.

James nudged Wolfwood. Poor guy was probably itching to get out of there. Wolfwood gave a quick scan of the room, making sure everyone was fixed on the altar, before scooting closer to the door and reaching for the keypad. 2107, assuming the code wasn’t different in the past…

Click.

…and it wasn’t. The door slid open, whisper-silent. Wolfwood let James slip in first before following. There was an elevator on the other side; Wolfwood tapped the button for the lowest floor and tried very hard not to look at the security camera in the corner.

“We’re not going to have a problem, right?” James asked carefully.

Wolfwoodshook his head. “Nah, Father William makes last-minute deliveries all the time. As long as we don’t disturb services on the way out, we’ll be fine.”

All true, all the basis of this stupid plan. Being chosen as an errand boy to get more of the stuff for Conrad’s experiments was the whole reason Wolfwood knew it was down there and how to get it. Never thought that would ever come in handy again. Another stupid sign from God that this would work out, if he wanted to be sullen about it.

The elevator stopped. They walked down a short hallway, following the sound of the same lecture being played above. The hallway opened up into a room full of worm corpses suspended in various growing frames, all covered in fuzzy, white-pink stuff that made him nauseous to look at. One scientist looked up from the radio. “Everything all right, deacon?” he asked.

“Just needed some extra supply for Father William,” Wolfwood said. He was glad the mask hid his face so well; he could focus on controlling his tone without worrying about how his face looked. “A few units should do it.”

The scientist made a soft ah noise and walked to one of the growth frames. “Good timing. We had started assembling tomorrow’s harvest. You can take what we have along with the extra.”

“He’ll be grateful for that.” Well, someone would be. Wolfwood glanced at James to make sure he was keeping it together. He was quiet, stoic, still aside from one hand clenching into a fist. Could’ve been nerves. Could’ve been elation. Wolfwood had promised a limited supply, but what the scientist started loading enough was definitely enough to treat the town.

Okay, God, I get it, this was a good idea, Vash was right, just please get me out of here without things going wrong…

“Here you are.” The caretaker passed a carrier bag to Wolfwood. “Be sure to give Father Williams our best wishes.”

Wolfwood let himself remember the sight of Conrad’s brains splattered on the tank glass, just for a second. “Will do,” he said with a genuine smile.

They walked back to the elevator without being stopped. Wolfwood passed the bag to James once they were inside. “Just don’t open it. Humidity control and all. Father William handles that.”

“Got it.” James’s voice was steady, but his hand shook slightly as he took the bag. Out of excitement that it was working or fear that something could go wrong any second, Wolfwood wasn’t sure. Could be either one.

If anything was going to go wrong, it would happen soon. They still had to get out of the city, after all. That was a long enough walk for something to blow up on them,

The lecture was just wrapping up as they exited the elevator, allowing them to merge into a departing crowd. No one gave them a second glance.

Wolfwood started praying it would stay that way.

Meryl tried to keep her eyes on her meal, but her gaze kept darting back to Roberto.

He didn’t look much older than her. He was wearing a dark jacket, regular shirt, nothing to indicate what his current job might be. Was he a reporter even now? He hadn’t talked much about his past—and she hadn’t asked much, she realized with a burst of shame. Prying into Roberto’s past hadn’t seemed important when they were chasing down Vash the Stampede.

She wished she’d asked more. She wished she could even begin to guess what he was doing here. He’d never mentioned living in July. Did he live here? If he did, why had he left for November?

Vash touched her arm. “Are you going to finish that?” he asked.

Meryl looked down at her bowl. She’d been eating on autopilot, mostly going for the solid parts of the noodle soup. and had resorted to stirring around the broth and smaller bits. It wasn’t her favorite part; she’d normally drink it anyway, but she wasn’t hungry at all. “You go ahead,” she said, pushing the bowl to him.

Vash didn’t need to be told twice. At least he still had his appetite. He was in the process of eagerly slurping down what was left when people started leaving the strange building. So many of them were in the same outfit that Meryl was worried they’d miss Wolfwood. She shouldn’t have been; two figures broke off from the main group pretty quickly and headed back in the direction they’d come from. Before Vash even had time to lower his bowl, though, Roberto got up and started walking after Wolfwood and James.

The hell…?

It could have been her imagination, a coincidence. But Meryl still grabbed Vash’s arm as they got up. “Keep an eye on that man there,” she whispered.

“Trouble?” Vash whispered back.

“I…don’t know. Could be nothing, but…”

Vash nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Wolfwood took a more circuitous route back, using more alleys and side streets. The new route did confirm that Roberto was following him. The few times he seemed to vanish, he’d re-appear later out of a random side street and resume the chase. It became hard to tell if they were following Wolfwood or Roberto. “Do you know him?” Vash asked at one point.

He is my boss. Was my boss. Will be my boss. Meryl felt sick. I don’t know what to do.

Wolfwood and James made a sudden turn. Roberto followed. Meryl saw him reach for his gun as he went. From the sound of Vash’s sharp inhale, so did he.

Oh. Oh, this is bad.

At first, he took the long way out as a precaution. It didn’t take him long to realize how smart a call that was.

“Still there?” he asked James.

“Think so.” There were at least three that they’d noticed: a guy who kept pinging Wolfwood as familiar despite never getting a clear look at him, and two others who he’d also only caught glimpses of, but one too many glimpses for it to be coincidence. He had no idea what was going on, but he wasn’t interested in finding out.

Can I get out of this without killing someone? Vash doesn’t need to know if I do, right? Son of a bitch should be grateful I’m here at all…

“What do we do?” James continued nervously.

Screw it. Least I can do is figure out if this guy is with the Eye or what. Wolfwood steered James into a side street. “I’ll deal with it,” he said. “Be ready to run if it gets bad…”

“Hey!” called a voice behind them. “You gentlemen have a – “

The voice, one that immediately struck Wolfwood as familiar, was cut off with a solid omph and the sound of bodies colliding. Wolfwood turned around, tense and ready to start swinging, but instead…

Oh, fuck me.

He may have been dressed in a long black coat and wearing Wolfwood’s glasses, but even with all that and a hood up, there was no mistaking Vash. Meryl stood at the alley’s entrance, wearing a hooded poncho that went a long way in obscuring her features when combined with Vash’s sunglasses. Those glasses didn’t hide the stricken look in her eyes.

A look not directed at Wolfwood.

He looked at the person Vash had pinned, and realized he did know him.

“Military police!” growled Roberto de Niro. “I’m military police!”

Hell. That was him all right. His voice may have been unmarred by drinking and his face was less lined, but it was definitely Roberto.

He was a cop?! July City MP?! This was a lot. No wonder Meryl looked like that.

“What does military police want with us?” Wolfwood asked. He was immediately glad for the gas mask and how it obscured his voice. He didn’t want to think about the ramifications of Roberto recognizing him in the future.

“I had some questions…” Roberto tried to look up at Vash, but the kid had him pinned down pretty good. “…but I’m starting to think you’re not really with those guys.”

Hell. Those sharp bursts of perceptiveness had always been around, it seemed. Vash glanced up at Wolfwood, eyes somehow still just visible behind Wolfwood’s glasses. What do we do? that look asked. Wolfwood was sure the no killing bit was implied, but Vash didn’t need to worry about that this time. The only person from their future Wolfwood was gonna kill in the past was Knives. Maybe Chapel if he got a clear shot, but definitely not Roberto.

New problem. Wolfwood didn’t know what to do.

“And if we’re not? What’s military police going to do about that?” Wolfwood tried.

“Depends on what’s in that bag.”

“Life saving medical treatment that your people don’t feel like sharing,” James snapped. Wolfwood would’ve told him to shut up, but the guy had a point, and he was curious to see how Roberto would react. “We only took what we needed. Is that going to be a problem, or do you really want to stop us from helping little kids?”

Roberto grimaced immediately. His expression was guilty, just for a second, before he went back to being all business. “Is this about the dustlung outbreaks I’ve been hearing about? What’re the Plant worshippers doing with the treatment?”

“We didn’t stick around to ask,” Wolfwood said. “You’re telling me you’re nosing around the Eye of Michael?”

“Why? You know something about them?”

Wolfwood knew plenty, enough to know that whatever Roberto was up to, it was going to put a target on his head. Obviously, it wouldn’t be enough to kill him, but they could find plenty of ways to ruin his life before the end.

“…you guys keep moving, okay?” Wolfwood said. “I’ll catch up.”

“Are you sure?” James asked.

“I’ve got this. Don’t worry about it.”

Vash kept his mouth shut, but he also grabbed Roberto’s pistol, unloaded it, and tossed it in Wolfwood’s direction before letting Roberto up. It was the same Derringer Meryl had on her person somewhere, just newer. Absolutely unreal. “No need for that,” Roberto said irately.

“Would you let me up with a weapon?” Wolfwood pointed out. Roberto grunted in annoyance, but couldn’t argue the point.

Wolfwood waited until the others had left—James was the only one to go without giving Wolfwood a second look—before speaking again: “What’s the endgame here?”

“How much do you know about the Eye of Michael?”

“Enough to tell you this is not a path you want to go down.”

“Are you a member?”

“I was.” Still am. Will be one day. He banished the thought to avoid the headache that would come with it. “I’m just here for the fungus. I don’t make a habit of poking around them anymore and neither should you.”

“There’s lives on the line. Look…” Roberto reached for his pocket, moving slowly when he saw Wolfwood tense. All he pulled out was a piece of paper. “Did you see this kid when you were in there?”

He was holding a photo. Wolfwood glanced at it long enough to catch a few details—light hair, dark eyes, gap in the teeth—before forcing his gaze away. “No,” he said.

Roberto kept pushing: “They help bring families into the city, call it charity work, but sometimes they take the kids. His mother reached out to me…”

“Stop.”

“…said they won’t tell her what happened to her son, won’t let her talk to him…”

“I mean it, stop.”

“He’s only twelve. His name is – “

“I don’t care what his name is, and if you’re smart, you’ll forget you ever heard it,” Wolfwood snapped.

Roberto froze. The look on his face wasn’t judgmental; instead, his eyes were full of dread, as if Wolfwood had confirmed something he’d suspected all along. “Do your bosses know you’re doing this?” Wolfwood asked. “Or did they try to stop you from looking? You ever stop to ask yourself why?”

“…the thought’s come up,” Roberto admitted. His jaw was tight; the dread in his eyes was giving way to frustrated fury. “Just answer me this…what are the chances he’s still alive?”

He was asking the wrong question. It would’ve been better to ask what the chances were the kid was still human.

“If he’s lucky, he’s long dead,” Wolfwood said quietly. “Best if you and his mom act like he is. Trust me.”

Roberto stared down at the picture. His hand started to shake. More and more he looked like a man at the end of his rope. Maybe Wolfwood had been there for his final straw, or had put it there himself. He wasn’t sure. Least he could do while he was here was try and keep things from continuing.

“Stop looking,” Wolfwood repeated. He leaned over, picked up the Derringer, and stepped closer to hold it out to Roberto. “You won’t find any justice in this place.”

Roberto took the pistol with his free hand. “…I don’t care what you took,” he said finally. His voice was dark, furious in a way Wolfwood didn’t know the old man was capable of. “Just…get away from the city before someone else notices.”

He didn’t have to tell Wolfwood twice. He slipped past Roberto and out into the streets. Roberto stayed in place, still staring down at the photo.

He’d be seeing that face in his nightmares for a long time. Wolfwood knew from experience.

“We should get out of here.” James hadn’t stopped pacing since they left the sewers. “If the military police are involved…”

“You can go if you want. I’m not leaving without Nico.” Vash kept both eyes fixed on the tunnel exit. His hand hovered near his pistol, as if he were waiting for trouble. The intensity in his eyes was almost unsettling. Not unsettling enough to keep Meryl out of her head, though.

Roberto had been military police once. He’d used the same Derringer back then that he’d given to her (would give to her one day) on the elevator. He had a whole life he’d never told her about. Here and now, he was alive.

But one day he’d be dead, and she’d be partly to blame for it.

The sound of a pistol being drawn finally got her attention. A figure emerged from the sewers, climbed down the ladder to the desert floor, and pulled off a mask to reveal Wolfwood. He took a few deep breaths of the night air, seemingly not caring about the residual sewer smell. “It’s sorted,” he said as he approached. “And no, I didn’t shoot him, before you ask – “

Wolfwood was cut off by Vash hugging him tightly. Wolfwood froze in place, eyes wide, expression almost totally unguarded. He looked just as ready to fall apart as Meryl felt.

Which of his own demons had he faced back there?

“…we’ve, uhm…” Wolfwood carefully pushed Vash away from him. His face was back to neutral by the time Vash could see it. “We’ve got to get moving before anyone else notices us.”

“Agreed.” James jumped on the bike and started up the motor impatiently. “My group didn’t go far. I can drop you off on the road and keep going.” As Wolfwood tossed his things into the sidecar, James added, with genuine earnestness, “Thank you.”

Wolfwood didn’t reply.

Meryl and Vash rode behind them on the thomas. For a while, the only sounds were the bike engine and the thomas’s footsteps. Vash the silence first: “He’s probably mad at me, isn’t he?”

“Uh…oh, no, I don’t think…” Meryl struggled to think of something reassuring to say, but her mind was still trapped in memories of the elevator. “If he’s angry at anyone, it’s probably me. I was supposed to stop you.”

Vash hummed, a sound Meryl felt more than heard as she clung to him. “Did you know that man?” Vash asked suddenly.

Meryl was extremely glad Vash couldn’t see her face just then. “I…” How do I even begin to explain this? “It’s…complicated.”

“Because of the portals?”

“Yeah. Because of that.”

Vash hummed again. Fortunately, he didn’t ask any more questions, but Meryl could tell they were coming. Just not now.

She’d have to think of an explanation. Maybe she’d have a chance to run something past Wolfwood before Vash brought it up again. He was more detached from the situation; maybe he could be objective about it.

Catching a glimpse of the blank look on his face made her reconsider that.

James, as promised, stopped to drop Wolfwood off on the road with the town in sight before thanking them again and driving off. Wolfwood stared after him. He was still in the uniform; it looked even more uncomfortable up close. “Take it you missed the part of the note where you two weren’t supposed to follow me,” Wolfwood said finally.

“No, I read it,” Vash said. “I just figured if it were me, you’d follow.”

“Yeah, because you’re an idiot who’d probably get himself shot.”

“That guy literally had a gun pointed at you.”

“Fuck off. I had that.” Wolfwood suddenly started stripping the gloves off. “Why the hell do they dress like this, shit…”

He was definitely agitated. Vash noticed it, too, which was probably why he kept his mouth shut as Wolfwood yanked off the gloves, the suit jacket, the shirt underneath. He was thinner than Meryl had expected—still muscular, he’d have to be from carrying that weapon around, but in a trimmed-down way that men who did hard labor without enough food were. No wonder he ate like he was starving. Was it the chemicals that did that? “You owe me,” Wolfwood said as he grabbed his own shirt and threw it back on. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Vash said quietly. “I got you more clothes. This is…” He shrugged the black jacket off and held it out. In contrast to Wolfwood, he was much more muscular than you’d expect once he took off the bulky layers. Broad shoulders, well-fed, healthy. It was easy to tell, even with a turtleneck covering most of his body. “…this is for you, actually.”

Wolfwood stared at the jacket, then at Vash, eyes completely baffled without the sunglasses to mask them. “…fucking hell, make me feel like an asshole, why don’t you?” he said incredulously.

Vash started laughing. It had the same air of frantic relief to it as it had before. This time, Wolfwood was the one to step forward and hug him. “I didn’t mean it, Vash, I’m just…”

“But you did do it for me,” Vash said, his voice muffled against Wolfwood’s shoulder.

“I…” Wolfwood met Meryl’s eyes, just for a second, before looking away. “…promised I’d think about what you said…guess I thought about it.”

He didn’t look happy about it. If Meryl had to guess, he’d been clawing and biting and kicking against his better judgment the whole walk to July. But he’d done it anyway. Because he knew it’s what Vash would want.

Wolfwood had still betrayed them, and was still a complete enigma to Meryl in a lot of ways. But looking at him there, knowing that he’d put himself in danger to help Vash in a way…

He looked different than the man she’d hit with the trailer.

“He got me new clothes too, if it makes you feel better,” Meryl said. “You’re not that special.”

Wolfwood snorted. “That does help, actually.” He pulled away from the embrace and snatched his sunglasses off of Vash’s face. “We gonna get back into town before they notice we’re gone?”

“Shoot, yeah, we probably should…” Vash grabbed the thomas’s reins. “C’mon. This way.”

They kept moving as if nothing had happened. That didn’t stop the moment from sticking in Meryl’s mind.

At least it was a more pleasant memory than the one she’d been trapped in.

He waited until the others had gone to sleep before trying the clothes on.

It shouldn’t have been nerve-wracking. It was just sturdy work pants, a shirt, the jacket, nothing fancy, all secondhand if the lingering smell of cologne was anything to go by. But it was what Vash thought he would like, what Vash thought he’d actually wear. It was an outfit that Vash thought Nico would wear.

Wolfwood didn’t know what to expect from that.

Everything fit, more or less. The work pants had been black once but had faded into a dark gray. The shirt—long-sleeved, no collar, one of those shirts with only three buttons down the front—was a lighter color, closer-fitting than his usual button-up but still loose enough to be comfortable. Vash had included socks, which almost felt like a passive-aggressive judgment on his usual outfit, but ones Wolfwood planned to wear anyway just to keep his ankle wound clean. He unbuttoned the top button on the shirt before turning to look at his reflection in the bathroom’s full-length mirror.

He wasn’t sure who he was seeing at first. He looked…normal. Like he could be any guy who’d wandered into Hopeland looking for work. He could’ve sworn he looked older, too, though he wasn’t sure how that was possible. Wolfwood tried putting the coat on—long, black, collared—but it didn’t do much to make him look more threatening. The person in the mirror didn’t have blood on his hands or a thousand wounds that should’ve left scars. He was just…

Just…

“Damn it, Vash,” Wolfwood breathed.

He got out of the outfit as quickly as possible, but folded it up slowly and carefully. He crawled back into his cot afterwards, though he knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep. Not with his thoughts rattling around his skull like loose pebbles. If he wasn’t thinking about the Eye or Roberto or how Meryl was holding up after seeing her boss again, he was thinking about the weight of Vash’s embrace, the way his voice shook when he talked.

