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juju-on-that-yeet · 3 years

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At My Worst (Chapter 1)

Work Summary: Thanks to his enduring popularity in the fandom, The Author pops back into existence and the egos must suddenly contend with someone they thought was gone forever coming back from the dead. No one is more shocked than Dr. Iplier, who can't help but remember how things used to be - and slowly fall back into bad habits, despite his better judgement.

Warnings: Mild descriptions of past violence/discussions of death (more tags on AO3)

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Enjoy!

Last he knew, Dark was ripping his eyes out.

Then, he was nowhere and nothing.

Now, he suddenly is, where before he wasn’t, and the rush of sensation returning is terrifying and paralyzing. But he still knows who he is, he knows his name and that he’s a figment, and he remembers his life. Rather, his previous life, he suspects.

It doesn’t take long for The Author to get his thoughts back in order and regain the presence of mind to look around. He appeared standing, and somehow didn’t fall, but he doesn’t trust his legs enough to move just yet. He’s surprised by the fact that he can look around, that the eyes he viscerally recalls losing are back in his head, fully functional. The area he’s in looks familiar, reminds him of the forest his cabin sat in, but it becomes apparent that the place is different now. The trees are less wild, the ground more even. He’s standing on a path, perhaps a nature walk or hiking trail. Last he remembers, there were no such trails in his woods.

He finally walks, letting his instincts take him to where his cabin should be, though he already has a feeling it won’t be found. Sure enough, he goes as far as he can down the trail, leaves the path and goes onward, and eventually finds himself at the edge of a neighborhood. Where the cabin used to be is a two-floor house, probably built for a family with kids, and in the surrounding street are even more such houses.

Author doesn’t know how much time has passed, but clearly, it’s been a long time since his cabin stood. He has to wonder what became of his books, his life’s work. Were they saved by the other egos, or are they forever lost?

For a moment, he isn’t sure what to do. But he’s a clever man, so he thinks. If he exists, surely the other egos must be around somewhere, too. All he has to do is find them. But if they aren’t here, then where?

He walks back the way he came, back to the trail, passing the place he appeared in and continuing onward. By the time he makes it to the trail’s beginning, night has fallen, and the parking lot by the trail is empty. He walks past the parking lot, comes to a road, and walks. It’s not so late that no cars are driving, at least; it only takes a few whizzing by his upturned thumb before one decides to stop.

“Where you headed?” asks the driver, an ordinary-looking man with a moustache. Author wonders how entertaining he’d be in a story.

“LA,” Author says, settling into the passenger seat like he belongs. For having not existed at all twelve hours ago, his easy confidence returns quickly.

“Heh, aren’t we all?” the man chuckles, pulling off the roadside to start driving. “Anywhere in particular? I can put it in my GPS.”

“Not really,” Author says, “Just get me to the city and I’ll take it from there.”

The man shrugs, but doesn’t pry. Maybe he wouldn’t be a protagonist, but possibly a character just there to help the protagonist along, as he is now. Then again, his unquestioning nature would make him easy death fodder, too.

On the way to the city, Author tries to look around the car, just to see if he can figure out what day it is. The radio playing tells him the day of the week and the month before long, but he can’t figure out the year. It’s not a terribly long drive to the city (Author remembers how long it took to get to Dr. Iplier’s clinic, and the distance isn’t that different) (Oh, Dr. Iplier, he must be somewhere too, does he still hate Author for what he’s done?), and once he gets there, Author has but one favor to ask.

“Thanks for the ride, but quick question,” he begins as he unbuckles his seatbelt, “Any chance you have a pen and a notebook in your car I can have? Or even just a sheet of paper and something to write with?”

“Uh, sure,” the man answers, confused by the request but not so much that he won’t grant it. He rummages through the glove compartment until he pulls a notebook with some corporate logo, and a pen with the same branding. “Have these, got them from work a long time ago but I don’t need them.”

