#i love this chapter aksjhsdk

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Unravel (17/20)

Work Summary: Antisepticeye has a plan to destroy Darkiplier, steal his power, and take over everything - and he might just succeed. What starts with Yandereplier going missing evolves into a messy web of betrayal and grief, of blood and tears, of old wounds and new faces. However this ends, Ego Inc. will never be the same again. Chapter Summary: Things are finally starting to improve at Ego Inc., but there’s still more to do to prepare for Anti’s return - including a return to a place thought lost, for a person thought gone. Warnings: None

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Enjoy!

~

It happens only a day after Google, Chrome, and Bing finally finish repairing Oliver and Plus. After this, there’s truly nothing left to do but wait for something to happen. Many days have passed since the battle with Anti and his puppets, and the thought of him coming back still looms large. Surely Jackie and Marvin are alive again by now, given their popularity.

But before Anti can return, something else happens instead.

One day after Oliver and Plus are repaired, Chrome is lingering in the workshop anyway, ostensibly creating some small gadget but more aware of his brothers than the metalwork in his hands. He is impatient as he always is. Google is outside the workshop using a video game for distraction, and Chrome has tried that, but felt the need to be close to his brothers. Maybe a part of him knew what would happen, maybe his internal connections to his brothers let him know that something was going to change.

Whatever the reason, Chrome is in the room when Plus wakes up.

His eyes shoot open, and his whole system stutters in what would be a gasp if he were human. But Plus has no real need for air, so instead, he’s seized by a body-wide glitch, but only for a moment. In the next, he is sitting up, astonished, frozen in place by the shock of being alive.

He glances around, and sees Oliver, still dead. He sees Chrome, also frozen, staring at Plus in amazement, the way early man might’ve stared at the sunrise. For many long moments, nothing happens. Both are in too much shock. But it passes before long, as memories start to flood into Plus, and emotion starts to flood into Chrome.

“Green,” Chrome gasps, walking towards his brother. Walking, but then running.

“Red,” Plus says back, voice just as strained, unable to get out anything else before Chrome slams into him, squeezing him hard enough to crush if he were a human.

Plus sobs, tears falling out of him without his control, hands clinging to Chrome’s shirt, looking for grounding. Chrome is crying too, as he has done many times in the recent past, but this time it feels different. It still hurts, but the hurt is warm, red-hot with love and joy that he has his twin back.

It’s at that moment that Google, attracted by the noise (and immediately recognizing the sound of his once-dead brother’s tears) slams open the door of the workshop, too single-minded to care about damaging it. Google sees the pair of them, and his core thrums with that same sort of joyful pain that Chrome is feeling too, but he sees something else just beyond them that makes his eyes go huge. Chrome and Plus look at Google and turn to track his gaze.

In their reunion, they didn’t notice Oliver sit up in his own stretcher, hand over his core at the memory of it being ripped from him, gasping. He feels eyes on him and looks up, sees his brothers staring.

“Guys?” he whimpers, already teary-eyed, already strained, already rendered quiet from the sobs building in his throat.

Google’s by him so fast it’s like he teleported, holding him close, and Oliver feels the tears of his stoic, cool-headed big brother seep into his hair. That’s all he needs to start crying too, much harder, much messier than all four of his brothers. He glitches, not as bad as Plus did, but repeatedly, emotions running so high that even his sophisticated metal cortex can barely process them.

Each pair comes together, in a circle of equal parts relief and joy, terror and regret, pain, love.

“I’m sorry,” Chrome sobs, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–”

“I-It’s not, no-o-ot–” Oliver tries to say, but can’t get through his sentence for glitching.

“Ollie’s right, i-it wasn’t your fault,” Plus explains and affirms, leaning forward and letting his forehead touch Chrome’s.

“We’re okay,” Google murmurs, the only one not talking through sobs, though his voice is still warped from tears. He kisses each brother’s head. “We’re all okay now.”

He’s hyper-intelligent, they all are, yet none of them can think of anything more to say. It’s so very human, the way their emotions are clogging their throats and scrambling their thoughts, but none of them care. Their family is whole again, and nothing else matters.

The news that Oliver and Plus are alive spreads fast, and the egos are overjoyed for them, relieved to have something good to break through the fear and despair they’ve all been feeling, happy to have Plus and Oliver back, glad beyond words that they did not fade away into the ether.

The Host is happy for them too, he supposes.

As happy as he can be, while Dr. Iplier remains dead. Google stitched him up days ago, yet he still hasn’t woken. Oliver and Plus woke up immediately after being fixed, but here is Dr. Iplier, body whole, yet without a soul to call it home.

Host is with him now, in Dr. Iplier’s room and sitting at his bedside, as he always is lately. He only ever leaves him to sleep in his own room (he did try to sleep alongside Dr. Iplier once, but he was too cold and too still, and it provided Host no comfort). He only ever stays away when his despair prevents him from getting out of bed. Yandere at least has Chrome to concern himself with, and Yancy and Wilford to turn to when he desires a break from staring at Dr. Iplier’s motionless face, and is thus here less often than Host is.

But Host has no one else. Dr. Iplier is his all. It hurts Host so desperately to be in the room with him, to hear the silence where there should be breath, to feel how much colder Dr. Iplier’s hands are than they should be. But what else can he do? He loves Dr. Iplier, he can’t stay away. If Dr. Iplier faded away while Host wasn’t with him, Host would never forgive himself for not being there. He wonders if this was how Dr. Iplier felt when The Author died, when he was waiting and hoping for him to wake, dreading the thought of him disappearing, consumed by paranoia and terror and slow, aching agony. Host would not wish this feeling on even Dark.

