#qsmp x xcom

[factorialsotherfandoms]

As suggested by @becauseplot, xcomau sparring with Codebreakers! (I'll save egg times for later and have some planned out but may swap eggs before I get there). I... apologise for the invading Fit?

Hidden... not quite injury? There's some angst in here. It was supposed to be fun. Well I had fun. Also some non-graphic nudity and a distinctly unsexy shower scene. It is a bit homoerotic though. Welcome to qsmp.

"Phil. Phil. Phil. Phil."

"Etoiles, I said no!" Philza half-laughs with the words, used to this nonsense from everyone; at least from Etoiles it is genuine respect, not simply a dare.

"But Pomme! You love Pomme. I love Pomme. She wants to see you fight me, yes?"

Philza looks over to Pomme, who honestly looks like she could not care less as she shows off her new shoes to her siblings. He is about to say as much, before his eyes catch on Chayanne. His son has wonder and excitement in his eyes, quickly blinked away as he turns back to also compliment her outfit.

"That's a low blow," Philza half teases, already walking over to the rack of training weapons. "Using your daughter like that."

"So you will fight me? Properly? With swords."

"/Training/ swords," he forces. "I haven't touched a blade in years, you ain't getting me close to something sharp."

Etoiles brightens like the stars he is named after, running over to pick one for himself. Philza looks them over, trying to remember how to pick one even as the excitement of his son bubbles in his mind. If Chayanne has managed to infect the other children with the idea... God, they're going to have a fucking audience, aren't they?

Sure enough, by the time that Philza has warmed up, a not so small crowd has gathered in the gym. The kids are sat on the floor at the edge of the mats, while at least half of the adults are either sat on the benches, or standing around behind them.

Pac, Mike, and Tubbo are very obviously running bets, scampering around with a set of notebooks. Fit... seems to be wrangling them, except that he glances over to Philza with a grim - concerned - expression on his face.

Everyone else looks excited, and the weight of expectation is as it is; Philza makes a small gesture for him to back down. Fit catches it, and returns to herding cats with a solemn nod.

Nobody else seems to catch the interaction at least. Philza really, really does not want to make a show of it, but now a show is here...

He rolls his shoulders. Despite the careful stretches his back smarts. He swears, pretends he stubbed his toe on the corner of the mat, and prepares.

Etoiles is of course ready. Etoiles is a great many things more than a swordsman, but he is always ready, even when he is bouncing slightly in anticipation.

They do not need words to communicate, just eye contact and a nod. The crowd chatters as they circle each other. Philza has not fought a human since... some guards, back when guards were still human. Fit, once or twice. Techno...

Etoiles thinks he sees an opening, darting in. Philza parries, ducks to the side, and the fight truly begins. Once Philza was a god of the battlefield, now time and injury leave an abyss in their wake.

He is not, however, as stupid ass to fall for the tricks.

Etoules is honourable, straight forward, and fights friends only to help them keep themselves safe.

Philza is treason, and deception, and has always fought to rip the world back into shape by the skin of his fucking teeth.

They don't realise that, here, just how dark he can be - he hung up his sword for good reason, and he does not want to be that fucker again.

He doesn't want to be, but it was also always him.

Etoiles comes close. Philza twists, moving as though to raise his sword and instead kicking the other man in the ribs. He does not hold back - five years ago he would have broken ribs with that kick, but he knows he skips gym these days.

Still, Etoiles stumbles back a few paces, grinning as he does, "good kick! Good kick!" He calls, "I told you, you're the best!"

"The only best here is you," Philza calls back, watching close as Etoiles uses the banter to come close. "Etoiles, the goat."

Philza darts forwards this time. Instinctively, his wings move to assist. With difficulty, he holds his mangled musculature in place.

"This? This is just me hitting silly sticks," Etoiles calls as they clash their weapons together. "You're the real goat! You see everything!"

Philza does not fucking see everything, but he forces his grin into a smile and keeps up a relentless attack. Every strike he tries, Etoiles blocks. Every block he makes, Etoiles gets a little closer.

Sloppy. He has gotten sloppy with time.

Lost in the fight and the play and the laughter, Philza darts in again. This time Etoiles kicks him. Philza stumbles back, seeking his footing again.

He flares his wings.

He falls

He *screams*.

He tries to convince himself it is a shriek of rage, but he sees Fit stand, feels Chayanne and Tallulah's worry, hears the murmur of the crowd. By rules of the fight he has lost, sprawled on the floor as he is.

By the rules of the fight...

"Phil?" Etoiles immediately softens, stepping close and lowering his blade.

Philza has two choices: admit his weakness, or pretend it is a fucking game.

He keeps his wings entirely still as grabs Etoiles' wrist, pulling himself up and twisting it sharply - not enough to break it, but nearly.

The sword falls to the floor. Without thinking Philza grabs it, pushes Etoiles to the floor, holds it to his neck.

He is breathing hard, body straining under the position.

Etoiles looks at him not with fear, but concerning his eyes.

"Ça va?"

It's barely a whisper. Philza...

Philza drops the sword to the side, rolling off Etoiles' stomach and fighting the fucking pain to find his breath.

"You won the fight," Philza says. "But our enemy is a fucking shit. Don't let your guard down. Even when they're dead they might fuck you up."

Etoiles nods, eyes calculating.

Behind them, Fit whispers something to Pac, who nudges Mike and Tubbo. Between the three they stir the crowd into arguments over the betting.

"Good fight," Philza offers Etoiles.

"Good fight, good fight!" Etoiles agrees. "Next time, you will win properly."

Philza laughs, "I doubt it, mate; I'm out of practice."

"Then practice with me!" Etoiles offers. "At least help me train the kids! Chayanne would love to have you there."

"Etoiles," Philza does not have he fucking oxygen to laugh. "Don't give him ideas. I'm gonna get a shower, you coming?"

He doubts that anyone else could see the strain in Etoiles' smile as he waves him off, mentioning something about a bet with Antoine. Philza leaves it be, ducks around the now excitable crowd, and vanishes himself into the shower.

Under the water - hot, thank Tubbo - his muscles sting. His arms and his legs and his chest, all fine, but his back - his wings - where he cannot reach...

It is not just a sting, not really.

He grits his teeth through the shower gel, and rinsing it off. Cleaning his back without getting soap on his feathers is a nightmare, but one he's lived with his whole life.

But once the cleaning is done...

He rests his head against the tiles, eyes shut, and tries to remember how it feels to breathe.

The water is hot, and the tile is cool, and the agony begins to cool.

Nearly ready to face the world, there is a knock on the wall besides the shower curtain. Startled Philza turns, relaxing only as he sees the familiar form of Fit shadowed on the fabric.

"Hey Fit," he calls. "I was just finishing up."

"Yeah?" Fit replies. "And what was all that about then?"

"I'm fine."

"Philza. I've known you since you were twenty one and stupid. You're not fine."

Fit already knows - Fit was there - and Philza does not have the energy to argue.

"Come in, then, if you really want to see me naked."

"I always do, big boy," Fit responds.

The shower curtain shifts, and then falls back into place. Fit, also naked, prosthetic removed, joins Philza in the shower.

His eyes, immediately, fall on Philza's back.

"What did you break?" Fit asks.

Philza laughs in reply.

"Can I touch?"

"Go ahead, I can't stop you."

"Don't you know it."

Fit presses in close, and places his hand on his back. Gently at first he traces over smarting skin, and then combs his fingers through feathers as he checks.

"I think I just strained it is all," Philza replies. "I'll be fine in the morning."

Fit keeps working; Philza hasn't been fine in a very, very long time.

From gentle, assessing touches, Fit moves on to massaging across Philza's shoulder, and down his spine. Philza has no doubt the man will drag Missa into a joint preening session later, but for now...

"Etoiles is worried, you know?" Fit says. "He knows something is up. Most of them do."

"So long as they keep it to weird looks not questions, I don't fucking care," Philza replies. "I can fight fine with a gun and Crow, I don't need this."

Fit runs two fingers across the mangled tops of Philza's wings, the bones twisted where they healed out of shape, but in such a way it just looks like he was born with them malformed. It's normal, for an Avian, for their wings to be fucked up. Why wouldn't Philza's be the same?

He misses the sky. Fuck, he misses the sky so goddamned much.

The fingers press into an especially sore spot. For a moment Philza is blinded by the memory of much crueller hands, of something purple and something sadistic.

He gasps, and it is gone, just him and Fit in the shower again.

"Do you need some of my painkillers?" Fit asks, quiet despite his voice, almost hidden in the noise of the shower.

"I'll be fine. Just need to let it rest," Philza replies. "I should get to my shift. It's probably time, right?"

Fit hesitates, but hums an agreement. Philza has no doubt that some will appear at some point, probably on his tray with lunch. Still, if neither asks, neither tells.

"You should tell him," Fit says. "Etoiles. If you're going to keep fighting together, he needs to know."

Philza winced as his back tensed, "later. I'll do it later."

"Phil."

"What? Are you going to tell Pac about-"

Fit slams a hand over Philza's mouth.

"That's different!"

Philza licks him. Fit pulls away; Philza wins, and turns so they're face to face.

"I've got work. Will be seeing you. Want me to send Pac over?"

"Phil!"

Philza doesn't care for the mock offence. He laughs as he ducks around Fit. The showers are empty, except for the two of them - suspiciously empty. He can hear Fit follow him out of the shower, but ignores him as he dresses.

They don't ignore each other - not exactly. Fit helps Philza tie his shit behind his neck, back still too sore to reach up himself, and they brush arms when the vulnerability has them loose themselves in fear for a second or three. Still, they say nothing more - what else needs to be said?

Outside the door, Etoiles waits. Philza is a little surprised to see his kids are not, but maybe Missa woke up already.

Etoules watches him, but does not say much. Its uncharacteristic how quiet he is - or maybe not, as he analyses.

Philza greets him, and walks past.

As he walks away he feels assessing eyes on his ugly, scarred back.

[rabbit-harpist]

digital painting of mike based on @factorialsotherfandoms’ qsmp xcom au.

feat. robot rat and mysterious stains (paint? chemicals? i like how the colors look)

[factorialsotherfandoms]

xcom au, nothing especially anything, set in Cellbit's first few days with the group.

Cellbit is sat on the floor of the command room, an old books of crossword puzzles in hand. He has meticulously copied across the chart, not wanting to steal one of the few leisure items from the rest of the crew, and is filling it in. This one comes in French - not a language he knows well, but he is puzzling his way through.

He is just filling in 14A when a vaguely familiar someone ducks down before him. The green jumpsuit tells him little, except that the man isn't wearing it up - no, the sleeves are tied around his waist, the back bunched up, revealing the tank top beneath. For some reason he wears a hat even in here, an emerald hanging off it.

And then, perhaps more obvious, are the great black wings which fold awkwardly behind him. They're hybrid wings, that much Cellbit is sure of, but they do not fold particularly well.

He looks a bit strange.

They're all a bit strange here.

They're all a bit scarred here, too.

"Cellbit, right?" the man perches on the balls of his feet, elbows to his knees and rests his head on his hands.

"Yes?" Cellbit replies. "I'm sorry, I think I forgot you."

"No worries," he's flashed a grin. "You've got a lot of people to keep up to, I bet? I'm Philza. I remember."

Dragged from one matter to another, it takes Cellbit a few moments to put the pieces together. There was definitely gossip about this man, shared in hushed whispers and watching him interact with the others.

Philza Minecraft, Angel of Death, scourge of the Federation. Vanished alongside his partner in crime years ago, becoming little more than a fable.

One living on their ship, trusted to lead and advise though claiming no official role higher than squad captain.

"Angel?" he asks, because how can he not? "Death's Angel."

Philza's smile grows thin, "I swapped my sword for a medkit years ago. You're better off asking one of the others if it's murder you need - Jaiden's pretty hot at it these days."

Jaiden? Cellbit will bare that in mind.

"Sorry," he says, because he knows they all have pasts he would rather not come up - if Brazilian affairs were half as televised as those in English-speaking countries... Well, with Philza's past Cellbit could perhaps be proud, but parts of his own are better left untouched. "Did you need something?"

He's only been here three days; he cannot imagine anyone trusts him with much.

"Kinda," Philza tilts his head to the side a bit, eyes narrowing and looking all the birdier for it. "I'm told you like paperwork? And decoding shit?"

Cellbit blinks - once, twice, and "yes?"

Philza perks up again, "great! Because I've got a weird shit archive dating back about twenty five years that might want someone to look at them. I've been doing my best, but I am a fucking dumbass and cannot make heads or tails of it."

"Archive?" Cellbit can /feel/ his ears perk up at that - his control of the damned things having been lost in years of having them forcibly pinned away. "What sort?"

"Bit of this, bit of that," Philza shrugs. "Copies of mission records, newspaper clippings, shit the Theory Bros were looking into before the war... Weird crap Aypierre and Tubbo are done with, intercepted audio recordings, spy reports, random crap people picked up on missions... Photos. So many photos. Missing persons reports. That sort of stuff."

It sounds like a treasure trove.

It also sounds like it's going to be a nightmare to get into a usable state.

Fuck, if it's just been shoved in a storage room...

"Sure," Cellbit tries to hide both his excitement and his fear both. "I'm not busy."

"Great," Philza hops back onto his feet. "Because I am. I just found a few minutes to show you; Tubbo needs extra hands to test something, you know how it is with engineer types?"

And, yes, Cellbit does.

---

He is led through the ship to a tucked away room, down near the engines. Philza pushes open the door, and shows him inside.

With a flick of the lights... It's not as bad as Cellbit had assumed. Shelves with assorted objects line the left wall, a series of large, metal cupboards beneath them. Everything is fixed into place with metal strips and bolts - even the filing cabinets, all of which also lock. There's a chart on the wall with packs of coloured paper beneath, each colour representing a different research topic.

There are also cotton gloves - proper cotton gloves for working with documents! -

"While I was sorting," Philza says, already moving over to a cabinet. "I found a lot of this shit is related to more than one topic. Couldn't keep it separated by research field like the old archivist had been trying to, just a fucking dumbass idea. So, left to right, oldest to newest. I start filling a new cabinet from the bottom, so it stays better balanced. Anything paper goes in there - the folders are numbered to their order, please put them back right - objects in the shelves. Coloured sticky labels are where I think shit's related, but honestly you'll want to check it."

Cellbit is already peering over Philza shoulder, and into the drawer he opened. It's one of the pre-war old ones - pretty empty, but there's still a few pieces in there.

He grabs a folder and leafs through, marveling at the organisation, and just how well kept the records are - even at twenty four years old, the newspaper clippings are still perfectly legible and the paper at no risk of falling apart.

It's a missing person's report, one marked with the colour-tag as being unresolved. He's not surprised - if it had been it wouldn't be here - but it's not pleasant news.

And, tucked in with it is a series of printed out forum posts, ones discussing the article.

"It's not much," Philza shrugs. "But I try keep it organised, at least. Knew someone would want it some day."

"No, no," Cellbit puts everything back and slowly closes the door. "This is great! I was expecting worse. Can I see that one?"

He points at a random cabinet, somewhere near the middle.

Philza doesn't open it, he grabs a set of keys from one of to desks, and tosses them over.

"These are yours," he says. "So's the desk - mine's over there, though it's mostly used to dump unsorted shit on. Have fun with it all."

"You're leaving?" Cellbit asks. "Me here. With all these records. And the keys. Alone."

"Yeah?" Philza shrugs.

"I've been here three days. How do you just...?"

"Cellbit," Philza says. "Everyone higher than me in this damned organistion trusts you with their lives. Hell, I do too - I know you were feeding us that info. Not everyone does, but..." a shrug "I file the paperwork, you know? Can't solve it, but I can store the damned things. I've seen what you do, Cellbit - you've saved my ass more times than I can count. May as well give you the paperwork, fuck knows I don't know what to do with it."

"I have?" and Cellbit... Cellbit knows his info was good, but to hear it is...

"You sent the Order to Fit," Philza says. "I used my connection to him to get the Order to bail Missa out - my closest friends, I owe you. The warning of the shift in Thin Man biology? Saved our asses on the field. The base locations? The guard rotations? The info on treating laser wounds? There's not a person on this ship who doesn't owe you their life, Cellbit - what the fuck is some paperwork to that?"

"They would have managed," Cellbit says, already unlocking a drawer and flicking though one of the files inside.

This one is much fuller, and he spots photographs - ones taken by Philza, the backs read, showing off the areas where significant things happened.

"But we didn't have to," Philza replies. "Just.. Enjoy yourself, alright? I've left my notes where I could think of something, but I doubt it's worth shit."

"No, no, this is good," he puts the file back and grabs another. "Just needs an index."

"Indexing's all set up on your laptop," Philza taps on it, and only now does Cellbit spot the old piece of tech on the desk. "Tubbo refitted her."

"You indexed this," Cellbit looks at all the shelves, remembers this man leads missions, gives advice on running the Order - hell, he even runs it himself, when the others are indisposed - constantly being asked for aid and giving it... "It must have taken you ages."

"I was sorting through it all anyway, putting it all in date order and tagging the relevant queries and that," Philza shrugs. "Wasn't that much more work. Hour or two here and there over fifteen months or so?"

It's dedication. Cellbit nearly drops a file as the airship moves sharply, and in making sure everything in intact he misses Philza's escape.

Damn it. Well, if he has questions, he can ask later.

The index though...

Cellbit goes to the laptop, pulling it open and waiting for it to boot. There's a couple of things on there - Philza's desk has a full computer and printer, but Cellbit's new laptop has an external hard drive - but he ignores them for opening the index.

He expected just a list of reference numbers and which tags - maybe location, if he was lucky.

Instead.. Full database, all linked up. Reference numbers, tags, and locatgion, yes, but also summaries of the contents, a list of directly related items such as commentaries or other articles about the same event, a column for Philza's notes and one for Cellbit's, the locations of the originals if not stored in the archive...

Cellbit has killed for far, far less than this. And it's just... been handed to him? By someone saying it isn't much?

He doesn't quite get it, but...

He picks a mystery - something small for now. Opens up something to take notes on, and goes to collect the relevant files.

Soon enough he's absorbed so deep that he doesn't even notice Felps not-so-sneaking up behind him until he's already being hugged and told off for missing dinner - for vanishing all over again.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

I want you to know that as soon as xcomau!Bagi learns that Tina is a demon and therefore takes sustenance from emotions not food she is going to be extremely weird about it /positive. Afterall what is more romantic than your partner literally feeding and living as a result of your love? Sure it means the feeling as experienced is dulled, but Bagi really, really really wants Tina to feed from her emotions, okay. Literally keeping her girlfriend alive with her love.

Tina is so worried because she doesn't want to dull the emotions for Bagi so tries to keep starving herself and just skimming what she needs from people around (and mostly feeding on the fear of her assassination targets as they realise they are about to die), but Bagi is like. The love was never mine to begin with it is yours, it is for you, it has always been for you, so take it, take it all if that's what you need.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

Well Saga clicked the like button and she's already seen most of this, but... A little bit of first draft of some xcomau Pac and Mike backstory (from the period between escaping prison and being recruited by the army). I say little bit. I'm not supposed to be working on this fic at all, but its a sizable middle chunk.

He is conscious, just about, and curled around Mike. The air is thinner, now, but still tainted green; he keeps his hoodie tight over his mouth, and keeps fabric stretched over Mike's slack face. It won't stop the poison, but with less in the air hopefully it means they will outlast it.

It will disperse. It has to disperse. A bit of time. All gases disperse with time. It's making him dizzy now - it's easier to breathe up here on the third floor than it was on the street, at least - and sick, and his vision is fading, but give it time. Just a little time.

It burns, but it is not as though he has not been burnt before.

Pac just… He just needs to hold on… And protect Mike. Keep Mike safe, that is all…

The world is darkness and silence, and then it is tinted some colour Pac cannot quite pin down, and there are loud footsteps and louder voices. They speak Portuguese, and yet… Pac cannot quite manage to understand it.

He presses himself tighter over Mike. Mike's breathing is worse, but he's still breathing.

How long has it been? It's easier to see now, but how long has it been?

And then there's another loud sound.

Pac barely understands what is happening, except that he is being pulled away from Mike. He kicks and he fights, but he has always been too weak, and the toxins have sapped his strength. Despite his best efforts, his hoodie is being peeled from his face, and something pressed to his face.

And then they let go.

Confused - terrified - he holds his breath and throws himself over Mike. Someone swears as the thing falls, only for it to be back a few moments later.