But you did do it for me.

It felt like a weird thing to say, like there was more to his reaction than the fact that James’ people would get the help they needed. He just couldn’t figure out what.

I mean, I know I said he’d better be grateful for this, but…

The sound of someone moving in the room made him shut his eyes, his body relaxing instinctively into fake sleep. From the lightness of the footsteps, he guessed it was Meryl who slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. Whatever she was up to in there was none of his business, but he found himself keeping an ear out anyway. He could only imagine what kind of shock to the system seeing Roberto again must’ve been for her.

He regretted the move almost instantly, because overhearing the first muffled sob made him feel like absolute shit.

Wolfwood thought about getting up and knocking, but what could he possibly say to her? He’d taken cigarettes off the man’s corpse. Nothing he could say about that mess would comfort her.

But leaving her to cry alone in a hotel bathroom didn’t feel right, either.

As Wolfwood lay there in the dark, frozen with indecision, Meryl made the call for him. He heard the door slip open, the sound of her footsteps, the creaking of the cot as she went back to bed. He didn’t know if she actually slept.

He sure didn’t, though.

A new portal didn’t appear for several days

Meryl understood why. Even now that the crisis of fungus distribution was resolved, Vash had a lot on his plate helping out. Bare minimum, he needed someone to tell him when to take a break—or, as Wolfwood’s strategy was on the first day, to wave a sandwich around in front of Vash but refuse to give it to him until he walked away from work to actually eat in peace. “I’ll force-feed you if I have to,” he threatened.

Vash hadn’t fought him. The excitement of the previous night had clearly wiped him out. He’d ended up falling asleep on the floor in their room at dinner, curled up right next to Meryl. “Too bad you don’t have your camera,” Wolfwood said as he moved Vash into his bed. “We could’ve used the photographic evidence next time he wants to complain about resting.”

Despite herself, Meryl smiled. She was worn out, too, though it was more from the still-lingering memories of the future than it was from the actual work. Keeping herself busy had kept a lot of those memories at bay, but she was worried they would hunt her down when she tried to sleep.

She didn’t fall asleep right away, but she wasn’t plagued by nightmares, so she took the win and went back to work.

Things were slightly less hectic the next day. Several people were discharged from treatment, which seemed to life Vash’s spirits. The town wasn’t out of the woods yet, but everyone seemed to think they were headed in a positive direction.

That was also the day Wolfwood taught several kids in the treatment ward what a chaser was by making them shot glassed of chopped up fruit cocktail to down after they took their medicine. Meryl wasn’t sure if that improved or worsened their opinion of him.

“They took their medicine, didn’t they?” Wolfwood pointed out over dinner. He had polished off his serving and was examining the stitches on his ankle wound. “It’s not like I was encouraging them to drink. Just showing them how to make something less gross.”

“A tactic originally invented for drinking,” Meryl retorted.

“Yeah, and cars can be used for transport and as a blunt force weapon. What’s your point?”

“You are never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope.” Wolfwood reached into his pockets and produced a pocket knife. “Listen, one of them has a bartender for a dad. He probably already knows how to make a mixed drink – “

Vash reached over and caught Wolfwood’s wrist. “Don’t just rip those out,” he said, worried.

“What do you think the knife is for?”

“I have scissors, let me…” Vash stood up to get his first aid kit. “You don’t want to get an infection.”

Wolfwood, just for a second, looked like he wanted to make a retort, but bit it back quickly. He did re-pocket the knife, though. “Do you want something for the pain?” Vash asked.

“It’s just stiches. Don’t waste painkillers on me.”

It was a shame Wolfwood had lost the last of his vials; the things may have made Meryl’s skin crawl, but she was sure taking one would be preferable to walking around on a damaged ankle. It didn’t look as bad as she’d expected it to, based off what Wolfwood had told her about it. Maybe he could heal on his own like the white-haired man, just slower.

I wonder if there’s a good way to ask Wolfwood about all of that. She knew a lot more about him now. It wasn’t like he could keep it all a secret forever…

“Are you guys from the future?” Vash asked suddenly.

Meryl froze. Her gaze met Wolfwood’s; he looked just as taken aback as Meryl did. “Uh…” He cleared his throat. “What makes you think that?”

“You knew that man back there, both of you. When I was a kid, Meryl said something about c-cents way before we had currency, and she knew my name. You talk about stuff that doesn’t seem possible from being on a SEEDS ship or being on Earth, and none of you seem really surprised by stuff going on…” He cut free another stitch before looking between the two of them. “So, did the portals bring you from the future?”

Again, Meryl looked to Wolfwood. He looked resigned more than anything. “Better guess than your angel theory,” he grumbled.

“Is that a yes?”

Screw it. He was going to find out the truth one way or another. “We are,” she sighed. Vash’s grin was so bright and triumphant that she couldn’t help smiling back. “What year is it?”

“PE 80.”

“My birthday is…” Meryl froze. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I’m going to be born next year.” Of course, she’d known there was a good chance the portals would bring her to her own lifetime, but now it felt real. “My mom might be pregnant right now.”

Wolfwood barked in laughter. “Hey, maybe we could try finding you next year. See what you looked like as a baby.”

“No. No, we’re not doing that. Ugh, it’s bad enough we…”

Again, Meryl froze, but this time it was from a sense of dread and shame. The mirth fell out of Wolfwood’s eyes as he realized what she was thinking of. Vash quickly caught onto the mood. “That man, was he…family?” he guessed.

Meryl shook her head. “He’s my boss. Will be my boss, in a couple decades. I’m not a police officer in the future, though. I’m a reporter. I don’t know what made him switch careers…he never talked about it.” She set her dinner aside and pulled her knees up to her chest. “I didn’t really know a lot about him, to be honest. He didn’t like talking about himself.”

Wolfwood’s teeth clicked as he flexed his jaw thoughtfully. “He was nosing around powerful people,” he said finally. “If I had to guess, either he got sick of being stonewalled and left, or he got forced out for causing problems. Explains why he didn’t have a high opinion of military police.”

That made sense. Maybe he became a reporter because he thought it would be a different way to get the truth…only to have that not work out for him, if the way he talked about his job was any indication. So many things about him made sense in light of Wolfwood’s theory.

Coward’s a word for the privileged. She understood what he meant now.

“That’s why you said you were with communications,” Vash said suddenly. “Because you’re a reporter. That’s really cool, actually.” He went back to removing Wolfwood’s stitches. “What’s it like in a few decades? Any different?”

“Honestly…not much. Not from what I’ve seen.”

“July’s a little more developed,” Wolfwood said, “but not much has changed since we got all the major towns built. Only so much you can innovate in a place like this, I reckon.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. It’s a miracle we all made it to stable. Expecting too much change in so short a time…” Vash laughed quietly. “It’s funny. Twenty-three seemed so old when I was a kid, but now…”

Meryl glared at him. “You’d better not start treating me like an underclassman or something,” she said.

“I won’t, I won’t, I promise. It’s just funny.” The last of Wolfwood’s stitches was carefully removed, and Vash started cleaning the injuries. “So, do we…know each other? You don’t have to give me any details, just…yes or no.”

Damn it. Meryl had a feeling he already knew the answer, especially when Wolfwood had told him the portals were Plant-related. It was just a matter of how many details he wanted…how many details were safe to give. “Yes,” she said carefully.

Vash nodded thoughtfully. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll act surprised in a few decades, I promise. Don’t want to ruin a good thing.” He looked between the two of them again and smiled. “Guess that explains why you keep finding me.”

“You’re taking this really well.”

“Like I said, a good thing. I mean, it is for me…” Vash stared morosely at Wolfwood’s ankle. “…I know, this is probably confusing for you. I’m sorry…”

“No, no, don’t be. It’s not your fault.” Which was arguably not true, but Meryl wasn’t going to hold what happened against Vash. She wasn’t even sure he’d known what he was doing. “I’m happy to help. You’re my friend.”

“And you’d probably be dead without us.” Wolfwood tousled Vash’s hair hard enough to make it stick up. “This isn’t even the worst thing to happen to me, so quit looking at me like you killed my dog.”

Vash’s smile came back as he smoothed down his hair. “I’d do the same for you guys, for whatever it’s worth,” he said. “Though you’re probably involved in less nonsense than I am.”

“I was. I don’t know about him,” Meryl said. The sudden, serious look on Wolfwood’s face made her uncomfortable. She pushed on: “I mean, unless you wanted to help me with my advanced classes.”

“I am known to read a math book for fun sometimes.” Wolfwood made a disbelieving noise. “What? Math can be fun. It’s like a puzzle.”

“I say again,” Wolfwood said, “I am the only normal person in this group.”

That was probably the least true thing he could’ve said, but Meryl decided to let him have this one.

Sad thing was, this wasn’t even the first time he’d dreamed about someone trying to kill him.

Suffocation was a new one, he’d give his brain that. But it wasn’t the hands around his throat that made him feel chilled and anxious when he woke up. It was the memory of what was suffocating him. Two sets of hands, one holding him down, one wrapped around his throat, feathers that glinted like steel, a pair of eyes that stared down bright and burning, like looking directly into the sun. He tried to grasp more details as he lay in bed, breathing slowly to calm himself, but those eyes drowned out everything else.

Is this about the fungus? he thought blearily. Because I don’t think I should be punished for that. It was stealing for a good cause, honest…

He rolled over in bed, and nearly jumped out of his skin. “Shit - !”

Vash yelped quietly and fell back onto his ass. Both of them froze immediately, staring at Meryl’s bed. She rolled over, mumbled something in her sleep, and stilled again. She wasn’t the deepest sleeper he’d ever met, but she must’ve learned to sleep through the odd noise while they were on the road.

Which was good, because Wolfwood had questions.

“Were you watching me sleep?!” Wolfwood hissed.

Vash’s mouth opened, then shut again as he looked away. Wolfwood could see how embarrassed he was. “…only for a few seconds,” he admitted.

“…is this…a recurring thing with you, or…?”

“I had a nightmare.”

So did I. And rolling over to see Vash’s eyes staring at him had been the shock of his life when those sunlight eyes were still so bright and searing in his mind. Vash’s weren’t so harsh, though; more like the glow of a full moon. Freaky as shit that they glowed at all, but Vash’s quiet tone of voice was more important in the moment. “I haven’t died on you,” Wolfwood grumbled, “if that’s what you’re worried about. C’mere.”

Vash got up carefully and sat down on the edge of the cot. Wolfwood pulled himself up into a seated position and wrapped a blanket around the both of them. Vash leaned against him immediately. He’d removed his prosthetic arm, which left him looking more vulnerable. Small. “Do you want to talk about it?” Wolfwood asked.

“Not really.” Vash’s eyes half-closed. He sounded tired, looked tired. “I was…thinking about my brother again. Guess it bled over.”

“Have you tried not doing that?”

“I can’t help it.” Vash glanced down at his intact hand. “Don’t know why I bother trying to understand him. He hasn’t exactly been reciprocating lately.”

The bitter tone in his voice brought a lot of mixed emotions. It was good he was seeing sense, but it obviously hurt him. “He hasn’t tried to talk to you again, has he?” Wolfwood asked.

“No, not since he killed all those people. Sometimes I think…I think I can feel him watching me when I’m helping a Plant. Or when I’m dreaming. But he hasn’t tried to talk to me. I wonder if…” Vash scoffed quietly. “…if that’s him trying to punish me. I’ll be pissed if it is, because…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Wolfwood could guess the ending: It’s working. He might not be able to comprehend how Vash could still love Knives after everything he’d done, but he could get how being frozen out of knowing what he was up to would feel. It’d be nice if they could somehow get someone else to put the guy under 24/7 surveillance. That way they’d know for sure if he was up to something or just playing the piano somewhere like a dramatic jackass.

“I almost wish he’d just hunt me down and get it over wi – “

Before Wolfwood could make a very valid protest, something flew across the room and hit Vash in the face. “Do not talk like that,” Meryl said.

Ah, shit. Guess she was awake enough to eavesdrop. Not that Wolfwood minded this time; she’d said everything he’d wanted to say, and with a hat to the face to cap it all off (pun intended). Vash frowned at it before putting it on. “This is my hat now, if you’re going to be like that,” he said.

“Don’t dodge my point,” Meryl grumbled. She crawled out of bed with her blanket wrapped around her and sat down next to Vash. Funny thing; her bedhead, barely open eyes, and blanket cloak making her look smaller did not make her look less fearsome. If anything, she looked cranky and uninhibited enough to bite, if she had to. “There’s got to be something you can think about that isn’t Nai. You can’t let him win by living rent-free up there.”

“She’s got a point,” Wolfwood said. “And not the sick people, either. You’re gonna drive yourself crazy if that’s all you can think about.”

Vash nodded. It was quiet for a moment, but then he straightened up. “Do you guys drink?” he asked.

“Yes,” Wolfwood said. “I have no idea where you’re going with this, but I’m in.”

Meryl sighed. “Honestly, I think we all deserve one at this point,” she said. “I’m in, too…” She yawned. “As long as it’s tomorrow.”

“Perfect,” Vash said, and his smile seemed genuine. “Tomorrow’s perfect.”

More people were getting better. Things were still going smoothly. It was enough to put Meryl in a good mood as they walked to the one open bar in town…until they actually stepped inside.

She’d expected the place to be either packed to the gills or abandoned. It was the latter, and she had a feeling the display board behind the bar had something to do with it. It seemed like the people in charge had decided to prevent drunken mishaps during a pandemic by putting multiple restrictions on alcohol consumption. Only healthy non-doctors could drink, and not enough to get anything worse than mildly buzzed. She didn’t disagree with the rules in theory, and she hadn’t intended to have too much herself, but the duo of police officers watching the room like overzealous hall monitors did put a damper on the atmosphere.

“Well, this is sad,” Wolfwood said flatly.

“They’re the only place in town that’s still selling alcohol,” Vash said apologetically. “They make their own whiskey, though. It’s pretty good.”

“I’ll try that, then. Meryl?”

She shrugged. “The same.” It all tasted the same to her, really. Might as well just go along with popular consensus.

“I don’t know how the ice machine is doing, so it’ll have to be neat. You guys grab a table, I’ll be right back.” Vash jogged to the bar. The person behind the bar, who had so little to do he was reading a book, did seem to be welcoming, so that was a good sign. Meryl picked a table nearby, with Wolfwood following close behind her.

“I did my first interview with him in a bar,” she said quietly.

“No shit? How’d that go?”

“He told me that his evil twin who looks exactly like him was the one actually stealing Plants and that he was completely innocent…so you can imagine how I felt at the time.”

Wolfwood snorted as he sat down. “It does sound like bullshit until you’re actually living it.”

“That wasn’t even the wildest part. The entire town tried to take him in for the reward money before I could finish the interview, right after he’d saved them from the place being scatter-bombed. And the Nebraskas showed up in the middle of all that. Then E.G. the Mine, then Knives…then you three days later…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you know him at all?”

Wolfwood tensed for a second before glancing Vash’s way. He was still at the bar, chatting with the bartender and looking more relaxed than she’d seen him all day. “Who, Hamilton? I heard other people bitching about him, but that’s it. I had shit going on, didn’t really pay much attention.” His eyes met hers, hard and defensive. “And don’t ask, because it’ll put me in a bad mood and I think Vash needs us normal right now.”

He was right about Vash, but it was still annoying. Meryl mentally filed that away for later and looked back Vash’s way. He was walking back over with a tray holding three glasses of a light brown drink and a basket with some kind of fritters. “Here we are,” he said as he set down the tray and took the last chair. “Careful, those are hot. What are you guys talking about?”

“Dive bars we have known and loved,” Wolfwood said as he picked up one of the glasses. “Or ones that weren’t worth the trouble.”

“Because they were expensive or because you ended up getting shot at?”

“Mostly the second one.” Wolfwood distributed the rest of the glasses before holding his up. “Cheers.”

Vash lifted his with a smile. “To all of us being here, and to conflict resolution.”

“Here, here,” Meryl agreed as she lifted hers. The clink of their glasses tapping together still managed to sound cheerful, even with how empty the bar was. The first sip of the whiskey was about what she’d expected based off the sip she’d taken from Roberto’s flask: harsh, filling her mouth with a stinging sensation, but weirdly with a taste that reminded her of a wood campfire. Wolfwood looked taken aback. “Oh,” he said, “that’s not paint thinner. Damn.” He took another sip. “I get it now.”

Vash beamed as he took another sip. “I told you. What was the first drink you ever had? Mine was wine. Luida let me try a little when they managed to make some back home. I didn’t really get the appeal back then.”

“It was beer for me,” Meryl said. “Well…part of one. My dad let me try a glass halfway through high school. He said other kids my age were starting to drink, and that I should at least know what it tastes like and how it makes me feel while I was somewhere safe. I didn’t finish it…or go to any parties after that, but I appreciated the thought.”

Wolfwood shrugged. “Beer for me, too. Couple bottles I got at a general store. Tasted like piss, but it did the trick.” He took another sip. Meryl thought she saw his eyes go distant, just for a second, but he recovered before she could read into it too much. “Shame they’ll probably arrest me if I have more of this. Better than the beer.”

“Maybe I’ll buy a bottle when this blows over and hold onto it for next time. Give us something to look forward to.” Vash’s gaze slid across the room. “Something nice, you know?”

There was a piano in the corner. It looked like it hadn’t been played in a while. Meryl thought back to Vash playing on Ship Three, how happy it seemed to make him. She wondered when he’d played last. Wolfwood must have been wondering the same thing, because he leaned over and whispered, “You thinking about livening the place up?”

Vash hesitated. His fingers drummed against the side of the glass before he took another sip. “It’s been a while,” he admitted. “I might be out of practice.”

“You’re probably still better equipped to play than anyone else here.”

“Or on the whole planet,” Meryl added. About 130 years of even sporadic practice was probably more than most people got. “I’m sure no one will mind.”

Vash took another sip, one that went on until he’d basically drained the glass. “Okay,” he said as he stood. “But if I embarrass myself, I’m blaming you two.”

“That’s the spirit,” Wolfwood said with a grin. He lifted his glass in salute. “Go get ‘em.”

One of the police officers watched the exchange warily, then started giving Vash the stink eye as he sat down and started playing careful strings of notes. “Is he allowed to do that?” he asked.

“I didn’t see anything on the rule board,” Wolfwood shot back. “Or are you just the fun police?”