But he wishes it on Anti, if only the man had someone he loved enough to be hurt by. Host is only ever not numb or depressed when he thinks about Anti, no doubt annoyed at the last battle’s stalemate but otherwise content. Meanwhile, here is Host, dying the slow death of grief. When Anti ripped out Dr. Iplier’s heart, he ripped out Host’s heart, too.

There’s a meeting today. Host was summoned. He does not care. He will stay here, by his doctor, because now that Oliver and Plus have woken, it’s only a matter of time before Dr. Iplier either wakes or fades. No matter which it is, Host will be there for it. He can’t help but narrate every so often, just so he can visualize Dr. Iplier and make sure he isn’t going transparent. He’d probably feel it if it began to happen, feel Dr. Iplier’s hand become incorporeal in his. But he doesn’t want to take the risk, so he narrates, even as it pains him to see his love this way. He used to talk more, used to whisper to Dr. Iplier, tell him how missed he was, how loved, how desperately needed. But Host has run out of things to say, and he finds himself always exhausted, too tired to speak much at all. He used to cry, but he can’t muster it now. His eyes bleed anyway, enough to have Google changing his bandages every day, but Host never sobs, and his voice, though raspy and quiet, does not waver with tears. Were Host human, he would surely have bled out a hundred times over since Dr. Iplier was killed.

But he will stay, stay until Dr. Iplier comes back to him or leaves him forever, and either way, he will bleed out a hundred times more.

At least, that is his plan, until Wilford comes into the room after the meeting Host skipped.

Host doesn’t need his eyes to know it’s Wilford. His steps are heavy, louder than they need to be, but springy in a way that the similarly weighty steps of the androids aren’t. Wilford’s not alone either; feather-light steps come behind him, suggesting a small stature and subdued manner, yet with a similar bounce to them as Wilford’s. But Host mainly recognizes Yandere’s steps from all the times he’s heard them in the recent past. Wilford and Yandere come into the room, and one of them (probably Yandere) closes the door behind them.

“Host,” Wilford begins, “We missed you at the meeting.”

Host lets out a noncommittal mumble. 

“We have…” Wilford starts, unsure of the words to use, “We have a plan, something we want to do to help us with Anti and help bring back Dark. But we need you to help us do it.”

“What exactly is this plan?” Host asks. He doesn’t direct his head towards Wilford’s voice, or really move at all, but he is somewhat curious. As current second-in-command, he supposes it’s for the best that he cares.

“Well, Celine has gotten a bit…restless, lately,” Wilford says, and Host can hear the tension and frustration in his tone. “She’s been going through Dark’s office, looking for anything useful. Damien wasn’t aware of anything there, he said as much, but Celine looked anyway, and she found something.”

Host isn’t surprised to hear about Celine’s restlessness. The emotions between Wilford and Celine were so thick in the air that Host could sense them without even narrating, and it had only seemed to get more intense the longer Wilford helped Celine develop her magic. Though Host was rarely with them while they trained, he could sense the romantic turmoil they were feeling even when he encountered them separately. Wilford certainly had it more deeply, but Celine had love for Wilford too, Host could tell. Maybe she still does, but something happened not very long ago that changed the air between them. Their emotions around each other now are much more subdued, sadder, solemn, frustrated. Host doesn’t know what happened, but whatever it was, it affected them both greatly, apparently enough to make Celine look for an escape.

“What did she find?” Host asks.

“Notes. About…” Wilford huffs out. “About the manor. And a map. Dark…” Wilford huffs again, sadder and slower. “Dark knew where it was this whole time.”

Host sits up straighter at that. It astonishes him, that the manor exists out there, the pure fact of it, and then the fact that Dark knew about it, and finally the knowledge that Dark kept it a secret. But once the initial shock wears off, he finds it to be unsurprising. Of course the manor exists, why wouldn’t it, given the magic it held? And if it exists, it follows that Dark would be the one to find it, given his deep connection to the place. The fact that he hid it is harder to swallow. Host is, frankly, amazed that he never noticed what Dark was hiding this whole time. But then, he always knew Dark kept secrets, kept things close to his chest. Host never cared to reveal them because he doubted it would lead to anything useful. If anything it would only draw Dark’s ire, the last thing Host wanted. Wilford, in his normal less-than-lucid state, would have never sought out the manor or questioned if Dark knew about it. There was no one brave enough or clever enough to figure out what Dark was hiding…no one until Celine, herself a part of Dark.

Host turns his body to Wilford and angles his head to face where his voice is coming from, though he remains seated with a hand grasping Dr. Iplier’s.

“That is quite the revelation.” An understatement, but Host is still reeling. “Do you know why Dark kept this to himself?”

“From his notes, and from knowing him, it seems like he was worried about setting off Actor. He’s never bothered us, even with all of Mark’s projects, and maybe messing with the manor could put him on our paths again.”

Host can understand that. All these years, none of them knew if Actor could pop back up again, and what kind of havoc he’d cause if he did. And Dark, one of the very few who knew firsthand what he was capable of, would have wanted to keep him contained. Host can imagine Dark trying to figure out how to root Actor out, how to kill him, but failing, and thus resolving to keep the manor hidden and secret so no one could set him free. All the more reason not to tell anyone about the manor, lest some curious or adventurous younger ego find it and release Actor by accident.

All that considered, Host can tell in Wilford’s voice that there’s more to the situation. He didn’t just come to relay information to Host, he said there was a plan.

“But…?” Host prompts Wilford.

“But…Actor’s not the only one still trapped in the manor. The District Attorney’s there, too. They’re stuck there, but Celine thinks that if we freed them, they could help us reform Dark. Since there’s always been the problem of not having his body anymore…maybe this would help us get it. And who knows what sort of power the DA could have now; that could help us, too.”

