#Knightmare Writing

[knightmareaceblue]

The Amazonian Amethyst.

Since being stolen from its rightful owners by the tyrannical Queen Empress, no one has seen this legendary gemstone. Rumor has it that the Amethyst, like many lost treasures, was taken by the Queen Empress to her tomb, the Red Pyramid, from which no one had ever returned alive.

It'd make the perfect anniversary gift. When Charles of all people presents this plan to his partners, Henry and Ellie are completely on board. An anniversary adventure suits the Triple Threat more than some dinner date, anyways.

And nothing could possibly go wrong… right?

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Deep in the heart of an ancient jungle, far away from the modern comforts and conveniences of the human world, all was calm. The animals scurried and scattered about, out to hunt or gather for their next meal. The roaring rapids of a nearby river echoed through the tangle of trees, calling to creatures near and far to take their fair share of its fresh water and plump schools of fish. The songs of birds in the upper canopy competing to attract a mate completed the natural soundtrack of this ancient, majestic place.

Then, quite suddenly, the sharp mechanical buzzing of helicopter blades sliced through the melody of environment, causing the animals to scatter in fear of this strange new sound. At least one thousand feet above these scared grounds, three people, oblivious to their disruption, chattered excitedly amongst themselves.

“Man, doesn’t this bring you back?” Spoke the sole female of the group, a red-head named Ellie, who stared out at the jungle with a fond smile, her eyes soft with nostalgia. “Our first mission as the Triple Threat, flying over the Dogobogo Jungle to mess up the Toppat Clan’s day and send their rocket flying off into the sun.”

“Well, actually, Hen sent it to the Wall? But, you know, close enough.” Responded the pilot, one Mister Charles Calvin, who glanced back at her for only the briefest of moments before returning his focus to the wheel. His eyes scanned the canopy, searching for their destination, and a wide grin stretched across his face when he finally found it. “Whoa! Guys, you gotta check this out!!”

Henry, the final and most quiet member of the trio, raced over to Charles’ side first, Ellie hot on their trail. Their crimson eyes scanned the horizon, until they widened when they landed on the group’s destination: a gigantic pyramid, covered from top to bottom in green foliage as nature fought to overtake the ancient structure.

“There she is.” Ellie murmured, entranced by the sight, “The Imperial Tomb of the Queen Empress.”

“Exactly where my contact said it would be.” Declared the pilot, flicking switches and checking gauges as he prepared to descend. “According to him, the Amazonian Amethyst should be buried inside, along with the Empress. But everyone who’s ever gone searching for the tomb’s hidden treasure has mysteriously vanished~” The change of tone from Charles was accompanied by an amused smirk, almost as if daring fate to try and do the same to them. “So no one’s ever found the amethyst hidden inside. Which means it’s all ours for the taking.”

With a sharp squeal, Henry’s arms wrapped tightly around Charles’ shoulders, and they nuzzled their head into the side of Charles’. “This is the best anniversary gift ever.” Henry declared, and Charles felt his heart flutter.

When accepting the Airship mission so long ago, Charles hadn’t expected to fall in love with a criminal mastermind, let alone two of them. But exactly one year ago today, under the gentle light of the moon, Henry had taken both their hands and proclaimed their love to the heavens. The year that had followed had been the adventure of a lifetime; it hadn’t been without its challenges, but ultimately Charles had never been happier. The two standing behind him were his heart and soul made manifest. Of that, Charles was certain.

Of course, Charles’ love didn’t equate to ignorance of who, exactly, he was dating. By the time the government had picked them up for the Airship mission, Henry had become somewhat infamous for their prison break and theft of the Tunisian Diamond, and Ellie was in a similar position, living an outlaw’s life for various crimes she’d committed with a previous gang. And while they’d turned over a new leaf, partially for the benefits but mostly for Charles, it was clear that the transition to a clean cut lifestyle was… difficult, to say the least.