They do not take him away from Mike this time, though. As long as he has Mike, as long as he has Mike, then they're going to be okay… He just…

Pac clings to Mike across their bond, pulling the blur of drugged oblivion close and protecting him. Wrapping him in his own reality, in his own mind, even as Pac's desperate nails dig so deep into the unconscious Mike's arm that he bleeds.

And yet, Pac still does not breathe, frozen and eyes wild as he watches a figure reaches around his head, pulling a strap -

Oh. It's a proper mask. A gas mask.

That's…

Pac nearly rips it from his own face - Pac is conscious, Pac can breathe, Mike needs it, Mike need it, he needs it so, so much more than him - stopped only by hands grabbing his. He struggles and fights, until a second pair of hands place another gas mask in his hands. He ignores whatever the two figures say, grabbing it himself and expertly affixing it to Mike's face.

All that practice is good for something, it seems.

Only then can he relax a little, still huddled over Mike's unconscious body, still clinging to the drugged haze where Mike's thoughts should be, but relaxed a little.

Mike is still breathing, still there, wrapped in his mind; it should be a little easier, now that charcoal steals the poison from the air.

"Hi, we're sorry for scaring you," one figure - a police officer, a woman - says. "We weren't expecting to see anyone this close to the impact."

Not anyone alive, she doesn't say.

Or maybe outside the bodies have been vaporised too.

Pac wouldn't know, not when they followed their first instincts - ran and scrambled and hid just like the rats that they are.

"Is your friend…?"

She's treating him like a terrified child. Pac will take it, over many other options.

"He's breathing," Pac tells her, only to find himself coughing every could of words as his body adjusts back to the oxygen. "It's… thank you- for the masks; we'll give them- back, when its gone."

The other figure is a man, also a cop, and he waves a placating gesture, the woman looks curiously at them.

"If you don't mind, how did you survive it? You must have been pretty close here."

"There's three poisons," Pac is very sure of that. This time as he talks, he forces his breathing to remain deep, and even, and everything his instincts scream against. "One knocks you out, one is paralytic, the third does… it made more of those things. From people. I'm not… the mechanisms… Mike recognised the taste of the paralytic fast, so we didn't bother trying to get away. Covered up best we could, and got indoors. Sealed up. Hid. Its not… not perfect. But the dose isn't as bad. He's still breathing. He… shouldn't die. The gas particles… he shouldn't die. But… We got off the street, so we didn't get the third one. They're good at chasing, and following screaming, but not finding you if you're quiet and still. We're not a danger to you, I promise, we're no danger to you!"

It's as the cops glance at one another that Pac realises that that is not information most people would know. He and Mike do - similar chemicals are common in less ethical security systems - but…

Fuck, fuck he's being looked at now. Mike's still out of it, and he himself is still not all there. How can he…

"Sorry, er, sorry. I'm-" fuck what was the name on that id. Doesn't matter. "Department of biochem. Used to be. But…" he gestures at his leg. "Didn't have lifts, and still can't walk somedays. Mikey quit with me when they couldn't guarantee ground floor labs."

It doesn't seem to make the two any less curious, though something in their expressions shifts.

"We've got a medical post set up nearby," the woman says. "We can escort you-"

"I'm not leaving Mike," Pac cuts across her, the one thing that really matters. He says it, clings to Mike's sleeve, breathes a moment. Still here. Still here. Mike is still here. "And, I don't… I just woke up from it. I don't think i can stand."

His eyes flitter between the pair.

"We can carry you to the truck downstairs. One of the medics will take you from there," the gentleman says.

He doesn't trust it. Pac does not trust it. It's easy - too easy. THis pair wear police uniforms. They don't know who he is, the fake ID exists in the government databases, but it's too fucking easy. They shouldn't, he shouldn't… Are they recognised? Do they realise? He can't… What if they hurt Mike while he can't defend himself? You beat people if you catch them running, right?

It's risky, so risky, if he could just… Just pick Mike up, then they could run. Avoid these cops, and disappear back into the now ruined city.

But… his body is still riddled with pain, and breathing is still a struggle, and Mike probably needs actual medical attention. He… shouldn't stop breathing. If the paralytic was going to take his lungs, it would have already. But… if it does… its a weird one. It might. And if it does, he needs a hospital. Needs help until his liver breaks all the poison down. Pac… its a weird poison. They should probably both be near help, just in case. The full symptoms aren't known. With how quickly they set in if they aren't dead yet it's not likely, but with so many unknowns… They should try be near a doctor.

It's just…

They can escape again. If they need to, they can escape again.

Still torn, but desperate and with Mike unable to help form a decision, Pac nods. The woman helps him up, while he watches the man scoop Mike into his arms. He's gentle enough, though, even careful with his spine; the only grounds that Pac can find to object is the screaming desperation to have his soulmate in his arms.

It's hard, staying conscious with the poisons inside his body.

He makes it half way down the first flight of stairs before his legs crumple, and the woman swings him into her arms.

He makes it to seeing Mike placed next to him in the truck before he passes out again.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

So um I wrote about xcom!Chayanne yesterday and I don't have the energy to do his whole rescue and I'm not in the mood to hurt him as much as something before that would need, but also idk about you but **I** need some follow up from that. Get the baby a hug.

TW: badly injured child, referenced child abuse, hospital setting, talk about a child very nearly dying (in the past)

Philza knew it wasn't good - he'd seen the poor kid pass out, for fuck's sake - but he had not quite realised how bad it was. He hadn't been working with the sort of tech the infirmary has, too focused on keeping the two kids alive to think about the implications of their injuries.

The tablet Doctor Ruiz hands him, though... One kid - the one currently curled up with Roier as they both sleep off their injuries - he knew about. The broken bones about match what he predicted, looking at the poor sod. There's a worrying amount of head trauma, yes, but bar an inability to talk the kid had seemed alert and aware. Bit hard to tell with children, but he'll hopefully be fine.

It's the second he worries about; he had not even realised the kid was injured until he passed out in Missa's arms and, fuck, Philza doesn't think he'll ever be able to forgive himself for that. The scars, the cuts... the last of their splash potions hadn't woken him, but had at least closed up the wounds and bought some colour back to the kid's cheeks.

He'd known it was bad, he had, he swears, but this... The scar pattern, the slightly sticky marks on his chest, the breaks in his ribs... Not just current ones, either, but on the x-rays he can see evidence of them having been broken before. Similar places, too.

There are other scans, too, ones of a sort that Philza does not understand. They show the child's organs, presumably damage to them, but he really wouldn't know.

They still don't scare him as much as the x-rays of his ribs, if only because he only understands the latter; he flicks back to them, and stares in horror.

"Is that...?" he hands the tablet back to her - he isn't a doctor, he could be wrong, he just picks shit up here and there.

Her face is grim as she nods.

"Fucking hell," he breathes the word out; it makes a lot of sense, now, why she had insisted on this boy being on a bed alone, surrounded by wires and monitors instead of letting Missa hold him. "Do we know what happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," she says, folding her arms around the tablet and clinging to it. "If I had to guess, shock from one of the scarring injuries. His biology is... Strange, though - human blood is compatible, at least, and his vitals are stable. I have no idea if they are /good/, but they are stable."

"Will he be okay?" he asks.

"I..." it's never a good thing when the doctor fucking hesitates to answer that question. "If he heals like a human and my guess is correct? Yes. If not, it is outside my expertise."

Philza takes a deep breath, calms himself, and nods, "thanks for the update."

She nods, "I'll get started on the reports; I just thought you'd like to know."

"Oh I fucking hate it," he replies. "But it's better than not knowing; you handle the reports, I'll keep an eye on the kid."

She nods, and vanishes.

And, fuck, how is he going to tell Missa? The man's already attached, and it's not an easy thing to tell someone - 'oh, yeah, that kid we rescued? His heart stopped recently enough his ribs have barely started healing from being broken during CPR, and he still had gunk from a fucking heart monitor on him. Also? Not the first time it's happened'.

Philza runs his hands over his face and, fuck, he wishes he had made that bitch /suffer/. For all her talk of honour, she'd done her fucking best to murder a /child/.

It's too late now, already dead under Jaiden's knife, but fuck he wants her to suffer more. The kids are, what, ten? Something like that?

And don't try tell him that it wasn't the Assassin - Philza /knows/ swords, and hers are a perfect match for the scars and wounds littered all over the poor boy's skin.

Given the chance to fight her again, he'd rip her apart with his bare fucking hands. Or, let Cellbit do it at least. He does have more the talent for it these days.

But, there's not much to be done, not now. The Assassin is dead, and the kid is in an actual fucking infirmary. Jaiden and Roier both need to stay, to the concern and delight of the other little boy, while after getting patched up Missa and Philza elected to stay with this one. Cellbit's off somewhere - probably struggling to pull things from the archive with one arm in a cast - and Etoiles elected to get some fucking sleep.

It seems like a good idea.

Philza doesn't think he can, not without nightmares of a little boy bleeding to death, alone and scared, in a prison cell.

Or stabbed again - Missa did say both boys had tried to fight the Assassin; for all Philza admires their persistence, fighting back on the wounds they have, he's fucking terrified for them.

And, thinking of Missa, the man is waking up. Philza turns his attention there, watching him get up.

"Hey Missa," he smiles over, but he knows it looks thin.

He gets a smile back, as Missa scoots himself up to sitting.

The smile falls as soon as Missa lays eyes on the kid in the bed.

"How is he?"

"He had to be resuscitated."

Philza realises his mistake as he sees absolute terror consume Missa's features, and a terrified whine.

"Not today!" he clarifies, quickly, loudly. "Jesus fuck, I would have woken you if it was today. Sorry, sorry - recently, though, his ribs are still fucked up. Maybe a few days ago? Week at most?"

The whine turns from terror to heartbreak, Missa scrambling over with his too-long limbs. He picks up the boy's hand, clinging to it and muttering rapidly in Spanish.

Philza doesn't try to translate, not when the kid is obviously the one addressed - if anyone at all.

"Fuck, Missa, it wasn't even the first time either. Doc says he'll be fine so long as he heals like a human - and he's got human blood and human organs so we should be okay - but, fucking hell mate, I just..."

What does Philza even say? He permits the words to vanish into Missa's whine.

He reaches across, resting his hand atop Missa's. It takes the man a little bit to stop whining and ask "do we know why?"

"Not really," Philza feels his grimace. "We're hoping shock from the other injuries. It's bad, but now they're healed or healing... Easiest shit to fix, out of the options. Can't see anything else, doesn't mean there isn't."

There's another pained noise from Missa. Philza reaches up, absently wiping at his tears as he looks away to the boy's face. It takes a bit for Missa to collect himself up, clinging to the boy's hand and brushing his hair from his face.

"He's safe now?" Missa asks.

"He's safe," Philza confirms. "And once he's better, we'll find somewhere safe for him to stay."

It's a long shot, but they have some ideas of places safer than an airship full of the government's most wanted, at least.

Missa's fussing also seems to have awoken the boy; Missa startles, and turns to him, and when Philza's eyes follow he sees the little red flames in place of eyes watching them both.

Missa speaks something soothing in Spanish; Philza is still too furious to speak calmly enough for an injured and probably scared child.

The boy tries to sit up, only to flinch; Philza catches him, and helps him back down. Across the room he catches Doctor Ruiz's eye - she just gestures for him to go ahead and returns to her paperwork.

"Hey now," he tries to be gentle, but his voice is not really having it. "Lay back down. Your friend is just over there, see?"

The kid turns his head, and does relax a little when he spots the other boy. He still does not speak, glancing around but always returning to Philza and Missa.

"You're safe here," Missa promises. "Philza and I won't let anyone hurt you."

The kid glances between them; Philza tries to back Missa up with a nod.

He looks... confused, more than anything, glancing back at the other child, then at the adults. It takes a little bit, before he raises his arms and...

"Oh..." Philza whispers.

Missa leans down first, doing his best to avoid any of the wires or tubes surrounding the boy.

Philza follows a bit later, putting one arm across Missa's back and, with a lack of space, brushes a the child's hair with the other.

"We fucked her up," Philza promises. "She won't be hurting anyone again."

The boy does not stay awake long, his body brutalised and exhausted. Within moments of the hug starting he has fallen back asleep. Both Philza and Missa are reluctant to let go, but know that they must.

Missa sings lullabys, the music keeping Philza more to the present. He does not have much of a singing voice, so he fetches blankets instead, hoping the pressure will be comforting to the boy.

"He just wanted a hug," Missa's voice is broken. "Phil, Phil, he just- just a hug..."

Philza's own heart is a ruin, too; he opens his own arms up, and gestures Missa over. He wraps his friend in his arms, lets him cry into his shoulder.

If he also cries into Missa's hair, then it is his secret to tell.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

I know I should write the first bit of plot but it's like dragging my hands through treacle and killing the assassin/finding Chayanne and Bobby is currently so, so much more appealing but also I know it's because it's got 3 really badass set pieces but the connective tissue will be just as hard as the first (well second but actual first I can't remember where it is and the first is 'someone, either mike or philza or maybe foolish I forget, accidentally summons their first code monster trying to hack the brain of a fed worker' which is honestly hilarious but also braaains) and bleeeegh.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

QSMP x XCOM AU, finally some plot! (Though you'll have to wait for the plot in this one to get explained...) (Kinda suprised I got this done. Entirely uneditted as I'm leaving in 10 minutes)

This is still pretty early. Post Pac&Mike, pre-Cellbit. Infact, you may see Cellbit referenced a little... Jaiden, Bad, Foolish, Fit, and Philza explore a Federation Facility they were lead to by mysterious coordinates found tucked into a hidden supply cache...

TW: major character injury, background character death, corpses, violence

(Chapter 1/2, idk when 2 will be done but all the mission is contained here)

Following coordinates left by a spy of unknown origin is a fool’s errand, but then Foolish /has/ been assigned to the mission. Said sniper has taken it upon himself to distract Bad at every opportunity possible, and so Jaiden has stolen his command.

She presses on ahead, scouting the paths and signalling for people to follow. The low hills they arrived on give way to a road, and that is where she pauses.

3 fingers - an order to wait.

Fit crouches behind a fence, careful to make sure his grenade launcher is hidden, and squints for what she saw.

“Two guards and a sectoid,” she murmurs, Foolish hops down and into earshot. “Chances are as soon as we hit them, there will be alarms.”

“Can we sneak around?” Fit asks.

He is not against triggering the alarms and making some horrific noise, but they are here to investigate primarily. Tripping the security immediately… It’s a good way for any clues to get blown up.

Fit would know.

Blowing shit up is usually his job.

“We could try?” Jaiden chews on her lip. “But they seem to be going up and down the train tracks. Can’t see the building yet, if there even is one.”

“We should be fine,” Bad shakes his arms down a little, adjusting his grip. “Take them out fast, don’t let them call for help? A little surprise for them?”

“Up I go, then! Later!” Foolish is already crossing the road to a nearby petrol station, scrambling up to the roof.

They give him a moment to get into place, all analysing the terrain. Standard practice would be to have most of the group line up their shots, then Jaiden to distract the enemies by running straight in. As soon as they duck out of cover to deal with her…

Well Fit’s weapons are /messy/, but the others are all damned good shots.

Jaiden waits for everyone to confirm they are ready, then leaps out of her hiding spot. The Feds and their pet all turn their attention to her, stepping out of their cover to greet her.

It is their mistake.

One guard is down before it hears the gunfire, the other just as it turns to look. The sectoid tries to bolt, causing Philza’s bullet to only graze its shoulder, only for Jaiden to slice through its throat as it does. 

A shot from Foolish’s rifle puts an end to the other.

Fit checks for more danger, and sees none. Beyond the trees he can see what looks like factory smoke - likely their target. To the left, right, and behind is clear, leaving only onwards.

“All clear,” he tells them, and starts moving on.

Only to turn and realise everyone has frozen.

“Guys?” he asks.

Bad breaks out of it first, shaking his head, “ah, muffins.”

Fit tilts his head in a question.

“The Assassin,” Bad taps at his head. “Didn’t you hear her?”

Fit shakes his head, “not a thing.”

The others shake off the effect too, frowning at one another.

“Well,” it’s Jaiden who tilts her head. “If she doesn’t want us here specifically, that means we’re on track, right?”

“Right,” Philza nods. “And she’s still a bit off, yet; Niki mentioned good scrubland for landing around the back, just too close to be subtle, so it’s probably where she arrived too.”

“Did you train in the Wastelands to not get this bullshit or something?” Foolish asks. “Because, damn, not hearing her would be good.”

Fit looks at Philza.

Philza looks back.

“Something like that,” Fit says. “Takes too long to teach anyone, though.””

“Guys, let’s just get on with this,” Jaiden stretches. “She’s here now; we deal with her if she gets close. Just like always, right?”

“Yup!” Bad has Ghostie shift modes, his robot now joining Philza’s crow in keeping watch. “Let’s not give them time to sort their muffins into line.”

The rest agree, falling into formation, and Fit still is not entirely sure what they heard, but… 

Well, if it was important, Philza would have said. 

---

Beyond the treeline is a railway track, and beyond the track is a building made of concrete and steel. The emblem of the Federation sits proudly on the front, clearly marking out their target. Unlike city facilities it has no main front door, only two small side ones.

And outside of it are crates upon crates, scattered and stacked up. Every crate has a metal frame, but some sort of clear plastic reveals the green glow inside. On the sidings of the railway tracks is a flatbed cargo carriage, also stacked up with them, but those ones have a tarp pulled over to hide the worst of the glow.

And inside each and every crate, there is a perfectly intact human form.

“The fudge,” Fit breathes out.

He is not the only one, the group quiet and faces grim.

Hesitantly, Philza approaches the closest of the exposed crates. He kneels besides them, his Crow sat atop and looking down. He frowns as he looks first at his bird, and then at the screen giving him readouts from it.

And then he is still, very still, just quietly breathing and eyes skimming text as his Crow hops between the stacks of crates, taking readings both for records and Philza’s consumption.

Breathe in, breathe out; Philza is rarely so quiet.

It is… concerning.

Fit kneels beside him, listening to the others shuffle and looking at his old friend.

“Phil?” he asks.

“Dead,” Philza doesn’t even look up from the screen on his glove. “All of them are dead.”

Fit stands again, looking over the crates. If this many are stacked outside…

“And the goo?” Jaiden asks.

Philza shakes his head, and Foolish shrugs. Now he looks properly, Fit can see that they both also look a little shaken.

“We’re too late,” Jaiden replies. “All these people…”

“We’d need to run samples, but I think… I think we found the missing civilians.”

“Fudge, Max!” Bad turns sharply to Foolish.

“Max…?” Foolish replies. “Oh, fuuuuuck. Fuck, okay, we’ll just… You break it gently to him, alright?”

“Do you think we could…?” Jaiden starts, before shaking her head. “There’s too many of them.. I…”

“Take a moment,” Fit advises, knowing that, of the five of them, only he and Philza have much experience with the sort of tortures that the Federation call ‘science’. “We can’t help these people, but we can stop the fuckers taking anyone else. Breathe through it, and get fucking angry.”

Jaiden curls in on herself, while what little of Bad’s face can be seen is grim. Foolish is the one who takes the advice to heart, kicking at one of the low walls. Fit and Philza keep watch; everyone has known civilians dying before, hell the sanctuaries have been attacked often enough. But that is in fire and blood and anger, while these…

These crates, the putting of every corpse into it’s own storage container of goo, nearly piled outside a facility presumably for some sort of processing…

Well, it takes a few minutes, the first time. Emotions should be processed later, but you gotta get them into the boxes somehow.

But they do not have minutes, only seconds, because more trouble will arrive soon enough

Philza is the one to break the quiet, taking a deep breath and looking inwards to the group once again. “We need to-”

Whatever he was about to say, he cuts himself off as he drops to his knees. Above him, right where his neck had been, a long sword swipes through the air. As it does, an arm - a torso, a head - flicker into vision.

Purple skinned, hair pulled back, armour in red and black, two swords - Assassin.

“Good reflexes,” she twitches her head as she speaks, lips pulled in a mockery of - or maybe attempt at - a smile. "I had hoped your kind would never stumble across this facility, you know? Some things are best left unknown. But, now you have seen it… I cannot permit you to leave. Prepare yourselves."

As if.

Philza glances over, and Fit catches his eye. It’s a little dark but, while the Assassin talks about how wonderful it will be to kill them all, he nods.

Fit adjusts his gun.

Philza pulls a knife from his toolbelt.

It isn’t a combat knife, not really, but it still cuts flesh well as Philza sinks it into the Assassin’s ankle. He darts back, and Fit knows how this goes.

He opens fire.