Host considers this. That makes sense, too; DA was kicked out of their own body and left in the manor’s mirror, by all accounts they could still be there. And the DA is much less feared than Actor. They’re an audience insert, and though Mark’s audience is fickle and fanatical in equal measure, the community is bursting with joy and humor and love for Mark and his creations. If the DA is still in the manor, they’d be as much of an ally to the egos as Actor is an enemy. The DA could be a huge help in defeating Anti and bringing back Dark…but getting the DA could free Actor. And Host still doesn’t know why his help is needed.

“The Host is intrigued,” Host admits, “But he wonders what his part in this is meant to be.”

Wilford sighs. Not the short huffs he made before, but something a little longer. Yandere makes the first sound he’s made since he closed the door earlier – fidgeting on his feet, shuffling quietly.

“I need your vote on whether or not we try to free the DA, for one thing,” Wilford says, “And, well…if we do go get them, Bim and I are going, but we might not be enough. You’re nearly as strong a reality-bender as I am. So you would have to come–”

“No.” Host turns away from Wilford in an instant, refocusing himself towards Dr. Iplier’s bed. “The Host is not going anywhere.”

“Host, come on–”

“The Actor could do much worse to us than Antisepticeye if he was able to get free of the manor. We cannot risk that, not for the reward of a potential body for Dark. Either way, The Host is staying with Dr. Iplier.”

“Host.” Wilford is annoyed, his voice is short. “This could be the edge we need against Anti, and we can’t just not stop him. We have to try every option. We already failed against him once, we can’t afford to fail again.”

“There is no “we” failed,” Host snarks, “The Host recalls using his narration to salvage the fight and stop Anti from causing more deaths. Host has earned the right to sit this out.” He clenches Dr. Iplier’s hand tighter. “Oliver and Plus have woken up. Dr. Iplier could wake up or fade away at any second. Host cannot leave him now.”

“Host, I hate to play this card, but you’re second in command right now. You have more than just Doc to think about.”

“Convenient, then, that your role and the situation we’re all in allows you to only think about Dark.”

“That’s not the same thing and you know it!”

“Answer this, Wilford,” Host intones, voice dropping lower, “If you could return to the past, return to when Dark was still here, in the clinic, healing from his burns, would you have left his side, knowing what you know now?”

Host can imagine Wilford opening his mouth and closing it again, but he doesn’t narrate, doesn’t know for sure if that’s what Wilford is doing. But he hears no good retort, only a long pause, followed by an angry growl. Wilford stomps out of the room, opening the door so roughly it slams the opposite wall.

But Host does not hear a second set of footsteps follow him out. All is quiet for a moment.

“The Host knows that Yandere is still here,” Host says. His voice is not so low, now. Only tired, as it always seems to be.

“Yeah,” Yandere acknowledges. He moves, but only to shut the door of the room once again. He doesn’t leave.

“Why have you stayed? If Wilford could not convince Host to cooperate, why do you think you can?”

“I…” Yandere steps closer. “Well, I get where you’re coming from, at least.” His footsteps stop when he’s right beside Host, right at Dr. Iplier’s bedside with him. “I love Shishi, too.” Yandere’s voice is suddenly wobbly.

Instead of responding, Host narrates to himself, and sees Dr. Iplier’s face in his mind’s eye. He wishes every time that this time might be the time he sees color flow back into his doctor’s cheeks, sees his eyes open, hears him breathe, feels his hand squeeze Host’s hand back. But this time is like every other, Dr. Iplier seems no closer to waking, but no closer to eternal death.

“Katarite-san, I know you miss Shishi,” Yandere whispers, too choked up to speak more loudly, “I miss him too, and I miss Yami, I know how you feel. I know how it feels to…to lose your person.” Yandere sniffles. He must be crying now. “I don’t know Shishi as well as you do, b-but I know he…he’d hate to see you like this. And h-he’d want you to help us beat Anti. He’d want you to help fix what he started.”

“Is that how you think of him? Of this?”

“N-Not really, but he would. You know he would.”

Yandere has a point. God, Dr. Iplier would despair, wouldn’t he, if he could see Host now? If he saw how many meals Host has skipped, how much sleep he’s lost, how sad and empty and angry he’s been. And Dr. Iplier hated himself for the lies he told, for the awful things he did to create the situation the egos are in. He’d be begging Host to help, begging Host to go with Bim and Wilford to get the DA and get a step closer to fixing things.

But. Host feels glued to his chair before Dr. Iplier’s bed. How could he leave him now? What if he fades? It may be selfish, but Host cares more about his doctor than anything else now. Without Dr. Iplier, Host has nothing. If Dr. Iplier disappears without Host there, the regret will destroy Host for the rest of his life.

“Host can’t leave him,” Host whispers. His voice is low again, not angry and cutting, but quiet, sad, desperate.

“I’ll be here,” Yandere says. He sniffles again, but Host can hear the brush of his hands as he wipes his face, hear him take determined breaths to stop weeping. “Katarite-san, if you go with Wil and Bim-san then I swear I’ll stay right here and tell you as soon as anything changes. I know how to contact you, and I promise you I will if something happens. And Wil could teleport you back here in an instant.”

It’s an offer anyone could make. An offer that Host should refuse. Fading is often fast; by the time Host receives the message, it could already be too late, even with Wilford’s teleportation. But it’s not anyone making this offer, it’s Yandere. Yandere, who’s already lost the person he loves most. Yandere, who doesn’t love Dr. Iplier the same way Host does, but loves him just as fiercely. Yandere, who understands more than anyone could the full gravity of what’s at stake, who understands exactly what Host has to lose. Yandere, who is making this offer with the utmost sincerity, who would take it more seriously than anyone else could. Yandere, who has reminded Host of what Dr. Iplier would choose for Host if he were able.

All of these things play a part into why Host thinks for many long moments, but ultimately sighs.

“Fine.”

“You – wait, you’re gonna…?”