Thankfully the majority of what they craved, the action and adventure and excitement, was quelled by the missions they went on to save the world from whatever bad guy of the week dared to think they could stand up to the Triple Threat. However, the other addictive quality of their criminal lives – the material gains, the glitz and glamour of wealth that people like them could only get through illicit activities – that was another story entirely. Charles couldn’t count the number of times he’d had to drag Henry away from a display of shiny jewelry, or watch Ellie gaze longingly at the security trucks stores used to transport cash. He knew the two of them would never go behind his back to return to their old ways – he trusted them. But it was obvious even to him that they still missed it.

So, when their anniversary began to approach, Charles devised a plan. He’d preemptively gotten them a full two week’s vacation, scoured the dredges of the library and uncovered a lost treasure: The Amazonian Amethyst. A rare, large, and highly valuable purple gemstone that was said to have been stolen from its rightful owners by the very Queen Empress who was buried below them. She had taken many treasures with her to the grave, and for their anniversary, Charles had made all the arrangements necessary for them to go hunt it down. He’d rented a non-government helicopter (none of the bells and whistles he was used to, but the leather seats were a hell of a lot more comfortable than the ones from his usual bird), made sure they had all their paperwork and supplies, and took his two loves deep into the heart of the jungle on a death defying adventure to technically-not-steal a large amethyst from a long dead tyrant.

Maybe not entirely on the up and up, as far as legality went, but seeing the looks on Henry and Ellie’s faces when he told them his plan was totally worth the huge risk.

As their helicopter descended, Ellie scurried about, grabbing any last minute supplies she could get her hands on and tossing them into her personal inventory for later use. Simultaneously, Henry yanked open the door to the helicopter and hopped out as it landed, surveying the area with experienced precision. A practiced hand signal alerted their partners that the coast was clear, and Charles and Ellie soon hopped out after them. Inventories fully equipped, limbs stretched, and helicopter secured, the infamous Triple Threat made their way into the maw of the pyramid, eagerly chasing the adventure it promised.

Behind them, the song of the jungle stilled too suddenly, leaving only the increasingly loud crunch, crunch, crunch of plants being crushed.

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“Yo, check this place out!” Charles exclaimed as the trio stepped into the main hall. The smile on his face stretched from ear to ear, and Henry could practically see the stars in his eyes as he shook his fists in excitement.

Not that Henry could fault his sunshiny enthusiasm. The main hall was adorned with very ornate murals, each one portraying the Queen Empress throughout her life. From her miraculous birth, with light shining down on her from the heavens; to her childhood of objectively being better than everyone; to the worship of her citizens, despite the blood lust that lead her to raid and pillage and steal from weaker kingdoms near and far. The blatant narcissism on display was staggering. The shiny gems that were used in place of her pupils, however, made Henry’s fingers twitch.

Of course, they wouldn’t settle for those little pebbles. Charles had picked a gem especially for them. Henry was going to get their hands on it if it killed them.

“According to the notes from the last expedition…” Ellie flipped through her notebook pages casually, even as she sidled up to one of the murals and plucked out a shiny blue stone. Unlike Henry, she didn’t mind easy pickings. “In the 1950s, geez… this first area is relatively safe. It’s where the Queen’s followers were expected to bring offerings of food and drink to their Eternal Queen.” Ellie’s eyes, full and bright like the full moon, scanned over the entire room. “Given how open this place was, though, it was probably all eaten by animals.”

Henry openly scoffed. “Wanna bet the people in charge used the missing food as ‘proof’ that the Empress really was there?”

In response, Ellie only shook her head. The trio walked along, making light conversation up until they reached the end of the hallway. The doorway between the Offerings Hall and the rest of the tomb contained a final masterpiece: the Queen Empress, in all her regal glory, being called into heaven by the gods themselves in the same radiant light that had shone upon her at birth. It’d be poetic, if Henry didn’t find it so nauseatingly self-serving. Whoever the woman was, she tried incredibly too hard to portray herself as a literal gift from the gods.

More importantly, the entrance to the tomb was stuck shut. “Notes said it was sealed after the last expedition,” Ellie explained, shutting the book in her hands. “Probably so no more idiots would get themselves killed trying to get that big treasure.”