The Assassin cuts off her words at the storm of bullets, a nasty hit to the shoulder as she jumps over the fence and into cover. Jaiden follows, cursing out her opponent with knife in hand.

Mud is kicked up and into Jaiden’s eyes, blinding her - and the following Foolish - just long enough for the Assassin to pull out her cloaking device.

Fit cannot fire, not with his allies so close, but Bad can. A shot from the rifle lands squarely in the Assassin’s back right as she fades from view.

“FUCK!” Jaiden yells. “Shit! Where is she?!”

The answering laughter echoes around.

“Is she gone?” Foolish asks. “Wait, no, she’s not gone. Stay close.”

Even though he knows that he will never see her coming, Fit still keeps glancing from side to side. His skin crawls with eyes on his back, the very familiar sensation of being hunted down his spine. Philza looks just as edgy, eyes a little wild as he presses against Fit’s good side.

The five form a circle, all looking out, guns ready for trouble when it comes.

And they wait.

And they wait.

And they wait, until Bad sighs and shifts his gun a little.

“She isn’t coming,” he says. “She’s waiting for us to be distracted.”

“Do we wait for her to get bored? Or press on?” Jaiden is equally as shifty, eyes narrowed as she looks arond.

“She doesn’t get bored,” Philza’s voice is a little distant. “If we wait, they’ll just bring more of the fuckers in.”

And that’s damned the problem, isn’t it?

All five pairs of eyes turn to the door, and then at everybody else. They need to enter, they know they need to, but with the Assassin in play… It’s a fucking death trap.

Fit looks at his companions again.

He is about to offer, when Jaiden nods, and pushes back her shoulders.

“I’ll go,” she says, already pulling out her sword. “Foolish?”

Foolish cocks a pistol, “always.”

The two of them enter, side by side. Fit positions himself behind them, ready for them to slip to either side of the door and allow him to fire on whatever is within. Foolish does, firing a few rounds from his pistol. Jaiden… sort of does, jumping over some scattered technology and charging an enemy out of sight.

Fit, however, cannot see whatever problem they have seen; he makes sure that Philza is keeping an eye out for threats from the outside, and also presses on in.

First assessment - threats. Three MECs, standing in some sort of algae-coloured water. Four Federation Guards to the right, one senior two with stun batons. Two sectoids and another guard to the left, Jaiden already there with sword in one hand, rifle in the other, and sparring all three at once.

Second assessment - location. Copper and brass looking technology, glowing in sickly green. There are walkways around the edge of a pool of tainted water, and the back wall consists of hundreds upon hundreds of giant tubes. Each is filled with glowing green.

Each contains a human corpse.

Third assessment - next action. Even if Jaiden somehow cannot manage two sectoids and a guard, an automatic fire submachine gun is not going to help her there. The other guards are A Problem, but MECs? MECs are his specialty.

The best cover he is getting is the sheet metal serving as a bannister for the walkway - MECs don’t care, not with small-scale rocket launchers, and those Guards are busy coming closer anyway. He hefts the gun onto the railing - he can support it himself, especially with the prosthetic, but he likes having knees - and lets loose.

Somewhere behind him, the door closes. Bad’s Ghostie drifts over, stunning the MEC not caught in the hail of bullets, while Fit hears the very familiar sound of a grenade exploding somewhere near the group of four guards. He does not have the luxury of protecting his own back, but they will all have to do.

“Do not touch the liquid!” Bad calls the group as Ghostie swoops back to him. “It eats flesh!”

Jaiden seems to take that warning as inspiration, because right after she yells “got it!”, one of the sectoids is flipped over the railing, and sent screaming into it.

It’s not an acid, any acid working that fast would surely damage at least the paintwork on the MECs, but it’s fucking grim. Something enzyme based? Fit’s seen some people try that sort of shit in the Wasteland, but never get it to work.

Might be, might not be; that’s not really Fit’s job.

He knows that some of the Order - Maxo, mostly, though Missa has been convinced to carry them too - do fancy shit with bluescreen bullets and EMP grenades. Fit, though? Fit likes to do this the old fashioned way. Just filling the fuckers full of lead.

Highly specialised, sharpened lead, designed to tear through metal with even more ease than flesh, but lead nonetheless.

He takes one down, dives under cover to avoid the small rockets another fires at him, and takes a smattering of shrapnel to the arm. He wears proper armour unlike some people he could mention, and it’s far enough away that it does not cut all the way through, but it certainly leaves scorch marks across the fabric.

It is nothing that accounts for how, as he stands, Philza screams, “Fit! Look out!”

Fit turns, and sees nothing; both MECs are reloading, the sectoids are dead and the guards are engaged. Maybe a late call about the rockets, but-

A cold chill runs down his spine.

“Your training fails you,” a voice whispers in his ear. He turns, catching the eyes of the Assassin as her cloaking device flickers off. He grabs at her, twisting himself away.

Cold, hard steel punctures through his armour.

He does not look. Fit does not look, but he can feel how her sword enters his back just below his ribs, curving up and escaping just after the next one.

One, two, three.

Waiting for the pain to kick in, Fit takes careful breaths around the blade. He’s survived worse. He’s survived worse. They’ve fought her off before. There are potions and medics right there. Don’t panic, do not panic, panic and you die.

And then the rips out the blade.

The agony hits, and Fit drops to his knees, pressing his hands to the wounds and gasping for air.

It hurts, it hurts, it /hurts!

“Take comfort,” she whispers to him, wiping his blood from her blade, “for there is dignity in death to a superior opponent.”

Fit closes his eyes.

A clash of steel.

From the floor he struggles them open again. 

Foolish is between him and the Assassin, her blades caught on his pistols. Jaiden, sprinting over, slashes down her back and the fight moves away.

“Phil!” Foolish yells. “And you, bitch, get away from him!”

With his assailant distracted and a bleeding tear through his chest, Fit pushes himself backwards, behind a counter. Worse place to fire from, but better cover. He runs on instinct, blood pooling inside him and leaving a trail across the floor. Hide, heal, get safe - he’s had worse, he’s had fucking worse, just fucking breathe.

(Or don’t because, shit, he has no idea how to tell if she caught his lung).

Moments later, Philza’s Crow stumbles a landing beside him. He can see the splash potion already prepared, the pink liquid in the throat of the robotic bird.

He lifts a hand, letting it apply it to the front, before shifting just enough to apply it to the back. Almost immediately the numbing component takes effect; now the burning is gone, he collapses once again. He can hear Foolish swearing as he fights, Bad answering just as instinctively, the clang of sword-on-sword, and the steady fire of either Bad or Philza’s rifle as the other enemies are kept at bay.

It’s Bad’s; as the weapon is still firing, Philza slides around the counter, medical bag already open and hanging off his shoulder.

“Fit?” he asks.

Fit gives him a somewhat listless thumbs up, “right here, Phil. Potion got the bleeding, just waiting for the painkillers, you know?”

“Right,” some of the tension in Philza’s shoulders drops as he examines the wound. He grimaces, but grabs some dressings and starts peeling off the backs. “Don’t have time to stitch this, with all this crap going on. Think you can manage until we get the fuck out of here?”

“You know me, Phil,” Fit hears the sounds of the fighting slowing down, the MECs no longer firing. “I’ve survived worse with less.”

He probably deserves the way Philza jabs his thumbs into old, tender scars as he tugs the skin together, and applies the dressings. The potion will deal with the blood, at least until the nanites run out of power. Then it’s just… Just keeping the wound sealed enough to breathe.

“Keep weight off it when you can,” Philza tells him, adding tape despite the dressings having adhesive. “As soon as we get to evac, you’re lying down and letting me look at this shit.”

There isn’t really time to agree. Fit is certain Philza was about to tell him to let someone else carry his heavier kit, only to be interrupted by Bad screeching in pain.

Philza is cursing and running before Fit has a chance to process the ungodly sound.

Still, needs must. Despite his wound, despite the painkillers not yet quite being fully working, despite the nanites still spreading into the bloodstream and stabalising the wound, allowing him to breathe, Fit pulls himself to his feet. Feeling a little weak he hoists his gun onto the counter.

It’s awkward to work like this, but he can; he directs his attention to the last of the Sectoids, and lets loose a hail of bullets.

It falls, and Fit looks around.

Jaiden is adjusting one of her vambraces, while Foolish reloads his pistols. Bad looks a little dizzy, but waves off Philza’s hands and drinks one of his own potions rather than apply it to whatever wound he has. Crow rests on some of the rails separating the walkways from the liquid, and Ghostie floats in its place.

The MEC wrecks in the liquid stand untouched, but the Fed whose corpse fell into it is slowly dissolving away.

“We good?” Foolish asks the group. “We forced a respawn, so she shouldn’t be back anytime soon.”

“I’m good to go on,” Fit replies, even as the others somewhat hesitantly confirm.

Whatever they are looking for, well… The missing civilians were some of it, and fuck this - fuck all of this - but the rest… Whatever their contact sent them to get? It’s in the back, isn’t it?

“Fit, you got explosives?” Bad asks.

“Do I have explosives,” Fit deadpans back. “What do you take me for, Bad, a reasonably human being? Of course I have fucging explosives.”

The slip gets him a look, but Bad must be feeling shitty as he allows it to pass, “we wanna meet up with Niki, right? Can you make a door in the back wall while we check that room out?”

A door?

“You won’t be able to close it,” he warns.

“Oh that’s fine,” Bad smiles a bit. “We don’t need to leave this place intact.”

“Just tell me where you want it, then.”

“Hm… Back wall, to the right? I saw an internal door there you can duck around once it’s set!”

“Perfect,” Fit ignores Philza’s glare, and hoists his gun back over his shoulder. “You four headed to that lab looking room?”

“Yup,” Foolish pops the p as he speaks. “See you in five!”

Fit waves his acknowledgement, waiting for the four of them to start heading over. Once they’re close enough to the back for any aliens in the last room to jump them and not him, Fit starts the other way around the walkway.

Alone, now, he can see how the liquid is not just dissolving the corpse, but is glowing as it does so. Bubbles he sort of expected, but glowing is fucking weird; even if they have to take samples of this shit, he isn’t touching it. Tubbo with glowing flesh dissolvant? Could probably make it work, but half of the field agents can’t be trusted to handle grenades, let alone that stuff.

Examining the wall Bad asked for a hole making in, Fit finds a couple of weak points. The area around the window is surprisingly well reinforced, especially given that the section next to it is cracked. Outside, a short, muddy cliff where the facility was cut into a slope, leading up to some shrubland beyond.

The facility is not exactly hidden, but why do the Feds need to hide the damn thing, when they already rule the world?

Despite the cracked section and the reinforcement, Fit still elects to lay the explosives around the window; upon examining the cracks, damaging that bit of wall further would just bring the roof down on them. If his maths is right - and Fit’s explosives maths is always right - he should be able to blow out the window and the section of wall below it, while keeping the top of the frame in place. It would be easier to just blow it out from the window but, again, the structural integrity of a shitty concrete job.

Given everything going on in this facility he’s a bit surprised the walls are /this/ bad, but perhaps the Federation enjoys cutting corners more than they enjoy their horrific science experiments going to plan.

Just through the wall beside him, Fit can hear the intense debate of the others. The wall muffles it a little too much to hear specifics, but it means they’ll be done soon.

It’s for the best; Fit really, really does not want to be stuck on the helicopter still when the painkillers wear out.

Careful of his wound, he sets the charges. He checks and double checks, before heading over to the room with the others. Enters, latches the door behind him, and moves away from it.

“Charges set,” he informs the group, already taking in the room.

It is a lab, yes, though of copper and brass looking faintly sickly in the glowing green light. Large vials of softly glowing liquid line the walls, feeding into some sort of device. The device runs through the walls and the floor, and up into a plinth in the centre.

On that plinth, being fed into by the processor, is a glass cylinder, barely larger than a syringe, filled with something viscous.

“Just a minute,” Foolish replies to Fit. “They’re arguing about if we grab whatever they’re extracting from the stuff outside or not.”

“The people,” Jaiden elaborates. “What they’re taking from the people.”

“We have to,” Bad is the one looking closest at it. “I don’t have anything to analyse it here, and it has to be important, right?“

“It looks like nitroglycerine,” Philza is frowning. “I’m not sure it’s /safe/ to touch that.”

Safety’s a bit laughable with the amount of blood covering everyone, but Fit understands the point.

Still, they gotta do what they gotta do.

Foolish seems in agreement with that sentiment; he ignores the continuing debate to simply walk over and grab the vial.

An entirely new set of alarms goes off, causing mildly irritated groans to pass around the group; it’s just loud.

Anything the others say with it going on, Fit doesn’t hear; years of working with explosives will do that, even if you have the sort of protection Fit has only recently learnt exists.

“Alright,” Fit waves for attention from the din. “Away from the door. I don’t think it’ll blow through, but this place is crap. I’ve seen lean tos more stable than this.”

In the Wasteland, sure, but that still means they were put up in ten minutes and not meant to last longer than a night.

There is not a lot of cover in this room, but they make do; Foolish and Philza, the least injured of the five, tuck themselves into the corners, using the wall itself as a shield. Fit, Jaiden, and Bad? They just about manage to be entirely covered by the machinery feeding into the glass. It’s not much better than the wall, but it’s made of metal and not shit concrete.

Fit gives a count of three for them to cover their ears, and hits the detonator.

The door does not blow in, and the walls do hold, but even with all his calculations the ceiling does crack. It doesn’t fall, though, so he considers it a win. They let the dust settle, then scramble back up.

“You three get out first, we’ll cover you,” comes Philza’s order.

With even more alarms and reinforcements surely on the way, there is no point in arguing or quibbling over who is incharge; Foolish passes Bad the vial, and the trio run.

Well, no, Fit cannot run - while the painkillers are working, the numbing effect has worn off. It hurts again, now, and he can feel where movement tugs at the dressings. Bad sees him stumble and offers an arm, helping him on while Jaiden runs ahead to lay the flares and call Niki back down.

They do not talk, busy with the necessity of movement. Behind them, Fit hears Philza swearing. Bad calls back a ‘language’, and Fit only hopes that Philza has the time to flip him off in return.

It takes forever and no time at all for Niki to appear and drop the ladder. Jaiden does not immediately scramble up, instead waiting for the two of them, picking off any aliens which escape Philza and Foolish’s aims.

Fit lets go of Bad, letting him climb up first. It takes a minute and some deep breathing to prepare himself, but Fit can find it in himself to follow.

He can almost feel the wound tear as he does.

At the top, Bad grabs his arm, hoisting him into the helicopter proper. Fit does not even bother getting to a chair, merely rolling out of the way of the hatch and cussing up a storm.

Bad does not scold him, and that’s a grim thought.

“Sorry,” he still says, when the man approaches. “Stings like a, um, muffin.”

“We’ll handle that later,” Bad sounds chipper, but he frowns as he checks on the dressings and sees blood. Two black hands, nails too long for gloves, press down on it.

Fit grunts, and leans back, watching as Jaiden swings herself in. She strips off her armour, grabbing one of the helicopter’s medical kits to bandage herself up. She looks exhausted; Fit feels it too.

It’s not long after that that Philza and Foolish appear. Fit offers them a wave, as Foolish pulls up the ladder and Philza comes over.

“How is it?” Philza asks.

“The dressings are bloody,” Fit replies. “Still had worse.”

“Well, fuck,” Philza takes over from Bad, who excuses himself to go sit with Foolish. “Pain levels?”

“I’ll live.”

“Fit.”

“What do you want me to day?” Fit asks. “It’s better than the last time I got stabbed through the gut?”

It is not exactly reassuring words for either of them.

“Alright, fuck, I think we have soluble stitches in one of these. Should hold until we get back and someone can fix you up proper,” Philza roots around in his bag, pulling out a couple of packets. “Wouldn’t recommend being conscious, though.”

Being unconscious while injured and on the transport? No fucking way.

“Phil,” Fit just says.

“I know, I know, I just have to fucking say it,” he opens one of the packets, rips off the top layer of dressing, and presses something gooey into the wound. “Try not to bleed out.”

“Trying my fucking best.”

Phil gives him a thin smile. That’s the last of the helicopter ride that Fit actually remembers, except for the fact he did make it back to the Avenger conscious, if delirious.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

And, done! Please enjoy 5 chapters of xcom au nonsense, specifically that mission I keep referencing where many people get fucked up. (Unfortunately Pac gets 2 PoVs and Roier none because... *gestures* I suck at writing Roier?). Also god I want to write Forever's PoV but its 9pm and I started this at like half 11 and shhh.

TW: blood, explosions, major injuries, near death experiences, head injuries, possession, hosptials, nausea, violence, panic, player-on-player violence, really stupid life choices, *hand waves medicine with scifi excuses*

Chapter 1 - Pac

It’s a long flight from Canada to Norway. Even with the emergency call coming through as soon as it did, Pac knows there is likely little they can do to help. Mike sits beside him in the helicopter, adjusting the settings on the Rats for the terrain. Nobody imagines there’s much to hack, but the team is a mess of people who could be scrambled that fast - himself and Mike, Roier, Missa and Philza. Philza is nominally in command, but stuff like this…

Once they get to the ground, it’s just a case of going wherever there’s civilians still alive and hope for the best.

Mike nestles in his brain, and Pac takes a breath. He unclenches his fingers from his trousers, and checks over his own kit instead.

Knife, gun, potion in place of a grenade. They hadn’t been able to scrape many together - Philza has the rest, loaded into his Crow for easier distribution - and they hope it’s enough.

Check inside your gun 

A reminder from Mike - it was jamming on the training range a few days back.

Pac nods and sends a vague acknowledgement back along the bond, pulling out his screwdrivers. A couple of the parts he oils, but otherwise everything seems fine. He’s satisfied, and so is Mike, so Pac closes his eyes and nestles himself in the back of Mike’s brain, and lets his body catch some rest.

“We don’t have a map of the camp,” Philza’s voice pulls him into the present, though he remains where he was before. “We’re unlikely to have much cover. Missa, if you want to get up on a roof as soon as we land, I’ll join you when I can.”

The sniper nods, tying back his hair despite it already being under his hood, “you’ll be okay?”

“We’ll be fine,” Philza glances around the rest. “Whatever building Missa picks - you guys take the right, Roier and I take the left?”

So long as Pac is with Mike, he doesn’t mind; he gives Mike that vague impression, and lets him speak for both of them.

“Do you want us to focus scouting or clearing?” Mike asks.

Philza looks at Roier, who shrugs.

“If you see people, focus on getting to them. Otherwise, make sure there’s nothing to sneak up on you.”

Pac stretches just enough of himself back into his own body to give a thumbs up. Then, under Mike’s nudging, he slowly drags the rest of himself back.

There’s only o much to do in the helicopter, so he reaches down and stretches out his back. With the limited space available he does his best to prepare his body, working his muscles out of the cramp from the helicopter seats. Around him the others do the same.

No but seriously what is up with those two

Huh?

Pac looks up - Mike steals his body a second to slam his face back down. Instead he shows him an image of Missa staring at Philza, doey eyes. And a return, of Philza’s attention a little too taken by the man’s shoulders while he stretches.

Pac knows the smile meets his lips.

I’m not sure he answers Mike but Fit says Phil’s wife has been trying to get them in bed together for years, so it’s nothing new.

I knew that, it’s just painful

They’ll work it out.

What, like you and Fit?

Hey!

There isn’t time for Pac to be more than indignant; no sooner as he snapped to glare at Mike than Niki’s voice comes over the intercom.

“We’re two minutes out,” she says. “There’s no clear landing zone, so you’ll have to use lines to get in. Once you’re there, you’re on your own - they’ve got MECs out, so I can’t loiter, and I can’t collect you until they’re taken out. Will park up as close as I can and I’ll be back as soon as you give me the all clear. Stay in contact, okay?”

While she’s in the pilot’s seat, there’s no good way to reply to her - Philza sends a text message of acknowledgement through on the comms.

Roier is already up and working on prepping the lines; Pac goes to help, and leaves the others to the fine print.

---

Everything is on fire.

That’s an exaggeration, but not by a whole lot. Almost everything is on fire, and Pac pulls out a mask to protect him from the smoke. He sees the others do the same, taking it in turns to cover each other.

And by the time they have masks on, filters so they can breathe the air, already the aliens are there. At the edge of his vision, Pac spots one harassing an older gentleman. Mike knows where he’s going before he does, already shooting at the stun-baton wielding Federation Guard as Pac slides into place.

He gets his knife between the baton and the gentleman, and tells him to run.

The man doesn’t need telling twice, taking the distraction to get himself out of the fight.