“The Host will go with Wilford and Bim to the manor, if you promise to stay with Dr. Iplier, and to call Host if anything at all changes.”

“I promise, Katarite-san, on my life!”

Host believes him. Before getting up, he begins to narrate to himself, under his breath. Maybe Yandere can hear him, but if so, it would be just barely.

“In front of Host lies Dr. Iplier, as still as he ever is, as cold and absent as he’s been for many days. His expression is neutral, empty. But he is still Host’s doctor. Host can imagine now exactly how his features would appear if they sprang to life in this instant. It is this image that he hopes to ingrain in his mind, just in case.” Host leans forward, closer to Dr. Iplier, lays a hand on his cold cheek. “Host asks his doctor to stay, just a while longer, at least until Host can return to him.” He leans further, until his lips are a breath away from Dr. Iplier’s forehead. “I love you,” he says, so quiet he hardly hears himself, before closing the gap and kissing Dr. Iplier’s forehead. He lingers there for a moment, but eventually forces himself to pull away and stand.

He doesn’t trust his voice any longer, and instead moves to leave the room (Dr. Iplier’s room is familiar enough to him that he needs no words to navigate). He hears Yandere take his earlier seat, hears him get in the chair and scoot it a little bit closer. Host finds Yandere hard to trust in most respects, but he trusts him now, with this.

Host finds Wilford (and Bim, and Damien and Celine) in his studio, no longer so angry at Host’s earlier refusal but pensive and worried. Host isn’t noticed right away, so he lingers where he is for a moment, observing.

“Well, even if Host doesn’t want to go, can’t we just go on our own?” asks Bim, anxious, but whether he’s more anxious about confronting the manor without Host or about the tension in the air of the studio, Host can’t tell.

“Host wasn’t much a fan of us going anyway,” Wilford admits. Host can tell he’s biting his thumbnail through his words; a nervous habit he’s had for a long time but one that he rarely feels enough nerves to do. “It might have been an excuse so he didn’t have to leave Doc, but he has a point. I mean, Dark was worried enough about Actor to let this lie for so long…” He sighs. “It’s still so hard to believe.”

“It’s hard to believe you didn’t find it sooner, Damien,” says Celine, sharp. “Dark’s office has been yours since you woke up, and in all your effort to figure things out here, you couldn’t find what I found in a few days?”

“I’m not a snoop,” Damien mutters, “What are you trying to say?”

“Celine–” Wilford starts, not quite warning, but almost pleading with her.

“Maybe you didn’t want to find anything to help get Dark back,” she says, “You never seem very excited about the prospect in meetings.”

“And you are?” Damien scoffs.

“I understand what has to be done,” Celine snaps, “I always have. And you’ve always been in denial.”

“Celine,” Wilford says again, still pleading.

“That’s hardly fair!” Damien yells. By the sound of it, he gets up from the chair he was sitting in. “You can’t seriously call what I was doing back then “denial,” not when you were trying so hard to keep me there!”

“Well, I’m not trying anymore!” Celine yells back. Host gets the sense she’d stand as well if she could, but as it is, her wheels click, and a breath of narration tells Host that she moves right up to Damien to get in his face, even though their eye levels don’t match. “I’m not trying to keep you from understanding anything or hiding the truth anymore, so what’s your excuse for ignoring it this time??”

“Host! How long have you been here?” Bim suddenly exclaims.

Even without narration, Host feels the atmosphere of the room change as the others notice his presence.

“Host?” Wilford asks. “Are you…?”

“The sooner we go to the manor and find the DA,” Host says, “The sooner Host can come back to Dr. Iplier.”

“Okay. Okay!” Bim says, trying to hype himself up for the trip.

“Alright then,” Wilford says, clearly wondering what prompted the change of heart but not wanting to ask and risk Host changing his mind. “Let’s go. There was a photo of the place in Dark’s notes, so I can teleport us there easy.” He pauses, and Host narrates enough to see Wilford turn towards Damien and Celine. “Are you two…good?”

“Good enough,” Damien mutters, sullen. Celine says nothing.

“Alright,” Wilford says awkwardly, not believing him but not about to push it.

In the next moment, Host is weightless, and the smell of cotton candy fills his nose. In the moment after, his feet hit the ground and he nearly stumbles.

Under his shoes is grass, Host can feel the bounce of the earth. The sun is shining, the breeze is light. He hears the gentle rustling of tree branches in the wind. He wonders where exactly they are. Still in California, surely, but Host can’t know for sure. The place sounds and feels nearly idyllic. But Wilford and Bim are silent, aside from the awed gasp they each let out.

“Holy shit,” says Bim.

“Bully,” breathes Wilford.

Host narrates.

“Before the three men is the manor, the place where Wilford and Dark were made. It looks as old as it is; the walls are crumbling, moss runs up the stone, the windows are broken with cobwebs replacing panes of glass. Yet it is huge, it towers over the landscape, and despite the bright sun surrounding the group, all three feel a chill staring up at it. Though they came here with a purpose, they hardly want to go inside. The manor is stirring something in their blood, as if their very bones know the significance of this place.”

“We’re gonna have to go in eventually,” says Bim, though he does not move.

A long pause. Though Host is still eager to finish the task at hand and return to Dr. Iplier, he finds he’s much less eager to go into the manor. The building should be benign, now; Dark’s aura is no longer there, after all. But there’s still magic emanating from it, so strong that even Bim should be able to feel it. Magic that is perhaps keeping both the DA and Actor contained. Instinctually, Host doesn’t want to disturb it.

“Come on, then!” Wilford suddenly says, brisk and sharp, practically storming off to the manor’s front door. Bim and Host follow.

Wilford hardly has to push the door; it’s so frail and the wood so rotted that it nearly opens itself, and the group step onto the cracked tile of the entryway. Host narrates to himself as the others look around.