“Well, they clearly hadn’t counted on these idiots!” Charles proclaimed, pulling the two of them close so he could point his fingers down at the trio, as if that was supposed to be a compliment. Still, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Idiots though the three may be, this wouldn’t even be close to the toughest thing they’d tackled. The three of them? They got this. First they just had to find a world in which they got this stupid door open.

Should they Force it open? No, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Ellie’s powers were strong, sure, but they could be too strong at times. Using just the right amount of Force would require extreme concentration. Henry could see the future play out before their very eyes; Ellie’s powers would pry the heavy door away from the wall bit by bit, pulling at the melted welding keeping it in place until it finally broke free. They’d celebrate for a moment, just a second, before the door would hit all three of them, knocking them back and out. Apparently, there was such a thing as too much force. Who knew?

So that was a no go.

What about some controlled demolition, then? Somehow that seemed like an even worse idea. They would manage to knock down the wall surrounding the door, sure. It was just a matter of applying enough force to remove the stones. Then the whole ceiling would crash down around their ears, their universe ending in a single cosmic crunch. Of course it would. Henry had the luck of a black cat zooming underneath a row of ladders while crushing mirrors underneath its claws. And besides, it was Remodeling 101: You never destroy a load-baring structure.

“You know, we could always just teleport past it.” Ellie teased with a quirk of her lip. This caused an instinctual full body shutter from Henry at just the thought of that infernal contraption. Though they’d never used the device in their own world line, the aches and pains of its future malfunctions still radiated across their skin, a phantom pain from a wound that never was and always had been.

Future sight was a real bitch sometimes.

With an annoyed pout, they scolded her, “Don’t even joke about that.” Henry could see the amusement on Charles’ face as he joined Ellie with an elbow propped on her shoulder, and tried not to scowl. Ellie and Charles took their concerns seriously – Neither of them had ever doubted their future sight even once– but the two weren’t above teasing their beloved about the borderline paranoid raving they could go on. “In fact, new rule from now on: No more bringing the teleporter. It always backfires.”

“So that means we won’t get to see you make that cute pouty face whenever you pull it out of your bag anymore?” Teased the pilot, a grin as bright as the sun stretching along his face. He didn’t even look a little sad at the idea of Henry no longer being burdened by the infernal plaything of cruel fate that was the Teleporter.

“What a shame.” Ellie joked right alongside him. In terms of acting, she was a little better, in that she managed to look a little disappointed at the thought. But her eyes shone like the moonlight, letting her true feelings be known to those who could read her.

All the annoyance melted away at their expressions, and Henry tried not to let this show as they rolled their eyes and spun around to dig through their inventory. “Yeah, yeah. Give me a moment, I think I have something here… aha!”

Henry triumphantly pulled their prize from their inventory’s storage: a blowtorch, which Henry immediately lit up before their red-headed girlfriend dropped a protective mask down over their face. Pausing only to give her a brief thumbs up before going to town, they traced the outlines of the sealed metal entrance and slowly but surely began to destroy the fused sections between door and wall, allowing for the door to be effortlessly removed. Henry turned around and bowed to their sun and their moon, gesturing dramatically to guide them through the newly created hole in the ruin. Ellie, proper woman that she was, bowed back as she passed, her eyes reflecting the mirth Henry felt. And Charles, ray of sunshine that he was, gentle tapped Henry’s nose with a soft boop before all but skipping through the doorway.

They could be walking into death, sure. After all, no one had seen the interior of the pyramid and survived. Despite these terrible odds, Henry couldn’t help but feel at ease. After all, they were already capable of the impossible alone. With Ellie and Charles by their side, they were all but invincible.

Behind them, an ominous shadow shadow spread across the stone cold floor.

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The Triple Threat were greeted by a long, long hallway on the other side of the sealed doorway. It stretched onward and onward, shadows obscuring the pathway and all its secrets. The only lights came from the dull blue luminescence of the blue spheres embedded into the walls. There were more murals, Henry was certain, but their pictures were obscured by the darkness the entire corridor was draped in.

A darkness that was suddenly slashed through by a beam of light, courtesy of Charles. Now they could make out the plain, cold stone floor, the elaborate detailing on the wall portraying some myth long since lost to the age, the arches on the ceiling that provided the support needed for the heavy stone structure. There were no traps to be seen; no buttons, no spikes, no glowing eyed accursed beast doomed to wander these twisted hallways forever. It looked perfectly safe.