With a glance Pac spots Missa signalling to a building. He acknowledges, and shows Mike how to loop behind.

They don’t get very far. Pac feels the familiar headache of someone else using psionics nearby, and a sickly purple glow covers the corpse of the guard they just killed.

He backs away, finding the security of Mike, as they watch the corpse reanimate. It holds itself wrong, strangely, stumbling and lopsided and still very, very much dead.

One of the Lost - a zombie.

Across the car park they see Philza and Roier contending with more of the same, all glowing purple. Missa, already up one storey, turns and kills one of them. There’s not…

A Sectoid can raise one zombie at a time. But five? Five is not a Sectoid, that’s…

He looks at Mike, finds his eyes.

What is that?

I- I- I don’t know

Mike’s eyes are wide and wild, Pac’s sure his own are much the same.

Greetings

Another voice - not Mike’s - pierces into Pac’s brain. His fingers grabs onto Mike, latches tightly, tries to breathe and breathe and breathe as he continues firing on anything dangerous in his line of sight. Maybe he isn’t a sharpshooter, but he has a gun, and he knows how to use it.

The Elders have chosen me, and I shall not spurn their blessings. Humanity’s destiny lies only at their side, to bring their vision to this world and beyond. Come, allow yourselves to be reclaimed for the glory of the gods!

Pac thinks the voice might intend to say more; dizzy under an array of images, visions of the speaker’s view for the world, he feels Mike’s mind pull on his. Grab him, hold him, pull him back through the bond.

As soon as he makes it to Mike’s mind, mental shields are thrown around him. He’s unsteady too, breathing heavily in a way the smoke does not account for; Pac grabs his hand, and takes a moment.

One breath, two breaths, throw his own shields around himself.

“Pacy?” Mike whispers to him, in voice and bond.

“I’m here,” Pac takes a sharp breath. “Thanks.”

“Be more careful, idiot.”

Mike lets go, and leaves Pac to find himself. He does - and quickly - for there are more civilians here to save.

He eases himself back into his own mind. He feels Mike follow and check his shields, before the bond fades back into a dull presence. It’s harder to feel Mike when they’re both shielding their minds, but with something that powerful present… It’s not worth the risk of leaving the hole for each other.

Philza’s Crow circles them. Pac looks up, finds its owner’s eyes and gives a shaky thumbs up. He gets a nod back, and a gesture to be safe, before Philza jogs after Roier.

They should leave too; Missa’s already in place, and whatever the fuck that was it’s already here. There’s a few people hiding inside the building - Pac gives them directions somewhere safer, back into the area the group have already killed. Mike briefs another pair, sending them along.

Across and outside there’s some commotion. An explosion.

He watches the end of the two zombies exploding - stood next to Roier, already scratched. Roier has the presence of mind to cover his face, but it’s… The explosion is psionic, Pac feels a twinge of it against his shield. Roier takes some shrapnel, but what it’s done internally is more the worry.

Roier’s standing, though - Roier is still standing, so he’ll live.

There’s another shout - through another window he sees Philza stagger under some… Some creature they’ve never seen before ramming a gun straight into head. Roier turns back and shoots it, but it takes another shot from Philza to go down.

He gestures through the window, asking Philza if he’s okay.

Their mission commander is clearly /not/, but Roier is there, and seems to help him shake it off.

Pac looks back to Mike.

Mike looks over to Pac.

They’re careful as they make their way outside.

Outside is a gas station, a counterpart to the car park on the other side. There’s a woman hiding terrified between a surprisingly functional looking car - the fuel tank has been leaking, but that’s an easy patch job if the rest of it is as okay as it seems.

There’s also a fucking MEC leering around, just the other side of the car, seemingly looking for her - like she just ran, just escaped.

Missa is already swapping buildings for a better line of sight, abandoning his current hiding spot for the gas station roof. Lower, but better lines of sight.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Mike hisses at him.

Pac dares.

He leaves Mike cursing behind him, and hops out through an already shattered window. He sprints over, and around, getting to the woman as Mike’s Rats move towards the MEC.

“Hi,” he smiles at her. “Are you hurt? It’s going to be okay.”

She doesn’t reply.

She instead stands to her full height.

The skin peels away from her flesh, an oozing, pulsating glob of tissue and sinew pushing it’s way out of her corpse, and to its height twice as tall again.

Pac doesn’t have time to scream as she - it - raises one hand. It forms claws of metal, absorbed from else where, and brings them down.

There’s not even time to shield his face before the claws drag down. He can hear himself screaming - hear Mike screaming too. And then, an ungodly screech, as metal claws catch on the car behind him. 

As soon as it’s over he grabs at his face, putting on pressure, trying to stem the bleeding as he hears Mike scream for him, and Philza.

Right, right, Pac has a potion, he should… Probably use that - ah, fuck, there’s a lot of blood.

It’s one of the last thoughts he has; he lifts one hand to look for his potion, only to see the fuel beneath the car alight.

Metal on metal.

Sparks.

There’s no real time to do anything as it catches to the engine, catches on what ever experimental fuel this complex has been using. Pac manages to angle his flesh leg away from the oncoming explosion and pull his arms up to protect his head.

That’s it.

Fire and shrapnel hits him full force. He doesn’t even have breath to keep screaming as agony sets every nerve on fire. He reaches out mentally, scraping, searching for Mike - but Mike’s shields are still up, and he’s just clawing against a wall, begging to be let him.

He can still hear their joint screams - one of agony, one of pain.

The force of the explosion has him prone on the floor. The flesh monster is still there, looking battered but still standing.

And the MEC, standing for now, but full of fuel and explosives and some of it’s been caught by the fuel explosion and Mike’s Rats manage to run but Pac’s on the floor and he knows, he knows that this explosion is going to be bigger than the last.

Some of the explosives catch.

Pac can’t even move well enough to protect his head as, a few feet from him, a MEC full of gunpowder and explosives goes up in flames.

Somehow Pac, despite everything, is still conscious, just conscious enough for just long enough to realise that this is how he dies as he feels his body burn and the concussive force slam his very being into his skin.

It’s not a state that lasts long.

Chapter 2 - Philza

With the zombies exploding on Roier and his own head wound he’s pretending very hard is not a concussion, Philza knows this mission has already gone to hell. The addition of one of what can only be the third of the Chosen, from how it implanted messages into their minds, from how sick Pac and Mike looked, puts it all in the handbasket.

But he can see well enough to read his screen, direct the Crow, and shoot, and they don’t /have/ an escape from this mission - he’s not going to ask Niki to get herself killed, especially not when it means abandoning the civilians to die.

So, he pushes on.

He first knows something is even worse when he hears Pac and Mike /scream/. Mike’s calling for Pac, and Pac’s just screaming, so he flicks the touchscreen embedded in his gloves to showing him the team’s vitals. The suits read them, and it’s not entirely accurate, but fuck it it’s good enough. Pac’s still screaming, and he hears Mike calling now for him - for Philza - so he leaves Roier to the aliens this side and runs around the wall.

And, oh god, running is making him feel fucking ill.

A bullet whistles past him, embedding itself in the one Federation Guard who thought to follow him. He tracks the bullet’s path, looks over to the petrol station roof, and offers Missa a brief hand of thanks.

He doesn’t see if he gets an acknowledgement, because that’s when the first explosion happens.

Right next to where he /thinks/ Pac was.

He checks his screen - Pac’s still breathing, and his heart rate is only panic levels of elevated, even the suit beneath his armour is showing heavy damage to its own structure.

Philza puts the Crow into heal mode, and is about to order it to go spray a splash potion where Pac’s wounds seem worst when there’s another explosion.

How can he not look up?

This one is larger, worse, heavier - it catches the roof of the petrol station. He hears Missa shriek as the heat catches him, only for the roof to collapse and his friend go tumbling with it.

Philza joins with Mike’s screams as he scrambles through readouts and screams, trying to work out what’s going on.

Somehow - somehow - they’re both alive. The explosion hasn’t helped his headache, but he ignores it as he squints, focusing on the numbers.

Missa’s aren’t great, but they’re holding steady.

Pac’s…

Pac’s blood pressure is dropping fast, his heart picking up as it tries to compensate.

Philza runs the numbers, and, fucking shit - he directs the Crow towards Pac, and is already running himself. There’s not a /lot/ he can do for burns and blunt force injuries in a firefight, but he can at least check if the potions worked and get him a fucking shock blanket.

Or he would, and the Crow would, except that Mike gets in their way.

His eyes are glowing green - expected, they have been since the message from the third Chosen, presumably shielding his more sensitive brain from further intrusion - and panicked - not wrong, but a problem

Doubly so when he points the gun at Philza.

Fuck.

“Mike,” he tries to be calm, keeps glancing at his glove, checking the numbers, seeing if he has time left. “I need to treat Pac.”

He gains a string of angry, sobbing, terrified Portuguese. Philza recognises Pac’s name, stop, something about death, and the rest of it’s too garbled.

Mike has some medical training - everyone running the bots does - but his are designed for hacking, not healing. He doesn’t have access to the potions, or the readouts.

“He’s not dead,” Philza tries to impress upon him. “He’ll live, if you let me fucking treat him, Mike!”

And he doesn’t speak Portuguese, so he can’t even use that to try cut through Mike’s panic.

When it doesn’t work, he tries to step forwards.

Mike’s finger twitches on his trigger - Philza stops.

Philza can see the readout on his screen; Pac’s heart rate is continuing to skyrocket as his blood pressure continues to drop. He doesn’t have long, his chances are counted in seconds, seconds Mike is stealing and Philza knows it’s a panic attack he knows it isn’t on purpose but he doesn’t have fucking /time/.

“Mike!!” He yells. “If you don’t let me past right now, Pac /will/ fucking die!”

Mike still hisses as him, the gun pointed out, tears streaming down his face. Philza doubts he can even hear him at this point, cursing under his breath as he glances between the readouts of Pac’s vitals and the gun.

There’s a clatter.

Mike turns his gun to the noise - just Missa, pulling himself shakily from the rubble. Philza takes the opportunity as he can. He orders Crow past Mike, ducking around and potions already loaded. He has them dropped around Pac’s head and his torso, praying the application is enough to stabalise him.

It takes a moment, but with the sealing of the major wounds his blood pressure stops dropping. It won’t last more than a few hours - potion work never does - but he can hope it’s enough to get him home, and to Aypierre, where their resources aren’t great but they’re a damn sight better than a burning wreck of a town. They’ve dealt with severe burns before, they’ll deal with them again - even the helicopter has better resources, with access to the IV fluids and possibly blood which Pac desperately needs.

And Pac will live to get to them, if Mike just lets him past.

“Mike!” he tries again, trying to quell the anger, trying to sympathise with what has to be terrifying because oh, Christ, Missa was caught too and Philza needs to treat Pac first but /Missa/ and, yeah, maybe he /can/ sympathise a bit. “Try feeling for him - he’s not fucking dead, so god help me!”

Something seems to get through to Mike; his eyes flicker. The green glow drops for a few seconds. His breathing evens a bit and he twists to Pac, his voice softer as he calls out “Pacy…”

Philza isn’t having more of this; he sends Crow to use the last of the potions to stabalise Missa’s injuries, and hurries over to Pac’s side.

Up close, Pac looks even worse. In places the heat has burnt bits of his clothes into his skin, and said burns coat much of his exposed skin. His leg - prosthetic, thank fuck - seems to have taken the worst of the damage. It’s dented, melting in places from the extreme heat, bits of shrapnel embedded in it. The reinforcement in Pac’s hood and armour seem to have protected him from the rest of the shrapnel, but not the heat or the flames. It’s battered, and torn, and Philza would put good money on a head injury from how he fell. Dislocated shoulder, broken ribs would not surprise him. The data he gets from the suits to his screen doesn’t tell him shit like that.

Mike hesitates, Philza does not. He shifts Pac onto his side, and unpackages a foil blanket to drape over him. The fluids are on the helicopter and - fuck, they can’t just evac Pac now, it’s still unsafe for Niki to approach.

There’s one potion left in Pac’s belt.

Philza grabs it, and hands it to Mike.

“Keep him safe,” Philza instructs - and, fuck, Mike’s in no state to be doing more than that. “If his lips go blue, he starts shaking, or he gets any fainter in your head, or something fuckingshoots him, pour this on him and /scream/. Understand?”

“Can I move him?” is the first English Philza earns from him.

Philza considers it a second, looking around. Here is… Moving him anywhere other than the helicopter isn’t ideal, not with his injuries, but the other option is leaving him here. Open, in the middle of an active firefight, near more barrels of extremely flammable material. 

And that’s not going to /help/.

“That petrol station has a shop. Hide in there - make sure he stays warm and keep him on his side.”

Simple instructions, Phil, simple instructions - the man’s scared out of his mind. It’s all shit Mike should know, but reminders help.

Mike nods, blinks hard to stop his tears, and scoops Pac up. Philza covers for them as they duck inside the building, hopefully away from the glass.

And then he turns back, looking at the two remaining people. Missa is also covered in burns, and Philza would put money on his ankle being broken. Roier is still covered in claw marks from the zombies, but at least those have stopped bleeding.

Thank fuck, as they’re all out of potions.

Tubbo’s going to kill him for using all of them, if they even get out of this.

Because there’s still the fucking Chosen somewhere around here, and a good few Federation Workers left.

Philza takes a step to press on. His vision swims, and he grabs at the wall.

When he opens his eyes, Missa is there, grabbing his arm and worries. Philza smiles at him, waves him off, pulls himself back up.

“It’s just a long day,” he says, ignoring his pounding head. “Mike’s looking after Pac, let’s just… Get this over with.”

No sooner does he say that than he curses himself. There’s no enemy in sight but Missa /screams/, dropping to his knees and clutching at his head. It lasts a second before it stops.

“Missa?” Philza kneels beside him. “Are you good?”

Missa’s pistol is pressed against his forehead.

Fuck.

Missa’s face twitches up, almost glitching into a smile. His eyes - his eyes are consumed by glowing purple.

Just like the zombies. Just like…

Oh, crap.

Philza might not bring knives to gun fights any more, but he was a melee specialist long before he was a healer. He knows this, like instinct, it’s in his blood and is his reality. He shoves up with one arm, pushing Missa’s hand aside.

The pistol fires, but only hits the wall.

Fucking mind control.

Not-Missa laughs, and gets up. Philza can hear the crunch of forcing weight onto a broken bone as not-Missa steps away, pulling out the pistol and - 

And it was a civilian. A civilian who was alive and now dead, and Philza prays and prays that Missa won’t remember any of this once they break the control.

To break the control they need to kill the controller, and looking…

There’s the obviously psionic Chosen, laughing in time with not-Missa from one of the nearby rooftops.

Philza flags down Roier, and points it out, and makes a warning about not-Missa too.

Roier nods, and jumps into action, and clutches at his head in turn. Philza’s terrified for a second - terrified of having to face two possessed comrades alone while his nausea and his headache are growing steadily worse - but rather than control Roier just… slumps.

A quick check at his screen and… it looks like he’s under a sedative? But clutched at his head?

Either way if it’s psionics getting the Chosen away will break it, and if it’s an actual sedative then clearing out the last of the danger serves the same.

Philza pulls out his gun, shoots at the creature.

And then…

And then the roof the Chosen is standing on collapses beneath its feet.

Confused, Philza looks around only to see… There’s Mike, in the doorway of the petrol station shop, face stained in tears and fury in his eyes and the pin of a frag grenade in his hand.

It doesn’t free Missa, nor does it take out the Chosen, but it does free Roier.

Who staggers to his feet, and joins in the attack.

Roier pulls out his knife, and hacks at the creature while Mike stays in the doorway, and cleans up the last few guards.

The knife seems to do a lot, but not-Missa is raising the pistol again - thank fuck its his pistol not his sniper rifle to be honest - and Philza knows he doesn’t have time.

A wave of dizziness, of darkness washes over him.

Philza Minecraft swallows it down, points his gun, and fires.

Chapter 3 - Missa

The Warlock teleports away, and Missa can breathe again. Missa can breathe, and seconds later Philza also collapses. He’s closest - Missa runs for him, picks him up from the floor, and holds him in his lap.

His wounds smart, his body is in ruins and - oh, fuck, what do they do now. Where’s Mike, where’s Pac, he didn’t- What did-

“Missa,” Roier’s voice snaps him out of it.

All six of his once-friend’s eyes blink at him.

Missa takes a breath, meets the largest two, and says, “Roier, he-”

“I’ve called Niki,” Roier says. “She’ll get us out, then send someone else for the civilians. Have you got him?”

Civilians, civilians, oh God what did he-

“Missa!”

Right. Philza is not a heavy man, nor is he tall, but between wings and armour he’s still awkward to carry. Awkward to carry, and Missa’s body shakes under the weight of even his gun. He moves an arm, he tests it, and he shakes his head.

“Don’t you dare pass out too, idiot,” Roier’s words catch as he speaks. “Throw some flares for Niki. I’ll grab Pac and Mike, you watch him. We’ll work it out.”

“I’m grabbed.” Oh, and there’s Mike, really close by. “I’ll be with Pac. Yell when the helicopter’s here.”

Roier will work it out, but that’s fine. So long as somebody is.

There’s a slap against his face. “Get your shit together, man, or they’re actually going to die!”

Missa takes a deep breath and his shit is far from together, and everything hurts, but Roier is also terrified and Mike is terrified and, yeah, he can throw the flares.

He takes a deep breath, and does exactly that.

Roier seems to crumple when he sees that, sitting down on the ashy tarmac. Missa can’t blame him - even with the aid of a mask, it’s still a struggle to breathe.

They don’t say anything as Niki comes by. She seems to hesitate a bit, hovering for a moment.

Missa… Missa looks at Philza in his lap, then across at Roier, then at the shop where Pac and Mike are sheltering, and he knows they aren’t managing to climb a ladder or take the ropes up. Niki must realise it too when they make no move to stand - she lands the helicopter on the ground nearby. Missa can see her check around before pulling out her pistol, unstrapping herself, and slipping down.

In his lap, Philza stirs. Missa tries to nudge him to consciousness, and it kinda works… Ish. His eyes won’t focus and he doesn’t seem able to make sense of words, but he lies against Missa and keeps those eyes open and breathes with intent.

Niki spies Missa first. She walks over to him, and he - exhausted, shaking, burnt - gestures her over to Roier.

It doesn’t take much wrangling; she gets stretchers for Philza and Pac. Roier runs on ahead to get medical stuff set up, while Mike helps with the stretchers.

Missa… Missa lets them take Philza, and then… And then he doesn’t know how to get up.

He closes his eyes for a second.

When he opens them Roier is there, shaking his shoulder and dragging him up.

Missa puts weight on one leg, and it buckles. Pain shoots through his spine, and it’s everything not to scream.

Roier doesn’t bother waiting for another stretcher - he scoops Missa up, and carries him inside.

He’s sat down in one of the seats. Missa manages to strap himself in, only for Roier to grab his arm and stick something under his skin.

Needle - he looks up, and sees a bag of saline attached.

“Roier?” he asks.

“You’ve got burns,” he replies. “And spacing out - you’re getting fluids, idiot.”

There’s other things, important things, “is Philza alright?”

Roier pauses, “head injuries. He’s awake, but not coherent. You?”

“One of my legs is broken,” Missa replies, because that’s the other thing and it’s easier than worry, in this place where worry won’t help them. “I don’t… I think that’s it.”

There’s a tap on his head, and Roier hesitates then says, “it isn’t your fault.”

“It was my hand and my gun.”

He’s not the first of them to get mind controlled, and he doubts he’ll be the last, but still. He… He remembers the realisation on Philza’s face, the look in the civilians’ eyes as he killed them, the-

His nose is flicked.

“Dumbass,” Roier says, as the helicopter takes off. “I need to help Mike with Pac - I’ll check on you in a bit.”

Missa waves him off, puts his head in his hands, and starts crying.

---

It’s not a long trip back to the Avenger, for all it feels like it takes an eternity. Missa feels like he should be helping more - he knows he should help more - but every time he tries, Roier forces him back into his seat with a snap and a ‘just sit still’. Mike manages to gather himself enough to radio in their injuries, and both of them are monitoring the rest, and Missa…

Missa is just there.

Some missions are just shit, he knows some missions are just shit, but God he feels awful in every way possible.

When they arrive, they take Pac first, and then Philza. Mike goes with them - you could never convince Mike not to - while Roier lingers. Jaiden, just about awake, brings a wheelchair. Missa doesn’t have a choice about using it, or letting someone push it, but he feels he should have a choice about how Roier lingers by his side.