The bartender waved them off. “Eh, just let him. I don’t know how well that thing plays – “

The next notes to come flying out of Vash’s hands, so suddenly and with such enthusiasm, made everyone shut up immediately. It took Meryl a moment to recognize the tune, but she broke into a grin when she did. It was “Rhapsody in Blue”, though a different version of it than she remembered from before. It sounded more complicated than the one he’d played as a kid. Despite him saying that he was out of practice, he was good. He made fewer mistakes than she remembered, recovered well from the ones he did make, and played with more confidence the longer the song went on. His arm glinted in the light as he played, and Meryl saw a flash of teeth as he smiled.

It was so joyful. Even Wolfwood seemed to feel it; when Meryl glanced his way, he was watching Vash’s hands, looking transfixed by how fluidly they moved. Hands that could kill, Meryl thought, but chose not to. Hands that seemed so much happier and better suited to something like this.

Vash played the last notes of the song. They drifted through the air like a cool breeze on a hot day. Someone started applauding, then a lot of people joined in. Mery looked around the room. Occupancy had more than doubled. People passing by must have heard the music and stopped to listen. Vash looked startled, then bashful. “Uh…hi, everyone,” he said.

“Play another,” someone called. “Please?”

Murmurs of agreement swept over the room. Vash met Meryl and Wolfwood’s eyes. She nodded encouragingly while Wolfwood called, “You heard them! Another!”

Vash’s blush deepened, but he turned back to the keys. “Another one, then,” he said.

Except this time, he didn’t just play. After a brief stretch of notes, Vash started singing, too.

When are you gonna come down? When are you gonna land? I should have stayed on the farm, I should have listened to my old man…

Meryl didn’t know that one. She wondered if it was like Rhapsody in Blue, something so ancient that even its composer’s grandchildren were dead, but kept alive by others and brought into the stars. Vash definitely knew it well, singing each note without hesitation.

I’m not a present for your friends to open, this boy’s too young to be singing the blues…

Maybe this song had been sung the same way once, in a bar with a dusty old piano, as a small shelter against the storm outside. Humans couldn’t be that different than they once were, after all, and while Vash wasn’t actually human, this could be something universal. The real bridge between humans and Plants.

Who didn’t love music?

Oh, I’ve finally decided my future lies beyond the yellow brick road…

The people at the table next to theirs were smiling ear to ear. Wolfwood leaned over to her. “Reckon this is one of the only times people have been happy to have Vash the Stampede in their bar,” he whispered.

It was a good point—sad, yes, but true. Meryl wished more people knew about this Vash, and that money wasn’t such a heavy motivator to turn on him.

Before she could reply, Meryl noticed a change in the music. Instead of stopping, Vash flowed into a new song with ease.

Once there was a way to get back homeward…

Did she know this one? She felt like she did, but she couldn’t place where she’d heard it before. Meryl leaned over the table and listened closely.

Golden slumbers fill your eyes, smiles await you when you rise…

She’d definitely heard this one. Somewhere on the road, but not on the radio. And she didn’t think it was from Vash, either. That left Roberto and…

Wolfwood had a distant look in his eyes, but not a painful one. When Vash glanced over his shoulder and smiled at them, Wolfwood smiled back almost thankfully.

Wolfwood. She’d heard Wolfwood hum it before. What came next in the song confirmed it.

Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight, carry that weight a long time…

She’d definitely heard Wolfwood hum that. Her clearest memory of it was on the ship, after the sand steamer. Wolfwood had been leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, picking at his cuticles and humming to himself in almost the same self-soothing way Vash did.

Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight…

“Carry that weight a long time.”

Meryl’s eyes widened. He was singing along, but not in the off-key, noisy way she remembered from the future. His voice was a bit rough, sure, nothing like Vash’s crystal-clear and pitch perfect performance, but in a way the roughness covered for other flaws. There was something oddly comforting about it, even if it wasn’t traditionally “good.” She understood why Vash liked it.

Wolfwood met her eyes. For a second, she was worried he’d stop, but he just smiled a bit sheepishly and kept singing.

“You’re gonna carry that weight, carry that weight a long time…”

Meryl smiled back.

Just when she thought the song was about to wind down, Vash’s playing suddenly shifted, becoming more upbeat.

Oh yeah, all right, are you gonna be in my dreams tonight?

Wolfwood straightened up. “What?” Meryl asked.

It’s…I forgot how this part went. Been trying to remember for…” He shook his head. “Shit.”

I love you, love you, love you, love you…

It was another moment of raw openness from Wolfwood—one hand pressed over his mouth but unable to hide a smile, disbelief and happiness in his dark eyes. She didn’t know the details that would lead to him looking that way over a song, but…

Did it really matter?

No, Meryl decided as she had the last of her whiskey. No, she could let this one stay a mystery for now.

And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make.

It was especially cold that night, but that didn’t stop Wolfwood from sitting on inn’s front porch.

He didn’t think about his parents all that often. His way of dealing, he guessed. They were dead and buried and he’d never gotten the chance to really know them. Tragic, but a lot of people could say the same. No sense in crying about it.

But hearing that part of the song had unearthed some vague half-memory buried by the sands of time and the heaps of bullshit he’d lived through with his uncle. It was grainy, faded like an old photograph, but…they’d danced to that song together, he was sure of it. Him held in Mom or Dad’s arms, one or both of them singing it aloud.

I love you.

He’d been held once. Loved once. Logically, he knew that, but the gap he felt between that ancient memory and himself felt as wide as the gap between his current self and the boy he’d been the day he was taken away. Maybe even wider. Someone like him—Nicholas the Punisher—couldn’t have ever been that innocent. He couldn’t have been…

The door creaked open behind him. “You could’ve at least brought your jacket if you’re going to brood,” Meryl said.

Wolfwood glanced over his shoulder. She and Vash were standing in the doorway. “Physical discomfort makes the whole thing broodier,” he responded. “Or something like that.”

“If I said that, you’d tell me I was being stupid,” Vash pointed out.

“Don’t use logic on me.” Whatever bite Wolfwood was able to put in those words wasn’t enough to scare the two of them off. Meryl draped Wolfwood’s coat over his shoulders; Vash supplemented it with a blanket over both their shoulders as he sat down next to him. “What, we all gonna freeze now?”

“No, silly. That’s what the blanket is for.” Vash grinned at him and held up the other side of the blanket to let Meryl in. “No more brooding. We’re stargazing now.”

Wolfwood didn’t bother protesting. There wasn’t going to be any talking Vash out of this and he knew it. He was a little surprised Meryl had gotten involved, but it may have just been to make Vash happy.

That or she had picked up on something at the bar and was hoping for answers. But if that was her end goal, she could keep dreaming. He wasn’t going to give up anything any time soon.

They huddled together under the stars, not saying anything, shielded from the cold by Vash’s blanket and shared body heat. Wolfwood tried not to relax too much, but the drowsiness of a long few days and the warmth started to get to him. He leaned against Vash and let his eyes drift half-shut.

It wasn’t enough to make him forget what he was—a monster who didn’t deserve this softness—but it was the closest to forgetting that he’d come in a long time.

The sound of someone knocking on the door dragged her out of sleep, but the quiet yelp and very loud sound of something hitting the floor was what really woke her.

Meryl sat up straight. Wolfwood was upright too, scrambling for his rifle. Vash was sprawled on the floor, shirtless and down an arm. Someone knocked again. “Mr. Vash, sir?” called a voice. “Are you up?”

“Is…that one of the nurses?” Meryl asked hesitantly. It sounded like one of them, but sleep was still clouding her mind. For all she knew, she was still dreaming.

“Yeah, that’s…Nico, put the gun down…that’s Sally.” Vash rolled onto his back and jumped to his feet. “Hold on!” He put a shirt on before opening the door and stepping outside. “What’s up?”

He shut the door as Sally replied, plunging the room back into silence and darkness. Wolfwood put his rifle back down with an irate grumble and pulled the blankets over his head. Meryl thought about laying down, too, but her curiosity won out over how tired she was. She carefully slipped out of bed and walked to the door. If she lay down with her ear near the gap, she could just hear the conversation on the other side.

“…should be able to supply enough for a round trip. I know it’s a bit out of the way, but it will get everything to us faster.”

“I can do it,” Vash replied. “I’ll check with the others, but they should be okay to help, too.”

“Thank you. I know it’s a lot to ask, but…”

“I said I wanted to help, right? If this helps, it’s not a lot at all.” Meryl could picture the look on Vash’s face: calm, gentle eyes, a small smile, the same look he’d worn in Jeneora Rock when he told the Nebraskas there was no reason not to help. “It can wait a bit longer, right? I don’t think I’ll be able to get Nico out of bed just yet.”

“That’s fine. We still have to finish gathering the supplies anyway/ Thank you, Vash.”

“You’re welcome.” The sound of footsteps was her clue to get out of the way of the door. Vash looked surprised to see her standing there, then sheepish. “Sorry…”

“It’s okay. What was that about? What did they need?”

“Another town has supplies they’re willing to share, but they can’t send them out right away. They wanted to know if the three of us would go get them instead. Is that okay?”

“I’m game.” Meryl yawned. “Especially if they’re letting me sleep a bit more.”

“Yeah, go back to sleep. I’ll let you know if they come back before you’re up.”

“Are you going to sleep?”

“I got enough last night, promise. I’m going to finish these exercises.” He smiled and shrugged. “I didn’t get so good at surviving without work.”

That made sense. He’d nurtured his physical strength and his aim the same way he’d nursed his piano playing: consistently over one hundred years. Maybe that was part of the reason he could do the things he did, if not the whole reason. Millions Knives had been able to do horrible things, hold his own in a fight against Vash, but he used his Plant powers—those awful knives of his a lot more—more than Vash did. If it came down to just strength…

Vash would win, Meryl decided as she crawled back into bed. She might not know for sure, and she was definitely biased, but she was pretty sure Vash would win.

Meryl dozed off another few hours. She woke up to the smell of sugar and the sound of Wolfwood’s whining. “Five more minutes.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago,” Vash replied.

“I’m being singled out. Go bully Meryl.”

“Meryl wakes up on her own.” Something thudded against the floor. “C’mon, I have doughnuts!”

Meryl finally opened her eyes at the mention of food. Vash was waving one of said doughnuts in front of the blanket lump where, presumably, Wolfwood’s head was. Whenever Wolfwood reached out to take it, Vash pulled it just out of reach. “No you don’t. You’ll get crumbs in the sheets.”

Wolfwood flipped him off. Meryl rolled her eyes. “I’ll take it,” she said as she got out of bed. She thought she heard Wolfwood mumble the words bullying me, but chose to ignore it. “Did you tell him?”

“If he’d stop being so lazy, I would.”

“Tell me about what?” Wolfwood’s face poked out from the blankets. “What’s happening now?”

“They want me to go pick up some supplies from another town. They’re going to provide enough supplies for the three of us if you guys want to go, too. You can stay and wait for me to come back, but - “

“You think I’m letting you out of my sight? With your track record?” Wolfwood finally sat up. “Until we get another…” He glanced towards the door before he looked at Vash again and held out his hand. “…I’m gonna just assume there’s bullshit around every corner.”

Vash chuckled and passed Wolfwood a fresh doughnut. “I guess that’s fair.”

By the time she and Wolfwood had eaten breakfast and gotten properly dressed, Sally had come back with news that the supplies were ready and packed up in a thomas cart. Even with the weight of a few doughnuts and a pretty good cup of tea in her stomach, Meryl wasn’t sure she was ready for whatever the trip ahead would bring.

She didn’t have to worry about it for too long, though. They found a new portal not too long after clearing the town.

“So much for bullshit around every corner,” Vash said. He looked disappointed again, though a little less so than last time. “At least I’ll have plenty of time to think of an excuse for where you guys went.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?” Meryl asked. She didn’t know what the long-term ramifications of delaying re-entry were, if any, but she didn’t like the idea of leaving Vash alone in the middle of an errand.

“I’ll be okay. I figure this means I need you more in the future.” He looked between them with a sad smile. “I’ll miss you both, though.”

“Sap,” Wolfwood muttered, though he reached over to tousle Vash’s hair as he said it.

They only took enough from their share of the supplies to top off what they already had, leaving the rest for Vash to take back to town. Hugs were given, and Wolfwood’s lighter changed hands again. “Don’t use us not being here as an excuse to be stupid,” Wolfwood said. “If I step outta that thing and it’s only a few days from now, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Vash gave them both one last fond look. “I’ll see you later.”

How much later and in how much trouble was the question. Meryl hoped they were ready for whatever it was.

And, she thought as she stepped through, I hope I don’t have any ghosts follow me this time.

sources cited: songs quoted in this chapter are "goodbye yellow brick road" by elton john and "golden slumbers/carry that weight/the end" by the beatles. this post (and i feel like there was another one but i can't find it) was also influential on the chapter.

#trigun #trigun stampede

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depressedhatakekakashi · 1 year

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A lil ficlet for Kakashi’s Victory in the Kakashi Vs Lee poll! A hard earned victory that should have both sides proud because we all fought for our favs tooth and nail 🥰🥰🥰 @narutocharacterpolls

The numbers glimmered across the board. Each one shinning brightly as Lee read them over and over again, committing them to memory.

He’d wanted so badly to win. To prove to everyone that he was the best, yet as he looked at the numbers he couldn’t help but feel proud.

1,169 votes for him and 1,339 votes for Kakashi-Sensei.

Even though he’d lost, he still felt like he’d proven himself. To keep such a close score with someone as cool as Kakashi-Sensei was amazing.

There was no reason he should feel disappointed with such an impressive score.

“Look,” Kakashi-Sensei stepped up to his side and gave Lee an apologetic look. “I didn’t think this would happen. I honestly thought that- well…” he waved a hand towards the scoreboard. “I thought people would finally choose the right person.”

A fire sprang to life in Lee’s soul when he heard those words.

“You…” squeezing his eyes shut, he tried his best to contain his excitement, but it was hopeless. There was just so much he wanted to say. So many things that needed to be said so that Kakashi-Sensei could understand just. How amazing he was. It wasn’t long before his excitement spilled over and his eyes flew open, causing Kakashi-Sensei to take a cautious step back. “You really are as amazing as Gai-Sensei says!”

“I-“ Kakashi-Sensei stared at him as if he’d just said the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. A reaction that Lee fully expected based on all of the things his Sensei had told him about his eternal rival over the years.

“You won!” He threw his arms up into the air and cheered. “And it was an impressive win! One worthy of celebration!”

The whole competition had been very close. There was never a moment when Lee had given up hope on pulling ahead, but in the end Kakashi-Sensei had kept his small lead.

“It was the most passionate poll so far!” A grin split across his face before the memory of Tenten’s last competition sprang to memory. “Well, the second most passionate poll, but still! There is nothing for me to feel ashamed of!”

For a second Kakashi-Sensei simply stared at him, bewildered by his enthusiasm. Then the bewilderment washed away from his face, replaced by a fond cheerful smile.

“I guess it was,” a light laughter filled the air. “Well, i suspect you’ll be cheering for Gai in the next round?”

Lee’s smile only grew wider. “Of course!” Jumping back a foot, he extended his right arm out in front of himself and gave Kakashi-Sensei a thumbs up. “It will be a spectacular battle! A face-off between eternal rivals!”

His enthusiasm was greeted with more laughter, this time a little softer and a lot warmer.

A laughter which he would never have expected to come from someone as cool as Kakashi-Sensei, but which seemed to fit him perfectly.

“It’ll certainly be something,” he agreed. “Oh, and Lee?”

Lowering his arm, Lee tilted his head to the side. “Yes?”

“Make sure to really pump Gai up to everyone,” closing his eyes, Kakashi-Sensei offered a soft, friendly smile. “Winning against you was bad enough. I don’t want a repeat of that against Gai, got it?”

He wanted to argue.

To assure Kakashi-Sensei that his win was well earned and just.

The problem was, he knew his words would fall onto deaf ears. He’d seen his Sensei try so many times in the past to convince his eternal rival of his awesomeness, yet it never seemed to work.

If Gai-Sensei couldn’t manage it, what hope did Lee have of succeeding?

‘Don’t think like that’ he scolded himself, shaking his head to rid his mind of such terrible thoughts. ‘Kakashi-Sensei doesn’t need to hear it, but maybe seeing how much people love him-‘

An idea came to him at that moment.

A brilliant idea which he was sure he could convince his teammates to agree to. One which involved supporting their fantastic Sensei while also supporting his best friend at the same time.

“You got it,” He agreed, grinning even wider than he had before. “I’ll go get started now. See you later, Kakashi-Sensei!”

With that, he was gone. Nothing left but a trail of dust trailing behind him as he headed to his next destination.

If everything went well, Gai-Sensei would win his next match but Kakashi-Sensei would walk away a more confident man.

A man who maybe finally understood just how fantastic he was.

#Hatake Kakashi #Rock Lee #Best Character Poll Fic

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transandersrights · 1 year

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Happy dadrunkwriting! Prompt: M!Handers x "Stay anyway"

(I take prompts! See info here)

Thank you for the prompt! This one went places ahaha - for @dadrunkwriting, 1.4k of pre-relationship mHanders with a hefty dose of Hawke family feelings. Content warnings for discussion of death of a family member and insecurity

“I should go.” Hawke should have known this would be a bad time. Anders was always busy, and Hawke… there was never anything he could do that could hold a candle to Anders in the clinic. To be worth his time was practically an impossibility.

“Hawke?” Anders startled, spinning on the ball of one foot. “Maker’s hairy ballsack, sorry. I didn’t even realise you were there, I was a bit…” Anders gestured, vaguely, towards a clinic almost full of people. They seemed to be sleeping soundly now, but the red-stained bowls of water scattered around the room told another story. Whatever this was, it had been bad.

“I haven’t been here long.” Just long enough to see Anders scrub his hands over his face, clearly exhausted, and settle heavily down to start watching whoever he’d picked out as needing observation. “I’ll leave you be.”

“You don’t have to.” Anders’ response came fast; so fast, Hawke caught himself assigning meaning to it that probably wasn’t there. Maybe Anders liked seeing him. Maybe. It was a long shot, what with all the bad memories attached to the day they met. “It’d be nice to talk to someone who isn’t bleeding out right now, actually.”

Hawke didn’t know if it was all that appropriate to laugh; he did anyway. Anders didn’t frown, so he was probably okay. “I don’t know if I can really help you here…”

“Stay anyway.” Again, Anders’ reply came without hesitation. “If you really want to help, just stare at one of these people and tell me if anything happens. They should be fine, but you never know.”