Naturally, Henry didn’t trust it.

Apparently Charles didn’t share this suspicious sentiment, because with a chipper, “Welp, let’s get moving!” He bound forward a few steps, and Ellie and Henry grabbed him and pulled him back just in time to avoid a long and dangerous drop down a pit of spikes.

“Watch your step, dumbass.” Ellie scolded, her hand tight around Charles’. In the meanwhile, Henry quickly checked him over. They’d been quick enough to catch him in this world (Future sight was a bitch), but better safe than sorry when it comes to mysterious ancient ruins and their many traps. And tetanus.

For his part, Charles seemed more embarrassed than scared. “Whoops.” He chuckled nervously as Ellie and Henry, now that they were done making sure he was really okay, crossed their arms and shot him matching glares, flat and unimpressed. “My bad. Sorry, guys.”

“Sheesh.” Ellie uncrossed her arms. On the outside she looked calm and composed, but Henry knew her well enough to see the slight tension in her face, or the way eyes kept darting to view the area behind Charles, as if expected another trap to jump out of nowhere and blot out the sun. “You’re going to be the death of us, I swear.”

With Charles’ near death experience out of the way, Ellie picked up a small pile of loose stones near the side of the passageway and began tossing them, one after the other. With each stone tossed, a section of the floor collapsed underneath the weight, revealing a pitfall that went down for meters. At the bottom, cascading off the floor, were subtle buttons that could only barely be made out in the dark, and entirely less subtle rows of spikes. A ghastly smell rose as the floor fell: a noxious fume of decay and rot that told them, even before Charles’ torch revealed the scatterings of bones both human and otherwise, the fates of all those whom had entered beforehand. An ominous rattling echoed up through the chamber as the light awoke various species of serpents lying in slumber in between the spikes, scattering quickly to hide around the buttons with their tails resonating dangerous warnings about disturbing them further. As the light continued to travel upward, the trio could make out tiny little holes in the walls, just large enough for any number of potentially poisonous instruments to fly or jut out, all the way from the bottom of the pit to the very top of the ceiling.

Now, if this had just been Henry, then they’d use a grappling hook to fly across the chasm, no problem. Or maybe create a platform with something nearby. But it was more than just Henry they were worried about today, and the ceiling was far too old and decrepit to hold all of them if they swung across. And the ruins were far too precarious to support the weight of three people. They’d collapse into the pit, get impaled on the spikes, and that would be the end of the Triple Threat’s story.

Despite the impending death of their loved ones, it struck Henry as more lame than terrifying.

What Henry forgot, of course, was that they were flanked by two equally competent (and equally crazy) partners, and Charles’ face suddenly lit up as he pushed his two partners behind him. “Don’t worry,” He smirked back at them confidentially, “I got this.”

Ellie and Henry were, naturally, extremely worried.

Without any further warning, Charles bolted forward. Henry’s panicked attempt to grab him and pull him back to safety was narrowly dodged, and Ellie’s call to halt was similarly ignored. Upon reaching the edge of the pit, Charles bent his legs down and sprung over it with an admittedly impressive leap, but one with nowhere near enough force or air to make it to the other side of the hazardous chasm.

Ellie gaped like a fish, her eyes following Charles with all the horror of witnessing an impending wreck. Henry winced and somehow managed not to look away.

Just as he reached the peak of his jump, Charles tossed a grenade down into the pit trap. The explosion was instantaneous, almost completely silent, and… purple? A cushion of purple gelatin arose from the torturous trenches, and Charles landed perfectly in it’s center with a boi-oing that echoed through the pyramid. And he bounced. Once. Twice. Each time a joyous laugh escaped Charles, loud and carefree despite the precarious perils underneath him.

A few bounces later – to test the durability of the gelatin or just for his own amusement, Henry couldn’t say – Charles leapt forward again and launched another grenade. He bounced off the cushion it produced and threw another, and another, until there was purple, bouncy path to the other side of the hazardous chasm. He finally, finally landed on the solid ground of the other side, and as he steadied along with Henry’s heartbeat, Charles turned around and tossed his partners a double thumbs up.