When they get there, Aypierre’s lab has been cleared. One of the research assistants and Bad are with Philza, keeping him lying down as they check over his head. There’s a few chairs left to one side. Roier is forced next to one, and Missa is parked next to it, and she goes over to one of the trays to bring antiseptic, needle and thread.

Mike is sat on the floor, off to one side, taking forcibly deep breaths as tears stream down his face.

“Can’t do much for the burns,” she apologises. “And you’ll have to wait for Aypierre. Don’t want to mess things up for him. And as for you,” she turns to Roier. “This will sting.”

That’s all the warning Roier gets before she pours antiseptic onto gauze, then shoves it against one of Roier’s many cuts. She holds it there a minute, before pulling it away and starting to sew.

There’s the sound of fast boots on the stairs outside. Missa looks up just in time to see Forever, more stressed than he thinks he’s ever seen him, and Felps enter into the room. They make a beeline for Mike, his sobs becoming audible in a hailstorm of Portuguese.

Missa looks at his hands, and finds them empty.

Philza is being treated across the room. Kristin is an ocean away. Spreen…

Spreen’s still missing.

Roier is right next to him, he’s right there, right in grasping range, but his flesh is being stitched back together and even if it weren’t…

Even if it weren’t, Missa isn’t sure he would accept his hand. It’s been ages, and it was Spreen’s fault, but Missa is also at least partially to blame.

So Missa curls over, and holds his own hands, and ignores the ice creeping up his spine.

Chapter 4 - Mike

It’s been hours since they returned. Mike’s the only one who came out of the mission unscathed, but he doesn’t feel like it was a victory. He’s sat in the common room now, clinging to Pac’s hand. It’s the only room with multiple beds, and the medical equipment is limited, so…

Well there’s now only five free beds for everyone not critically ill, and three of those involve wading through medical equipment to get to a top bunk.

Pac is all wires and bandages, smelling of antiseptic and not his proper cleaning oil. There’s monitors, and fluids, and antibiotics, oxygen and food… The sedatives from surgery are being continued, Aypierre said, to make sure his body gets a chance to heal.

It’s the same for Philza, he was told, and Missa isn’t being kept in a coma but his surgery was last and the sedatives are still wearing off.

Mike just doesn’t… He doesn’t understand what went so wrong, nor how fast.

He’s not injured, not like everyone else, but he is very much still in a state of shock.

Everyone seems to be. Mike has the chair - he’s not /allowed/ on the bed - and Pac’s hand, but Felps is also at his side, crying silently into Mike’s leg. Forever was at his other side earlier, but Bad managed to drag him away. Something about a contact who might have more medical equipment and-

And Bad should have fucking said something earlier, because they’ve been /trying/ to get an actual hospital together for weeks, and they’ve even got the space cleared for it, but where the fuck do they get the equipment? They haven’t even been able to track down some beds high enough that someone can treat a patient on them without hurting their back.

Mike is angry, Mike is furious, he’s got nowhere to send it though. It wasn’t even the stupid Chosen - Warlock, whatever. The flesh monster and the MEC both also died in the blast and there’s nothing to blame but physics and dumb luck and perhaps Pac for running off but…

But sooner or later /someone/ would have checked on that civilian, and the same shit would have gone down.

The blanket on him shifts as he leans forwards, clinging to Pac’s hand with everything he’s worth. Aypierre said it might help, because of their bond, because of the way their souls merge. So he takes it, he takes whatever excuse he can to stay with Pac, to hold him in the one place he’s allowed to touch, to reach out along their bond and cradle him.

It’s usually Pac cradling him. It’s usually Pac - older, louder, quicker - protecting him. Not exclusively - Mike protects him too, pulls him back when he runs too far, shields him when he forgets, helped him through his exams when the anxiety of the papers caused the world to crash in. It’s a balance, it’s an equilibrium, but Pac doesn’t need cradling so often as he needs someone to remind him to /breathe/.

There’s not so much of that, now. Pac’s not conscious enough for Mike to remind him, and anyway there’s a machine in place just in case he stops being able to.

The fact that’s an option?

Mike is terrified.

And Felps is doing his best, but Felps is also terrified, and it’s all Mike can do to worm his way into Pac’s head, and wrap him up. Mike can’t even go completely, lest the sedative catch him too. He has leave enough of himself behind to stay conscious, even as he curls around Pac’s soul and keeps him tethered, keeps him safe.

Sometimes he can feel Pac’s mind try to respond to him, only to be prevented by the drugs. It terrifies him, it horrifies him, even as the others theorise it’s probably a good thing.

And then there’s Felps, who reaches up to fix Mike’s blanket then carries on crying into his leg.

But there’s nothing to say and nothing to do except to hesitantly take one of his hands from where it’s clenched around Pac’s, and wrap it around Felps’ shoulders.

---

It takes ten days, every single penny and barter good belonging both to the Order and to every conscious person on the ship, and what Mike is pretty sure is the last of Forever’s sanity to complete the infirmary. They even find a doctor, via a chain of eight or nine contacts of contacts. Mike isn’t sure he trusts the woman, but he doesn’t really trust Aypierre either, so he does his best to pretend.

She’s got everyone safely under her care and proper monitors hooked up and Mike checked her working on medication dosages and it all seems to be proper, at least. Roier has mostly healed by now, which leaves her with three patients - ones she lets wake up one at a time, assessing their conditions.

Mike had been removed from the room for that - Forever was allowed to stay and translate, but Felps couldn’t either - and he’s not sure he’ll forgive her for it. Pac had reached out and latched onto him, confused and terrified and Mike couldn’t even calm him down before he was forced back to sleep.

He doesn’t think he’s going to forgive her for doing that to Pac. To him, maybe, but not to Pac.

So he stays closer, and cradles Pac harder, and while he acts on her words he does not always accept them. Pac was terrified, and scared, and a medical ward is indisputably better than their fucked up common room - it’s clean and there’s space both for equipment and access for treatment and all the supplies are on hand and if needed the surgery is just there - but Pac was scared. Pac was scared, and afraid, and the doctor would not let Mike /help him/.

It’s something about needing to assess Pac’s mental state, not Pac-and-Mike’s mental state, and Mike gets it, but doesn’t she understand Pac was /terrified/?

He can only hope his soulmate was too out of it to remember when he wakes again.

Mike and Felps are back again, now, a few days after that, one on each side of Pac’s bed while Forever shifts between holding Pac’s other hand and hovering by Philza at random. Philza’s awake, just about, but still out of it enough his object permanence is hazy. Missa is sat up on his own bed, chatting to him quietly. Roier lingers by Missa, but not quite at his bedside, too far to join the conversation, and that’s possibly even more fascinating gossip he needs to find from someone.

Pac will be able to dig it up once he wakes, he hopes.

He’s sure.

The doctor has stopped with the sedatives now, and Mike can feel it in the bond. Pac’s still suppressed by sleeping, but no longer is it under a false, oppressive haze.

Mike… Mike wraps himself around Pac, and tries to relax. He holds him, has comfort right there and ready, and presses himself deeper in.

And Pac - cautious, hesitant, scared, still half asleep and half drugged - finally, finally presses back.

Chapter 5 - Pac, again

Pac wakes, and the world is hazy, but Mike is there. There’s a memory that never quite formed, one of Mike being gone, but Mike is here, so it must surely be okay.

It hurts, it hurts so bad, but Mike is here and is calling and Pac will wake up for Mike, if it’s what Mike demands.

If he slips more of himself into Mike’s body than he usually would, an attempt to escape the pain… that’s their business and theirs alone.

Still, he does have to wake somehow. He hides in Mike and puppets his body, opening eyes, twitching fingers, searching for answers. Mike’s conscience holds him tight, praises him, cries on him and reminds him to listen to more than his soul.

Right, ears, eyes, touch…

There’s a hand on his forehead and another in his hand - both hands. His prosthetic is missing - his breath catches as he realises he can’t run, and Mike soothes him, promises he’s somewhere he won’t have to - and voices are calling his name.

Mike, Felps, Forever.

He finds Mike’s eyes first - of course he does - one blue and one green as they both cling to each other. It doesn’t feel like Mike is visiting, though - between them they must have three blue eyes.

And the next to Mike is Forever, Forever who sees the eye contact and takes it as permission for a hug, leaving no room for anyone but for Felps - on the other side - who tugs the hand he’s holding free and hugs Pac’s arm.

Pac doesn’t know what to do, but does know that it hurts - he wants the hug, but cannot stop the whine.

Forever pulls back, horrified.

“It’s okay,” Pac tries to say.

The words come from Mike’s mouth by mistake, and maybe he should pull back but he doesn’t want the pain.

“No it’s not that hurt you,” says Mike, also with his own mouth.

Felps catches onto what’s happening first, his confusion twisting to a smile.

“Hi Pac!”

Pac waves with Mike’s arm, and then Forever gets it.

Forever’s laughter sounds suspiciously desperate, but nobody says anything about it.

“Can I scold him yet?” Forever asks Mike.

Mike tries to say yes, Pac tries to say no, and the jumble of words is enough gibberish to knock Pac back to his own body.

His own body, where the painkillers might be helping but he’s now hit with the full force of pain. He chokes off the scream with a sob, the hand held by Felps weakly trying to move up and cover it.

Felps lets go, and looks heartbroken.

Pac uses what strength he can find to reach out, and grab that hand again.

Felps thumb runs over his knuckles.

Pac smiles at him, and remembers there’s more friends in the room.

He turns his eyes back to Forever, whose fingers still rest on his cheek.

“Can I help?” Forever asks.

“I thought I was going to die.”

It’s not a reply to the question, it’s not even close to one, but they’re the words that escape Pac’s lips. Tears begin to drip with them - slow, quiet tears which leave trails on his face and he can taste on his lips.

Mike freezes up and Pac… Pac prods him with a question.

The question is turned away, but Pac isn’t - he settles a little of himself in Mike’s brain, leaning against him in an attempt to comfort.

Mike wraps metaphorical arms around him; Pac closes his eyes in body and seeps into the comfort.

“You didn’t,” is what Felps says, covering for the room. “It was bad, but you didn’t, and now you’re here.”

Pac opens his mouth to ask where here is; Mike answers before he can ask.

“Medical,” Mike says. “We… Got the medical ward finished. And found a doctor.”

That bad. However bad Pac’s injuries were, they were bad enough that what should have taken at least another month was done in… less than that.

“Don’t worry,” Forever smiles at him, and the smile is twisted, in pain himself. “Just get better, and we’ll fill you in later. When you’re less fuzzy.”

It’s true, Pac is very fuzzy. He closes his eyes and settles on Forever’s hand, and clings to Felps in flesh and Mike in mind.

At times like this, Cellbit’s absence is like a gaping wound.

Pac focuses from the hands and the holds to his body and traces it over. The pain is everywhere, all over, dimmed by the same painkillers that must be clouding his mind. It’s hard to focus, but he does, searching out for something they can do, they can fix.

Throat. They could fix that.

“Drink?” he asks. “Can I…?”

“I’ll get it!” Forever leans down, kissing Pac’s cheek before letting go.

He goes to speak to an unfamiliar woman, then vanishes through a door. Pac watches him go, turns back to find Mike speaking.

He closes his eyes and mentally leans on his soulmate, letting him know he’s too tired for a single word that was said.

“... Okay,” Mike sighs. “But I am still yelling at you later, bro.”

Pac nods - of course Mike is going to. It’s just going to happen, after something like this.

Felps kisses his other cheek, and Mike his forehead.

“Do you want us to let you sleep?” Felps asks.

For a moment Pac wants to agree, and then terror seizes him again - the dark, and the pain, and fire shoots through his veins and-

And Mike, inside his mind, grabs him, pulls at him, tugs him from the smoke and the sharp, sharp pain.

In Mike’s panic Pac sees other things - sees Missa with a gun to Philza’s head, sees Philza collapse, sees Roier bleeding all over the helicopter, sees Missa covered in bones and with a break in his leg that pierces the skin.

Sees himself, mostly dead, surrounded by ash and debries and if he’s breathing it’s imperceptible.

Mike shutters that memory quickly, and gently turns Pac aside.

“They’re fine,” Mike says. “You were the last to wake up.”

Pac’s eyes still skim the hospital, and find them - find the rest of them.

They don’t look good, he’s sure he looks worse; he breathes, and squeezes Felps’ hand in a silent request to be held onto tighter.

Felps gets it.

He always did.

Even when he didn’t want him to.

“Will I…”

Pac doesn’t know how to end the question, and it turns out he doesn’t need to - Forever returns not just with a glass of water, but a tray with some soup, too.

“Doc said you should eat,” Forever places the tray on the bed. “Do you…?”

Pac doesn’t want it, but he will. On instinct he tries to lift himself up, only for both Mike and Felps to grab him.

That turns out to be a good idea; there’s no way his arms would have held.

It’s a little awkward but he gets comfortable on the cushions. Felps helps him with the cup while Mike blows on the soup, and Forever perches on the end of Pac’s bed and pats his good foot.

“You’ll be okay,” Forever promises, even as Pac has to take a break from the water when he breathes some in by mistake. “I know it’s scary, but we won’t let anything bad happen to you, okay? Just eat up, and heal.”

The something bad has already happened, but Pac sees the fear in Forever’s eyes and…

And he can’t.

So he clears his throat, and offers Forever a weak smile, and sips on the offered water some more.

“He kept me, so I’m sure you’ll be no trouble,” Felps offers, with a small grin.

Mike does actually lean over the bed and slap Felps for that comment. Seconds after, and Felps has Forever wrapped around him. Impersonating an octopus.

Pac strongly suspects he’d be the victim, if he weren’t held together with bandages and struggling with even just water and soup.

“You can’t get rid of any of us,” Mike says, and it sounds like it should be directed at Forever, but he echoes the words in their bond and looks Pac dead in the eyes.

Pac reaches out, entwines his fingers in Mike’s, and whispers only for his soulmate I don’t want any of you to go.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

Prompt by @rabbit-harpist - Chayanne and Tallulah finally meeting in person. (Also @becauseplot as I saw you were also thinking of this one). I hope this is fine. I rotated it a few times too many oops.

Mention of injured child, but it's just the comfort that comes after.

Chayanne only sits still because Papa has him trapped. Dad isn't here, but his closest sister had updated him on that. She is here now, he knows that, her reaching out every few minutes to check if something scaring her is actually dangerous or not.

None of it has been; Chayanne is still a bit uncertain about some things here, but Dad is with her and would never let anything bad happen to anyone ever. So, he promises her it's okay, that he'll see her soon, that she just has to let Dad and the Doctor look after her and then they could see each other. That's what Papa had said, and Papa does not lie.

(It does not change the fact that he wants his sister /now/.)

She updates him on the other children she was with, too, just like she always has - and just like he does for her. He worries about all of them - Bobby and Pomme and Richarlyson and Trump and Allie and Dapper and Ramón and Leonardra and all his siblings without names - but he worries about her most of all. He can talk to her, and has been able to talk to her since the day she was dragged into life, listless and not yet screaming. He remembers things she cannot, and that he never wants her to, and now he finally, finally gets to see her!

Chayanne asked, once, what she looks like. She didn't know, and he doesn't know either.

Finally, finally, she lets him know that the Doctor has told her she can leave. There's more that she doesn't understand, and if she doesn't understand then she cannot explain it to Chayanne either, but what she does know is that Dad has picked her up, and is bringing her to see Chayanne.

Papa cannot keep Chayanne any more; he squirms his way out of Papa's arms, dropping to the floor and running.

"Chayanne!" Papa calls, also standing up to chase.

Chayanne is little, but he is fast. Papa is also fast, but Chayanne has the head start and knows where he is going; out the door, down the stairs, cross the balcony over the "subsidiary power generator", then-

He does not make it to the then. In the little walkway between that room and the next, he collides with Dad.

Dad only laughs, and ruffles his hair, and yells, "it's okay, Missa! I caught him!"

Chayanne does not have attention for his parents, though; he stares up at the little girl being carried on his Dad's hip.

She is much smaller than him, but then he knows people grow and that she has only been alive for half of his life. Curly brown hair, glowing yellow eyes, a patch on her cheek and neck where dark skin fuses with grey-purple insect shell. She is dressed in one of Pomme's dresses - one of the simpler ones, left open at the back so that little blue wings have the freedom to move - a little loose on her, but also too short.

Under it, Chayanne can see bandages - they make a thicker patch, and poke out of both the sleeve and neckline of the dress. He shudders, remembering the agonising pain from when she was shot.

She stares at Chayanne, before turning to Dad and tugging on his arm. He laughs, and Missa scoops up Chayanne, and Dad says, "I'll let you down once we get to the common room, okay Tallulah? It's still a bit dangerous here."

Chayanne can feel the warning in the back of his mind. He would sulk at being picked up again, except that Papa is picking him up, and Chayanne will never actually refuse him.

Instead he rests his head on Papa's shoulder, ignoring the way his parents talk to instead watch his sister. With one hand he waves to her, and she smiles back - fangs and all.

"/Is Tallulah your name?/" he asks her, in the same way they have always talked.

"/I think so!/" she replies. "/Do you like it/?"

"/It's pretty/."

"/So are your arms/!"

Chayanne looks down to where the glowing patterns on his arms are providing a low light. Wanting to make her happy he pulls up his sleeves, showing off more of the intricate - if random - designs.

He doesn't ask if she is hurting, because he knows that she is. He doesn't ask if she is okay, because he knows that she isn't. He doesn't ask about their sisters, because he knows the two Tallulah came with are safe, as are the ones already here, and that the rest of their siblings are dead.

Instead he shows off the patterns, and points out people they pass, and tries his very best to entertain her.

Eventually they make it to the common room - Chayanne's parents are always slow when they decide to walk and talk, no matter how impatient Chayanne is feeling - and set the two children on the floor.

"Chayanne, this is-" Dad begins.

Chayanne does not listen to him. Instead he runs across the room, and pulls his little sister into a hug.

"Careful!" comes the warning from both parents, one in English and the other in Spanish.

Tallulah is in no more pain from the hug than without it, so Chayanne does not let go. He tucks his precious sister close and he knows he cannot protect her, that the hurt is already done, that he could not even save Bobby when he was right there beside him.

But...

She's here now! Dad actually found her! Helped her! She's safe, and she's okay, just like he promised and promised that she someday would be.

He did not know what a hug was until Papa gave him one, and Tallulah is still a little unsure. Carefully he explains, in that silent way which comes most naturally to them, and she hesitantly wraps her arms around him too.

Carefully, he leans down and taps their foreheads together - the gesture of welcome, of comfort, of family that they eggs developed for themselves, before the adults of The Order came and taught them what hugs are.

That's when the tears spill. Not just Tallulah's, but Chayanne's as well.

"/It hurts it hurts it hurts/," Tallulah whispers into his mind. "/Big brother, I'm scared./"

"/You're safe/," he promises back. "/You're safe, you're safe, you're finally safe - I will protect you now. Together, we're together, we won't ever be apart again. You're home now, this is home, nothing will ever hurt you again, Dad and Papa won't allow it./"

Tallulah does not know what /home/ means, but that's okay. Chayanne is going to teach her.

And that starts with letting go, but holding her hand, and dragging her to the box of children's toys and accessories to pick out the first thing that she will ever own.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

Okay but what would Bad have called baby Cellbit? Kitten is silly. Claws? Knife? Teeth? ... Duckling? I mean we know he's used duckling as a simile but eh something.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

In The Valley

TW: discussion of self-harm, reckless behaviour, various angsty discussions, Forever appears for a bit in the middle

Cellbit runs through the streets, the undead giving chase. Unthinking as they are it does not matter if he twists and turns, still they chase. Clawed nails catch on his arm, teeth shortly following; he reaches out with his mind, grasping the small spark of life in the zombie and crushing it between metaphorical teeth. It is not as satisfying as an actual bite, but he snarls as he twists the aether around it nonetheless.

The zombie collapses. Cellbit feels his energy drain further, and keeps on running.

Somewhere, something, if he can just find... He doesn't know, he has no idea, just the certainty that if he stops he dies.

If he dies, he never learns if his best friend survived. He never finds out if he was good enough.

That is enough to spark him into further action; he pulls a long dead radio from his pocket, desperately jamming the batteries in and out until it sparks to life. He has no idea how far they are, no idea what they are doing, or even if the message will send. He knew he should have changed the batteries months ago, but things happened, and stuff occurred, and now...

He preset the radio to their old unit's wavelength, and prerecorded it with a message. He does not know what frequency Forever now uses, but it is all that he has.