“Perfect!” Author exclaims, taking the notebook and pen. He flips through the notebook, taking in the sight of blank pages, empty canvases, ready for him to make his own. “Have a good one, man.”

The man nods, rolls up his window, and drives off, leaving Author standing on a random sidewalk just inside Los Angeles. But he’s not bothered, because he finally has his tools. He can do anything or get anywhere. He knows that Dr. Iplier’s clinic has likely gone the way of his own cabin if it’s been too long, but the egos must be somewhere in the city. Author doesn’t know why he feels that way, but he supposes his instincts have the right idea. He’s always been a creature of impulse, so he does exactly what he did when the sun was up and lets his legs carry him where they may.

When he gets hungry, he enters a fast food restaurant and opens his notebook again, this time to write. While in line, he reads the cashier’s nametag and puts pen to paper: When The Author reaches the front of the line and orders, Stella pays for his meal herself. And she does, without skipping a beat. Author stays in the building to eat, and internally snickers at the confused look he sees on Stella’s face when she realizes what she did, seemingly for no reason.

As far as Author can perceive, it hasn’t been very long at all since he last used his power. But his body can tell it’s been a long time, somewhere deep in his mind knows it’s been forever since he picked up a pen and changed reality to suit his needs. A part of him is glad he’s still got it, but how could he ever lose it in the first place?

Back to walking. It’s late at night, but his mind is too active to be tired. It wouldn’t be the first time he was up all night, whether pacing his cabin trying to untangle the next scene of a story, or painting LA red in search of inspiration, or tormenting a character in the woods, or staying up with Dr. Iplier until the sun came up and he had to return to his clinic in the early hours, yawning through a cup of coffee. Thinking of his doctor only makes Author’s mind buzz even more. How long has it been, truly? What must Dr. Iplier be like now? Can they start over again, now that Author’s been reset?

The more Author walks, the more he feels a pull to keep going. It’s as if there’s a GPS unit inside his brain, telling him which way to go. He has no clue where he’ll end up, but he follows anyway, not having anywhere else to go. Besides, perhaps he’s being led to the other egos, maybe some element of himself is being drawn to them. He still knows that he’s a figment, of course, and that being a figment makes him a little more magical than the average human, a little more special, even ignoring his reality-bending powers. Part of him wants to use his writing to get into a locked car and drive to where the magic inside him is leading, but even at this hour, he knows it’d be quicker to walk.

It’s morning by the time Author feels he’s gotten somewhere, nearly a day has passed since he found himself alive again. By now, the streets are once again full of people and cars, and the swelling sounds of conversation and car horns remind him of his trips into the city with Dr. Iplier. His feet finally come to a stop in front of a huge building. It doesn’t look very different from the other corporate skyscrapers standing along the street and stretching into the horizon, but it radiates magic. It’s a beacon, and Author can tell just by looking at it that this is where he’s meant to be, this is the place he’s meant to stay.

He’s startled out of his reverie by someone bumping into him, barking at him to watch it, and moving hurriedly along. Author is disgruntled, but has little time to get angry before yet another person does the same thing. He moves out of the way of traffic to stand under the magical building’s awning, away from the crowd. Amazingly, no one even seems to see him anymore. No one acknowledges him, or even looks at the building Author is standing in front of. Whatever magic it has, humans can’t see it. Perhaps that’s the point, perhaps the building’s magic is keeping it hidden. Author can’t help but be impressed. If he’s right, it must be Dark and Wilford’s doing; no one else would have enough power. Still, keeping a building shrouded constantly would take a lot of energy, and though Dark and Wilford are powerful, they aren’t powerful enough for something as big as this as far as Author remembers.

As if he needed more confirmation that it’s been a long time since he last existed.

Still, he’s made it to where he wants to be, and he’s not about to stop moving forward now. He walks to the door, pushes the double-doors open, and steps inside.