Henry stared after him, slack jawed. Words failed them completely.

Ellie, who had always managed to find the words that eluded Henry, commented, “That dumbass is going to get us killed one of these days.” Her voice was steady and strong, but a slight twitch of the eye betrayed her inner anxiety.

“Well? Come on!” Charles, whose ability to read the room was about on par with his risk assessment skills, called across the chasm, “The Amazonian Amethyst ain’t gonna come to you, slowpokes!”

Despite themselves, a grin stretched across Henry’s face. Now that the initial scare had passed, they found themselves more amused than upset. None of the Triple Threat were the cautious type to begin with – cautious types wouldn’t rob tombs, after all – and the heart attacks weren’t anything new, especially in their profession. So, only pausing to shrug at Ellie, Henry followed in Charles’ footsteps and leapt down into the pit of spikes.

They hit the mass of purple dead center, and was surprised to find that it was not at all sticky or mushy, as would be expected of gelatin. Instead it was soft and smooth, the same texture as a rubber exercise ball, with enough strength to hold their weight while standing firm against the spikes. An almost childlike joy came over Henry as they bounced up and down with loud, echoing boings, flipping and posing like they’d seen trampoline artists on the television do, before finally moving forward on the playful path Charles had created for them.

Behind them, Henry could hear Ellie bounce along as well. Her squeals were surprised and nervous at first, but quickly faded into the more melodious sounds of delight and enjoyment. A million ways to tease their moonlight popped into Henry’s head, but for the moment they simply enjoyed the sound of her unrestrained elation and focused on bouncing from one cushion of violet gelatin to the next, putting their signature style into every leap.

Henry hit the ground next to Charles hard, face first. Ellie landed much more gracefully, on one foot and one knee. She was up before Henry could even get to their knees, and by the time they were back on their feet she’d reached Charles and socked him in the arm. Not hard enough to hurt him, but not quite soft enough to be playful, either.

“Hey!” Charles flinched back a little, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?”

Ellie raised a brow at him. “You mean besides the heart attack you gave us when you jumped into a pit of spikes?”

Comprehension dawned on Charles’ sweet, stupid little face. “Oooh… yeah, I can see what you mean. Uh… whoops?” This earned him another hit, slightly more playful this time. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry, alright? I just wanted to show off for you guys.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” Ellie muttered with a glower, but no force in the world could stand up to Charles’ puppy dog eyes, so it wasn’t long before she was fighting a smile as he pouted up at her. “Okay, I forgive you. Just… no more throwing yourself into death pits please?”

“I won’t.” Charles promised, rewarding Ellie’s mercy with a sweet nuzzle and a gentle kiss. “’M sorry.”

Henry watched the tender moment play out between them, transfixed on their two loves from the sidelines, when Charles’ arm suddenly stretched the distance between them. It didn’t reach all the way to Henry, didn’t so much as brush against their skin, but Charles’ hand was open, invitation clear for Henry to accept at their leisure.

“I scared you too, didn’t I?” Asked the pilot, almost rhetorically. “Sorry, Hen.”

Affection flooded Henry’s heart, filling it full enough to burst, as they reached across the distance between them and took Charles’ hand. This was why he was their sunshine; Charles didn’t always have enough awareness to recognize his screw ups (and Henry had the phantom scars of worlds never lived to prove it), but when he did, he always approached them with complete compassion and understanding. He gave them each what they needed; Ellie a laugh to calm her nerves, and Henry the choice of contact and comfort, instead of startling them with a sudden touch they weren’t ready for. Henry relished in his light, the same light that brought the hope of daybreak to the hearts of two darkened criminals.

Instead of voicing their appreciation aloud, Henry accepted the unspoken invitation and allowed Charles to pull them close, peppering their faces with sweet little kisses, causing them to giggle. With his apologies accepted, Charles released his partners and the three turned around to face their next challenge, together.

Another door. Stone this time, a dark and heavy slab that sealed them off from the interior of the pyramid.