Cellbit has no idea if any of them are even alive, if the aliens have caught them or worse has occured. The drops he leave... They will never be found, not before he is torn limb from limb and dies. He has no way better to contact Forever, no idea if Felps lives, and Tazercraft vanished from the face of the earth.

Screaming in frustration he jams the batteries in again.

The screams draw more zombies, but the radio sparks to life.

It lights up just long enough for Cellbit to the button and a light to go on, but blinking a few times before dying again.

Cellbit keeps running.

He tries again.

Swearing and cursing and desperate he keeps trying to make the radio work, far beyond his skillset but all that he has. In his distraction, however, he does not see the dead end.

Not until the wall is in his face, and the zombies are at his back.

He takes one breath, and a second.

This is it, then.

Ten years undercover, twelve of trying to do good, only for it to end like this. The cannibal, alone and friendless at the last, torn limb from limb and feasted upon by that which was once human.

It's fine, though, was Cellbit ever really a person? It was nice pretending, while it lasted, those few years of tricking himself into thinking he was capable of change, capable of loving and being loved.

He should have known that goodness has no place for people like him.

Cellbit reaches out again, pushing himself to exhaustion and beyond. He might be about to die, and his attempts to call help have been thwarted by broken technology, but he refuses to merely give in.

A Child of the War, Cellbit does not know the meaning of giving in.

He thinks of his mentor from his earliest memories, he thinks of Pac and Mike and Forever and Guapito, and he thinks most of all of Felps. He draws them to mind, pulls strength into his soul, bolsters himself as best he can. No idea if they live, if they died, if they turned traitor or stayed true. Still he thinks on them as he remembers them, and reinforces his soul with love.

No weapons, no armour, nowhere to run and nowhere to escape, nothing but his clothes, his mind, his soul, a dead end, and three hordes of zombies closing in.

Cellbit feeds his soul with the life force of zombies and with love, pouring his hopes and dreams and everything he could have been into it. Red spirals out, leaking into the floor, forming a cloud of haze and dust. Zombies drop dead as they touch it, and yet still they come; it surrounds Cellbit in a small arc, keeping the undead away but draining him second by second by second.

It is too late.

Exhausted, desperate, weak - no matter what he tries to drag up from the depths of his tortured soul, Cellbit cannot hold it forever.

Still he tries, as long as he can, trapped and alone but refusing to let them win.

What a death, to be eaten alive.

At least if he burns his soul out first, he will not be conscious to feel it.

He holds until his vision blurs, zombies scrambling over one another's corpses to reach him.

He holds until his vision blackens, everything closing in.

He holds until his body crumbles, fallen and unaware in the dust and the grime.

---

Cellbit wakes up neither alone nor with a zombie, but rather with someone warm pressed into his side. Hair brushes against his cheek where they have pressed their face into his neck, and arms are wrapped around his chest.

His body wants to stay sleeping, his soul screaming with exhaustion, but...

Bed beneath him, pain, warmth, a human being at his side.

He needs to be awake, to assess, to find out what is happening here.

Dragging himself awake is like trawling through old treacle; not just though sludge, but with sugar in there crystals too. His eyes are heavy and his body is wrong, but he /needs/ to know.

The hair on his cheek is dark, and tightly curled. He... knows it.

"... Felps?" he asks.

Somewhere above he hears a muttered 'of fucking course', but he zones it out. Whomever it is is unimportant as Felps slowly untangles himself, and sits up.

He does not go far, just enough that they can make eye contact. Felps smiles with water eyes, and calls him "Cellbinho."

It feels like a dream. It has to be a dream, or a dying hallucination; the Felps before him looks not a day older than last they met, the only mark of ten years being exhaustion beneath his eyes, and that his hair has grown back.

Or maybe this is death, and Cellbit dragged Felps to hell with him.

Cellbit does not say anything else, he dares not. He barely dares to breathe at the sight before him, something worthy and that he condemned all the same.

But Felps does move. His fingers are thinner - frailer - than Cellbit remembers, but they grab at his cheeks, manipulating his face as Felps checks on him just like every other time he has been hurt.

"Are you okay?" Cellbit asks him, because of everything... Of everything in the world, what matters most is if Felps is okay. If... This Felps cannot be real, but maybe he can answer it anyway. "Did they find you? Did- Did you escape? Please, you're not dead - you can't be dead, I promised-"

He cuts himself off before a sob can escape him.

Felps' eyebrows twitch ever so slightly, and he glances to the side. It only lasts a fraction of a second, though, before he picks up one of Cellbit's hands, and places it to his cheek.

"I'm here," is what Felps answers, face shifting to a smile. "How would I be here if they hadn't?"

The cheek is cooler than it should be. Not corpse-cold - more like he had just fetched something from a walk-in freezer - but cold.

It does a little to discredit the dead idea, but not much.

"See, Cellbo?" a different voice cuts in, one also familiar; Forever, looking every bit the extra ten years older, perhaps even more, drops himself next to Felps on the bed. "I can be trusted with some things!"

Cellbit does not quite have time to process any thoughts before Forever is insisting on helping him sit up, pushing pillows around as support. It probably is not needed, not entirely, but his exhausted muscles appreciate the break.

And he looks up from Forever to see Pac and Mike, sat watching him. Pac notices and grins at him, but the tears drip heavily down his cheeks, carving paths in the dust on his face.

"Why didn't you call us sooner?" Forever asks, face ever shifting between intensities. "We would have come."

"Would you?" slips out. He doesn't mean to say it - he remembers just enough to know he is not supposed to question their loyalty no matter how strange it may appear - but he did think it.

He damned himself. Why would they - why did they - come for him?

Cellbit manages not to ask that one.

In response Forever makes a wounded sound, flinching a little at the question. Cellbit's heart curls up, to know that some of the first words he has said to his family in ten years caused that response.

It's Pac who answers "yes", with Mike humming in agreement. The two shift in unison. Mike says "bro, I thought this was a trap and I still came for you" and Pac continues "nothing could have stopped us from trying" their words running into a single sentence.

Nothing? Cellbit doubts that. He wonders why they even came, with ten years to break the dependency and tooth-shaped scars in Pac's flesh.

But he does not have time to think more, because Felps tilts his head with a slightly awkward smile. "Nobody would let me," he says. "But, I would have found a way, even if they refused to help."

What could Felps have done, if he was still frozen? If Cellbit... If nobody had answered Cellbit's desperate call to save his friend, too deep in the Federation to do anything with the information he had found?

Would there have been consequences?

And Cellbit thinks of thin fingers and cold cheeks, of an unaged face and the word 'stasis' slipping between the redactions on Felps' file. He repeats to himself Felps' words, about not being allowed to go. Now that he thinks about it, the man never answered if he was okay, did he?

... He was too slow, wasn't he?

Cellbit was too slow, and Felps has suffered for it.

Anger burns up in Cellbit's throat, fury reborn at the realisation. He has never not been angry with the Federation, but there is a difference between the simmering and the overflowing. He needs to destroy them, to rip them apart - every last one - to paint their white halls in their blood and feast upon their entrails.

He needs to tear himself apart, to punish himself, to create even tougher scar tissue so he can push past and never fail again. Because he has, and he did, and only in fire can a weapon be reforged, and only on a grindstone can a dulled blade be sharpened.

But the Federation are not here, and there are four people here who will not let him hurt himself; all he can do is reach out, and pull Felps tightly against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."

He thinks Felps must hear, or at least feel the quiet tears in his hair, because Felps' arms do not just loop around Cellbit, but squeeze him tightly in reply.

If anyone else hears, Cellbit is unsure. They don't react, though, or at least not that he sees; the three let them have a few moments, letting Cellbit cry into Felps' hair, and Felps cry into Cellbit's chest.

Eventually, however, Forever interrupts them. He does it by hugging them both, but also tapping Cellbit's shoulder as he does.

"I've got to go," he says. "You'll be okay? Our idiots will look after you."

It takes Cellbit longer to remember that Forever runs a rebellion and so of course is busy than it does for his heart to curl. Still, he clings onto Felps - the one he really needs - and nods.

"I'll be in my office if you need me," Forever replies. "The others are waiting in the crew quarters, if you want to end a tour there?"

He hesitates, eyes lingering on Cellbit momentarily, before he disappears on hurried feet, a radio already in hand.

There is a void left on the bed, one quickly filled by Pac and Mike scrambling over. The two are a chaos of limbs, but eventually resolve into Mike sat on the opposite side of the bed to Felps, and Pac perched over his legs.

"Do you hurt?" Mike asks.

That it is Mike of all people who asks...

Cellbit considers the question. He aches, yes, but not so much hurt - even where he was bitten, some sort of numbing cream seems to have been applied.

"I'm fine," he therefore answers.

"Good. I can do this then."

A second later there is a sting across his face, and an offended call of "Mike!" from Pac. Cellbit puts a hand to his cheek, right where Mike had just slapped him. He... probably deserved that, dragging them out all the way to Canada just because he was too incompetent to properly escape once his cover was blown.

Felps, having shifted in Cellbit's hold to watch, is laughing. Cellbit had forgotten just how dear his laugh was to him.

Seconds later, Mike wraps Cellbit in a hug, Felps scooped in too.

"You scared me, asshole. Ten years. Ten fucking /years/, Cellbo; we thought you were /dead/."

And... /Oh/.

Mike cares.

Cellbit... Cellbit deserved the slap, he knows that.

He doesn't deserve Mike's worry, though, not after he was the cause, not after everything he has done. He has never been worthy of the worry, but here it is.

"You could have asked us," Pac says, only doubling the pain in Cellbit's heart as he is looked at like he is worth something. "You had our details. We would have come. We always come, you idiot."

"I couldn't risk my cover," he replies. "I couldn't risk it. I had to-"

"Before, years ago," it's Mike, this time, and then Pac who continues. "When everything burnt" and together they say "You knew where we were, how to contact us; we would have come with you."

"You didn't have to go alone, you idiot," Pac finishes, at exactly the same time that Mike says "you could have at least said you survived, bro."

Cellbit thinks of Cucurucho's claws, and knows he would do /anything/ to keep his family far, far from them. Asking was not an option, not with how dangerous it was - he would never have risked them, not just to save himself a little heartache. They had each other; what did they need him for? And, what was saving Felps, what was uncovering the information to damn the Federation with, if the cost was more of his family?

The others, sure, but his family?

Felps is worth the world, but Pac and Mike and Forever are part of /Cellbit/'s world.

Mike grabs Pac's arm, pulling him into the hug. The patches of medical gown beneath their eyes are all, suspiciously, wet.

"We missed you," Felps says. "I missed you."

"You're safe now," says Pac. "We won't let them hurt you."

That's his line. That should be his line; they are criminals, yes, but he is the murderer, the bloodstained, the cannibal and the demon. It should be him who throws himself between them and the blade - something he has not been here to do.

Because while Felps looks like a slightly frailer man who disappeared ten years ago, the other three... all of their faces carry new scars. And all four of them are worn in a way Cellbit is sure is reflected on his face, but that he just wanted to save them from.

The Federation will burn, for daring to touch them - for the burn scars all across Pac's face, and the scratches littering Mike's skin. Forever's scars were more faded, but there certainly were a few.

For a while he drinks the three of them in, absorbs the feeling of knowing His People are safe again. He never wants to let go, except that he knows that he must. So many people, so much touch... Eventually his skin itches, and he has to push them away.

He tries to ignore the expressions they give him, and cannot ignore the tears - he wipes each of their cheeks in turn, and their hands wipe away his tears too.

"... A tour was mentioned?" he offers them, the best he can give that isn't begging them to understand, to never leave him.

The trio all perk up.

"Yeah about that," Mike's grin is a little dangerous. "Why /does/ Roier call you Gatinho?"

Pac elbows Mike, but there's also something terrifying in his eyes, "and you know Bad? BadBoyHalo? What a small world! There's even a lady claiming to be your sister! Why didn't you tell us?"

"Wait, I have a sister?!"

[factorialsotherfandoms]

@becauseplot

Chayane!!! Tell me more abt Chayanne where did the bestest boy come from :0 ?

Chayanne! My beloved egg, my precious, little warrior.

Once again, child abuse warnings. And like. Serious, serious injuries to a kid.

So. We'll start with the basics. Of the surviving eggs, Chayanne is the eldest - in literal terms, anyway. He was created first. Only one of the eggs - A1 - looks older than him. And he doesn't look very old, maybe 11 or 12 (another indicator that the aliens have been kidnapping people since before the war). He was originally crafted with the specifications of the Eldest of the Elders in mind, IE as a host for the leader of the invading aliens (named Ethereals). As such he has a high level of ethereal DNA. He also has a bit of glow squid in him, and also bone imp. Part but not all of the bones on his face are exposed - part of the reason Missa gave him one of his masks (Missa has bone tattoos covering severe facial scarring, then often wears a skull mask over the skull tattoos for the vibes) is to protect and hide the exposed bones. Tiny little glowy red eyes in hollow blackness. And the combination of glow squid and ethereal makes him have really pretty glow-in-the-dark purple markings across his skin. The purple is a mark of the Ethereals.

He was /supposed/ to be able to psionically connect with all of the other Eggs, so that once his body was taken by the Eldest of Elders, said Elder would be able to be in constant contact with all of the others. This is the reason for the high Ethereal DNA, and he was also made from very specific human specimens - nobody we care about, but pairs of soulmates such as Tazercraft were specifically hunted down and turned into goo to make him. Unfortunately for the Elders, and fortunately for Chayanne, as he grew and more Eggs were created, it became very apparent that while he can psionically detect every single other Egg, and even has a good idea of where they are, he cannot actually... use it? His bond to the other eggs is stronger than most, yes, but he cannot perform the telepathy which he was designed to do. Later on, after he has already been discarded, they find he is able to telepathically communicate with the egg which becomes Tallulah - but only her.

He is also just generally mediocre at psionics, despite how much care was given to give him the best advantage (the glow squid DNA probably fucked it up, tbh, but the Elder wanted to be pretty and glowy). As such, he wasn't really... useful? Mediocre is fine for lesser Ethereals, but not their leader. The Elder of Elders said he didn't want this body, make him a new one. So they did, and Chayanne was offered around.

Of course, none of the lesser Elders were willing to take a body designed for their leader. Still, despite being a failure, a lot of time and resources went into making Chayanne. Rather than liquidise him back into his constituent parts, Chayanne was given to one of the Chosen to train - specifically the Assassin.

Now, the Chosen were made by the same method as the eggs, but are not considered eggs - eggs are something from which life comes (referring to when they are possessed). The Chosen were never meant to be possessed, they're the prototypes using only human and Ethereal DNA, considered the children of the Elders, not hosts themselves. They have been allowed to grow and develop and trained to be useful basically to make sure the process is stable.

But the Assassin doesn't know that. When Chayanne was given to her to train, she already had one apprentice - Bobby is younger than Chayanne by a little way, but was discarded much sooner. While Chayanne is not good enough at psionics for his body to be possessed by the most senior Ethereal, a race that relies on psionics, Bobby is so bad at it not even a lesser Ethereal would take his body. But that's Bobby, not Chayanne.

Unlike some, the Assassin made sure to keep both of her apprentices fully fed and watered, and also provided with enough psionic energy to grow properly. And she did train them, in knives and swords and violence, just as she said she would.

The problem is... her training methods would have been considered overly violent on anyone. Bobby liked his fists and the Assassin fought like to like - bruises and concussions were common for him but could be handled - but Chayanne... Chayanne took to swords, just like the Assassin.

And she was /thrilled/.

The problem with the Assassin being thrilled is she fought him near to death day in and out. Chayanne learnt to defend himself and fight very well and very fast, but was also a literal child who every time he managed to get onto his feet was being taken to the training room, given a few pointers and stance adjustments and such, and when after around 20 minutes the Assassin would get bored... "sparring" with real weapons, where she was significantly more trained, more powerful, bigger than him. And also his caretaker. Also fighting to your opponent cannot stand with anything is dangerous, but especially swords.

As such Chayanne has spent a lot of time bleeding on the floor, and generally critically injured. (But then Bobby, beside him, spent it with broken bones and unable to see properly from concussion messing with his head).

The Assassin wanted to break her toys, but the two boys she got refused to. She was created with violence in mind, not care, and so she did violence towards them.

They did it back. Rarely effectively, but when they could.

Outside of being trained, they lived in joining cells. Literally cells. Think QSMP prison levels of comfort. Food would be delivered and medical treatment provided by Federation Workers under the Assassin's command.

And of course, all the while Chayanne was very aware of other siblings being created - and many of them killed or otherwise rendered non-sentient (or unconscious. They can't feel each other when unconscious or in stasis). Interestingly once an egg is possessed, becoming an Avatar of an Elder, Chayanne (and the other eggs) can no longer perceive them. They don't get to psionically connect with the new entity in the sibling's body, its just... that bit of bond is gone. He does his best to help them, but is so far away he cannot really. Just... share ideas to them.

Tallulah is created, and he can speak with her. She worries for all the times he vanishes, unconscious due to being beaten into the floor by the Assassin and so gone from the bond. Chayanne never tells her why, but does his best to help her. Even when she is written off and given to the Hunter to use as living target practice...

But, again, that is not Chayanne's story.

Chayanne lived an inch from death constantly - he has absolutely had to be resuscitated before. Likely more than once. Each time that happened the Assassin would step back a bit - she is expected to train these kids into fighters unlike her brother who gets to kill his - but it would happen again. Slowly she would get more and more violent in the 'training', until it happened all over again.

Still he remains defiant, attacking her whenever she touches Bobby, Stab stab stab rarely does anything but piss her off, but Chayanne still stabs and Bobby still bites and kicks and punches (and stabs if given a sword) in defiance.

There comes a time when Chayanne considers himself back on his feet but by any reasonable standards he isn't and should absolutely be in a hospital under close observation not abandoned in a prison cell with only another kid - one who can't even see him as they're kept side by side. During that time, there is what is best described as a disturbance. It does not take very long for Bobby and Chayanne to recognise it as the base being attack.

Bobby has acid spit, and melts through the wall seperating them while all the guards are distracted. He jumps over to Chayanne, and then uses his spit to melt the lock on his cell door, and the two escape.

They go to the training room, they get their weapons, and then... Well, they know where the Assassin is. So they decide to kill her or die trying.

Getting there is simple - they both know how it works - but... she doesn't appear when they arrive in her chamber, and Chayanne's injuries start causing trouble. They hide to wait for her, Bobby tries to patch Chayanne up, and then Chayanne sits guard as Bobby sleeps.

And passes out himself.

He wakes to the sound of fighting. He nudges Bobby awake, and they grab their swords, and try to get at the Assassin.

Only for Chayanne to be caught by a man in blue, skeleton-painted armour and a purple hood. There's a skill on his face, and he refuses to let go. Chayanne does his best to struggle - especially when he sees a man in red grab Bobby - but is held tight and safe by the man with the purple hood.

The Assassin is killed, and the adults discover the kids are actually injured - their weird skintones and alien features making it hard for them to initially tell. Having seen one heal the others, Chayanne hides his injuries a bit more to make sure Bobby's broken arm and concussion are seen to. In turn Chayanne passes out while Philza is still treating Bobby, freaking everyone out.

They get back and get actual medical treatment, and are extremely clingy - mostly to the adult who grabbed them, but Bobby is also enchanted by Jaiden as she killed the Assassin (and after Chayanne passed out let him stab the corpse a few times while they waited for evac), and Philza who kept them both alive to get to the infirmary spends a lot of time with Chayanne, meaning they get close too.

(Philza, unlike the other people, knows what the readouts meant when he actually checked on Chayanne - Bobby's broken limb was obvious, and Philza is not an alien biology expert)

Theeeen once Chayanne and Bobby are healed enough, the adults try to take them somewhere safe. This... causes both to freak out, and forcibly bond themselves to their two favourite adults.

Meaning they need to be close to at least one of the adults... Not all the time, but most of the time. To grow and be healthy (being won't kill them but is faaar from recommended), anyway. This was entirely instinctual and fear based because a handful of adults were nice when all the ones they've known before have been awful. Petrified of losing the adults who helped.

Chayanne considers Missa to have chosen him when he grabbed him, and Philza is clearly his husband and so they must both be his dad. He figures after being introduced to storybooks and both reading and writing. Upon finding out they're not together officially (but yes Philza has permission from his wife) he starts trying to push for it. Gently, but still.

He is much, much safer and happier now, but still has nightmares from being yk repeatedly left in a critical condition by the adult responsible for him.