“You’re incredible at this.” Hawke knew he chased Anders like Tiny chased his tail — every time he thought he was closing in again, Anders pulled away. Yet no matter what happened, Hawke couldn’t bring himself to just quit. “You just… know what to do.”

Anders chuckled. “I’d hope so. I’d be concerned if people trusted me to do something I don’t know how to do.”

“I don’t think they’d realise it if you didn’t.” Maybe it wasn’t the most tactful thing to say, but no one had ever accused Hawke of being smooth. Ever. “You don’t get many healer types around anywhere, let alone somewhere like Darktown.”

“I wonder whose fault that is.” Anders’ voice was bitter — they both knew. They’d been over this particular bug bear before. “Would you know, then?”

“Probably not,” Hawke admitted. It wasn’t like he’d ever known a ‘healer type’ before Anders. When he was much younger, when they first moved into Lothering, someone in the village got so sick that the Chantry called a healer in from the Circle — for a tidy sum, no doubt. None of them had been allowed to so much as leave the house until the mage, and their associated Templar escort, was long gone.

“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence.” When Hawke looked up from his charge, Anders was smiling. There was so much light in his eyes. “I do like to think I’m pretty good at this. I have the training.”

“Does everyone in the Circle get trained like that?” Even before he opened his mouth, Hawke knew it was a dangerous question. Anders didn’t like talking about the Circle, not too much — too many bad memories, and now nearly a dozen people sleeping in the room who might, if they woke, hear what he had to say. If they didn’t like what they heard…

Still, Anders just shook his head, and his smile didn’t turn as bitter as Hawke expected. “It’s a certain kind of study. Most people learn the basics — you can heal people, right?”

Hawke nodded. It was one of the small bits of magic his father had truly spent time drumming into him. “Not like you, though.”

“I was getting to that.” Anders’ grin turned decidedly cocky, and fuck that was kind of hot. Hawke loved seeing him confident. “Basics are important. When you teach a kid the basics in everything, you get an idea what they excel in — if anything at all. A lot of mages aren’t actually any good at magic.”

“But you are?”

Anders laughed; quietly, but it was genuine. Getting a genuine laugh out of him was harder than Hawke had ever expected.

And to think he was planning on just leaving. He would have missed out on a treasure trove.

“Yes, I’m good at magic,” he said. “Not so much the fighting. But I have my moments.”

“Not so much?” Hawke could count ten times off the top of his head that Anders had completely decimated something when they were out running the dangerous kind of errands.

Anders blinked. “You’re far better with combat magic; Merrill is too. I’m a healer, like I said.”

Hawke chose not to elaborate on Merrill. The man in front of him hadn’t stirred in the slightest, but that didn’t mean none of them were awake — the less said about her particular brand of magic, the better. “It was to protect the twins.”

“Ah.” Anders knew how that had gone; he’d only met Carver, after all. “Darkspawn are hard to fight, you know. The right ones in the right position can fell an army, let alone a handful of refugees in the path of the horde.”

“Are you about to tell me not to blame myself?”

Hawke didn’t mean for his tone to sound like a challenge — it did anyway. Anders looked away. “I think you already know how I feel.”

He did and he didn’t, and that was most of the problem. Anders was… damn it, Hawke had to admit it, if only to himself: Anders had him hook line and sinker from the moment they met. He was a hundred things at once, and refused to make himself anything at all to others. He dodged away from hard conversations and careened right into the most outrageously radical political statements Hawke had ever heard at the drop of a hat.

Maybe, to Anders, Hawke was emblematic of the failure of the world to get mages right. A man who’d lost nearly half his family and counting to illness that could have been healed with a mage, darkspawn that might have been thwarted if he or Bethany had a better handle on their gift. Maybe, to Anders, Hawke was just a man who never could have achieved what Anders could — because some people just weren’t good at magic. Some people were just in the wrong life, and they suffered despite their fortune.

“I’ve heard it from enough people,” he said instead, because the last thing he wanted was to chase Anders away with the rot churning inside his chest. “If I could believe it, I think I would by now.”

Over a year since he failed Bethany. Over a year since they arrived in Kirkwall, and what did he have to show for it? He hadn’t given his mother somewhere comfortable to live for the rest of her days. He hadn’t been able to give Carver a leg-up into a profession he could build a life on. He was stronger, probably, but he had nothing to show for it.

“Hawke.” Anders crossed the room, laying one hand on Hawke’s shoulder. His hand was warm, damp from where he’d just cleaned off. “I know how you feel. I mean—” When Anders gestured vaguely with his other hand, he did so in the direction of the Chantry, and he didn’t need to say any more. “Healers stand there as people die, and even when they exhaust all their power, it can’t save everyone. It’s unfair, but that doesn’t mean I get to wallow and think it’s inevitable when it happens again.”

“Ouch.” That was… harsh. Maybe fair. Anders had a lot of experience with this kind of thing.

Anders just shot him a wry smile. “A room full of sleeping patients and all their bleeding I still need to clean off the floor, and you’re the one bringing the mood down. And don’t you dare think about apologising.”

“Caught me there.” Returning that smile was more of an effort than Hawke wanted it to be, but at least it happened. “Thanks, I think?”

“Well I know that you’re welcome.” Anders squeezed his shoulder once, then let go. “Come on. Keep up that vigil and I’ll teach you a thing or two about fighting Darkspawn after I put the lantern out for the night.”

#dragon age fanfiction #da drunk writing circle #dragon age 2 #anders #handers

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beanieman · 2 years

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Let’s talk about Alice, Nao, and optionally Sara wanting to forget the death game.

For Alice, it’s no surprise that he’d like to get rid of the memories. After all, we see him use Tia’s machine to forget the bad times spent with Reko. Still, I think it’s important to examine why he wants to forget these things because I think it ties into why the girls are willing to let it go as well.

Alice wants to get rid of the memories out of regret. He lost Reko before he even got a chance to reconcile with her, and that’s too painful for him to face. So instead, he looks away from the memories.

A similar feeling seems to be shared with Nao and Sara. Nao has to live with the knowledge that her vote helped cause Mishima's death. It wasn't on purpose, but she still helped kill her dear teacher. That would be hard to handle and easier to shove in the back of her mind.

More Undercut

Sara is the same. She feels like she failed everyone who died, and depending on if you agree here, she might want to pretend it never happened.

The thing is though, all three of these characters need the others.

Alice has no one except his parents and Reko, and she’s gone now. He needs a strong support system, and so does Sara. Her best friend is dead, and her Father is likely involved in the game. She needs people in her life that understand her pain and don’t let her become isolated.

We don’t know much about Nao’s home life, but in the massacre ending, she needs Sara. It seems to bring her comfort to think about sharing a future with her, and their friendship could be vital to each other after all they went through. Plus, knowing that she was able to at least save one person she was close to after loosing the rest will likely be at least a tad consoling.

Those are my thought’s on this interaction, and I really like how YTTD brings up that not everyone would want to remember the worst time of their lives. It’s easy for dark media to sweep the trauma of their characters under the rug, so I appreciate that it’s pointed out how much this will effect them. What I appreciate even more though is the games message that these characters don’t have to shove everything down and suffer alone. They can rely on each other, and it’s important for them to do so.

#YTTD #alice yabusame #Your Turn To Die #Nao Egokoro #sara chidouin

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callmehere-iwillappear · 1 year

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IMBI is going up against 2AL in @tmntaucompetition today SO I wrote a quick one shot with CMH Leo's perspective of this fic (plus a bit extra)! Vote IMBI so they tie (and check out both AUs if you haven't yet, they're both super good!)

If Leo has to be honest, he wasn’t all that thrilled about the whole… multidimensional sports competition thing when he first got there. Sure, normally he would’ve been. Normally he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to have some fun and meet some alternate versions of himself and his family, compare their universes and such (and, okay, maybe watch Donnie geek out too).

But normally he wouldn’t be, y’know, a ghost. Invisible, intangible, the works, and surrounded by people who can’t. See him. He’d thought he’d gotten past the whole dissociation thing – and to be fair, his brothers have been wearing their goggles the whole time, which definitely helps – but… seeing all these versions of himself and his brothers and knowing that they can’t see him… knowing he might as well not exist to them…

Well. It digs up some old, not-so-good feelings.

His brothers definitely notice, as much as he tries to hide it, and they offer to leave early, but he turns them down. Judging by the looks they give each other, though, no matter what he says they’re probably going to drag him back as soon as they lose – because considering the fact that his team is effectively down a player, and one of their other players is Donnie, Leo is under no illusions that they’ll end up winning the whole thing. One round? Maybe, if they’re lucky. Depends who they’re up against. But the whole thing? No way.

And… he can’t help but feel guilty, just a bit. He knows for a fact all his brothers would’ve loved this type of thing under any other circumstances. Hell, they still do – Raph is looking around in awe, Mikey is barely holding himself back from running around to make some new friends, and Donnie – well, it goes without saying that Donnie is basically in heaven right now. He’s actually using the speech to text function of his tech gauntlet for once, dictating notes rather than typing them so he can stim with his free hand. And Leo just knows he’s seconds away from bolting off to gather up the other Donnies and compare notes.

… Leo doesn’t want them to give that up. Not for him.

Not that it matters in the end, since he can’t exactly stop them if they decide to go home early. And there’s… a tiny, selfish part of him – a part that he hates – that’s. Well. Kind of relieved. Which, of course, makes him feel even more guilty, because how could he be happy about taking something away from his brothers that would make them happy?

So. Yeah. All in all, interdimensional sports tournament? Not as fun as it sounds!

And then he meets another Leo.

Key word: meets. Because this Leo? For some reason, he can see him. And Leo doesn’t understand how until they actually talk, and he finds out they’re in the same damn boat. Well – not the exact same, other-Leo is cursed while Leo is a ghost, but tomato Hamato. The point is: this is someone who gets it. Someone he can commiserate with. And as he finds out, staring in wonder at his counterpart’s hand on his shoulder, someone he can touch.

The nice thing about being variations on the same person is that neither of them need to say anything, the other Leo wordlessly pulling him in for a hug that Leo desperately needs. There’s no warmth from it, just an odd sort of pressure, but it’s more than he’s had in such a long time and he finds himself clinging on like he’ll die (... well, die again) if he lets go.

He can practically feel the concerned looks from his brothers, but he does his best to ignore them. And, he thinks very hard in their directions, if any of them bring up the tears that are definitely not in his eyes when he finally pulls away, he will personally ensure they will never again know peace in their lives.

They end up losing their first match. It was closer than Leo had expected, if he’s honest – he was able to use his invisibility to his advantage, sneaking up on the other team and smacking the ball out of their hands and towards his own brothers. But he ends up getting distracted near the end at one point, his hand phasing through the ball instead of hitting it, and it’s all downhill from there.

He’s not actually too upset about it – sure, it would’ve been nice to win a round or two, but considering they basically only had two and a half players versus the other group’s full team, it’s not exactly surprising. His brothers ask again if he wants to go home, and like the last time, he tells them no – except he means it this time, and he’s pretty sure they can tell from the way their expressions soften. They don’t seem too surprised at his answer, though to be fair, he’s been very noticeably in better spirits (hah) since his encounter with the other Leo.

They’d asked, earlier, when the two Leos got bored of scaring the shells off unsuspecting bystanders and went back to their respective families. They couldn’t see the other Leo, so Leo had to explain everything to them – and their faces had softened then, too. He knows they’ve been worried about him, made sure to have at least one of them by his side at all times, and he still feels kind of guilty about that.

But it’s… less so, now. The guilt, the anxiety, the familiar feeling of not being real… it’s all settled down, for the most part. Knowing that even just one other person sees him, understands what he’s going through, helps more than words can say.

So, yeah, this time when his brothers offer him the chance to bail out, he just shakes his head with a smile and turns to look for a spot on the bleachers so he can cheer his new friend on.

#my fic #imbi #good lird WHAT are my tags i need a more consistent tagging system. anyway #debating whether or not to put this in the one shot collection on ao3 too. hm #poll shenanigans #crossovers

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fgumi · 5 hours

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𝟏𝟗.𝟗𝟗; chapter three

*:･ﾟ✧ synopsis: seoin and the boys make a break for it. out of the lingering gaze of HYBE, they uncover the dark secrets that were hidden, pushing Seoin to reach out to jungwon for help. jungwon faces his own fears as he cautiously agrees to meet her, knowing it could be their only chance to expose the truth..

*:･ﾟ✧ pairing(s): taesan x original female character *:･ﾟ✧ genre: sci-fi, coming of age, romance *:･ﾟ✧ a/n: i've decided to do daily, because the poll was split half and half if i take away my accidental vote. *:･ﾟ✧ word count: 9.6k *:･ﾟ✧ 19.99 mlist

The days that followed were filled with a heightened sense of urgency, every second ticking away as the boys prepared for what felt like their last chance at freedom. HYBE’s plans were unfolding at a terrifying pace, and the weight of the information Jaehyun and Sungho had settled heavily on everyone’s minds. They knew that the window to escape was closing, and if they didn’t act soon, they would be dragged into the war they were all so desperate to avoid.

The group huddled around their makeshift map, each boy’s face etched with determination and the heavy burden of what lay ahead. As they refined their escape plan, they knew their powers would be crucial to their success—but using them wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

Taesan, still focused on their route, tapped his finger on key points where they’d need to act quickly. “We’re going to have to rely on our powers if we want this to work. Timing is everything. Riwoo, your light manipulation will help us obscure our movements when we need cover, especially near the guards.”

Riwoo nodded, his expression serious. “I can bend the light around us, create distractions, and blind the cameras for a few seconds. It won’t last long, but it should buy us some time.”

Taesan continued, his gaze shifting to Woonhak, who sat quietly at the edge of the table. Everyone knew that Woonhak’s power of persuasion was their ace in the hole, but it was also the one they were most hesitant to rely on—especially Woonhak himself.

Woonhak’s face was tense, his usual light-hearted demeanor replaced by a deep, conflicted frown. “I don’t want to use my power,” he said, his voice firm but filled with a quiet agony. “I hate taking away people’s free will. It’s wrong, and I can’t stand the thought of controlling someone like that.”

Seoin watched Woonhak, understanding the weight of his words. Every time he used it, he felt like he was betraying his own principles, and the thought of doing that just to escape made him physically ill.

Taesan nodded, his expression empathetic. “I get it, Woonhak. And none of us want you to use your powers if you’re not comfortable. We’ve planned around it as much as we can, but we need to be ready for any situation. If there’s a moment where talking our way out is the only option, we’ll need you.”

Woonhak’s shoulders slumped, torn between his loyalty to his friends and his own moral code. “I’ll try,” he said finally, though his voice wavered. “But I won’t force anyone to do something against their will unless there’s no other choice. I just… I don’t want to become like HYBE.”

Seoin placed a reassuring hand on Woonhak’s shoulder. “You won’t,” she said gently. “None of us would ever ask you to go against who you are. We’ll only use it if we absolutely have to, and even then, we’ll make sure it’s as harmless as possible.”

Taesan met Woonhak’s gaze, his tone gentle and understanding. “We’ve got this covered, Woonhak. We’ve planned around your power because we know how much it matters to you. If there’s a moment where you feel it’s right, you decide. But if not, we’ll find another way. We’re in this together, no matter what.”

The boys continued refining their plan, adjusting for Woonhak’s reluctance and making contingency arrangements. Riwoo’s light manipulation would be used to create diversions—flashes to blind the cameras, shadows to cloak their movements, and blinding beams to disorient anyone who got too close. Taesan’s foresight would guide them through every twist and turn, anticipating HYBE’s responses and adapting in real-time.

As they practiced, Taesan would close his eyes, tapping into his visions of the possible futures. His power gave him glimpses of the paths ahead—some clear, others marred by danger—and he would relay what he saw, helping the group refine their movements with each trial run.

“We stick together,” Taesan reminded them as they finished a drill. “No one goes off on their own. We move as a unit, and if something changes, we adjust.”

The weight of the plan hung heavy, but it was their only shot. As they finalized the last of their preparations, each boy knew the risks they were taking, and each was prepared to fight for the chance at freedom, however slim.

Everything blurred together in a haze of preparation and whispered conversations. Every spare moment was spent fine-tuning their plan, practicing their routes, and mentally preparing for what lay ahead.

Tonight, they would conduct their final practice run—one last rehearsal before the real thing. Seoin could feel the pressure in the air as they gathered in the dimly lit training room, the flickering lights casting shadows that danced across their focused faces. They had rehearsed every detail, every contingency, but tonight was different. Tonight, the stakes felt real.

Taesan ran through the plan one more time, pointing out key moments where each of them would need to act. “This is our last chance to make sure everything’s solid,” he said, his voice calm but edged with a seriousness that underscored the gravity of their situation. “We’re sticking to the script, but remember, if anything feels off, we adapt. No hesitation.”

Seoin nodded along with the others, her mind already racing through the sequence of events they’d memorized. She was ready, but the fear of the unknown still gnawed at her. Every scenario Taesan had foreseen, every possible obstacle—they had prepared as much as they could, but there was no way to account for everything.

They moved through the facility with precision, navigating the corridors in silence, each step rehearsed until it felt second nature. Riwoo manipulated the lights, casting illusions and shadows that masked their movements. The faint glow of his power flickered along the walls, creating pockets of darkness that allowed them to slip past the cameras unnoticed.

Leehan’s time manipulation came into play at crucial moments, slowing down the world around them just enough to give the group an edge. Seoin marveled at his control, the way he seemed to stretch time like an elastic band, creating brief windows that they could use to their advantage.

Woonhak stayed toward the back, his presence a quiet but steady reassurance. He hadn’t used his powers once during the practice, but his watchful eyes scanned their surroundings, ready to act if necessary. Seoin could tell he was wrestling with his own fears, but his resolve to help his friends shone through in every step he took.

Taesan led the way, his foresight guiding their movements with a near-perfect accuracy. He would pause at intersections, closing his eyes for a moment as he glimpsed potential futures, then wave the group forward once he was certain the path was clear. His confidence was infectious, and Seoin found herself trusting his instincts completely.

They reached the outer gate—the final checkpoint before freedom. It was heavily guarded, just as they expected, but the boys moved with practiced ease, sticking to the shadows and timing their approach with the precision they had honed over countless drills.