“Something tells me we’re not going to blowtorch our way through this one.” Ellie mused, then smiled as she added, in a light, airy voice, “Oh, if only we had some sort of device that could displace us through space and time to get us past this impossible obstacle!” She dramatically flung her hand over her forehead.

Charles tittered dramatically as he played along. “What a shame. Looks like we’ll have to go home without the Amethyst.”

“Knock it off.” Henry scolded, unamused. “Besides, who needs a Teleporter when you’ve got a…” They ruffled through their inventory until they found their prize, and triumphantly pulled out a... “Tire Jack!”

“Tire jack?” Echoed Ellie and Charles behind them, identical looks of confusion adorning their faces.

“Tire Jack.” Henry repeated one final time without elaboration, before dropping to their knees in front of the door. This little baby was a thief’s dream – unassuming, easy to carry, and absolutely perfect for doing things like prying open doors, or… whatever else a tire jack was used for. Henry fitted it to the stone slab, then pumped down once… twice… three times… and managed to create a crack just large enough for the three of them to squeeze through, one at a time.

Ellie nodded in understanding. “Ah. Tire jack.”

“Ooh, ooh! Me first!” Charles called as he ran at door. Henry managed to jump back just in time to avoid being bowled over by Charles’ power slide as he launched himself underneath the door’s crack.

All poor Henry and Ellie could do was gape after him, before Ellie shook her head and mumbled, “Going to be the death of us,” before following suit. Henry crawled underneath the door after them, leaving the chamber in silence.

…

Boing. Boing.

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Somehow, the chamber they entered after crawling under the door was even darker than what came before. None of the rooms allowed for any sunlight to penetrate the densely packed stones, but at least the previous chambers had the dim glow of the luminescent blue stones on the walls to provide a little bit of light. In this room, however, even that minuscule bit of illumination was absent, leaving Henry and their partners shrouded in complete darkness.

“Eugh, I can’t see a thing.” Ellie summarized, her voice echoing just enough to let Henry know that this was a large, spacious chamber. Her call acted as a beacon, drawing both partners’ attention over to the little corner of the dark expanse where she must have been. “Charles, a little light, sweetheart?”

“Huh?” Either to preserve battery life or to keep from smacking anyone in the eyes with the beam of his torch, Charles had shut it off at some point. The reminder from Ellie, however, caused him to audible scramble to pull it back out. “Oh, right, yeah! I’m on it-!”

The clacking of plastic against stone echoed through the chamber once, twice, three times as the torch hit the ground and bounced away. Then silence.

“…” Henry couldn’t see a damned thing, but they could practically feel Charles wince. “Uh, Yeaah… I’ll, uh, I’ll just…” Shuffling fabric could be heard, followed by a repetition of slap, slap, slap against the cold stone floor as Charles fumbled around. “I’m sure it’s, uh, around here somewhere… Hehe…”

Then, stone sliding against stone. Followed by a painfully loud click.

Henry only had a brief moment to brace themselves for whatever barrage of arrows or spikes or fire was about to kill them dead. Instead, an explosion of white began searing their retinas, forcing their eyes closed and their arms up to defend against the sudden barrage. To their side, Henry could hear Ellie grunt in pain, and the sounds of Charles crawling around had disappeared entirely. Time eased the burden of their pain, their eyes adjusted, and Henry lowered their arms and gazed out into the now lit room.

What greeted their eyes was a circular chamber, far larger than the entrance or connecting chambers behind them, with sunlight pouring through the rooftop. Like the entrance, the walls were painted with spectacular images, icons that had long since forgotten their meanings and portraits of divine beings with names lost to time. Three tables – or, more likely, altars – were set up around the chamber, one underneath each grand portrait of the gods. The grandest of all, however, was that of the Queen Empress, recognizable even to Henry’s history ignorant mind. She was encircled by heavenly light while, to each of her sides, the Gods shifted their gazes unto her.

“Whoa!” Charles, having found the flashlight not three feet in front of him, quickly picked it up and got back to his feet.

“These are amazing!” Ellie gushed, eyes lighting up as she took in the ancient murals. Her aesthetic sense was certainly different from Henry’s – a little flashier, a little more on the romantic side – but her eye for art was second to none. “I wish I had a camera.”