Fun bonus fact: Dapper was actually created as a Chayanne 2.0, the aliens having further experimented and refined their techniques, and worked out the correct DNA to use. And also uses different alien samples. Dapper also cannot perform full telepathy, but shows aptitude for psionics in general, and so they are seeing if she can be trained into the full telepathy with the others. Chayanne was too shit at psionics generally for that to be feasible. Chayanne also has the better personality for leading, buuuuut given the eggs were designed to have their souls and minds entirely kicked out and replaced, the personality of the egg doesn't actually matter.

Fun bonus fact 2: Despite Chayanne having had the most frequent near death experiences and horrific wounds, Richarlyson is the one in the worst state physically when he is rescued. Chayanne had at least been healing for a bit first (then pushed it and ripped stitches badly and internal injuries getting knocked in scampering around extremely bad). Richas literally gets rescued from being strapped down to an experiment table partially cut open with wires in him to take readings and shit. But, Richas is at least allowed to fully and properly heal between experiments, and the Warlock is much more careful not to fatally injure his test subject than the Assassin and her trainee. The Warlock is actively injuring Richas but trying to keep him alive. The Assassin doesn't give a damn if her two die or not and will kill them herself if bored enough.

But yes! Chayanne knows this is fucked up, but he's the oldest. He's got to look after his siblings, and push it aside to do so. All those siblings who died on him? He failed them, he needs justice for them, but he's just a boy and his body is wrecked and his new parents want him to play on the wii not fight...? He doesn't understand. He's trying, but he doesn't, and he'll do his best. Gotta protect everyone!

His discovery for a love of cooking is caused by Missa trying desperately to get him a hobby and being like. Why don't we make cookies for all your siblings? Which he loved. He loves making food, and he loves giving it to people he loves. Someone stays with him in the kitchen because still a kid, but he does eventually get to do his thing.

(When the ship is downed and attacked you can bet he is gathering all his siblings into the same place and guarding the door himself. Not alone, but himself.)

[factorialsotherfandoms]

Questions!! Anything for Philza's thing with the Ender King in the xcom au? Really liked what I spotted in the big lore summary and it only made me more curious, especially this one bit; [Others on the mission noticed the shockwave. Philza also heard the screaming, and was the one to connect the figure Cellbit saw to the Elders, as one of the very few people with personal experience with them.] 1. Personal experience?? 2. He specifically could *hear* the screaming? :o

Hello! And thank you! It's fun!!! Kinda. I mean horrifying, but fun. I'm still working on how it fits into the rest of his backstory, and also still working out the details, but here's the little summary...

2) this is easier to answer. Philza is... significantly more psionically sensitive than he realises. Other people can sort of tell it, but he just. Thinks it's all normal. He can't /use/ it, but has somewhat of an awareness of psionic (aka setting magic) going on around him. Kinda like a sixth sense? He's aware of the magic around him, but can't access it himself. But he still can't fully perceive it like, say, Cellbit can. Who is actually trained in this shit. Rumours would suggest that Philza probably has some demonic blood somewhere in his ancestry, but too far back to trace it easily

Personal experience! Philza has /history/ with the Elders, and with the Elder known as the Ender King specifically. During the initial invasion and the first few years after, Philza was extremely active in terms of fighting the aliens - and the Federation (ie the government the aliens installed of their own people and biological experiments and stuff). The Elders were also, in the early war, much more active. Their disease had not progressed so far, and so would occasionally be seen.

Very, very occasionally. By maybe one in a thousand people.

But they have been seen.

(And this is long so your answer is under the cut)

So we have the Angel of Death and the Blood God, a pair of resistance fighters of terrifying fame and all that. Usually together, sometimes alone, occasionally with allies. Mostly Fit - no cool nickname - but other allies too. And one time, they break into this really, really high security facility. Because, you know, blowing shit up.

They split to explore, Philza finds the centre, and in it is an Elder - one we know is the Ender King, named such after he was awarded one of the other conquered planets to rule. They fought. Philza did not win but he did escape, destroyed all his shit on the way out setting back research so far the Ender King was removed from the project for his failures, and the Ender King was /furious/. He became obsessed with Philza, to an extent, and has decreed he wants that /specific/ human melted down and turned into DNA goop and a new body made for him from it. Clearly someone who could escape him alive and ruin all his shit and his job and have him become a laughing stock amongst his peers has some innate quality that makes him better than other humans - and the Ender King wants it for himself.

And thus began a period where Philza was hunted.

And, eventually, caught. Cornered and with nowhere to run or fly to this time - as he had escaped in previous interactions - Philza fought back. He did decent damage, and well, but he was effectively fighting a god, alone and without half of his kit, and with no space to take off and fly.

He was cut down, but not immediately taken for processing. The Ender King had been physically punished for Philza's destruction of the labs, and so Philza was going to suffer before he died.

And the most annoying thing? Philza's big, beautiful wings.

They were not taken, but they were destroyed. Philza's back was flayed open, the bones of his wings shattered and the flesh of them ripped into. The Elders are weak, but Philza was already injured and at his mercy. He cuts chunks of the wings away - samples which would eventually be used to make his egg/Avatar, though other human DNA as well as alien would be added in - letting them heal only to cut more.

The torture lasts days, maybe longer, before the Ender King... Disappears. (Philza does not know why, but I the writer am aware that his illness had progressed far enough that he had to go into stasis to await a body - however because he pushed it while his chosen samples were retrieved, he was unconscious when he went into stasis and so unable to communicate where he left the rest of the person to be melted down)

And then Philza is left in a cell. He, too, is furious, but injured and exhausted and it is everything he has not to die. Techno and Fit rescue him, get him home, but the bones and his wings have already started healing wrong, and Philza is far too weak for someone to break them again. And so, while he does heal, he's left unable to even slightly fly. (post-canon they'll find an actual wing specialist and do the breaking and resetting and Philza will never be able to fly very far, but will be able to do little bits again with a lot of surgery and physio he just doesn't have time for during the story).

It's a long recovery. Once he has recovered he returns to the fight for another year or so - why he vanishes into legend is not about his wings or the Ender King, but something else.

And, well, he hasn't seen another Elder - or any sort of Ethereal - since then. It's been years, but he still has the scars all over his body. Other things have become his more common nightmares, but the Ender King still haunts his dreams.

And then he hears one scream when they kill that thing. And he knows why it's familiar - except pain not rage - but refuses to accept it until Cellbit mentions. It's not the Ender King, but it's obviously something like him.

(If you've read the notes, there's mention of an Avatar - AKA a former egg which has grown, killed, and then body possessed by an Elder - which singles Philza out and keeps trying to mind control him. That they eventually do perma-kill. This is the Ender King, possessing a body he made partially from chunks of Philza's flesh that he carved out of his back and wings while torturing him. And sure there's horror and panic attacks and focusing that target lets the others prepare, but Philza finally kills the thing which took him, tortured him, and stole the skies from him.)

(It doesn't give him the skies back - as I said that's surgery and physio and he'll never truly be as free to fly as he once was, but he'll get little hops at least - and he's in pain from the injuries for the rest of his life, and the nightmares will never leave. But the thing obsessed with him and hunting him is no more, and he is safe from it, and it dies by his hand.)

[factorialsotherfandoms]

Hello to you all, and hope your Monday is going well, and your holidays are tolerable if you celebrate! Here's a little gift for people following the XCOM2/QSMP thing. It's messy, it's disjointed, we'll pretend that's a design choice for Forever's mental state. Things in brackets might be dreams, might be memories, might be stray thoughts, all in a jumble. Things out of brackets are in linear time, though each set of brackets denotes a timeskip of between hours and days. All accounted for, this fic follows between two and three weeks.

Tomorrow I'll see if I can bring myself to stop tormenting au!Brazilians enough to go stab my usual chew toy for you call. Also sorry this au!Forever, this doesn't even come close to the worst few weeks of his life, though this is the end result of 10 years of impending breakdown. He just... Memory scenes are either 10 years ago or very recent. There's a reason he won't think of in between. How old is everyone in this au...? Don't think about it and shhh.

The prompt is coma, and Forever is doing extremely mentally poorly this entire fic. In the flashback sections there's also extremely unethical governmental and military shit going on, near death experiences, explosives, etc.

There are no benches in Aypierre's lab, unlike Tubbo's, so Forever paces the floor, and he shakes. The adrenaline still needs burning off, and there's nothing to do but stress. Philza is perched on one of the counters, toast in hand as he gets to work on a report.

Forever doesn't know how Philza can even think about reports at a time like this - Felps could be dead, or could by dying, and until Aypierre and his assistant finish the surgery there's no way of knowing anything at all.

But then Philza never met Felps, either. He's seen the photos in Forever's office, of five Brazilians in botched together military uniform or casual wear, at the training range, at the bowling alley, sometimes just in ones or twos or threes or fours, back when life was great and hope meant something, but he's never met Felps.

Not until today, not until Forever had dragged them all across the world, and then dragged Philza specifically to a lab in the middle of nowhere, and maybe it's unfair when so many of the crew are missing loved ones to force them to put everything down for Felps, but god damn it Forever's in charge here, and it has to count for something.

Even if that something is a man thought dead for ten years, injured and starved and in some sort of stasis, with Federation wires inserted into his brain.

"Calm down," Philza calls, as he throws the crust of his toast at Forever's head. "You're no good to anyone like this."

Forever turns on him, meets his eyes. "I-"

Philza pats the counter beside him. Forever's a long study in losing battles, and some of them just aren't worth the principle; he hoists himself up, accepts the toast and the water bottle, and pretends breathing is something he does for himself.

"I know everything's a bit shit right now, and I can't promise it won't stay shit - can't even promise it won't get worse - but we're in this together. Pierre will get that shit out his head, and Toby'll work out what it was for, and then we'll go kick some Federation teeth in knowing exactly what we're doing it for. Sound good?"

If that's Philza's idea of a pep talk, Forever has no idea how the man commands the loyalty he does. Still, it makes him laugh, anxiety running off him with the slight pitch of hysteria in his tone.

"I don't think I'm cut out for kicking teeth in," Forever says, once he gathers himself. "Not then, not now, you know?"

"Luckily for you, I'm a dumbass, and it's what I'm best at," and, no, if you asked Forever that's far from Philza's greatest skill, even if it is certainly one of them.

Perhaps his greatest skill comes after those words, when Forever can make no reply, cannot keep up the banter. Philza pauses. He reassesses. He puts down his paperwork, and shifts to the side.

"Forever?" he asks, much gentler now. "Do you want a hug?"

Forever doesn't bother answering the question; he collapses against a waiting chest, is wrapped tight in waiting arms, and continues sitting, continues waiting for news.

There's no platitudes, no sympathies, no promises that can't be kept. There's just Forever, and Philza, a science laboratory, and the hope that, after so long, there's still enough left of Felps that he can be saved.

(There had been coordinates, hidden in a supply cache, with a note asking if he remembers that night in Rio. The handwriting was familiar - too familiar - and it was the next in a series lasting years. Every one has led to information, to allies, or to desperately needed resources - Forever has come to trust them, the little notes from an informant he never recruited or met but suspects that he knows.)

(So he'd asked Bad for a distraction, and taken just Philza with him, and slipped into the research centre.)

(Now they know what was there - Felps, in a stasis tube, a chip in his brain killing him slowly and with a function to kill him fast, alone and unconscious and bearing half-healed wounds - maybe he would have killed the scientist, not sedated her.)

The surgery doesn't kill Felps, though not doing so might have done. As soon as the implant is cleaned up and handed over to Tubbo, their chief engineer recognises a remote detonator on it. How it hadn't been used yet - perhaps it is just a defective one - Forever has no idea, but that's not really his concern.

Hours pass. The sedatives should have worn off, but Felps does not wake. Aypierre hesitates in a way the man rarely does, before reminding Forever he's a neuroscientist - occasionally a more general biologist - not a doctor.

But they don't /have/ a doctor, and Aypierre is the closest they have, so Forever clings to his words.

They don't have a medical facility either, just Aypierre's autopsy lab scrubbed down and seared with UV. Usually the recovering take one of the bunks in the common room, and everyone just works around them.

For this though...

Forever has a bed, in his office, an old thing with taunt canvas pulled over a metal frame. There's more space up there, and more privacy, and Forever has the excuse to stay close if Felps is sleeping where he works.

So they carry him over there, and Aypierre brings what medical equipment they have, and the back wall of Forever's office becomes a miniature ICU.

(The first time Forever met Felps, it was at an underground military base in the Serra da Mantiqueira. He was supposed to be a young and bright political aide on the path to a career in government. Instead aliens had decided to invade, and his boss had decided he was better suited to ensuring no misuse of public funds in the new task force set up to deal with it. She was unsure if it was worth it, in the early days, to mix washed out soldiers with career criminals with volunteers and undocumented scientists, and throw them to the aliens just to see if it would slow them down.)

(He was younger, he was stubborn, and he was put out by the assignment - he knows the force was made up of the disposable, the expendable, and people who wouldn't be missed, and he knew what it meant to be assigned there. Still he grit his teeth and smiled and went along with it, and in turn was introduced to a whirlwind of people. He barely remembers most of them these days, and certainly not the introductions. What he does remember is that, at the centre of it all, was Felps.)

(Not in a literal way - that was their commander - but off to one corner, hiding a smirk at the chaos behind a clipboard, was the equally young parole officer. Forever had always known the quiet ones in the corners know all the goings on.)

(So he brought him a coffee, and asked for his name, and the rest of what was said is lost to time.)

Forever spends the night on his couch. Come morning Felps shows no sign of waking, no sign of life but the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of the heart monitor.

He knows what it means, and he hates it - it's not just that Felps is more sensitive to the sedative, and the blood tests show it's not another drug in him system. Not a known drug, at least, but an unknown one they're equally helpless to act on.

And if it's not the sedative, and it's not Federation drugs... It means there's actual damage, it means something in Felps' brain or his mind is damaged, and only when it heals will he wake.

Forever's never cared much for the distinction, and neither did Felps. Cellbit, Pac, Mike - one of them would know, but they're not here to explain it. Aypierre is too technical; Bad once says it's the difference between meat and thoughts. It's something to do with psionics but, again, Forever's field was the purse strings, the PR, the morale, and in recent times has become decision making.

He's not a medic.

They don't /have/ a medic.

Not a real one. Field medics, kinda, people who can stop someone bleeding out long enough to get home, sure, but once they're home?

Aypierre is all they have, and he's the first to admit that dissection and surgery are not quite the same skillset.

He /does/ know brain surgery, however, or at least this specific one - he cut his own, similar implant using mirrors and less than half the tools he has now. He chose death over continuing to serve as the Federation's toy, and it was only Roier noticing that the Feds were hunting /something/ that lead to him being rescued before he was murdered in the sewers of Toulon.

So when Aypierre says the surgery was successful, Forever is inclined to believe him - or at the very least knows there's no better opinion to he had. The surgery was successful, but with the implant dug deep into the very depths of his brain, with the fact even a careful extraction will leave tissue around it damaged, to say nothing of the tissue it replaced... It is hard, then, to know how long the damage will take to heal.

If the damage will heal. Brains are tricky things, unpredictable like that.

No, not if - when - Forever refuses, he refuses to loose anyone again.

(The aliens breached the gate as the fireworks sounded for the new year. Within minutes they were overrun, bodies littering the floor. They fought back - of course they did. Forever hid in the command room, pistol in hand and crouched behind a filing cabinet. Cellbit and Felps were with him at first - Tazercraft were blessedly away at a conference - but quickly lost in the struggle.)

(The aliens came, and then the bombs, and Forever, already injured, ducked under a table to escape the falling rubble.)

(And then, the next he knew, there was blood on his hands and his face as he stumbled from the rubble, skin and clothes torn all over. Nobody came to help them, nobody came to save them, their little group who held fast in the fact of the threat, made of rejects and failures and those with nothing but each other to loose. There was no rescue operation, no hand or medical attention, just broken fingers clawing their way out of the rubble.)

(Because they were rejects and failures and the dregs of society. Having nothing but each other means that nobody else will save them - and by the time Forever wakes everyone's dead, or they're gone, or they're too far away to help. So, he claws himself from the rubble and saves himself in their names instead.)

(A month later, the government surrenders all power to the aliens - to the Federation. Forever thinks of a base turned home turned unmarked grave, steals a pistol, and leaves.)

Days pass in a blur. He shifts around his office, making sure he can always see Felps where he lies unmoving on Forever's ancient army bed. Every other report he reads he glances up, watching Felps' chest move, watching the heart monitor continue in a steady pattern, watching for the slightest hint of a twitching finger.

It doesn't come. Still, it doesn't come.

He receives Bad's report from the diversion mission - the man himself is injured, shot in the leg and demanding Forever brings him hot chocolate.

He can't, he can't - Forever can't bring himself to do it, to leave Felps alone in a strange place filled with strange people after having been tortured for so long.

It is Roier that brings the report - Forever has him fetch the hot chocolate instead.

Roier brings him a mug, too - it's only weeks later that Forever realises that the request was an attempt to drag him from his room.

(That night he dreams of their old base - their home - and as they celebrated some random victory. Pac and Mike had rigged up an ancient disco set in their laboratory, clearing the work benches to the sides. The two of them danced under sparkling lights - as did Forever, as did Felps - and Cellbit sat on one of those benches with a bottle of something alcoholic and laughed.)

(They were young, they were dangerous, but they were free. The war as going well enough to take a night to themselves, and so they did. There were so many things to worry about, so many stresses even then, but they were together, and together, and as happy as they knew how to be.)

(Two months later, Forever now knows, their worlds would be destroyed.)

Forever barely sleeps, or eats, his days spent between his desk and Felps' side. When he has to he sleeps on the tattered old couch, the slightest jolt of the ship waking him as it never has before.

He gets news from R&D - Tubbo managed to deactivate the self-destruct on the implant, and Aypierre has been working on decoding it. The data is too corrupted to be much use, but seems to have been forcibly connecting Felps into a psionic network. Like a soul-bond, but artificial, using his very brain as a processor to run combat simulations.

Draining his strength, his consciousness, his soul - even if the physical damage is limited, the damage to his psyche itself...

Felps will wake up. He has to.

The-contact-who-Forever-prays-is-Cellbit entrusted Felps to him, and Forever...

Ten years ago they were five, and they were family - Cellbit and Felps and Pac and Mike and Forever. He thought Felps died that day, when the bombs came down. Cellbit he hasn't seen since, either, though he heard rumours as he clawed his way through ruined cities and refused to give in. Pac, Mike - Tazercraft were with him for a while, then one day they went to retrieve some needed parts and just never came home.

A lot of people just never come home, in the end.

It's been four years since them, and there's been other people, but Forever hasn't heard a word from his family in that time.

Now it's just him, and Felps. Felps, returned beyond reason, rescued from beyond help, lying in Forever's own bed and nobody has any idea if he's slowly healing or slowly dying, or maybe even just slowly existing in the only way he has left.

(It was never him and Felps, before - him and Cellbit and Felps, him and Pac and Mike and Felps, but never him and Felps alone. They circled around each other, and they were friends - family - but they were not as close as the rest. Now its just them, them, them, and if Felps dies on them Forever doesn't think there's any salvaging his soul.)

(Felps must hold their souls in his hands - how else could he have sat in the middle of five and just smiled even as they tore down the world?)

It's four days before he breaks, sobbing at Felps' side. Philza finds him there, not too long after, and carries him to the couch.

He falls asleep on Philza's lap, and wakes up on a pillow, with a blanket for the first time in days.

After a moment panic sets in, after another moment he finds Philza sat at his desk, sorting through the requests for aid and reports, his Crow's eyes angled to record the heart monitor and keep him from needing to look up to see it.

"Phil?" he asks, and it's the first word in days.

"Go back to sleep," Philza says. "I've got you, king."

Forever doesn't do as he's told - he sits, and he twists, and he watches Felps breathe for himself.

Aypierre comes to check on Felps, an electrical engineer turned neuroscientist turned makeshift doctor after one too many alien brain dissections left him the closest thing to a surgeon they have. They need one - a real one - but human doctors are one of the groups that the Federation rounded up, disappeared, and left only technology in their place.

You still find a few, of course, but not many. Not very many at all.

The timing might be serendipitous, or it might be hell - as Aypierre is looking after Felps, Forever's pager pings.

So does Philza's - and, fuck, did he steal Philza from a shift?

Either way, there's a message, and it needs an immediate response. Summons are to the command centre, and Forever...

Forever doesn't know how to leave the room.

"Pierre will keep an eye on him," Philza promises, and maybe that's half of the problem.