The doors open up into a wide lobby, high-ceilinged. Off to one side is another set of doors, wooden and old-looking. There’s quite a few other, more typical doors along the back wall, a couple labeled that lead to staircases and some without labels that likely lead to other rooms. There’s also an elevator in the center of the wall. The lobby is much bigger than the outside of the building would suggest, and Author has to assume it’s more magic at work. He has no more time to wonder, because one of the unlabeled doors opens.

Out steps another man, with hair swooped low and orange sunglasses and a tank top with the Bing logo on it, of all things. He stops mid-step at the sight of Author, and Author can’t help but pause, too. He doesn’t know who this person is, but he can tell he’s a figment. Not only that, there’s something too familiar in his hair, his face, his height. This figment is another one of Mark’s.

Author already felt like he’d found the right place, but now he knows for sure.

“Woah, how’d you get in here??” asks the figment, walking up to Author as his shock gives way to confusion. “Wait, are you a new ego?”

“You could say that,” Author replies with a shrug.

“Oh, sick!” the figment exclaims, now grinning with excitement. He reaches out to shake Author’s hand, and his grip is stronger than Author expects. “My name’s Bingiplier, but like, everyone calls me Bing. What’s your name, dude?”

“The Author,” Author answers, a little bewildered by Bing’s energy. Granted, he certainly seems like someone Mark would conjure up as a joke, but most of the true joke egos barely lasted a week.

“Oh cool, you write and stuff?” Bing asks. He frowns for a moment. “I gotta admit, though, I’m totally blanking on what video you’re from. I don’t watch all of Mark’s videos, but like, I don’t think anyone was expecting a newbie to show up soon.”

“I do write,” Author replies, though his mind is buzzing with the new information. No one’s expecting him? Then how is he here? “I can reality-bend with writing. I write it, and it happens.”

“Nice!” Bing says, “That’s, like, super-powerful. We haven’t had a real reality-bender show up in ages. Actually, your deal kinda reminds me of The–”

“Hey.”

A monotone voice, deeper than Bing’s, interrupts. Author and Bing both look to see someone else approaching. Author can’t help but grin, because this is an ego he recognizes. Googleplier’s hair is still long and shaggy, he still has his glasses, and even though figments don’t truly age, he looks older somehow, more mature. He’s not glitching the way he did when Author knew him, and his jaw is stronger, his stature more imposing. It takes a moment for Google to see Author past Bing, and it takes a moment more for him to register what he’s seeing. His eyes widen behind his glasses.

“Author? Seriously?” Google asks, incredulous.

“Wait, you know about him? Did I just miss the memo on a new ego coming or something?” Bing whines before glaring at Google. “Are you here for an actual reason, or just to butt into my conversation?”

“Ollie wants you, you won’t answer his pings, and the others are still charging,” Google answers, deadpan. Bing pauses a moment, face screwed up in confusion, before understanding slowly dawns.

“Oh, he did ping me. I was busy talking to the new guy.”

“Ping you?” Author interjects.

“Oh yeah, I’m an android!” Bing says brightly. “So’s Google, but he’s just the old default.”

“Leave already before you get dismantled,” Google growls at Bing, but his eyes don’t leave Author.

“Ugh, fine,” Bing sighs. He flashes Author a peace sign as he walks away. “See ya round, dude!”

Google waits until Bing is out of sight before approaching The Author.

“How are you here?” he asks, more bewildered than Author has ever seen him.

“You tell me,” Author scoffs, “You were always the know-it-all. All I know is that one second I didn’t exist, and the next second I did.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About a day? Popped into the woods where my cabin used to be.” Author stares hard at Google. “How long has it been? Since Dark tore my eyes out?”

Google hesitates for a long moment before responding.

“Six years,” he says.

Author’s jaw drops.

“Six years??” he gasps.

“Six years,” Google repeats. “It’s 2021, now.��

“When did Bing show up?”

“2017. Four years ago.” Google thinks for a moment. “Technically, that makes him older than you.”

Google’s right. Author was only a couple years old when Dark killed him. At this point, he’s been dead longer than he’s been alive.

“Jesus Christ,” Author mutters. He can hardly wrap his head around it.