Without even thinking, Henry pulled a disposable camera from their bag and held it up in front of Ellie’s face. It’s primary function was for note-taking and placing identical photos of crime scenes in front of security cameras, but even though they were technically done committing crimes, Henry had never removed it from their inventory.

“Oh.” Ellie blinked, then took the camera. “Thank you.”

“Is this the burial chamber?” Charles asked, then, as if that was a definite yes, excitedly changed the question to, “Is the Amethyst here?”

“I don’t think so.” Ellie responded as she took more and more pictures. The film in that thing wasn’t unlimited, but she’d probably document all she wanted to long before it ran out. “Given that there’s no actual tomb or body here, this is probably a temple of some sort, to honour the gods rather than her.”

To that, Charles and Henry exchanged a glance before gazing up at the image of the Queen Empress, who was larger and grander than any of the divine beings on the wall. “I’m, uh, not a theologist.” Charles said as he quirked an eyebrow at her. “But isn’t imagery like this, like, umm… what the word I’m looking for?”

“Blasphemous?” Henry suggested.

Apparently that was correct, because Charles nodded. “Yeah, that.”

To that, Ellie only shrugged. “Eh, who knows? Maybe having the gods revere you was an old form of worship?”

As they spoke, Henry surveyed the temple. Beyond the portraits and the skylight, the round temple was decorated with ornate columns and intricately carved altars, each adorned with various symbols that had lost their meanings to the flow of time. Their eyes went from mural to mural, from wall to wall, and as they scanned each corner of the chamber a cold feeling sank to the bottom of their stomach.

“Uh, guys?” Henry interrupted, getting Ellie and Charles’ attention. “There’s no exit.”

Indeed, the walls had many things painted on them, but none of them had a door of any sort beyond the entrance.

“Oh. That’s a problem.” Charles mumbled as he too began to look around. “Uh, are you sure this isn’t the burial chamber then?”

“Do you see a body anywhere?” Ellie retorted, then kicked at the ground. The interior of the temple, in the open area just underneath the skylight, was a large circular stone slab inlaid in the floor, again adorned with a symbol Henry didn’t understand. “We entered around the center of the pyramid. The burial chamber and treasure chamber are probably below us somewhere.” Ellie scratched her chin, gazing around, “Which means… to proceed we’ll have to…”

“Dig!’ Charles interrupted, triumphantly pulling a shovel from his inventory. Grinning, he posed to strike down at the stone ground, only to have the shovel nabbed away from him by Ellie.

She spun it in her hand as she shook her head. “Not exactly. There’s probably some mechanism in the room that opens the floor, the same way that button you found opened the skylight. We just have to figure out where it is.” She tossed the twirling shovel into the air, allowing it to whirl before she caught it with ease. “So, let’s start by investigating the room. Charles, see if you can find any more buttons on the floor. Henry, check out the pillars and walls. I’ll take a look at the altars.”

With their tasks divided up, the Triple Threat went about exploring the chamber. Charles dropped to his hands and feet, crawling about the floor like a hound dog sniffing for clues. Henry couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculously serious display before turning to the walls. Like the entrance, the iconography seemed to tell a story. A trickster, a mysterious being cloaked in shadows with a crooked smile, stealing from the gods and causing them to turn their wrath on each other. A divine clash breaking out, a battle of apocalyptic proportions with the trickster caught in the middle. A god of the sky defeated with a necklace, a god of the ocean defeated with song, a god of the mountains defeated with a seed. And the spirits, the innocent bystanders who had perished in the clash, being escorted by the trickster to a new paradise.

Huh. What an odd story.

Henry didn’t have much time to take it all in, however, as a sudden and triumphant, “Aha!” from Charles caught their attention. They turned to find him in front of one of the altars, grinning and rubbing his hands. “Found the button!”

Ellie had been investigating the altar on the other side of the room, but she somehow managed to reach Charles’ side before Henry had. The three of them started down at the button for a long time, contemplating the many, many ways this thing could kill them, before a shrug from Ellie gave Charles the go ahead. It gave a soft click as it depressed all the way.