But Forever doesn't know how to say that, so he lets Philza take his hand and pull him across the hallway.

It's the width of one hallway to the command room, then a set of iron stairs down from the observation balcony to the hub. They ignore the maps and the globe for the computers, Philza leaning on a nearby wall giving his silent support as Forever answers the call.

There's psionic transmitters causing problems under Tijuana, sending out bursts to incapacitate psionically sensitive civilians for moments at a time. Forever isn't sure why, but it sounds like hell - he thinks of Pac and Mike, natural, accidental psionics, heaven knows where, heaven knows if they're alive, dropped to the ground in debilitating pain for some alien's sick amusement.

He thinks of Felps, and the brain implant, and wonder if that's left him sensitive now too.

"Put Fit on it," Philza suggests. "He's demolitions, and as sensitive as a fucking rock."

It's not a lie, but it /is/ funny. For the first time in what feels like years, Forever smiles.

"Can you put together a team?" Forever asks of him. "I don't know if..."

He trails off, Philza looks curious, but nods, "That's... Mexico, right? I'll see if Missa's free."

"Thanks," Forever says, and he means it. "I need to get back..."

"To your paperwork, right?" Philza helps him save face, just like that. "Fucking dumbasses, you'd think by now they'd know you use E45-C not D14-Q for munitions requisitions, and yet!"

"And yet."

Forever hasn't seen that particular mistake, yet, and dreads what he'll find in the reams waiting for him.

It's only later he realises he shouldn't just be the paperwork he's afraid of. Reality crashes back in - Bad, still on crutches and confined to the common room after that hit, and the fact Philza never returned from assembling a team.

Which means Philza went out with them - of course he did, he's useful, and strong, and good at this, but Forever's not even at the comms if something does go wrong!

But Felps is here, and Aypierre left when Forever returned, and he just-

Forever feels his heart rate pick up, and twist, and mangle. He drops to his knees and holds them and tries his best to plan - they need resources, they need a doctor, they need labs and a medical bay and power hubs and... And so much.

If they can get a radio relay set up... If the can do that, maybe they'll have an easier time finding an actual doctor to recruit. Maybe Fit - no, he's out - or Wilbur - no, Fit did his radios for him - know something... Forever makes a note to ask, scrabbles for waste paper, and starts making lists of what they'll need.

He's still making lists when, hours later, a muddy Philza knocks and sticks his head around the door.

"All sorted," he says. "Got the transmitters taken out; I'll get you more paperwork in the morning, but nobody's hurt. Nothing even had time to shoot at us. Clearly weren't expecting us, the idiots."

"Thank you," and finally Forever feels like he can breathe.

"It's what you-" Philza pauses. "Wait, you don't pay me. It's what you feed me for, though; need anything before I go shower?"

"Go, go," Forever shoos him away. "I'll call if I need you."

They both know he won't.

(That night, Forever dreams of a screaming heart monitor, of being pushed aside to make room for compressions and electricity and a last ditch effort to save Felps' life. He dreams they try for so long, but they fail, Felps' body just too weak to carry on.)

He wakes the next morning with a scream, panicking as he looks, as he checks, as he sees.

Felps is alive, still alive, still unresponsive but still alive. He lies unmoving on the bed, but for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Forever grabs his hand and clings to his wrist, not trusting the monitor right now.

No work gets done that isn't already in motion - Forever spends the day clinging to Felps' wrist, measuring his pulse with every step, and begging him to survive.

(Felps warned him about Cellbit, and indirectly about Tazercraft, but Forever couldn't stay away. What makes a man tick, what drives someone to murder, what is the scum of the earth but human at the end of the day?)

(It's an addiction, maybe, to dangerous people. To Cellbit, whose danger is obvious with so many murders to his name and a reputation for making death hurt, to Mike, who creates world-ending weapons in his sleep and picks your pockets while he thinks, to Pac, who seems innocent enough until you find yourself pranked with a glitter trap, and three days later he uses the same concept to set an entire alien squad on fire.)

(To Felps, who looks like just a person, but somehow the world orbits around him - or at least those three, and by extension Forever, do.)

(/Wa/s. Creat/ed/. Seem/ed/. Look/ed/.)

(They're gone now, stolen from him. Dangerous people who became friends, who became family, and now are gone. Even Felps, now returned, might never wake again. Even now, they are family. Even now, they mean the world to him.)

(And Forever doesn't know if he'll ever speak to any of them ever again.)

Forever does his best to refuse sleep again. After a short while of that, Bad escapes bed rest, and immediately comes to find him - the man has a sensor for Forever's bullshit, he swears.

Soon enough Forever is wrapped up in a blanket and tucked up on the sofa while Bad plays ancient movies, DVDs salvaged from ruined cities, on an equally battered tv. They both have not chocolate, and Bad rests his injured leg on Forever's battered coffee table.

They don't speak, but Bad leans against Forever's arm. Forever leans back, their heads pressed together.

It feels like he can breathe, for the first time since they brought Felps home Forever feels like he can breathe.

(Once upon a time there were enough beds for everyone. The five of them had pushed their bunks together and slept arm in arm. They'd usually ended up in a knot over the three middle beds, pulling everyone and their blankets together. It had taken months to grow that close, and it had raised the eyebrows of their comrades - two scientists, a cop, a serial killer, and a political aide sharing a bed - but once they were family and the winter drew in... Well...)

(Once upon a time there were enough beds for everyone, but Forever isn't sure he ever remembers there being enough blankets to keep out the chill.)

In the morning Bad is gone, and there's a fresh stack of paperwork on his desk. Forever files it, attends his meetings, begins planning a meeting between the Deserters and the Reapers, and knows that's only another headache to come. Aypierre promises to stay with Felps, because there's some things Forever cannot avoid.

Forever's fingers twitch and shake, every moment he can slip away he goes and checks on his friend. There's never a change, he's not really expecting one now - just for Felps to sleep and sleep until he gets an infection or they run out of ways to feed him or someone with a better chance of survival needs the machines keeping him alive.

Forever can't loose him - he can't, he can't, he can't - but with every day there's no change... Every day there's no change, it becomes more likely he'll die.

(Felps was never a great combatant, a bit like Forever himself. If Cellbit had decided to fight his leash, he almost certainly would have won.)

(Somehow, that never happened. Instead, when they were sent out into the field, even Forever, even Felps, not supposed to be combatants but the situation was dire... Even Pac and Mike were sent out, experienced in /something/ physical, but supposed to be confined to research and the lab. Maybe predictably, Felps was shot. When he was left bleeding and dying on the ground... Pac had been right there with a medkit, and Mike covering them both, and Forever had been able to do little but watch as Cellbit ripped his attacker apart with his bare hands, screaming bloody vengeance as he did.)

(But Felps hadn't died that day, and they hadn't lost him, and this time it's Forever who is left to cradle his head while they wait for help that will never come.)

(They'll pick up the pieces all the same. It's what they've always done, isn't it?)

Some days are harder, some are easier, most are grim. Forever cannot bring himself to leave for more than a few minutes, and Tubbo ends up wiring the video calls into his office. Let's him stay even more, stay closer even so.

Maybe it's bad for him, maybe he should get out more as Philza and Bad both try to say, but here is Felps and Forever will not leave him alone again.

He's been alone for ten years - whether he wakes or he dies, Forever will not let him be alone when it happens.

(He dreams of Rio, of the place hopefully-Cellbit asked him about in that note, in that note which led to Felps. Tazercraft were heading off to some research convention, so the five of them took the night off to party. They'd used the flights an excuse to be in the city overnight rather than the base, booking out hotel rooms and spending the night at the hotel bar. It wasn't anything special, except that they were together, and away from the base, and it never happened again.)

(Felps had passed around bracelets, made of cheap plastic beads, with their initials scratched into the plastic with scissors then coloured with marker pen. Forever still has his, still wears it every day. He's had to replace the string a few times, and while working keeps it safely under his gloves, but it's still there - it's still there, and it always will be.)

"Felps" Forever whispers to him, one night when it's late and he's tired and he knows he should sleep but he doesn't think he can. "Felps."

He isn't sure what to say, he doesn't know what he can do, he can only run his thumb across Felps' cheek and pray tomorrow's negotiations does not go so wrong as to need to take the medical equipment away.

"I miss you," Forever ends up saying. "I miss all of you. You're right here, but you're not really company."

"Did you know the world has changed?" he continues. "It's not for the better - perhaps it's better for you to stay asleep, to remember a better world and imagine maybe we could have won... We didn't. We lost. We lost... We lost everything... The world, our home, each other... It's just you and me, now. I... I wish the others were here, too."

His voice breaks. Forever swallows it - it will do nobody any good to cry.

"Do you remember Rio?" he asks the question maybe-Cellbit asked of him. "Do you remember the last time we were all together?"

Forever takes a deep breath, and bows his head.

"I hope you do," he says. "I hope you remember us. I hope... I hope you are happy, whatever you are dreaming of."

He might not be dreaming at all. He might already be dead, nothing left but the automatic motions to survive.

And Forever knows... Forever knows his chances aren't good.

"I miss you," this time when his voice breaks, Forever does nothing to end it. "Please, Felps... Please, wake up soon... I know you love to sleep, but hasn't it been long enough?"

He knows it won't work, he knows Felps' body will wake or it will decay, that begging does nothing but waste his breath.

He begs anyway.

"It'll be okay," he promises, broken smile through the tears. "I'll make sure you're okay - you just need to wake up, that's all."

He'll burn the world, if it means Felps would be okay.

"I'm scared, Felps, I'm so scared you'll never wake. I'm scared I can't give you the time you need, that'll I've fucked up somehow."

The tears flow freely now.

"I miss you."

He slips down and down, until his head rests on the metal bar a the side of the old camp bed. His hands move, too, from cradling Felps' face to holding his hand, cling to it like it's the last lifeline on earth.

It might as well be, at least for Forever.

"I really, really miss you."

He sobs into the fabric on which Felps lays, and continues sobbing until he falls asleep.

(Forever dreams of an angel with Felps' face, or perhaps of Felps in another time, finding an excuse to sneak him from meetings, to bring food to his desk, to just sit in the offices and chat while they worked.)

(He dreams of a thousand tiny interactions which happened, and others he imagined, in a world long dead but that he fights for all the same.)

(He dreams of that angel holding his hands, and promising that this isn't the end, that there's still something to save, that they can be whole again.)

(Forever doesn't know when he stopped believing him.)

Forever wakes to a gentle touch on his face, a hesitant, slack finger tracing across his face.

He opens his eyes, and blinks, and traces the fingers to an arm, and an arm to a shoulder, and a shoulder to confused eyes.

"Why are you crying?" Felps asks, the movement of his lips an almost silent whisper.

"Felps?" Forever whispers, grabbing back the hand and holding it close.

"Hi Forever," he sees the way ta smile grows from Felps' eyes to his lips. "What... Happened?"

"So much," Forever runs a hand over his face. "My God, so much has happened - but you're safe now. I- I've got you, you're safe now."

And, it's true, or as true as it can possibly be when they're hunted on all sides and the world is on fire.

"You're safe," the tears begin spilling, faster and faster. His fingers twitch to cuff Felps' shoulder, to press against his arm, to call him an idiot, to scold him for scaring them - for scaring him - but he's so fragile on the old bed, with wires and machines and papery skin, and Forever is terrified if he is anything but gentle he'll shatter his friend. "You... You're actually here. You're /alive/."

Forever barely remembers to summon Aypierre - there are tests to be done and checks to be made and Forever doesn't even know where to start, he just puts a non-emergency summons through before he breaks into a sob the tears become too thick to see.

"Don't cry," he hears that whisper from Felps. "Please, don't cry!"

But Forever cannot handle that - he smiles through the tears, lifts Felps' hand to kiss his fingers, and presses it to his forehead once he has. There's laughter in his sobbing, and a flicker of joy in his heart; Felps is weak, so weak, he's missed so much and has been so hurt, but he's alive, he's alive, he's alive!

Forever's never lost someone and found them alive before. He's lost and he's lost, his friends have vanished and they've died and they've been taken, and sometimes he's even found the bodies; he's never had one come back to him before. Just as they've lost ground, and allies, and every stationary base they've ever made, he's lost his friends. Loss, loss, loss, years without a victory, without anything better than a bittersweet win - just getting the Avenger livable and flying cost them Tazercraft, and he's never believed it was worth it.

To be honest with the world, he'd stopped believing victories were even possible at all.

So despite what Felps asks of him he sits there and cries, and cradles his hand even while Aypierre works, and maybe, just maybe, with Felps at his side it might someday be okay.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

XCOM au again. A second part/sequel to this - Missa being rescued and recovering, in 100-200-300-400-500 words. It's not exactly a happy ending, but... he's safe, and he's with people he cares about, and he learns Roier isn't dead (which means I need to adjust the timeline on the spiderbit fic but shhh), so... Maybe it'll be okay.

(He's a good month or two off being able to snipe again. This is like... I guess 3/4 years pre-Felps rescue? iiiiish? Which gives them time to settle in and stuff. They have the airship at this point, but it's not quite working yet, and its only once its working that Philza is seriously asked to help out lead things, until then it's just being bugged with questions every so often. What becomes Aypierre's lab is where he's being looked after/ Pac e Mike are probably disappearing a few months later, just after it's finished. Aypierre is actually rescued after they're gone, iirc. Stuff happened which meant Roier had to leave Cellbit alone with the Feds, and he's not happy about that either. Spreen looms over the narrative, but he isn't here. Stuff and things and thoughts and timelines are stupid just enjoy.)

Someone is calling Missa's name. He is cold, and he is hurting, but there is something warm against his cheek, and someone is calling his name.

They are gentle but urgent, worried but kind. The warmth on his cheek is there, then it is gone, and then he is being lifted from the cold, concrete floor. There is warmth on his cheek.

"It's okay now, king, I've got you."

He tries to call out, but his lips will not move. He tries to look, but his eyes will not open.

He tries to hold on, but he slips away again.

---

Everything hurts. Every limb aches, and every organ screams in pain. There is yelling, and chaos, and hands heavy on his body. A needle slips under his skin, pushing something into his veins.

Missa cannot help it - he whines.

Hands brush through his hair, a little too fast and too frantic to be soothing.

"You're okay, you're okay, you'll be fine," someone says. "Just stay with us, Missa, we've got you."

That voice is familiar. A different voice asks something in English, too fast for Missa's slurring brain to make out. The someone replies in the same, and then a third voice joins in.

If he strains he can hear two more voices, one distorted like it comes over a radio.

And, oh, the ground is moving.

The voices sound… Grim.

It takes more effort than it should, but he cracks open his eyes - just a little, just a fraction.

Missa's two eyes meet six.

Six black eyes.

Roier.

… He is dead, then, and Roier is here to collect his soul. Because Missa saw Roier die, so if he is here, holding his head…

"Stay with me, idiot."

Roier is crying.

Missa wants to obey.

His eyes slip shut anyway.

---

A beeping draws Missa back to consciousness. The pain is dulled, now, but he can still tell that it is there. There are points of sharpness under his skin, his throat is dry, and his stomach finds itself in agony.

There is a gentle pressure against his eyelid, rubbing back and forth, and now that he listens he can hear two people talking in… Some language he does not speak.

One of them is holding his hand.

He does his best to hold back, if only for instinct and politeness and the vague knowledge that, whoever this is, they must have something to do with the fact he is on a bed, not in a cell.

There's a gasp, and the thumb brushing his eyelid is withdrawn. Seconds later, a hand cups his head instead.

"Oi Missa," a voice says - English, but uncertain with it. "Can you, um, open your eyes?"

He tries, and it hurts, so he tries to escape. There is a little talking, the language swapping again, and the sound of someone leaving. The two voices continue, one the familiar and the other annoyed.

"You're doing really well," the first voice switches back, probably addressing him again. "Just a little more?"

Opening his eyes is the most difficult challenge that Missa has attempted in his life, and yet it is somehow one he wins. He finds himself in a room with two men, both in lab coats. The one touching his face is sat on the bed, and grins at him. The other, hair obnoxiously pink, gives a smaller smile as he sits down.

"Can Mike ask some questions? We want to check you're okay."

Missa is… not entirely sure which of them asked, but nods anyway; he complies and, once their tests are over, he sleeps.

---

Missa comes to with someone holding his hand. It's much easier to open his eyes, this time. When he looks, he sees Philza, sat at his side and reading a very battered looking book.

Unsure what else to do, Missa watches on, enchanted.

It's a few minutes before Philza notices him staring.

"Hey Missa," he closes the book. "How're you feeling?"

Missa… has no idea how to answer that.

"Thirsty," he settles on, in the end.

Philza laughs a little, but helps him up. Once Missa is safely resting on the pillows, he pours some water into a glass, and holds it as Missa drinks.

When it is empty he sets the cup aside, and rests his hand on Missa's cheek instead. Too tired to resist temptation, Missa presses his face into the warmth.

There's a chuckle, and the other hand comes to rest on his shoulder. "Glad to have you back, king - you scared us for a bit there."

"Sorry," Missa whispers.

"None of that," Philza replies. "You're all good, mate. You're so fucking good."

It's hard to believe. Missa is still tired, though, so he does not argue. At least he is with Philza - at least he is here, with somebody he knows. His brother will never let him back, so… At least he is not alone.

He is alive, and not alone, and it's more than he could ever have hoped for, to be bought back to… Wait.

"Where are we?"

Philza freezes a second, then laughs, and says "it's a moving camp. When you were taken, I got in contact with Fit, and he spoke to the guys he's running with these days - the Order, they call themselves - and here the fuck we are."

"We're not-"

"I'm so sorry," Philza's face twists. "You know how it is. Here they keep alive by moving. They don't need the secrets, so…"

And so Missa's stupidity means Philza has been ripped away from his home. He freezes, tries to pull away, and-

Philza catches his hands.

"I chose this," Philza tells him, voice stern. "Missa, this was my fucking choice, okay? I could have let Fit go himself, but I wanted to find you. Just breath. It's not your fucking fault."

Is he so predictable?

Missa guesses so, when he bursts into tears.

Philza folds him into his arms, and holds him close as he cries himself to sleep.

---

Every time he sleeps, it becomes easier for Missa to wake. He is still too tired, exhausted down to his core, but with broken bones he should likely rest regardless. Philza comes more often than not, and still Missa struggles to understand why he came - the man had everything, and yet he abandoned it all just to save Missa. It makes no sense. Missa is grateful for the rescue, and to not be alone, but it makes no sense.

Even Fit comes by, once or twice. His brother's other ex is a cautious man but still tells him it is good to see him again. Missa thinks he actually came for the doctors - not doctors at all, but engineers with a medical textbook, and it is still more than his home ever had - but the man still says hello. Friendly, but cautious.

Sometimes, Missa thinks he sees something in the corners, in the shadows, or the ceiling.

Sometimes, he thinks that something looks like the ghost of a long dead friend.

One night he wakes, and sees it in the shadows. He pretends to sleep as he watches it come down, slowly scuttling down the wall and to his bedside. He keeps his eyes lidded as familiar fingers press into his neck, taking his pulse.

They are cold, but not as cold as they should be.

The figure stays there a bit, breath shaky. Once it steadies it withdraws its hand, and makes to leave.

Missa reaches out, and traps the spider in the web.

It freezes.

"Roier?" Missa asks, wishing the hope did not linger on his tongue.

"Missa," a voice he knows replies. "Go back to sleep."

"Are you a ghost?"

"No, no I'm not a ghost. It's fine. Rest."

"A dream?"

"Missa."

"I watched you die."

Finally Roier does something. He peels Missa's fingers away.

Still he hesitates to leave.

"I'm just as dead as you," Roier replies.

"It was a trick?"

"No. I just survived."

And Missa does not know how someone would survive such injuries, but he will take what he can get. Injured and half-asleep is perhaps the worst times for such conversations, but he is not sure he will ever see Roier again if he fails.

"They saved you too?"

"No then," he replies. "I met them later."

"I'm sorry," Missa says, haunted by everything that came before. "I… I'm sorry. I was there, and… And I'm sorry."

Roier turns, and finally looks at him

"And now we're both here," Roier frowns, but holds eye contact. "It's fine. Go back to sleep."

"Roier!"

"Later. We can talk about it later," he says, breaking eye contact finally. "You're… You're hurt, Missa, hurt badly. Please, just… just rest."

Roier is afraid.

Missa hesitates, and relents, and curls back up as best he can.

"Good night, Missa."

"Good night, Roier."

Roier tucks the blanket around him, and vanishes back into the night.

They don't talk about it in the morning; it's long years before they do.