“Jesus Christ is right,” Google growls, “How the hell did you get here? You died. You faded away.”

“I already told you I don’t know!” Author snaps. Google gives him a look like he doesn’t believe him. “Look, I appeared, I felt the urge to come here, and now here I am. So now what?”

“Now I have to take you to Dark.”

“Yeah, no. I remember how our last interaction went.”

“You have to,” Google sighs, clearly resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Every new ego has to meet with him–”

“I’m not new.”

“–And besides, nothing in this building happens without him knowing. I don’t like dealing with him either, but I’m not about to get in trouble for not telling him about you.”

“No choice, huh?” Author sighs. “Alright, let’s get this over with, I guess.”

Google leads Author to the elevator in silence. He presses the button for the sixth floor – the highest one – as Author thinks.

Six years. He still can’t conceive of it. Even for a normal human that’s a decent chunk of time, but for a figment, it’s like a lifetime. Plenty of figments don’t even make it to six years old…though clearly, Google and Dark have, and Author has to wonder who else has. Six years and six floors of this building means a lot of new people.

“Figures you and Dark stuck around,” Author muses to Google, “The fans always do love the grumpy ones. And now there’s Bing, and that “Ollie” and the “others” you mentioned…”

“That would be Oliver, Chrome, and Plus,” Google says, “The three of them are androids, other Google units, in fact.” That fact makes Author bark out a laugh.

“You got clones, now??” he snorts, “That’s awesome. Think I could borrow one for a story?”

“No.” Google’s response is instant, paired with eyes glowing icy blue.

“Alright, alright,” Author sighs, “Six years and you still haven’t gotten a sense of humor.” He pauses for a moment. “How many of us are there now?”

Last Author recalls, there were eight, including himself. Google barely needs a moment to mentally calculate it before he has an answer.

“Twenty-one,” Google answers.

“Twenty-one??” Author exclaims, jaw dropping.

“Twenty-two, now, with you. There’d be even more, but some have faded away.”

“Is anyone I knew gone now?”

“No, the oldest ones are still here.”

That means Dr. Iplier is still here. Author can’t help but feel relieved. He’s not sure what he’d do if he found out Dr. Iplier had faded away sometime during his absence. He’s so cheered by the thought that he forgets why he’s in the elevator until it finally stops at the top floor.

Right. Dark’s still here, too.

“I’ve already sent Dark an internal ping,” Google says as he leads Author out of the elevator. “He’s expecting you now.”

“Snitch,” Author mutters under his breath. Google rolls his eyes, but he chooses not to respond verbally.

The pair pass several doors as they walk, and Author wonders how many of them lead into the bedrooms of egos he hasn’t met. He wonders what Dark is like now. After all, Google seems to have barely changed aside from no longer glitching constantly. But he remembers how the people outside couldn’t even see this building, remembers the sheer size of the place, and knows that Dark must be much more powerful than he used to be to be able to pull it off. Too soon, Google and Author arrive at a door that’s much nicer than the others so far. Google knocks, something that the Google Author remembers would hardly ever do.

“Come in,” says a deep voice from inside. An older voice, but the same one that Author remembers well.

Google opens the door, and The Author steps inside.

Dark is not like Google. He doesn’t look the same as he did before. His hair is longer, swooped to the side. His eyes are still deep brown, nearly black. He’s wearing a suit and tie now, his skin is gray. Most striking is his aura. Where it used to be minimal, only wisps of smoke that showed themselves occasionally, it is now a swarming mass of writhing black tendrils surrounding him. It shakes even as Dark stares evenly at Author from behind a large wooden desk. Dark’s expression is cool and calm, and his hands are folded on his desk, but there’s tension in his shoulders and a hardness in his eyes.

“You’re dismissed, Google,” Dark says to Google, “But do not mention this to anyone.”

Author glances at Google, who nods and leaves, closing the door behind him, leaving Author and Dark alone.