“This room was grand, once. The ceiling is still high, the chandelier still hangs, the furniture still exists. But much like the outside of the manor, the room too shows the years it’s sat here abandoned. The fabric of the couches are ragged and rotting, the chandelier is broken and useless, the ceiling has holes that let sunlight leak through. The balcony above is sagging under its own weight, the wood railing is splintered and cracked. The mirror at the other end of the room is cracked in a familiar pattern, and it and the table before it are covered in dust. Bim is looking at the place with amazement and only a little disgust at the mold and rot. Wilford wanders about as if in a trance, taken in by memory.”

“Shoot, are you gonna be okay, Wil?” Bim asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wilford replies absently, “Just…taking a look at the place, is all.” Host’s narration shows Wilford ending up at the mirror and laying a hand on the table in front of it, taking no notice of the dust. “It’s funny, the place doesn’t feel so…so ominous anymore.”

“You sure about that?” Bim mutters, no doubt eyeing the decay of the space.

“The aura’s not here anymore,” Wilford murmurs, almost sadly. “This place is just a building, now.”

“Nearly,” Host says, “The manor is still a magical centerpoint, Host can feel it. It was marked by what happened here, and there are forces here still at play, however subtle.”

“That would explain how it’s managed to go undisturbed so long,” Bim muses, “It’d probably have a few squatters otherwise.”

“Makes sense,” Wilford says, still quiet, and – Host guesses and confirms – still looking at the mirror.

Host resumes a slow walk around the ground floor of the manor, narrating to himself as he goes. He takes in the scenery, the rays of light coming through the windows and holes in the walls, the peeling wallpaper, the dust, the mold – the cracks in the tile and steps down that threaten to trip him up. Even now, the manor has its tricks. Host has to wonder what happened to the chef, the butler, the groundskeeper, whether they escaped with their lives somehow or if the manor subsumed them like it did Actor and the DA. He figures that if one of them was still here his sharp ears would’ve heard them by now. As it is, there is little sound at all, aside from birds chirping outside, the occasional wind blowing through the decaying walls, and the soft footsteps of himself and the others. Host isn’t quite sure what he’s searching for, but he knows he’ll understand it when he finds it. The magic in the air is still humming at a constant flow, never seeming to increase or decrease.

Host narrates, trying to see if Wilford or Bim have found anything. Bim is at the foot of the staircase, regarding the dark, rotten steps with trepidation, probably trying to decide if it’s safe enough to climb. Wilford hasn’t moved from before the mirror, still staring at it intently. His gaze is no longer wistful, his brow is slightly furrowed. Host makes his way to him, planning to ask him what he’s noticed, but Wilford yells out in shock before he can.

Host nearly jumps at the sudden noise, and hears the crash of Wilford falling backwards.

“Wil??” cries Bim, rushing from the staircase to help him up, “What happened, are you okay!?” Host continues to Wilford more calmly.

“I’m fine,” Wilford says, “The mirror, I saw something moving in it, I saw–” He cuts off.

“Oh my god,” Bim gasps.

Host can already sense something, he already feels something from the mirror, a magical energy he’s never found before, one that he can’t quite pinpoint. Its resonance matched the rest of the manor earlier, but its signature is much clearer now. Once again, he narrates.

“In the mirror, obscured by the dust but unmistakable, is a person. Surely, it is the DA, but…The Host cannot tell for certain. The person in the mirror is difficult to make out, their features are indistinguishable, only a human form is visible. Whoever they are, The Host feels their eyes on him, though he – and the others – cannot see them. They are being blocked out by more than dust, the mirror seems deeper than the pane of broken glass that comprises it. The person in the mirror radiates power, unlike Host’s, unlike Wilford’s, unlike Bim’s, unlike even Dark’s or Celine’s.”

“It’s gotta be the DA!” Bim cries. He pauses. “Unless it’s Actor. Oh shit, what if it’s Actor?”

“Old friend?” Wilford asks, having gotten up from the ground and approached the mirror again, “Is that you in there?” His gaze is far away.

“Wil, hold on a minute,” Bim frets.

“Whether it’s DA or Actor or someone else there,” Host says, “Wilford may be the best person to call them forward enough to be discernible.” 

“But what if it is the Actor??”

“We knew that would be a possibility, did we not? We can’t go back now.”

Something in Host tells him not to be worried, even as Wilford lays a hand on the mirror, fingers spread across the cracks, making marks in the dust.

“Come out here,” Wilford murmurs, “It’s been so long, and…and there’s so much I want to say to you.”

Host whispers his narration so as not to distract Wilford. In his mind’s eye, he sees some fog clear away from within the mirror, and the figure comes closer.

“It is you,” Wilford says, shoulders drooping with relief, “Of course it’s you, who else would be in this mirror?”

“Why do they…” Bim squints, “Why…why do they look like that?”

Host furrows his brow, narrating louder as he concentrates.

“It is the DA in the mirror, now closer to the surface, fully visible as they are, but their presence provides no clarity. Their appearance shifts every second, features changing every moment. A few forms seem clearest, however. One is brown hair, long enough to brush at their ears and sweep across their forehead, brown eyes deep enough to drown in, and skin so white it’s almost gray. The other two forms are familiar to the group looking upon them. One resembles Amy Nelson, but younger, hair curled and dyed blonde instead of straight and dark brown. One resembles Ethan Nestor, again younger, hair swooped up and bright blue like it used to be years ago. Each form represents…represents the different parts that make up the DA. Amy and Ethan, in part, portrayed them in the videos that made them, but the DA is also a blank canvas, the audience insert. The DA is everyone, no one, themself. The DA stands in the mirror, mouth in a line. They must see the group in front of them, but they make no move, say no words.”