Taesan signaled for a halt, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the gate’s security measures. “We’ll have a fifteen-second window when the shift changes. That’s our opening. Riwoo, use the lights to blind the cameras. Leehan, slow time just enough to get us through. Then we sprint.”

The group nodded, and Seoin could feel her pulse quicken as they prepared for the final push. They moved like clockwork—each action flowing seamlessly into the next, each power utilized with perfect timing. The gate loomed ahead, a symbol of everything they were fighting for, and Seoin’s heart pounded with a mix of fear and anticipation.

They made it to the gate, slipping through just as the guards shifted positions. It was fast, almost too fast, and Seoin felt a surge of adrenaline as they crossed the threshold. They were on the other side, just a few steps from the open air beyond the facility’s walls.

But suddenly, Taesan’s hand shot up, signaling them to stop. He had seen something—something that hadn’t been in any of their practice runs. The future had shifted, and Seoin could see the tension in his eyes as he quickly recalculated their next move.

“There’s a new guard rotation,” Taesan whispered urgently, his eyes darting between the gate and the facility behind them. “We need to pull back. Now.”

Without hesitation, the group retreated, moving back into the safety of the shadows. They hadn’t been spotted, but the close call was a stark reminder of how precarious their plan truly was. Every detail mattered, and any misstep could mean the difference between freedom and capture.

Back in the training room, the boys gathered in a tight circle, catching their breath and reviewing the unexpected change. Taesan’s foresight had saved them this time, but it was clear that the real escape would be even more unpredictable.

“We did good,” Taesan said, his voice steady despite the lingering tension. “But this is why we need to stay flexible. If something feels off, we pull back. No one gets left behind.”

The boys nodded, their resolve unshaken. They had come too far to turn back now, and despite the challenges, they were more determined than ever. Seoin could see it in their eyes—the fire that refused to be extinguished, the unwavering belief that they could defy the odds.

Tomorrow night would be the real test. They would put everything on the line, trusting in each other’s strengths to guide them to freedom. Seoin knew there were no guarantees, but as she looked at the boys—her teammates, her friends, her family—she felt a fierce hope that together, they could make the impossible possible.

The night was restless for Seoin. Despite the exhaustion from their intense training session, sleep eluded her, her mind racing with thoughts of the upcoming escape. But when she finally drifted off, her dreams were anything but peaceful.

Seoin found herself standing in a dimly lit room, the air thick with tension. She turned, and there, sitting calmly amidst the shadows, was Zeoin. Seoin felt a mix of apprehension and curiosity; every visit from Zeoin seemed to blur the line between guidance and warning.

Zeoin looked up, her expression tinged with urgency. “Seoin, you need to make contact with Enhypen,” she said, her voice firm. “Specifically, with Jungwon.”

Seoin stiffened at the mention of her twin brother. In this reality, they were still twins, but they had a different dynamic almost entirely. This Jungwon was practically a stranger compared to hers, and Seoin couldn’t help but feel a pang of hesitation at the thought of reaching out to him.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Seoin admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “In my reality, Jungwon was my other half. I can’t imagine seeing someone who looks just like him but doesn’t know me. It would hurt too much.”

Zeoin nodded, her gaze softening with understanding. “I know it’s hard. But Jungwon isn’t just another soldier—he’s your best chance at getting through to Enhypen. They’re HYBE’s most powerful team, and though they’re still loyal, they’re growing suspicious of HYBE’s true motives. If you can reach him, it might turn the tide.”

Seoin’s mind swirled with doubt. The thought of seeing Jungwon, of facing someone who should feel familiar but didn’t, was terrifying. “What if he doesn’t believe me? Or worse, what if he doesn’t care?”

Zeoin leaned forward, her expression earnest. “He will. Before I went on my last mission, I contacted Jungwon. He was the only one I could trust, and he helped me when I needed it most. Jungwon will help you, too. You just need to get him to trust you.”

Seoin’s curiosity piqued at the mention of Zeoin’s last mission—a mission that Zeoin had been avoiding discussing since their first meeting. “And how am I going to do that?”

Zeoin tilted her head in thought. “He’s already suspicious of HYBE. That’s what he told me when I contacted him. Tell him about Woonhak, about his powers. He already trusts you somewhat because he thinks you’re me and he’ll understand the urgency of the situation.”

Seoin nodded, but the uncertainty still lingered. She glanced at Zeoin, her frustration bubbling up. “What was your last mission, Zeoin? You keep talking about it, but you never say what it was. What happened?”

Zeoin’s expression darkened, her eyes darting away as she struggled to meet Seoin’s gaze. The weight of her regret was palpable, hanging between them like a shroud. “I… I can’t,” Zeoin whispered, her voice breaking. “It’s the one thing I can’t bring myself to tell you. I messed up, Seoin. I did things I wish I could take back. I’ll regret them for the rest of my life.”

The shame in Zeoin’s voice was clear, and Seoin felt a sharp pang of empathy mixed with a growing frustration. “Zeoin, please. I need to know. If I’m going to fix whatever’s happening here, I need to understand.”

Zeoin finally looked up, her eyes glistening with tears she fought to hold back. “I was acting to further HYBE’s agenda,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “They manipulated me, convinced me that I was doing the right thing. My mission was to assassinate the boys—your friends. HYBE believed it was the only way to push Woonhak into becoming their ultimate weapon.”

Zeoin’s voice wavered as she continued, the weight of her actions pressing down on her. “But it wasn’t just them. HYBE sent me on other missions too. I was ordered to take out key members of other units—soldiers who were starting to question HYBE’s control. They told me I was doing it for the greater good, that it was necessary to maintain order. And I believed them. I thought I was helping to keep everyone safe.”

Seoin’s stomach churned as Zeoin’s words sank in. Zeoin hadn’t just failed one mission—she had been a tool in HYBE’s hands, used to silence those who dared to challenge their authority. The guilt that weighed on her was deeper than Seoin had imagined, a web of lies and manipulation that had driven her to the brink.

Zeoin’s head dropped in shame, her voice choked with guilt. “I didn’t go through with the last one, but I got close—too close. I let HYBE’s lies get to me, and I almost… I was exactly what they wanted me to be.”

Seoin stood there, stunned into silence. She had known there was darkness in Zeoin’s past, but this was beyond anything she had imagined. And yet, as she looked at the broken figure in front of her, Seoin felt a surge of determination. Zeoin’s mistakes didn’t have to define her—or Seoin’s future.

“I’m not you,” Seoin said firmly, her resolve hardening. “And I won’t let HYBE turn me into their weapon. I’ll find Jungwon, and I’ll make things right.”

Zeoin nodded, her expression a mix of gratitude and sorrow. “I know you will, Seoin. You’re stronger than I ever was. Just… don’t make the same mistakes I did. Trust in the people around you, and don’t let HYBE’s lies control you.”

The dream began to fade, Zeoin’s figure dissolving into the shadows, but her words lingered in Seoin’s mind long after she woke. As she lay in the darkness of her room, Seoin knew that the path ahead was fraught with danger. But with Zeoin’s warnings and the boys by her side, she felt a flicker of hope.

✧✧✧

The morning of the escape was thick. Every corner of the facility seemed sharper, every sound more pronounced as Seoin moved through the halls. Today was the day, and the anxiety hung in the air like a storm cloud, ready to break. But it wasn’t just the impending escape that weighed on Seoin’s mind—it was everything Zeoin had told her, a heavy burden that Seoin knew she couldn’t carry alone.

She found Taesan in the training room, where he was carefully reviewing their escape plan one last time. His focus was intense, every line and note scrutinized as if they were the key to their survival. Seoin watched him for a moment, steeling herself for the conversation she knew they needed to have.

“Taesan,” she called softly, stepping into the room.

He looked up, his expression shifting from concentration to concern when he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. “Seoin, what’s going on? You look… worried.”

Seoin hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of the table as she gathered her thoughts. “There’s something I need to tell you,” she began slowly, her voice unsteady. “It’s… it’s about Zeoin.”

Taesan’s brow furrowed, and he set down the map, giving Seoin his full attention. “What did she say?”

Seoin took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the truth pressing against her chest. “It’s complicated,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s done things… things she regrets. She was used by HYBE in ways I can’t even imagine.”

Taesan watched her closely, sensing the turmoil beneath her words. “Seoin, you can tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together.”

Seoin’s throat tightened, and she struggled to find the right way to say it. “Zeoin… she told me about her missions. She wasn’t just fighting in the war—HYBE had her doing things behind the scenes, targeting people who were questioning them. She thought she was helping, but it was all manipulation.”

Taesan’s expression grew darker, his eyes fixed on Seoin as he waited for her to continue. Seoin could see the understanding dawning on him, the realization that this wasn’t just about random missions—it was something far more personal.

“She was sent to take out key figures,” Seoin continued, her voice thick with emotion. “People who were starting to see through HYBE’s lies. She was… she was their weapon, doing whatever they told her.”

Taesan stayed silent, his jaw clenched as he absorbed the information. He could sense there was more, something Seoin was holding back, and the suspense of it tightened the air between them.

Seoin looked away, her hands trembling slightly. “But it’s not just that. Her last mission… Taesan, it was supposed to be you guys.” She paused, the words catching in her throat. “HYBE wanted her to kill the boys. They thought it was the only way to push Woonhak into becoming their ultimate weapon.”

Taesan’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. The enormity of what Seoin had revealed settled over him like a shadow, dark and suffocating. “She was going to…?”

“She didn’t even try,” Seoin said quickly, her voice trembling with the weight of her other self’s pain. “She couldn’t. The guilt from everything she’d done before was already eating her alive. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt you, not after what she’d already done. She was breaking apart inside.”

Taesan’s expression softened, a mix of anger at HYBE and empathy for the broken figure of Zeoin that Seoin described. “They twisted her so much… it’s no wonder she didn’t know how to make it stop.”

Seoin nodded, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. “She’s filled with so much regret. She’s terrified of what she became and what she almost did. And I’m scared I’ll mess up just like she did.”

Taesan reached out, gently squeezing Seoin’s shoulder. “You won’t. You’re not her, Seoin. And you’re not alone. Whatever HYBE threw at her, we won’t let it happen to you. We’ll figure this out together.”

Seoin looked at Taesan, her eyes brimming with gratitude and fear. “I don’t want to let you down.”

Taesan gave her a faint smile, a mix of sadness and resolve. “You’ve got this, Seoin. You’ve got us. And no matter what happens, we’ll be there to pick each other up.”

Seoin felt a wave of relief wash over her. Taesan’s steady presence was exactly what she needed in that moment—a reminder that, despite the chaos, she had people who supported her. “Thank you, Taesan,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Taesan nodded, his eyes filled with quiet confidence. “We’re in this together, Seoin. No matter what happens.”

The hours before the escape were tense, every second dragging with the weight of anticipation. But just as the group was finalizing their preparations, Woonhak was pulled aside, taken into one of the facility’s restricted areas for his supplemental lessons. Each time left him more drained than before and, today, the timing couldn’t have been worse.

When Woonhak finally returned, the sight of him sent a shockwave of silent fury through the group. His usually bright complexion was pale, his eyes unfocused, and a thin trail of dried blood was smeared under his nose. He looked shaken, his movements stiff and guarded, and he didn’t say a word. The usual gentle smile that Woonhak wore, even in the worst of times, was gone, replaced by a hollow, distant look.

The boys bristled with anger, their expressions darkening as they watched him silently shuffle to his seat. Seoin felt her stomach churn at the sight of him—HYBE’s cruelty was on full display, and it was eating away at someone who was usually so cheerful. The unspoken question of what HYBE had done to him hung in the air, and Seoin could feel the rage simmering just beneath the surface of everyone in the room.

Taesan clenched his fists, his knuckles white as he glared at the floor, struggling to contain his fury. Riwoo and Leehan exchanged worried glances, their own anger barely masked by their concern for their youngest member. No one knew what to say, afraid that even the smallest comment might push Woonhak further into his shell.

They sat in uneasy silence during one of their breaks, the tension thick and suffocating. Seoin watched Woonhak from across the room, her heart aching at how small he seemed. She couldn’t bear to see him like this, trapped in his own mind, so she moved closer, sitting beside him with a quiet determination.

She didn’t say anything—didn’t want to risk startling him. Instead, she turned her hand palm-up on her lap, a silent offer of comfort. Woonhak hesitated, his eyes flickering to her outstretched hand before gingerly placing his own in hers. His touch was light, almost as if he was afraid of breaking something fragile between them.

Seoin’s heart broke at the timidness in his gesture. She could feel the tremble in his fingers, the unspoken fear that lingered in his every movement. She gently squeezed his hand, offering a silent promise of safety, and after a moment, he squeezed back, the faintest sign that he was still with them.

Across the room, Taesan watched the exchange, his eyes meeting Seoin’s in a moment of unspoken understanding. They didn’t need words to communicate the resolve that now filled them both—no matter what happened, they were getting out. HYBE had already taken too much from them, and after seeing what Woonhak had been put through, there was no turning back.

Seoin held Woonhak’s hand a little tighter, the small act of solidarity grounding her amid the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm them all. They would not let HYBE break him, not now and not ever. The escape was happening, and there was no force on Earth that could stop them.

Woonhak glanced at Seoin, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. It was small, barely there, but it was enough to strengthen Seoin’s resolve.

The group’s anger, fear, and heartbreak coalesced into a fierce determination. They would not let HYBE control their fate any longer. With every quiet glance, every small squeeze of Woonhak’s hand, they affirmed their promise to each other: they were leaving tonight.

✧✧✧

The facility was shrouded in an uneasy stillness as night fell, every shadow and echo magnified by the tension thrumming through the group. This was it—the moment they’d been planning and rehearsing for, and every nerve in Seoin’s body was on edge. The boys were gathered in a secluded corner of the facility, running through the final details of their plan one last time.

Taesan moved with a quiet confidence, his eyes scanning their surroundings as if trying to commit every possible outcome to memory. His foresight had been invaluable, guiding them through the countless drills and scenarios they had practiced. But this wasn’t just another drill—this was real, and any misstep could be their last.

“Security shift change is in five minutes,” Taesan whispered, his voice low but clear. “This is our window. Remember the plan—stick together, no unnecessary risks. We move fast, and we don’t stop.”

Riwoo nodded, his face lit by a faint glow as he prepared to manipulate the facility’s lights. “I’ll handle the cameras and cover the guards when we’re near the gate. Just give the signal, and I’ll blind them.”

Leehan adjusted his stance, his usually calm demeanor replaced by a steely focus. “I’ll slow time when we get to the main corridor. We’ll have a few extra seconds to clear it, but we can’t linger.”

Seoin watched them all, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced at Woonhak, who stood slightly behind the group, still shaken but resolute. He hadn’t spoken since returning from his supplemental lessons, but his presence alone was enough to remind everyone why they were doing this.

The signal came—a faint beep that indicated the guards were switching positions. Taesan gave a sharp nod, and they were off, moving as one through the dimly lit hallways. The facility felt like a maze of tension and uncertainty, but the boys moved with practiced precision, each step bringing them closer to freedom.

Riwoo’s powers flickered to life, bending the light around them to create blinding flashes that obscured the cameras’ view. They darted through the corridors, sticking to the shadows as Riwoo manipulated the light, keeping them hidden from prying eyes.

Taesan led the way, his foresight guiding their every move. He paused briefly at intersections, his eyes narrowing as he glimpsed flashes of possible futures, then waved the group forward when the path was clear. They moved swiftly, their hearts pounding in unison as they navigated the twists and turns of the facility.

Leehan’s time manipulation slowed the world around them as they reached the main corridor, giving them precious seconds to slip past a group of guards. Seoin’s breath hitched as they moved, every second feeling like an eternity, but they made it through without a hitch. Taesan’s predictions held true, and the timing was perfect.

Finally, they reached the outer gate—their last major hurdle before freedom. It was heavily guarded, just as they had expected, but Riwoo’s light manipulation gave them the cover they needed. With a flash of blinding light, the cameras were temporarily disabled, and the guards were momentarily disoriented.

“Go!” Taesan urged, and the group sprinted toward the gate. The adrenaline coursing through Seoin’s veins was almost overwhelming, but the rush of being so close to freedom kept her moving.

They reached the gate, and for a heart-stopping moment, it felt as though everything was going according to plan. But as they began to breach the final barrier, Taesan’s eyes widened—he had seen something, a flicker of danger that hadn’t been there before.

“Wait!” Taesan hissed, grabbing Seoin’s arm and pulling her back. “Something’s wrong.”

A split second later, alarms blared, the harsh red lights of the facility flashing in warning. The guards snapped to attention, and Seoin’s heart dropped. They had been so careful, so precise, but something had changed—something Taesan hadn’t foreseen.

The guards began to converge, and the air was thick with the sound of shouting and the clatter of weapons. Riwoo’s light manipulation flared up again, blinding the advancing guards, but it wouldn’t hold for long. The boys were trapped between the gate and the guards, their path to freedom suddenly blocked.

Seoin’s mind raced, but Taesan’s grip on her arm steadied her. He looked at her with a fierce determination, refusing to let fear take over. “We’re not done yet,” he said, his voice cutting through the chaos. “We stick to the plan.”

Woonhak stepped forward, his expression tense but resolute. Seoin could see the conflict in his eyes—he hated using his powers, hated the very thought of it. But as the guards closed in, Woonhak’s determination to protect his friends outweighed his fear.

“Please,” Woonhak whispered, his voice carrying a desperate edge. He raised his hand, and the guards’ movements slowed, their aggression melting into confusion. Woonhak’s power of persuasion was subtle but undeniable, pushing the guards to hesitate, to second-guess their orders.

Taesan seized the moment, leading the group through the open gate just as Riwoo’s light flickered and the guards regained their senses. They were running now, the facility’s alarms echoing behind them, but they didn’t stop. There was no looking back, no hesitation.

They were free.

As they sprinted into the night, the weight of HYBE’s control fell away, replaced by the exhilarating rush of freedom. They had done it—escaped the impossible, defied the odds. And though the road ahead was uncertain, for the first time in a long time, they were finally in control of their own fate.

The night air was cool and filled with the faint sounds of the forest as the group made their way through the darkness, led by Riwoo. The adrenaline from their escape was still coursing through their veins, but the uncertainty of what came next loomed over them. Riwoo moved with a confident stride, occasionally glancing back at the group with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Where are we going?” Leehan asked, his voice low but edged with curiosity.

Riwoo just flashed a grin, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “You’ll see. Trust me, you’re going to like this.”