“So,” Author says breezily, pushing down and hiding his discomfort. He’s not scared, but he does feel awkward, and a little annoyed to have to see Dark at all. “Nice place you got here.” He flops into a chair in front of Dark’s desk. “I hear there’s twenty-two of us now, crazy how time flies.”

“Exactly how did you come back?” Dark asks, without a hint of humor.

“I told Google like three times, I don’t know!” Author says, his annoyance getting the better of him. He takes a breath and calms before continuing. “I don’t know. I woke up in a forest, the same one where my cabin is. Or used to be, it’s just houses there now. I hitched a ride to the city and walked until I got here. It’s been about a day since I woke up.”

“I see.” Dark sighs, leaning back slightly in his seat. “This has never happened before.”

“I’ve gathered that.” Author frowns at Dark. “I might as well address the elephant in the room. Are you gonna pull out my eyes again or what?”

“No,” Dark answers, voice tight and aura swarming faster, “I will not. Things have changed since then, that is no longer how I deal with unruliness.”

“Is that what you call it?” Author mutters, “‘Dealing with unruliness?’ Does that make you feel justified for killing me?”

“You’ve been gone for six years,” Dark snaps, “Don’t pretend you know anything!” All at once, Dark’s form cracks, a shadow of himself turns away to scream in frustration. The scream is cut short, the whole thing lasts only a moment. Despite himself, Author nearly jumps out of his skin.

“What the hell was that!?” he shouts.

Dark settles himself, chuckling quietly. His aura calms somewhat, but it continues to churn the air.

“As I said, things have changed.” Dark rolls his neck, it cracks like the vertebrae are clacking against each other. “To put it in a way you would understand, my story has been rewritten in recent years. There’s a lot for you to catch up on.”

“I’ll pass,” Author retorts, “I’m not about to stick around here with you.”

“I’m afraid you have no choice.” Dark’s eyes go steely. “You may have guessed from the large number of us that Mark is much more popular than he used to be, which means we need to be more careful. You recall my desire to unite us all in a single building.”

“The building I died in, right?” Author snaps.

“Yes,” Dark replies coldly, undeterred by Author’s attempt to fluster him. “This building, in fact. The more popular Mark gets, the more recognizable we become, and the more vital it is for us to avoid attention. This building is imbued with magic to prevent humans from seeing or entering, and there are rules about the ways in which we may interact with them.”

“If you’re gonna tell me I can’t write my stories–”

“You can write as many stories as you like,” Dark says smoothly, “And you may use humans as…protagonists, if you so choose. But your stories may not be published, and you may not develop close relationships with humans.”

“And if I break the rules?”

“You get to visit my void.” Dark grins. “A place made of pitch, so dark you cannot see your hand in front of your face, cold and just quiet enough to hear its voices. It only takes a few hours to break someone weak. For someone strong, maybe a week.” He tilts his head. “I suspect a day or two in there, with no one to control and nothing to do, will drive you mad. At the end of a week you’d be tearing off your own skin just to feel.”

Author wants to scoff at the dramatics, but there’s something in Dark’s eyes and posture that makes him believe it.

“What if I leave anyway?” Author asks, “Strike out far away and find my own place?”

“Then you’ll have all twenty-one of us looking for you, whether actively searching or keeping an eye out. Once you’re found, the punishment would be immense. We’ve had egos run off before. The longest one ever stayed lost was eighteen days. Perhaps you could last longer, but your punishment would be that much longer as well. And if my void does not deter you, there’s a holding cell in the basement that’s designed to cancel out magic and keep figments contained indefinitely, where you can stay until you come to your senses.”

Author glowers, considering. It’s clear that he has no choice but to go along with the arrangement, but he’s too stubborn to give in yet.

“Any other rules I should know about?” he asks derisively, “Is there a dress code? Do I have to ask you if I want dessert after dinner?”

Dark glares at Author for a long moment.

“My, not even death could change you.”

He lets his own words hang in the air before continuing.

“The other main rule here is that you cannot harm another ego. Self-defense or defense of another ego won’t be punished, but aggression and attacks will.”