“Oh,” Bim murmurs, awed. “Wow.”

“Friend,” Wilford whispers, tears in his eyes, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Host knows through his own whispers that the DA looks at Wilford, gaze piercing.

“It happened a lifetime ago,” says the DA – at least, they seem to; their mouth doesn’t open, their throat doesn’t move, but their voice is audible all the same. “My forgiveness must mean little. But you have it, William.” Their words are resonant and echoing, deep and high, sharp and soft, loud and quiet in equal measure, as varied as their face.

Wilford sniffles, laughs a little.

“That’s not my name anymore.”

“Of course, apologies. You’ve been Wilford longer than you’ve been William.”

“What about you?” Bim asks. “What’s your name? We’ve just been calling you the DA, but…”

“My name has been lost to time. I have none now.”

Host would expect a person to say something like that with great sadness, but the DA presents it as neutral fact, without emotion.

“We can’t just call you the DA,” Host muses, “That’s hardly a proper name to refer to a person with.”

“I remember their name!” Wilford insists. “They’re…they’re District Attorney…oh, it’s in there somewhere…”

“It isn’t,” the DA says, still matter-of-fact. “My name is gone. I may not have had one at all.”

That much could be true. The DA is an ego, after all, and if Mark didn’t give them a name and the fans couldn’t agree on one, then the DA has nothing but their title.

“What should we call them, then?” Bim asks. “Maybe Daniel? Or Danielle, it could be both at once.”

“That’s boring,” Wilford scoffs. “They deserve a name with more pizazz!”

“Dahlia?” Host offers.

“Maybe. But it’s so frilly, there’s not enough power in it.”

“Darcy?” Bim suggests.

“That’s more powerful, but still too frilly! It doesn’t suit them at all!”

“You said you wanted pizzazz!”

“Yes, but not fancy! The DA wasn’t prim and proper back in the day, a fancy name would be weird!”

Host notes with some amusement that DA, the subject of this discussion, is watching silently, with a slight look of bewilderment.

“Well, what ideas do you have?” Bim sniffs at Wilford.

“Maybe we can call themmmmm…” Wilford thinks. “Dana!” He exclaims. “Dana, there’s a good name. Short and simple but not boring, very handsome and/or beautiful.”

“Perhaps we should ask DA what they think?” Host says with a slight grin.

Bim and Wilford look at the DA expectantly. They are silent for another long moment before speaking.

“Dana is fine,” they say.

Host can practically feel Wilford’s triumphant grin, no narration needed.

“So, now what?” Bim asks no one in particular.

“Now we get them out of the mirror!” Wilford says.

“Hm,” Dana says. For once, their voice has emotion: a touch of discomfort.

“Do you wish to stay in the mirror?” Host asks.

“I’m not overly attached to this realm,” Dana explains, “But I do not wish to re-enter the surface. It has been too long, and there is nothing for me out there.”

“What!?” Wilford exclaims. “But there is! There’s a whole building full of egos for you to meet, and, well, we need you.”

“For what reason?”

“It’s a long story,” Wilford sighs, “But basically, an enemy of ours killed Darkiplier and took his aura. He’s killed a few of us with it, plus a whole bunch of other people, and he’s looking to kill us all. We need help to stop him, and we need help to reform Dark.”

Dana outright sneers at that, so vitriolic that Host’s voice wavers just a bit as he narrates it and Bim takes a step back.

“It is Dark’s fault that I have become this,” Dana says, voice low and angry. “Dark abandoned me here, when he had every opportunity to free me. I used to beg him to release me, to use his power to undo what he did and allow me to exist again. He rebuffed, he rebuked, he ignored.”

“But I thought you didn’t want to leave anymore?” Bim asks, confused.

“Just because I’m making that choice now doesn’t mean it should’ve been my only choice. At one time I would not have chosen this. But too much time has passed, Dark has taken too much. I will not return, and I will certainly not return for Dark.”

“But it’s not just about Dark!” Wilford insists, “There’s so many egos who’d love to meet you and who need your help, and I bet you’d get along great with them! And Damien and Celine are here right now, you’d get a chance to see them again!”

Dana straightens at that, but almost immediately deflates again.

“What is the point of seeing them again if they’re meant to become Dark again?” they mutter. “I have little affection for Celine as it is, but Damien…” They look away. “I cannot see him again, if he will be forced to leave so soon.”

Host doesn’t need any further narration to read into that tone, to understand Dana’s averted gaze. It’s love, Host can see it clearly.

“Even without the other egos you could meet, even ignoring the stuff with Dark,” Bim says, “Wouldn’t it be nice to leave the mirror? To exist out in the world?” Bim gestures out towards the door he and the others came in. “The weather’s so nice outside the manor, it’s nice back in Los Angeles where we live. Outside the mirror you can walk around, eat, play a video game or a sport, talk to someone, do something. If I were you I’d be bored out of my skull!”

“You are not me,” Dana says, voice cold. “I have no need of the outside. I do not wish to see how the world has moved on without me. I have no interest in anything offered there. I am not content, but I will never be. I will stay here, rather than expend effort to feel the same as always, or worse.”

No one seems to know what to say to that. Host’s narration tells him that Bim is awkward, staring at the ground and fidgeting, trying to think of something to say. Wilford is crestfallen, sad at meeting his old friend and having said friend want to stay put, where they can’t help the other egos. If no one says anything, Dana will retreat back into the mirror, and they will be unlikely to return if called.

Host steps forward, past Wilford and Bim, closer to the mirror.

“The Host does not understand how Dana feels,” Host begins. “He doesn’t know what it’s like to be trapped and stuck for a hundred years, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be so demoralized that freedom no longer feels like a cure.” Host breathes in. “But Host does know, very well, what it’s like to be changed. He understands how it feels to be subject to forces beyond one’s control, to be irrevocably damaged.” He can’t stop himself from adjusting the bandage around his eyes. “Host imagines that you were not always the person before us now. Host was also not always the man you see. Change of this sort is painful, horrible, unfair. Host understands this.”