Seoin followed quietly, her mind still reeling from the events of the night. She glanced at the boys, noting the mix of exhaustion and anticipation on their faces. The escape had been a success, but the journey wasn’t over. Whatever Riwoo had planned, Seoin hoped it would give them the break they all desperately needed.

After what felt like endless minutes of weaving through trees and underbrush, Riwoo finally stopped at a dark clearing. Seoin’s eyes adjusted to the low light, and she could just make out the shape of a beaten-up red pickup truck, parked haphazardly among the trees. Leaning against the truck were two figures, their postures relaxed but alert.

Seoin squinted, trying to make out their faces in the dim light, but she couldn’t place them. Before she could ask, Woonhak’s voice broke through the silence, filled with desperation and relief.

“Jaehyun hyung!” Woonhak shouted, his voice breaking as he sprinted toward one of the men. The recognition was instant, and Seoin watched as Woonhak collided with the older figure, embracing him fiercely.

Jaehyun hugged him back just as tightly, whispering words of reassurance. “I’ve got you, Woonhak. I’ve got you.”

The rest of the boys rushed toward the second figure, calling out, “Sungho hyung!” and, in Riwoo’s case, simply “Sungho!” The reunion was a blur of relieved laughter and tight embraces, and Seoin found herself smiling at the sight. The joy was palpable, a moment of lightness after the tension of their escape.

But as the boys pulled away from Sungho, he caught sight of Seoin, and his expression immediately shifted. His gaze hardened, and without warning, he stepped forward, pushing the boys behind him with a protective instinct.

Taesan noticed the change first, his brow furrowing as he watched Sungho’s movements. “What’s wrong?”

Sungho kept his eyes fixed on Seoin, his voice edged with suspicion. “That’s Seoin Yang. She’s the Phantom.”

The revelation hit like a shockwave, the boys’ previously joyful expressions shifting into confusion and alarm. They instinctively moved into defensive positions, their bodies tensed as they tried to process Sungho’s accusation.

Seoin stepped back, startled and overwhelmed by the sudden hostility. She could feel the mistrust radiating from the group, and before she could say a word, Taesan and Woonhak quickly positioned themselves in front of her.

“Wait,” Taesan said sharply, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. “It’s not what you think.”

Jaehyun’s eyes narrowed, glancing between Seoin, Taesan, and Woonhak. “She’s the Phantom? How can you be sure she’s not dangerous?”

Taesan’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady. “She’s not the same anymore. That Seoin is gone. This Seoin isn’t a threat.”

Seoin stood frozen, absorbing the weight of Sungho’s words. She understood their reaction—knew that Zeoin’s name carried the shadow of her past actions—but the sight of Woonhak moving to her side, his expression soft and unwavering, caught her off guard.

Woonhak reached out, taking Seoin’s hand in his, and offered her a small, reassuring smile. Seoin felt a wave of confusion; everyone else’s reaction made sense, but Woonhak’s quiet confidence in her was unexpected. It was as if he saw something in her that she didn’t fully understand herself.

Taesan’s voice was firm, layered with frustration and conviction. “Seoin isn’t the Phantom anymore. She’s not the person HYBE made her to be, and she’s on our side.”

The tension in the clearing didn’t fully dissipate, but the presence of Taesan and Woonhak at Seoin’s side made it clear: she wasn’t alone, and she wasn’t the enemy they feared. Slowly, the boys lowered their guard, their defensive stances easing into cautious acceptance.

Seoin squeezed Woonhak’s hand, feeling the unspoken promise in his gentle touch. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a step forward.

After the tense confrontation, the group decided they couldn’t linger in the exposed clearing. They followed Jaehyun and Sungho deeper into the woods, away from the pickup truck and prying eyes. The path was winding and overgrown, each step further cloaking them in the safety of darkness and distance.

After several minutes, they arrived at a run-down video game center, its neon lights long since extinguished, windows covered in grime, and the sign barely legible. Inside, old arcade machines stood like forgotten relics, covered in dust and cobwebs. A few makeshift beds were set up in the corners, evidence of Jaehyun and Sungho’s attempts to make the place livable. It wasn’t much, but it was hidden, and that made it safe.

Jaehyun turned to the group, his eyes still clouded with suspicion. “We’re not staying out in the open. It’s not safe,” he said, gesturing for everyone to take a seat on the scattered chairs and old benches. Once everyone was settled, he crossed his arms and faced Taesan and Seoin. “Now, you owe us an explanation. What the hell is going on?”

Taesan and Seoin exchanged a quick glance. Taesan stepped forward first, recounting everything they had gone through since Seoin’s arrival at the facility. He explained how they trained together, how Seoin’s presence was a welcomed addition, and the moments that led to their escape. But when it came to revealing Seoin’s true secret, Taesan hesitated, his words trailing off as he glanced at Seoin.

Seoin felt the weight of their stares, the unspoken questions hanging heavy in the air. She took a deep breath, knowing that she couldn’t keep her truth hidden any longer. “There’s more,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “I’m not the Seoin you think I am. Not really.”

Sungho’s brow furrowed, and Jaehyun’s expression hardened further. “What do you mean by that?” Sungho asked, his tone edged with impatience.

Seoin swallowed, gathering her courage. “The Seoin of this reality lost control of her powers. It caused a switch, a blending of our consciousnesses, and I ended up in her place. I’m from a different reality, one without this war, without HYBE, without… all of this.” She glanced around the run-down arcade, the surrealness of her situation still catching her off guard. “She’s still present, but only as a whisper in the back of my mind. I call her Zeoin to keep it straight. She’s like an afterthought… or a guide, sometimes.”

The room fell silent, each of the boys processing Seoin’s words with a mix of disbelief and confusion. The enormity of what she had revealed hung in the air like a dense fog, hard to see through and even harder to accept.

Woonhak was the first to speak, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “I knew it,” he said, glancing at Seoin with a faint, reassuring smile. “I knew you couldn’t be the Phantom. You’re too kind—too… you.”

Jaehyun’s expression tightened, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “Kindness doesn’t erase what the Phantom did,” he retorted, his tone edged with bitterness. “You don’t know what missions she carried out or why she was so important to HYBE. She was dangerous, valuable, and every bit the weapon HYBE wanted her to be.”

Seoin flinched at Jaehyun’s words, the reminder of Zeoin’s past cutting deeper than she’d expected. “I know,” she admitted quietly, meeting Jaehyun’s gaze. “I know what she did, and I know why she did it. But I’m not her. I’m trying to make things right, even if it’s not enough.”

The tension in the hideout was palpable, the weight of Seoin’s confession lingering in the dim, dusty air. Taesan stepped closer to Seoin, his presence a quiet reassurance at her side. “Seoin isn’t Zeoin,” he said firmly, looking directly at Jaehyun and Sungho. “She’s not responsible for what HYBE did to Zeoin, and she’s been fighting to help us since the moment she arrived.”

Jaehyun’s posture relaxed slightly, the rigid anger in his stance easing as he looked between Seoin and the others. Sungho still appeared wary, but the fire in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a reluctant understanding.

Seoin didn’t have all the answers, and she knew she couldn’t erase the past. But as she stood there, surrounded by the boys who had slowly become her allies, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. Zeoin’s mistakes were not hers to carry alone, and together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead.

The tension in the run-down video game center slowly eased, but an uneasy silence still hung in the air. Jaehyun and Sungho exchanged a glance, the weight of everything they’d discovered during their time away pressing down on them. They knew it was time to tell the others the truth about what they had found.

Jaehyun leaned back against an old arcade machine, his expression grim. “There’s a lot you all don’t know,” he began, his voice low and heavy with the burden of secrets. “Sungho and I have been tracking HYBE’s operations, digging into things we weren’t supposed to see.”

Sungho nodded, his face set in a serious frown. “You know about the enhancements—everyone gets them on their 20th birthday. That’s standard. But what HYBE isn’t telling anyone is that they’ve been pushing beyond that. They’re trying to give people more than one power.”

Seoin’s eyes widened, and the boys exchanged anxious glances. Taesan spoke up, his voice edged with skepticism. “More than one power? How is that even possible?”

Jaehyun’s face darkened. “It’s not, at least not safely. Every time they’ve tried, it’s failed—disastrously. The enhancements become unstable, and the people they experiment on… they don’t survive.”

Sungho’s voice tightened, his frustration clear. “HYBE’s been running these experiments in secret, combining abilities from different subjects in an attempt to create someone with multiple powers. They think they can make the ultimate soldier, someone who could change the entire course of the war. But it’s not working. Every test subject ends up dead or worse.”

Leehan’s expression turned grim. “That’s why we’ve been seeing more and more disappearances. Those trainees weren’t just lost—they were killed by HYBE’s experiments.”

Woonhak looked down, visibly shaken by the revelation. The idea of his friends being used and discarded like failed experiments was almost too much to bear. Seoin squeezed his hand gently, a silent promise that they would get through this together.

Taesan’s anger simmered just below the surface, his fists clenched tightly. “So HYBE is just playing god, trying to make super-soldiers and killing people in the process.”

Jaehyun nodded. “Exactly. They don’t care who gets hurt, as long as they find the right combination. It’s all just a numbers game to them. We found files on dozens of test subjects who didn’t make it. Their records were erased, their deaths covered up. They’re trying to perfect something that isn’t meant to exist.”

Sungho looked at the group, his eyes filled with determination. “HYBE is willing to sacrifice as many lives as it takes to get what they want. They’re not just fighting a war—they’re trying to reshape it to fit their own agenda. And we’re all just pawns in their game.”

The weight of Jaehyun and Sungho’s words settled over the group, the full extent of HYBE’s ruthless ambition laid bare. They had known about the enhancements, had accepted them as part of their reality, but this was something else entirely. HYBE was playing with forces they didn’t fully understand, and people were dying because of it.

Seoin felt a surge of determination rise within her. They couldn’t let HYBE continue this. They couldn’t let their friends’ lives be treated as disposable. “We have to stop this,” she said, her voice filled with quiet resolve. “Whatever HYBE is planning, we can’t let them keep doing this.”

Taesan nodded, his expression fierce. “We’re going to find out exactly what HYBE is hiding, and we’re going to put an end to it. No more experiments, no more deaths. They don’t get to control us anymore.”

The group’s resolve solidified, their anger and fear transforming into a united front against HYBE’s twisted plans. They had escaped, but now they had a new mission: to expose HYBE’s lies and put a stop to the deadly experiments that had cost so many lives. Together, they would fight back, and they would make HYBE answer for what they had done.

The group sat in the dimly lit hideout, the gravity of Jaehyun and Sungho’s revelations still sinking in. Jaehyun’s face was etched with frustration as he pulled out a stack of worn, crumpled papers from his bag—evidence of his long nights piecing together HYBE’s dark secrets.

“There’s something else,” Jaehyun said, his voice strained with the weight of his findings. “I found records—hidden files on every person the Phantom was sent to kill. Every single target Seo- Zeoin was ordered to eliminate… they’re all gone.”

Seoin’s stomach churned, and the rest of the boys went silent, their eyes fixed on Jaehyun. He spread the papers out on a dusty arcade machine, each sheet detailing a different name, a different life that had been snuffed out by HYBE’s orders.

“These people weren’t just targets,” Jaehyun continued, his tone laced with anger. “They were key figures—soldiers, informants, scientists—anyone who started questioning HYBE’s methods or showed signs of dissent. And every time the Phantom completed a mission, HYBE wiped them from existence. Their records, their contributions… all gone.”

Sungho stepped forward, pointing at the documents spread before them. “HYBE used Zeoin to silence anyone who posed a threat to their agenda. They used her powers to erase people from all realities, making sure no one would remember them. And it worked.”

Seoin stared at the papers, each one a haunting reminder of Zeoin’s past actions. She could feel the guilt clawing at her, even though the choices hadn’t been hers. “So… HYBE got exactly what they wanted,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “They manipulated her, made her believe she was doing the right thing, and now those people are gone forever.”

Jaehyun nodded, his expression somber. “HYBE’s erasure wasn’t just about killing people—it was about rewriting history. The Phantom’s missions removed anyone who could have stood in their way. And it wasn’t just the physical act of killing; it was total annihilation. No one knows they were ever there.”

Taesan’s jaw tightened, his anger simmering just below the surface. “They didn’t just want them dead—they wanted them forgotten.”

Seoin glanced at the names on the papers, each one a silent testament to the lives lost. The enormity of Zeoin’s actions weighed heavily on her, but there was no turning back. She couldn’t undo what had been done, but she could make sure HYBE’s lies didn’t continue.

Woonhak squeezed Seoin’s hand, offering a small, reassuring presence in the midst of her turmoil. He looked at her with quiet resolve. “I know it wasn’t you, Seoin,” he said softly. “And we’re not going to let HYBE get away with it.”

Sungho’s expression was grim, his eyes fixed on the damning evidence before them. “HYBE’s been using us, all of us, as tools in their sick game. But now we have the truth. We can expose what they’ve done.”

Jaehyun nodded, determination flickering in his eyes. “We’re going to bring these people back. We’re going to bring everything HYBE’s done into the light, and we’re going to tear down everything they’ve built on the backs of these lies.”

The group’s resolve hardened, the weight of their mission clearer than ever. They weren’t just fighting for themselves anymore—they were fighting for every life that HYBE had tried to erase, every person who had been silenced by the Phantom’s hand. Together, they would make sure those voices were heard again.

The atmosphere in the hideout was thick with tension and determination. Seoin sat quietly, her thoughts a swirl of conflicting emotions as she considered what needed to be done. The truth about Zeoin’s missions and HYBE’s deadly ambitions weighed heavily on her, but she knew there was one person who could help them turn the tide—Jungwon.

Seoin glanced at the others, her gaze finally settling on Jaehyun and Taesan, who were deep in conversation about the logistics of their next move. She hesitated, feeling the familiar whisper of Zeoin in the back of her mind—a guiding presence that was both reassuring and unnerving.

You need to contact him**,** Zeoin’s voice echoed softly, a mix of urgency and resolve. He’s the only one who can help.

Seoin nodded slightly, acknowledging the voice within her. She could feel Zeoin’s presence growing stronger, as if the weight of everything they had uncovered was fueling her will to stay connected. “We need to reach out to Jungwon,” Seoin finally said, her voice steady but filled with determination.

Taesan looked up, surprised by her sudden declaration. “Jungwon? Are you sure?”

Seoin nodded. “Zeoin thinks he’ll help. Even if this isn’t my… Jungwon. And I… I have to believe that he’ll listen.”

Jaehyun frowned slightly, considering the risks. “Sending a message to Enhypen is dangerous. HYBE monitors everything, and if they catch even a hint of it, they’ll know we’re trying to reach out.”

Taesan nodded in agreement but glanced at Seoin, seeing the determination in her eyes. “We’ll have to be smart about it. If HYBE catches wind, it’ll put us all in danger.”

Seoin felt Zeoin’s guidance settle over her, clear and insistent. There’s a way. Send something only he would recognize. It has to be personal—something he’ll know comes from me**.**

“What do we say?” Seoin asked aloud, turning her focus inward as she searched for the right words. Zeoin’s memories flickered through her mind, moments that Seoin herself had never lived but felt deeply connected to nonetheless. Then, it clicked—a memory from Zeoin’s last contact with Jungwon.

Seoin looked at Jaehyun and Taesan, her expression resolute. “We need to send a message that only he would understand. Something HYBE wouldn’t catch. We’ll encrypt it, but it has to be something that he and Zeoin shared—something that’s theirs alone.”

Jaehyun nodded, quickly setting up his laptop on the dusty arcade machine. “We can use an encrypted messaging service. I’ve cracked some of HYBE’s codes before, so I can work around their firewalls. But what’s the message?”

Seoin closed her eyes, letting Zeoin’s presence guide her. The memory surfaced slowly—a moment filled with a deep, quiet connection between Jungwon and Zeoin. It was a phrase they had shared, one that spoke of their bond and carried a meaning only the two of them would understand.

Seoin opened her eyes, feeling the echo of that moment as she spoke. “The phrase we need to send is moonstruck,” she said softly, her voice tinged with the emotions of a memory that wasn’t hers but felt deeply familiar.

Taesan looked at her curiously. “Moonstruck? What does that mean?”

Seoin smiled faintly, the word holding a special resonance. “It was something Jungwon said to Zeoin once, after a long, difficult day. He told her that when everything felt overwhelming, it was like the moon had cast a spell on them, making even the darkest nights feel a little less heavy. Moonstruck became their way of saying that no matter how lost or distant they felt, they’d always find their way back to each other.”

Jaehyun nodded thoughtfully, understanding the weight of the phrase. He quickly typed it into the message, encrypting it carefully. The word was hidden within layers of code, an unassuming signal that only Jungwon would recognize amidst the noise.

“It’s done,” Jaehyun said, his fingers pausing over the send button before finally pressing it. “The message is out there.”

Seoin watched the screen, her heart heavy with anticipation. The word hung in the air, bridging the space between her reality and Zeoin’s, a small but significant hope that Jungwon would understand.

Taesan squeezed Seoin’s shoulder gently. “He’ll get it. And when he does, we’ll be ready.”

Seoin nodded, feeling a mix of fear and hope. With Zeoin’s guidance and the help of her new allies, she had reached across the divide. Now, all that remained was to see if Jungwon would reach back.

✧✧✧

Jungwon sat in the private villa HYBE had provided Enhypen, the luxurious surroundings a stark contrast to the turmoil simmering beneath the surface. It was late, and the faint hum of the villa’s security systems buzzed quietly in the background. He had been trying to relax, but the weight of everything that had been happening lately made it impossible.

He leaned back on the plush sofa, his gaze drifting to the moonlight filtering through the large windows. The villa was meant to be a haven, a place where they could rest between missions, but to Jungwon, it felt more like a gilded cage. He was restless, constantly on edge, knowing that even here, HYBE’s influence was never far away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his computer screen flicker. At first, he dismissed it as another minor glitch, but when the entire screen went black, Jungwon’s attention snapped to it. The room felt colder, the faint glow of the computer casting eerie shadows as he watched.

Slowly, a single word appeared on the dark screen: “moonstruck.”

Jungwon blinked, confusion knitting his brows as he stared at the word. It was random, strange—something he hadn’t thought about in a long time. For a moment, he couldn’t place it, his mind searching for the connection. But as the seconds ticked by, recognition flickered in his eyes, and the weight of the word settled over him.