“That’s rich, coming from the one who tore my eyes out,” Author growls.

“You can watch your attitude,” Dark snaps, voice dangerous and aura waving wildly. “I’m still the leader, and you still need to respect me. You may not have changed, but I have, and I am much stronger than you can imagine. If you continue to draw my ire, you will find out just how much stronger I’ve become.”

Dark wasn’t nearly this imposing back in Author’s heyday. He didn’t have this maturity, this intimidating tone of voice, this simmering rage that only shows itself in bursts. He used to be pettier, whiny, more mean than cruel. There was a reason Author didn’t fear him, and it was that he could tell, clear as day, that Dark was threatened by him. But the Dark that sits before Author now is not threatened. He’s angry, but not defensive. He means every word he’s said to Author, and Author knows that Dark will make him regret pushing his buttons if he persists.

So he stays silent for a long moment, and Dark’s aura gradually calms, and his expression smooths back out.

“Good, we understand each other,” he says, “Now, you need to meet the other egos. I’ll call a meeting for the others.”

“Google said the others I was around with are still here,” Author says, remembering, “Are they coming, too?”

“Yes,” Dark says, “But their meeting alerts will have…context. They’ll know it’s you before they arrive.” He sighs then, raises a hand to rub his forehead. “Speaking of context, there’s something you should know before this meeting occurs.”

“What’s that?” Author asks, curious. Perhaps a little nervous, given Dark’s behavior, but he’d never admit it.

“After you died, a new ego appeared, one who looked somewhat like you, who had no eyes. It came about that he had all your memories, but he wasn’t you, isn’t you. His name is The Host, and as far as we all knew…you became him, you were reborn as him.”

Author thought he was done being surprised, being shocked. But this revelation is the worst of all. He became someone else? There’s an ego here that has his same history, and the six years he missed on top of that? A clone like Google has, but one that has a different life, has a life at all. Someone who’s The Author, but isn’t. Someone The Author was supposed to be. The one who came from the ashes of Author’s death. While he spent six years in darkness, this other him, this Host, was living the life that should’ve been his. It only gets worse the more Dark explains. Author hardly perceives Dark’s words, but he perceives their meaning, especially when another name is mentioned. The shock builds and deepens.

It’s not enough that Host now has Author’s body, his memories, his life.

He has his love, too.

His doctor.

Dark explains that Dr. Iplier and Host have been in a relationship for years, and something inside Author crumbles.

This is the man he was so excited to see again, the man he’d hoped he could start over with once he found him. He’d dreamed of that on his long walk to the building, dreamed of Dr. Iplier lighting up at the sight of him, dreamed of them both apologizing to each other for how they ended things, dreamed of them reconnecting, rekindling, loving each other all over again. But the dream shatters further the more Dark speaks, and the more Dark speaks, the more Author’s vision tunnels and the louder the blood rushes in his ears. Dr. Iplier didn’t wait for him. He moved on. He moved on with this facsimile of Author, and did so a long time ago.

Author doesn’t hear what else Dark says, he’s too busy thinking. But no matter how much he thinks the situation over, he can’t accept it. He won’t allow this ache in his chest, this burning in the back of his eyes. Dr. Iplier may have moved on, but some part of him must still love Author, if he moved on with the newer version of him. The way they loved each other was like nothing else, even six years later there’s no way Dr. Iplier has forgotten Author, has forgotten what their love felt like, has stopped missing it. Author will find his way back to him somehow, fix their relationship and fix his own breaking heart.

There has to be a reason Author came back to life. There’s no possible way him and Dr. Iplier could end like this. And Author may be a lot of things, but he’s not a quitter.

He can’t give up on Dr. Iplier, his heart won’t let him.

#markiplier fanfiction #the author #markiplier the author #dr. iplier #darkiplier #my writing #fanfic #markiplier #at my worst #how many chapters will there be? who knows! not me XD #i'm hype for this tho owo #poor author; getting blueballed by himself from the future/present :/

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