Host pauses, in case Dana has anything to say. They remain silent, but Host can feel their eyes, knows they’re still there. He continues.

“The Host also knows how it feels to love as deeply as you appear to.” His breath hitches just slightly. “Host has not had a hundred years to love another person, but he has had two lifetimes, and he knows what it’s like to have a person be one’s world. He knows how it feels to lose that person. But…” Host ducks his head, wills himself not to sob. “But Host is here because he knows that this is what his love would want. He died trying to fix his mistake, the mistake that led to Dark being destroyed. He would’ve wanted Host to press on looking for solutions, and so, Host is here, pleading with you.” Host lifts his head again. He can feel blood streaming down his cheeks. “If where you end up matters so little, then Host asks you to picture what your love would want. Host asks you to decide if your love would want you to be this miserable, or if he would want you to have a chance to start over, to have happiness. And if that is too selfless for you, Host wonders if you could be convinced to leave the mirror to see your love again, even if only for a short time, even if it reopens the pain of loss when he goes.” Host smiles sadly. “If Host had to make that choice, he would choose it every time. He would give anything at all to see the man he loves again, even if not forever. He suspects that, somewhere deep within, you might feel the same.”

A long silence stretches. Host hardly dares to break the silence with narration, but he does, just the slightest breath of volume to know what Dana is doing. Their face is the most emotive it’s been so far, twisted in anguish. Their eyes are teary. The endless cycling of their form has stopped, and they have settled on the version that’s ghostly pale, the one that looks like themself, not like Amy or Ethan.

“Will I survive it?” Dana asks, a tear rolling down their cheek. “Will I survive losing him again?”

“Maybe not,” Host admits, blood still dripping down his own face. “But would that make it any less worth it?”

Dana purses their lips, trying not to sob. Tears continue falling, and Host’s whispered narrations pick up Wilford and Bim’s stares, equal parts amazement and concern. It takes a few moments for Dana to regain their composure, to finally raise their hand and wipe their tears away.

“Fine,” they say, voice wavering at first, then stronger word by word. “Fine, I’ll go with you.”

“And you’ll help us?” Wilford asks, eyes big and pleading.

“I suppose.”

It’s good enough for Wilford, who breathes out a relieved chuckle.

“Awesome!” exclaims Bim, “But, uh…how do we get you out of the mirror?”

Dana steps forward, even closer to the mirror’s surface.

“Dark suggested it was a matter of pulling me out,” Dana explains, “With strength, but moreover with magic. There was…is a risk that disrupting this place could shatter it completely and set free more than just me.”

“We know,” Wilford sighs, “But we’re willing to take the risk if you are.”

It’s Dana’s last chance to back out, but they steel themself instead.

“I am,” they say.

Wilford and Bim walk up to the mirror, Host following behind, whispering narration all the while.

“Wilford and Bim each place a hand on the mirror, and they can feel Dana just beyond the glass, feel the churning of the mirror’s dimensional pocket, feel the power contained there. It is a null space, emptier even than Dark’s void, yet it thrums with its own life, like the floor of the deepest ocean.” Host can sense when Wilford and Bim start to use their magic, feel the increase of power in the air, smell the cotton candy of Wilford’s magic and the lavender of Bim’s. He raises his own hands and continues to narrate. “Host reaches out through the mirror, between the cracks, finding the curling black of the void space, and Dana standing just there, ready to leave it. Host’s own power feels around, searches for Dana’s answering hands. Behind and around are Wilford and Bim, Wilford pushing back the mirror dimension, Bim extricating Dana from its grip, little by little. Host assists Bim, the scent of ink and golden tendrils melding with purple, further reaching, offering something for Dana to grab onto.”

Host hears Dana gasp. Host can see through his power, see Dana there in the dark, see them find Host’s hands, find Wilford’s hand, Bim’s hand.

“The closer the three get, the more power they funnel, the more the space between the mirror and its dimension widens, the more space there is for Dana to come forward, the more fragile the mirror becomes. It is already cracked, but the cracks get wider, they splinter off into the previously-unbroken panes, threaded with pink and purple and gold. Wilford and Bim’s hands phase through the glass, they come out on the other side and reach something tangible. It is Dana, guided by Host’s power, bringing their hands together. Wilford has one, Bim has the other, Host is behind them both, and they all pull at once.”

It is Host’s power that allows him to see Wilford and Bim pull their hands from within the mirror, each holding one of Dana’s hands, pulling them through the mirror and out into the surface. As Dana leaves it, the mirror shatters. Glass rains around the trio, but they ignore it, and Host spares a sentence to prevent them from being harmed by the falling shards. Dana stumbles forward, unsteady on their feet, but with Wilford and Bim gripping their hands tight, they stay upright.

Out here, in the surface world, they don’t look quite so ghostly. Host’s whisper tells him that Dana’s skin is not as deathly pale now, their form continues to be stable, their hair is still soft brown and gently ruffled. But there are deep pockets under their eyes, and said eyes are so dark brown they’re almost black. They’re a bit shorter than Bim, and much shorter than Wilford. They look up and meet Host’s sightless gaze with awe.

“I’m out,” they gasp. Their voice still doesn’t come from their throat or their mouth, but it is no longer so imposing. It still slightly echoes, but the tone is even, gentle, slightly monotone even in awe.

“You are,” Wilford replies, his own voice soft.

Bim has already let go of Dana’s hand, but Wilford hasn’t. Host’s narration tells him that Wilford’s grip is gentle, friendly, but maybe a little protective, a little afraid to lose yet another piece of his past. Dana doesn’t seem to mind, though; maybe because of all that time they spent in the mirror without touch.