His breath hitched, memories crashing over him like a tidal wave. “Moonstruck.” It was more than just a word; it was a secret, a shared phrase that only one person would send him. His heart pounded as realization dawned—this was from Seoin. The familiarity of it sent a jolt of fear and hope coursing through him.

Jungwon hesitated, the gravity of the situation settling over him. HYBE’s surveillance was always a looming threat through their pervasive presence and tight control over communications. This wasn’t something he could ignore, but the risk was high—too high without taking precautions.

He quickly moved to his desk, pulling out a small, modified device that Sunoo had crafted: a makeshift spoofer that masked their digital footprints, providing a temporary shield against any potential breaches. Jungwon hooked it up to his computer, the device humming faintly as it activated.

He sat down, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Every instinct told him to be careful, but the pull of that single word—moonstruck—was too strong to resist. He typed a quick response, his hands moving with a mixture of anxiety and determination.

Who is this? he typed, the tension in his chest tightening with every second that passed.

He waited, each moment stretching into an eternity as the screen remained blank. The villa’s silence felt oppressive, every sound amplified in the quiet of the night. Then, finally, the screen flickered, and a new line of text appeared.

It’s Seoin. I need your help.

Jungwon’s heart pounded at the confirmation. He leaned closer, his eyes scanning the screen as he typed back, careful to keep his responses vague.

Seoin, is that really you? I need to be sure.

The pause that followed felt like a lifetime. Jungwon’s fingers twitched restlessly on the desk, his mind racing through the implications of this sudden contact. Then, another message appeared.

I found out more about what we last talked about. I had to leave HYBE because it wasn’t safe.

Jungwon took a deep breath, the weight of her words sinking in. He knew Seoin—knew her well enough to sense when she was in distress, and this felt real. But there was still so much he didn’t understand. His trust in HYBE had already been eroded, and now this message from Seoin only deepened his suspicions.

He glanced at the spoofer, knowing that their time was limited. The longer they kept the connection open, the higher the risk. He typed back, his words filled with a cautious determination.

I’m listening. But if we’re going to do this, we have to be careful. Tell me what you need.

Seoin’s reply was almost instant, as if she had been waiting desperately for him to take the first step.

I need you to meet me. HYBE can’t know. I’ll explain everything then.

Jungwon’s mind raced, the implications of her request swirling around him. He knew the dangers, knew that meeting Seoin would put them both at risk. But there was no denying the urgency in her words, the weight of the truth she was trying to share.

Okay, he typed, his resolve hardening. Tell me where and when. I’ll be there. But if you’re leading me into a trap, this ends now.

Seoin’s final message appeared, concise but filled with the unspoken promise of answers.

Trust me. I’ll send you the coordinates in a day’s time. Come alone or with the rest of Enhypen. We’re going to end this, together.

Jungwon stared at the screen, his thoughts a tangled mix of fear, hope, and the unmistakable pull of the familiar. He disconnected the spoofer, the screen flickering back to normal as if nothing had happened. But everything had changed.

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purplebass · 1 year

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Ooh okay CONGRATS ON THE MILESTONE GIRL you deserve it! If you're still taking requests, might I ask for a Matthew + Alastair friendship fic of some kind? ❤️

Thanks 💜 I really tried to make it cool and funny and there is also Thomastair at the end. I hope you like it ✨

Read on A03

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Alastair knew he shouldn’t have asked for Matthew’s help, but he was desperate. As the second anniversary with his beloved Thomas was close, he was out of ideas, something he did not like nor wished on his worst enemy or least favorable acquaintance. Not even on Matthew, decidedly, who he had never once thought as a foe but not as a friend either.

He checked his pocket watch. The clock had just struck seven in the morning, and he was by the gate of the house he and Thomas had been sharing for five months. He knew that he was the one who was early, and not the other one who was late.

The evening before they both were at an event at the Townsends, only because their parents had forced them to attend. Matthew’s mother, the Consul, rendered it imperative to go, and so did Gideon Lightwood, who was not blood related to Alastair in any way, yet had been a more fatherly figure to him in the last two years than his father had ever been. Alastair’s heart warmed at the thought, and although he and Thomas hated the Townsends and found them annoying, he convinced him to go for their father’s sake.

Catherine, whom Alastair concluded was indeed on the list of those he would call boring, spineless and least favorable to become one of his friends, was getting into shadowhunters politics. Charlotte Fairchild was to be her mentor, something she did not enjoy and of which Alastair knew because of his dinners at the Lightwoods. He swore he had never seen Matthew’s mother sigh and shake her head so much during dinner, but he knew her hands were tied.

After Bridgestock was kicked out as Inquisitor of the London Enclave, all the members decided that it was mandatory to mentor the new shadowhunters who wanted to get into their politics. To train them for their role so they would not resort into threatening other members of their society in order to get what they wanted. Charlotte herself proposed it, and Alastair thought it was a good idea. He knew that the woman was disheartened that her older son Bridgestock treated him as a bargain chip, and she didn’t want that to happen again to someone else with good intentions. As much as Alastair despised Charles Fairchild, he could understand his mother’s worries.

The other members of the Enclave, including himself and Thomas, voted in favor of this measure, which ended up being approved. Charlotte, Gideon, Will and Tessa, all offered their help as mentors along with some of the other representatives.

There were two people along with Charles – who wanted to try to get into shadowhunter politics again, much to everyone’s dismay – who wanted to train for shadowhunter roles in London. One of them was the aforementioned boring Catherine Townsend, while the other was a person he had learned to know well during the last few years, Thomas’ cousin Jesse Blackthorn. Catherine expressed her desire to become Consul a few months prior, along with Charles. Meanwhile, Jesse, much to no one’s surprise, wanted to train to become the next head of the London Institute.

Charlotte chose not to mentor her son because it would have looked like nepotism – wasn’t it, though?. She would’ve gladly trained Jesse along with Gideon, but in hindsight, it was more fitting for him to be mentored by Will and Tessa, with whom he already worked everyday. In the end, it was Gideon who got Charles. Thomas patted his father’s shoulder once he knew, and offered him a genuine smile of understanding. Alastair wasn’t sure which of them had it worse, but probably both.

This party was to celebrate Catherine’s first six months of training, and of course, they needed to attend to show that the Consul’s family and acquaintances were supporting. Alastair would have rather stayed home with Thomas, but he had a mission to accomplish, and he knew only Matthew could help him.

He wished to talk to Fairchild directly at the event. It wasn’t like they never talked during events, but it was suspicious. He tried to intercept him when he went to the bathroom at some point, but believed it would be too awkward and stayed rooted to his place, hearing his sister Cordelia drone on the last addition to her and her husband’s house in Curzon Street. He rolled his eyes at that. Who cared about a statue made by a mundane artist when his mind was blank? He needed to find Matthew as soon as possible.

He had no way of tracking him – that would’ve been too much – if not through fire messages. And that also posed to be quite a difficult task. Thomas, who had been incredibly bored by the event, said that he wanted to do something exciting. Thus, even though it wasn’t their night duty to go on patrol, he agreed to go out with him until he had enough. Well, until Thomas, who had been yawning for the whole night, had finally given up on staying outside. If it were for him, he would’ve been in bed two hours prior, and he would’ve asked for Fairchild’s help way earlier. He waited for Thomas to doze off peacefully and sent the message.

Fairchild. I know you must be surprised by this message, and by the hour on which it finds you, you must think I am either drunk or crazy – or both. Fret not with your speculations, as I will cut to the reason why I willed myself with the task of writing to you this late, and this unexpectedly. I found myself consumed by despair. And by shame. But I know that you are the only one who can help me. It’s been two years since I and Thomas started our relationship. The date is upcoming – in three days – but I still can’t find the perfect gift. I wanted to surprise him with something he may like, and I thought that you – nevermind. Perhaps this is uncharacteristically strange coming from me, but you do understand that desperate times call for desperate measures (and desperate requests for help). Feel free to ignore.

Alastair found himself sighing numerous times as he mulled over the words of the message, but he still sent it. To his shock, the Fairchild boy had replied to him.

Carstairs. You’re right, I’m appalled. It was the last thing I expected to happen on this day. Catherine Townsend sucking up to my mother at the dinner didn’t faze me one bit, I know the woman is vile and I – I’m sorry, I was just rambling. I just thought of the perfect place where you can go with Thomas. We can go there by car tomorrow morning, but we need to meet up early. I can’t come before 7am, as I need my beauty sleep. You woke me up, but I’m willing to forgive you just because I care for Thomas’ happiness and I think he will be enthusiastically taken aback by where I thought you could take him.

Alastair confirmed that the time was perfect and he would wait outside his house in Cornwall Gardens. All the while he was hiding in the bathroom, because fire messages made too much noise and he didn’t want Thomas to wake. He wondered about the place he wanted to take him but decided he wanted to be surprised. Matthew didn't reply anymore, and he hoped that they had an agreement. Yet, it was half past seven and he couldn't see a hint of the blonde bohemian, and he started thinking that he had stood him up.

Alastair didn’t even know why he was annoyed by Matthew’s tardiness. Was he late? He just said not before seven, he didn't – He saw the Ford Model A approach and he massaged his temples. Calm down, Alastair. Do not lose your cool, he repeated to himself.

“About time,” Alastair said gruffly, but at least he uncrossed his arms off his chest.

“Good morning to you too, Alastair,” Matthew cheered from behind the wheel. “Bad night?”

Alastair rolled his eyes. In another time, he would have told him to mind his business. But he wasn’t the same person as he was years ago, nor was Matthew. “I could not sleep,” he sighed, remembering all the tossing and turning about last night.

Matthew, who Alastair wasn't surprised to see wore a golden waistcoat and jacket that matched the details of his car, simply shrugged. “Yesterday's event at the Townsends upset your stomach too?”

He felt like rolling his eyes again. “If Catherine ever becomes Consul, I hope I'm not in London anymore,” he scoffed.

“The feeling is mu –” Fairchild stopped abruptly and looked up, and Alastair dreaded that Matthew had seen Thomas through one of the lowest windows of the house.

He turned quickly, relieved that was not the case, and realized what distracted the other from finishing his sentence. “Something is meowing at your feet,” he commented sourly with a frown. Knowing Matthew, it could have been some new customization of his Ford.

“Yes, I haven't forgotten about you, kitties,” Matthew said instead, and he lowered to pick up a box from the floor of his car. “There, there, here we are,” he cooed. He got out of the vehicle and started walking toward the door of Alastair's house.

“What are you doing?” Alastair frowned, glancing at the kitties before Matthew could advance closer and ring the doorbell. There were two of them: one was a tortoiseshell, while the other was a brown tabby. They were probably strays and not older than a few days.

“We are going to the countryside, Alastair. As much as they would keep us company and stop us from tearing each other's hair with their fluffy cuteness, I think they should stay home.”

“In case you forgot, this is my home.”

“And it can be a temporary home for the kitties,” he said excitedly, offering Alastair his megawatt smile, even though he knew it wouldn’t help matters. “In case you forgot, I do have a massive and lovely dog in my home.”

“Since he is lovely, surely, he must love cats,” he asserted.

“Absolutely, he does. But you understand that I can't leave Oscar alone with them,” Matthew tried to plead his case. He looked down at the kittens mournfully, and they meowed at him. “They’re tiny little things and they’re defenseless. They’re the equivalent of a newborn baby,” he argued. “Would you leave a newborn baby alone?”

“That’s beside the point,” Alastair objected, but the meowing of the kittens alone was tugging at his heartstrings and he didn’t want to admit it to Fairchild. “There would still be no one to attend to the kitties.”

Matthew shook his head as he stroked one of the kitties’ heads. “They wouldn't be alone. Thomas is inside, I assume.”

“Where do you think –” Alastair closed his eyes for a moment out of exasperation. “We're losing precious time. Moreover, in case you forgot, Thomas must not know of my encounter with you.”

“You're wasting time by dragging the issue out! Just leave the box in a room and close the door. I'll get them when we get back and I'll see if I can find them a house.”

“What if Thomas finds them?” Alastair wondered. “You do know that this house is his as much as it’s mine –”

“You think too much, Alastair,” he raised his eyebrows disapprovingly. “Just leave them in a room that Thomas doesn’t like, then. That’s it, I resolved the problem for you.”

Alastair wanted to argue with Matthew, but he was right. Again. He was dragging the discussion out and he was concerned that Thomas would wake up soon and he would look for him, even though he left him a note apologizing. He needed to do this quickly. He took the box away from Matthew’s hands and he made a mental note of the house.

He realized that the room Thomas never seemed to enter was Cordelia’s old room. It made sense. Even though Cordelia moved out of the house several years prior, Alastair and Thomas thought that for the moment they wouldn’t turn it into something else. Cordelia (and James) used the room when they stayed there when one of their parties went too far into the night and they didn’t want to walk back home. Lazy, if anyone asked Alastair, but convenient for his immediate scope. He left the box on the other side of her bed, and bolted the door. He then ran out of the house as if it were on fire to meet an excited Matthew already waiting in the driver’s seat.

“You know, it would be ideal to keep conversation while we drive,” Matthew quipped a while after they left London behind. “The road is long.”

Alastair barely glanced at him, his hands gripped the side of his seat tightly. “I have nothing to say,” he retorted, trying not to sound too blunt.

“You didn’t even ask me where we’re going,” Matthew observed, raising an eyebrow at how his traveling companion sat. “You are not going to fall, trust me.”

“What?” he wondered louder than it was appropriate. “Mind the driving, Fairchild. I don’t want to die young and above all, I’d regret perishing in the countryside.”

Matthew replied with a mirthful laugh, and Alastair glared at him this time. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to taunt you, but you make it so easy,” he shrugged. “What did the countryside ever do to you?”

Alastair managed a smile. He remembered another time, another himself. A younger self who was less carefree than he is now. A young boy who could only find solace in going horse riding in Dartmoor and hunting for blackberries. A boy who rejoiced when they moved there for a while, because the pubs and grocery shops were too far from their house, and his father too lazy to look for his poison. A place where he felt they never stayed enough because of said reason. His father’s love for the bottle overshadowed his affection for his family, and that probably quelled the peacefulness of those memories.

“I used to live in the countryside every once in a while,” he confessed to Matthew. The car wasn’t too fast, and he was trying to appreciate the landscape. It distracted him. “At Cirenworth.”

“Oh, in Devon, I see. Cordelia told me about it,” he nodded. Seeing that the other didn’t answer anymore, he continued. “You don’t sound too happy about it, though? Was this place ugly and water leaked from the pipes, your shirts would get drenched and you had to wear a bathsuit your whole stay so that at least, you’d be prepared to get soaked?”

Alastair pinched the bridge of his nose. “You always come up with the most absurd scenarios, Fairchild,” he shook his head. “I am afraid to ruin your fantasy, but no. On the other hand, Devon is an outstanding location and so is Cirenworth. It is immersed in nature and there are many paths that lead to the beach. It is quiet and no one bothers you and you have plenty of space to train in the moor. It was the best place I’ve ever lived.”

“Seems like the perfect place for relaxing,” Matthew assumed, keeping his eyes on the road. They had just passed a sign and he realized they were closer to their location than he thought. “Have you been there recently? To visit your mother and little brother?”

“I’ve been there a few weeks ago,” he confessed. “We had a picnic in the rose garden by the house with Thomas.”

He recalled the memory fondly. His mother and Risa prepared a picnic in the extensive garden at Cirenworth. Zachary had grown so much in the time he hadn’t seen him, and he dedicated most of the time to playing with him in the grass. Thomas had accompanied him, of course. His younger brother grew attached to his partner, and he demanded to sit him on his shoulder because he was the tallest.

Alastair had a mini heart attack every time Thomas helped little Zachary on his shoulders. He was protective (even though he knew Thomas would never let him fall) but he was also quite mushy. This was a feeling that he had discovered in these years of being in love with Thomas and being loved back by him.

“I would love to see that place someday,” Matthew smiled, and even if he was looking ahead of him, Alastair knew that he meant it. In all fairness, he even wondered why his sister had never invited him over.

“What about you, though?” Alastair found himself wondering. “Is there a place like Cirenworth in your life?”

“I had one, when I was a child,” the blond replied uncharacteristically quietly, not meeting his eyes again. Well, he better watch the road. It was barely visible in between the corn crops on either side of them. Alastair hadn’t dared to ask where they were going and now he regretted it. “Fairchild Manor, in Idris. We used to go there on vacation during the summer. I remember thinking that my parents decided to paint the building in a mellow gold hue to honor my birth, but of course, I was deluding myself,” he laughed bitterly. “Aside from this little childhood embarrassment, I felt like we were truly a family when we were there. An ordinary family. My mother would ignore the shadowhunter business as long as we stayed there, and we would play different games in front of a glass of freshly made tea. My father would ditch the experiments and I would push his chair so we could go on long walks together. I even played with that menace that is Charles –” he rolled his eyes, as if he was incredulous. “Those were good times.”

Alastair listened to Matthew’s story carefully, and he was surprised at how similar their happy place seemed to be. The only striking difference, he was sure, were their fathers. He admired Henry Fairchild. He was often criticized for being a man of science, but it was just shadowhunter society closing itself to modernity again, which wasn’t good. If it hadn’t been for him, they wouldn’t have had things like portals. His father, on the other hand… there was nothing to admire, he concluded. He was better off dead.

The conversation veered on other topics like the weather and how nice it seemed to be. Matthew asked what Alastair thought of the recent shadowhunter happenings in London and they discussed that for a while. Their earlier conversation broke the ice, despite the day being far from chilly.

As he descended out of Matthew’s car when they arrived, Alastair found himself sweating in spite of the hat he was wearing and a gentle breeze blowing in their direction. Must be the countryside and its air, he thought. Yet, it was the autumn season, and he realized that he was getting antsy and anxious because he was about to find out what his partner’s close friend had thought for them.

“Please do tell me why, because my curiosity is unending,” Matthew said abruptly as they walked who knew where, as there was literally nobody in the clearing facing them. “You still haven’t asked me where I brought you, Alastair.”

Alastair shrugged, trying not to clench his fists in frustration. “What if I said that I trusted your taste? Would you believe me?”

He snorted in response. “Of course I would,” Matthew smirked. “I know I have impeccable taste.”

“Whatever you say, Fairchild,” he replied sourly.