“Do you think…” Bim begins, looking back at the remains of the mirror.

“The Host can’t tell,” Host says, “This building is still magical, that has not changed. But that doesn’t mean anyone is still within.”

“You mean Actor, don’t you?” Dana says. “I can’t say I know, either.” They glower. “That’s why Dark never let me go.”

“A reasonable fear,” Host admits, “But we have no choice, now.” He smiles just a little. “How do you feel, now that you’re out?”

“I feel…” Dana puts a hand over their own chest, feeling the clothes on their skin, the temperature of the air. “Not exactly as I did before the mirror, but…much closer.”

“Is that good?” Wilford asks.

“I think so,” Dana answers. For the first time, they smile. It’s slight and subtle, but unmistakable, and Wilford beams to see it.

“Well then!” he exclaims, finally letting go of Dana’s hand only to smack their back, brisk. “Let’s get outta here!”

Wilford ushers Dana, expression slightly alarmed from the smack, out the door, as Bim and Host follow.

Host has just left the steps of the manor’s porch and began to feel the sun on him again when his cell phone rings from his pocket.

“Call from, Yandere,” the phone chirps, and Host freezes.

This can only mean one thing: On the other end of the line, right now, the love of Host’s life is either waking up or disappearing forever. Yet Host can hardly bring himself to answer, because what if Dr. Iplier is dying? What if Host is about to lose him?

Host’s breath is caught in his throat, so he has no idea if Wilford or Dana can hear his phone ringing. But Bim is right next to him, and he’s just as still as Host. Host feels Bim’s hand squeeze his shoulder, sympathetic. Bim, too, is familiar with that endless wait, the paranoia of wondering whether or not he’s going to lose his person. It ended well for him, Oliver woke up. But will Dr. Iplier?

“You gotta answer,” Bim murmurs, voice uncharacteristically even and solemn. And he’s right, Host can’t let it ring forever. He can’t let it go to voicemail. It’s too important to ignore.

His hand still shakes as he removes the phone from his pocket and tells it to answer the call.

“Yandere?” he asks, and he could cringe at how small and scared his voice sounds if he wasn’t too anxious to care.

“K-Katarite-san,” Yandere says – no, sobs. He’s crying on the other end, so hard he can barely talk. But he is, like he promised he would. The tears make Host’s heart rocket faster. Yandere cries so easily, his tears could mean anything, but Host fears the worst.

“Yandere, please,” Host gasps. A trail of blood comes down his cheek, he can feel the new wetness cut through the drying tears from earlier. There’s so much to say, and nothing at all. “Please.”

“Shishi, he’s…” Yandere gasps, trying to catch his breath. Host stiffens all over. “…he’s awake, Katarite-san, h-he just woke up. He’s okay.”

Host could collapse. He almost does; body doubling over. Something inside him breaks open, filling his chest with warm, spiky pain. After all the sleepless nights, all the tears, all the whispered bargains and begging, Host had feared it would never lead to this. He had felt so desperately that leaving Dr. Iplier to come to the manor would be the last he ever saw of him, the last time he touched him. He has never been more glad to be wrong. His chest still hurts, hurts with emotion bursting out, breaking up the numbness that’s been lurking there for so long. Host can hardly breathe, his throat is closed over with sobs. He can’t even begin to narrate to orient himself against the tide of feeling, so it washes over him, and he is pulled under. It hurts more than anything. It’s unbearable. Host has never been happier in his life.

“Host!?” Bim asks from beside him, alarmed. He takes Host’s arm, the one not holding his phone, making sure he doesn’t fall. Host can’t blame him for worrying; his tears are coming out in full force, sobs are falling out of him without control.

Dr. Iplier is awake. He’s awake. He’s alive. God, Dr. Iplier is alive. And now, finally, so is Host.

“I’ll l-let you go,” Yandere says, sniffling, but Host can hear the smile in his voice. “We’ll be h-here when you get back. See you.” True to his word, Yandere hangs up then.

“Host, is Doc…?” Bim asks Host, voice frayed with nerves. In response, Host laughs. It’s quiet and choked, but unmistakably mirthful.

“He’s alive,” he gasps, “Yandere said he’s alive.”

Bim sighs in relief. Host keeps weeping. He’s not sure he’ll ever stop. The sun on him feels warmer than before, the ground beneath him softer, the air smells sweeter, the chirping birds in the woods sound more pleasant. The world is better, now that Dr. Iplier is in it again.

“Hey, what’s going on??” Wilford exclaims, followed by his footsteps running closer. He must’ve finally noticed Host’s tears.

“Yandere called,” Bim explains on Host’s behalf, voice giddy, “Doc is awake!”

“Bully!” Wilford practically shouts, so joyful he doesn’t care to moderate volume. “You gonna be alright there, friend?” he asks Host, voice a bit more gentle.

“The H-Host has never been better,” Host says, laughing a little yet again, wiping blood off his face with both hands. “He would like us to go back to Ego Inc. now, since we have found Dana as we desired.”

“True,” Wilford says. “Let’s go now!”

“How are we getting there from here?” Dana asks, possibly attracted into the conversation by their name. “There don’t seem to be any roads.”

“We don’t need roads,” Wilford replies, in a tone that Host knows is paired with a cheeky wink even without narration. “I can teleport!”

“Maybe brace yourself,” Bim warns, “He teleports through his void, and Wilford’s void isn’t anything like the mirror dimension.”

“I see,” Dana answers, a note of curiosity in their tone.

Host has never been excited to teleport with Wilford; his void is disorienting even for the sighted egos, and it’s much worse for Host. But now, there’s nothing more he wants to do than go through that void and go home.

Home to his doctor, at last.