Matthew stopped, and so did he. Alastair realized that they were almost in the center of the clearing. There were short trees on every side, and small patches of flowers. It seemed like the best place for a picnic and to have a little privacy, but would Matthew drive that far from London – he still didn’t know where they were, but considering the over two hours of travel, he decided they were a little outside of town – to take him to the perfect place to eat on the grass? He wouldn’t know how to get back there again if he did.

The blond glanced at the clock in his pocket and turned to Alastair. “They should be here any minute,” he spoke confidently, offering him a smile.

Alastair wanted to ask him who, when something caught his eye. It was barely midday, but there was a shadow invading the clearing. He knew it couldn’t be a demon – it was broad daylight – but his hand still went on his weapons’ belt, ready to grab his spears to attack. His hand went slack when he noticed the source of the shadow: a big hot air balloon. It wasn’t just a regular hot air balloon. It was also propelled by some kind of magic, he assumed, because of the color of the fire under the rainbow colored tarp.

“You look like you were expecting an ambush,” Matthew observed, glancing at Alastair’s astonished expression. “I know, I was also quite surprised the first time I saw one of these up close. Isn’t it fascinating?”

“What?” Alastair managed to say, his mouth gaped open. “Quite,” he added with a sigh. Damn.

The colorful air balloon descended into the clearing and gracefully landed not far from the two of them. Three people came out of it with happy smiles, along with the warlock, who Alastair didn’t recognize. Matthew walked to the man as soon as the clients left, but he stood there. Immobile until the other took notice that he hadn’t bothered to catch up to him. He gestured for him to come there, and only then, after taking a long breath of encouragement, did Alastair follow, albeit slowly.

“Frank, let me introduce you to Alastair Carstairs,” Matthew told the purple-haired warlock. “He needs to surprise an important person and he thought that your hot air balloon ride would be the best experience that he could have.”

“Sure, welcome, shadowhunter. Anyone of Mr. Fairchild’s friends is a friend of mine,” Frank said. “I don’t usually let shadowhunters ride my balloon,” he chuckled, “but I am willing to help you since you’re a good friend of this handsome fella,” he winked at Matthew, which made Alastair frown. Maybe Matthew knew this warlock personally.

He glanced at his friend. “Well, thank you very much,” he answered with a clipped tone, trying to be cordial. “About that, can I speak to my friend Matthew for a second?”

The warlock shrugged and went towards a small cabin close to the woods that Alastair hadn’t noticed before. Once he was out of earshot, Matthew asked: “I don’t understand what’s wrong. Is it because he’s a warlock? Because –”

“No, absolutely not,” Alastair quickly said. He never had problems with downworlders, and it annoyed him that the other thought that was the issue. “I didn’t realize you were taking me here,” he sighed, “where are we?”

“That’s because you never asked,” Matthew chided, and he had to give it to him. It was the truth. “We are in Hatfield park, in Hertfordshire. Hatfield House is not far from here. It’s where Queen Elizabeth grew up.”

“Good for her,” he snorted. So they were indeed not far from London.

“You don’t sound too excited,” Matthew said. “Is it the place? Is there too much green? Is –”

Alastair couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m afraid of the heights,” he confessed, ready to be ridiculed by Matthew.

“Bloody hell,” he replied with a neutral expression. He seemed to be genuinely understanding. “I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Alastair frowned, gazing away. The warlock sat on a chair and was sunbathing. “If I’d only asked,” he clenched his fists. He was angry at himself. “Guess it can’t be helped now. I’ll have to think about something else before Friday.”

“Don’t be hard too on yourself, Alastair,” Matthew tried to console him, something he didn’t expect. “I can tell Frank that regrettably, you have changed your mind, and you wish to go back to London. Simple as that. Trust me, he’s not going to hold it over your head or curse you.”

“Warlocks can’t curse people,” Alastair remarked, tilting his head in the direction of the man.

“Not the warlocks you know,” he winked with a smile, but Alastair raised his eyebrows. “Fine, fine, you’re right! Must you always be so fussy?”

Alastair shrugged, and Matthew took it as a sign that he wasn’t going to answer and started walking in the opposite direction, where Frank was probably asleep by now. He came back a couple of minutes later saying that the warlock was nonchalant about their decision not to go on with the balloon ride, and to come back if they changed their minds.

Alastair didn’t talk all the way back to Matthew’s car. He was thinking about the hot air balloon, and how Thomas would react if he took him there. He would love it, he told himself. He would absolutely adore it and talk about it non stop for months. He reckoned Thomas mentioned balloons more than once, when they saw a photograph of one in The Star. He always meant to take him on a ride, but he wasn’t sure he could overcome his fear of the heights.

He was still thinking about this when they got back to the car, hands clenched into fists on his lap and his eyes fixated on nowhere precisely. He was thrown back to reality after Matthew groaned, which reminded him that they still hadn’t left. He wondered how much time had he stared into space.

“If you fixed your hair, I think I’m ready to go back to London,” Alastair muttered.

“I have bad news and good news,” Matthew sighed, his hands crossed on the steering wheel. “Which one do you want to know first?”

“Is this a game? Because I don’t think we have time for those, Fairchild. You better start the car or we won’t even get to London in time for dinner.”

“Well, congratulations! I’m afraid that is the piece of bad news I was going to deliver, but you’re good at guessing,” he chuckled, even if there was nothing to laugh about. Alastair raised an eyebrow, and he continued. “The car won’t start.”

“Say that again,” Alastair said, aggravated.

“The car is out of fuel. It won’t start. Look,” he turned the keys into the ignition, but no sound could be heard from the vehicle. Instead of the usual purr of the engine, there was utter silence.

“Out of fuel? Didn’t you get some before leaving?” Alastair tried not to get too agitated.

“I didn’t think I would need more. I thought it would last,” he shook his head in frustration. “Look, I apologize. There’s nothing we can do but wait. I’ve already called for help.”

Alastair scoffed, and crossed his arms on his chest. “Well, whoever you called better come here soon. I can’t lose more time, I’m already running out of time. I shouldn’t have –” but he bit his lip and he didn’t finish. He wasn’t even angry, but he was a little anxious.

“Asked for my help?” Matthew dared to ask. “Kind of odd, I must say, but I thought someday it might have happened,” he clenched his jaw. “And not because I am a connoisseur of the best entertaining experiences Edwardian society has to offer. We both love Thomas, and we both care for him. You want to make him happy, and so do I. Shouldn’t that be the end goal?”

“It should,” he admitted. “And he is. I’m not being cordial towards you just because you’re one of Tom’s best friends,” he said, and Matthew raised an eyebrow. Alastair ignored him. “I do not harbor any animosity towards you because of the car, in case you’re wondering. I’m just angry at myself.”

“Since we’ll be spending a few hours together before help gets here…” he left the sentence hanging. “I have a fine ear that is very willing to listen, in case you need to vent,” Matthew smiled.

Alastair thought about it for a few seconds. He had already shown Matthew his vulnerable side when he desperately asked for help the night before. He also confessed his fear of the heights, which only Thomas knew about. Telling him more wouldn’t be too confidential, would it? It wouldn’t mean they would become friends.

“Do you ever want to,” Alastair began, “make someone happy but you know what’s standing between your happiness and them is you?” He said bitterly. “This hot air balloon idea you had, Fairchild, was thoughtful. Thomas had expressed the desire to go on one casually in conversation, but I never dared to follow because of my little fear.”

Matthew’s mouth gaped open in disbelief, but it was quickly replaced by a warm smile. “I do know that feeling very well, yes,” he gazed up at the sky, as if he was longing to fix that but could not. “To be honest with you, Thomas also expressed the desire in conversation with me as well, when I told him that I knew a warlock that had a balloon business,” he pointed out. “This is why I brought you here in the lively Hertfordshire,” he cocked his head. “And yes, I also had selfish reasons. I wanted to ride the hot air balloon myself, but alas, I also abhor heights,” he scoffed. “I was hoping you’d force me to ride, even just to see my face turn green like the countryside,” he added, and Alastair started chuckling. “You see, acrophobia is not that uncommon! Even dashing men like me have fears.”

Alastair tried to rein his giggles. It was unlike him to laugh so freely in front of people in general, if they weren’t Thomas or his family. But laughing was freeing, and it made him feel better. He should do it more. “I never thought I’d laugh about that with you, but thanks.”

“Well, there is a first time for everything,” Matthew grinned. “And thanks for what? You’ll have to find something new for Thomas.”

“You still tried to help me,” he said. “Even though it backfired. I appreciate the effort.”

The sound of wheels on the soil alerted them that whoever Matthew had called to take them back and also bring fuel for the car was closer and approaching. Alastair didn’t know how much time had passed ever since they sat waiting. Matthew kept talking about random stuff – some of it eccentric nonsense – and Alastair listened to him. There was nothing better to do, he told himself, and Fairchild’s stories were amusing. Time had to pass.

They got off the Ford to meet their savior. Alastair thought it would be James, because he was Matthew’s parabatai, but instead –

“Thomas, my dear,” Matthew spoke before Alastair could, and walked briskly to his friend. “Why are you here? It was Jesse I sent a fire message to!”

Thomas glanced at Matthew briefly, and acknowledged Alastair. He frowned, not used to the sight of his boyfriend with one of his best friends. He seemed surprised, but his eyes didn’t betray much emotion. “I was with Jesse when he read the message and I offered to come instead. He and father had to go out together. Is there something wrong with me being here?” he asked the blond, but he knew the question was directed at him.

“What about James?” Matthew inquired, which was weird. He knew James wouldn’t be in town today, but Matthew had to know that too, since he sent the message to Jesse first. He was catching himself in his lie, but Thomas ignored that.

“James went to see that mundane sport with Cordelia – what’s the name again? Ah, polo, it was polo.” Thomas replied curtly, not breaking eye contact with Alastair. “Whereas I was free. I had to go to buy groceries with someone this morning, but when I woke up, the bed was cold and empty.”

“Alright, alright, Thomas,” he patted his arm. “I’ll leave you two alone and get the fuel.”

Thomas waited for Matthew to go back to the carriage with which he had arrived, to start speaking. “Why were you two together?”

“He was going to the countryside,” Alastair looked away and sighed. “And I asked him to go with him. He knows a lot of places. Also, I thought I left you a note before I left.”

“You only enjoy the countryside where Cirenworth is,” Thomas replied, rolling his eyes with a grin. He wasn’t definitely angry, just puzzled. And teasing.

“Hamsar-am,” Alastair said. “You know me too well,” he snorted, managing a smile reserved only for his lover. “But I can’t tell you.”

“And I don’t want you to tell me,” he answered with a smile. “I was just messing with you. About the note, too. Which, by the way, was so sweet,” he licked his lips and stroked the side of Alstair’s neck, lingering on his shoulder blade. “We still have to go grocery shopping, though.”

“I would never forget about grocery shopping,” he fixed his gaze on Thomas’ lips and then his hazel eyes, which reminded him of nuts. He loved nuts. “We can go tomorrow morning, since this day is done.”

Thomas nodded, but something caught his eye behind Alastair. “Oh, man. Is that a hot air balloon?” he exclaimed, his hazel eyes filled with excitement.

“Majestic, isn’t it?”

“And it’s descending down there. Can we please take a look, Alastair? I want to see one up close!” He was giddy.

Thomas got excited even for the little things like this balloon and seeing him so happy always put Alastair in a good mood. Thomas took his hand and he dragged him to the field where he and Matthew had been a few hours prior. A group of werewolves had just enjoyed their balloon ride, as Frank the warlock was just wishing them goodbye.

“Do you think we can ride it?” Thomas asked, his eyes beamed at the balloon. He didn’t wait for his reply and went to the warlock directly. “Good morning, sir. Do you offer balloon rides?”

Frank turned with a smirk, and eyed Alastair and then Thomas. “Oh, there’s a third shadowhunter. A friend of Mr. Fairchild too, I suppose? Have you changed your mind, then?”

Thomas glanced at Alastair, and he sighed. “Excuse us,” he told Frank, and pulled his puzzled boyfriend away from the warlock until they were far enough. It looked like deja vu. “I asked Matthew to help me last night,” he took a pause, “about your anniversary gift. And he took me here, to a faraway place, because he thought you would like riding a hot air balloon. And he was right,” he managed a tight smile. “You know I’m afraid of the heights,” Alastair muttered. “But he didn’t know that, and now I have to think about something new.”

“Oh, if we are coming clean now, I also asked your mother about your gift,” he scratched the back of his head and looked away, his cheeks assuming the rosy color of shyness. “She told me you love khoresht-e ghormeh sabzi and that is a dish that is usually made during festivities. But you know I can’t cook, for the love of the Angel,” he chuckled, and Alastair raised his eyebrows. One time, Thomas managed to burn a hard boiled egg, but he was getting better.

“We aren’t perfect,” he said.

“No one is,” Thomas said softly, grabbing his hand. “That is what makes us special. Being afraid of the heights won’t make me love you any less.”

“I’m deeply sorry about that. Perhaps I should try to get past my fear and ride the damn balloon with you, but I don’t think I can.”

“I don’t think I can cook a decent meal either, so I think we are fine,” Thomas smiled. “It isn’t the end of the world. And you shouldn’t if you don’t want to.”

“Are you really sure about that?”

“Positive,” Thomas kissed his cheek. “How about we go back? There is something back home that you need to see.”

“Alright, I’ll be leaving. I left Oscar with the doorman and I need to go back to my apartment,” Matthew announced after he accompanied Thomas and Alastair to Cornwall Gardens.

Alastair proposed they rode in the Lightwood carriage, but Thomas insisted they went in the car so Matthew wouldn’t have to ride alone. There was barely space for two in the Ford, so the ride back wasn’t comfortable. Alastair’s only joy was that thanks to the lack of space, he had to lean on Thomas, which he didn’t seem to mind.

Alastair raised his eyebrows at Matthew, who, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten about the box he had left this morning in Cordelia’s old room. Matthew blinked, probably to make him understand he remembered, but Thomas spoke first.

“No, Math, wait,” Thomas said. “Come, and see what I found too. Perhaps you can help us, since you know so many people.”

Thomas entered the house first, followed by Alastair and Matthew. The two exchanged a quick glance – Alastair was glaring at him, Matthew just shrugged – as Thomas led them into the living room. Alastair exhaled a much held breath but it was short lived when he heard a noise coming from the wooden table. Meowing. Meowing and a bad smell which he possibly identified as animal droppings. Alastair wanted to run, to fly, to hide, but that was also his home, and he couldn’t.

“Are those… kittens?” Matthew chanced, feigning surprise, when Thomas showed the box to them. “How adorable!”

“As you can see, they are indeed. Two strays,” Thomas took the tortoiseshell in his arms and started petting it. Alastair wanted to die. The image of Thomas with a kitty was too much to bear, but he also didn’t know how to explain why the cats were there, if he ever asked. Which, of course, he did. “I have no idea how they got here, though. I was about to leave for my parents’ house when I heard some noise coming from Cordelia’s room, and I found them.”

“How odd. I wonder how they got there. They mustn’t have possibly crawled so young, and carried the box with them,” Matthew observed, and Alastair would’ve rolled his eyes higher than the ceiling if he could. He never met someone who was able to craft such lies and make them believable in the span of a few seconds. Thomas also made a face.

“Come on, stop joking,” Alastair interjected, looking at Matthew briefly. “I brought the cats here, Tom. They are Matthew’s. But I suppose you already know that, since it would have been quite impossible for them to get in on their own.”

“I knew it,” Thomas said. “Cordelia’s room, really? You know that I never go there. If they hadn’t meowed, I couldn’t have found them.”

“That was the aim, Thomas,” Matthew replied. “I only asked Alastair to leave them here because we couldn’t have possibly taken them to Hertfordshire. I would have brought them to my apartment once we returned.”

“Who said they are going back?” Thomas inquired. “Do you stake a claim on the kitties, Math?”

“I – don’t think so,” Matthew revealed. “I can’t keep them. I don’t intend to turn my home into an animal house. Oscar is enough for me. I planned to take them to the London Institute, since they would have the space to thrive. Even though I don’t think Uncle Will loves cats that much. Maybe, if I asked Jesse, he could convince him –” Alastair cleared his throat. “Sorry, I was rambling. Anyway, no, Tom. I do not stake any claim on these little cuties. Feel free to keep them or give them up for adoption. Just find them a good family who won’t throw them away.”

“Good, because I think I’ve just found them a family,” he confessed happily, eyeying Alastair, whose heart started beating faster in his chest. “What do you say, Alastair? Do you think you can accept these two kitties into our house?”

Alastair felt his cheeks burning. He couldn’t contain his own happiness when Thomas openly talked about them as a family in front of a crowd (there was only Matthew there with them, but still). “There is enough space for two kitties here, that’s for sure,” he grinned, his eyes only for his boyfriend.

“Then they are officially ours,” he looked down at the kitty.

They ended up naming the two cats Ra and Horus like two of the most important Egyptian gods. This put Alastair in a good mood, and he decided to leave the hot air balloon fiasco behind him. And so did Thomas with the Persian dish.

“I will cook khoresht-e ghormeh sabzi the day after tomorrow,” Alastair announced that evening, when they were on the rug playing with the kitties. “Since it is going to be an important day for us and you’re not going to make that for me.”

“I planned to ask Risa,” Thomas confessed. “But no, I don’t think I can. I will ask somebody to go on the balloon ride with me.”

“Fair enough. My fear shouldn’t stop you from doing these activities, but for the love of the Angel, be careful,” he warned.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Let’s say Ra and Horus are our gifts, what’s that sound?”

“Good,” Alastair smiled, and he couldn’t help but kiss his boyfriend on the rug, the cat making meows of protest. “Let’s hope they don’t develop an Aedipus complex,” he added, and Thomas couldn’t help but laugh.

Fairchild. We decided that the cats, now officially named Ra and Horus, will be our anniversary gift to each other. Just wanted to let you know for no other reason than to thank you. I thought keeping them here was a bad idea, but it turned out better than expected. Thomas says to come with Oscar if you want them to meet so they can be friends. And next time we go to Cirenworth, you could come with him to visit. You don’t have to respond to this message.

Matthew received the fire message right when he was lounging on his bed with Oscar and smiled. Were they friends now? He didn’t know. He just knew that, in spite of everything, he had enjoyed spending a day with Alastair Carstairs and to his surprise, he thought they also had things in common. He would definitely bring Oscar to Cornwall Gardens to become Ra and Horus’ friend and would gladly accept an invitation to Cirenworth.

Who said that cats and dogs couldn’t be friends?

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