The Triple Threat tensed, got into formation, and waited for the trap to spring.

And waited.

And… waited…

And there was no trap. Not even a little one. Henry almost felt disappointed.

“Huh.” Ellie mused, getting out of formation and pressing the button down with her foot. Again, nothing happened. “Okay, that’s strange… but maybe…” Ellie stroked her chin as she walked away to the next altar, testing the ground in front of it with her foot until she found what she was looking for and smirked triumphantly. “Ah ha!”

With the same cool confidence as always, Ellie let her foot fall onto another hidden button. It crumbled under her mighty strength, clicking into place neatly.

Henry could sense a pattern here. They quickly walked over to the other side of the room, to the unattended altar, and stared down at where they were certain, based on where Charles and Ellie were standing, that the final button would be. Should they press it? Do they dare risk their life on the mere chance that this button would open the passageway forward?

...Eh, screw it. Henry stamped down on the button hard.

A final click echoed through the chamber. All was silent for one moment, then two, then three. The silence was broken by a rumbling, small at first but then, gradually, getting louder and louder until the whole chamber was shaking. Shadows began to stretch and grow across the floor as stone eclipsed the skylight, slowly, steadily, until nothing but darkness remained.

Henry’s fingers itched. Their every muscle tingled, phantom pains from a world soon to be echoing across their skin, screaming at them to move, move, move-!

Fire burst forth from the symbol on the altar, giving Henry mere seconds to dodge out of the way before the gods could scorch them with divine retribution. Behind them, Henry could hear Ellie gasp as something heavy slammed down way too close to where they knew she was standing, and on their other side, sputtering and coughing and what sounded like a geyser.

Before they could even thinking of running to their partners’ aid, another pillar of fire sprouted up just next to Henry, setting the room alight with a dangerous orange glow. Then another. And another. For now Henry could dodge them, but the streams of fire were going off faster than faster. This was not a matter of if they got burned to a crisp, but when.

In the glow of the firelight, Henry could make out Charles, soaked head to toe, struggling to push against a strong spray of water that had him pinned. Ellie, on the other side, was only narrowly dodging giant stone pillars raining down on her.

“What kind of trap is this?” Henry snapped in frustration. “There wasn’t anything on the walls!” There couldn’t have been, not with those portraits. A button would stand out far too much.

As Charles was too busy battling a barrage of water, it was Ellie who replied. “I have no clue! The way the buttons were positioned – I thought it made sense-”

She sounded genuinely distressed, and that made Henry’s heart ache worse than anything. Ellie was their moon, their constant anchor in an ever-changing world, and they felt her distress as if it were their own. “Hey- hey- it’s okay.” Henry consoled. “If it helps, this is less stupid then, say, jumping out of a bag and directly into an alarm.”

“Yeah!” Charles had managed to keep the extreme stream of water at bay enough to finally contribute – or maybe he was just powering through it. Hard to say with him. “It’s just a little water… and fire… and some rocks… we got this! We’ll just, uh- um…”

As their sunshine rambled on, Henry could see something click in Ellie’s head. Her eyes widened, shimmering with reflected firelight. “Water… fire… and rocks- no, earth…” Ellie’s gaze traveled upward, to the eclipsed skylight. “Henry!” Her force powers kept the crushing stone pillars at bay while she pointed towards the tip top of the ceiling. “I need to get up there!”

Henry rolled out of the way of an incoming stream of fire. They didn’t have a lot of time. Inside their bag were a few things that could get Ellie away from the rocks and up towards the skylight, but what?

There was a pair of boots in Henry’s inventory that would allow for a super jump – just bend your knees and boom! Up you go. Of course, there were way too many ways for that to end horrifically. The flames that were one wrong dodge away from ending Henry were not the greatest source of light. All it took was too much force and Ellie’s head would crack like an egg against the tough stone ceiling. Or too little force, perhaps, and she would fall into one of the various traps spread across the chamber. It was unwise to leap before one could look, after all.

There was a wooden pole stashed away in there as well. One of those nice collapsible ones. Henry could toss it javelin style to Ellie and of course she’d catch it, she’s Ellie, and once she had it she’d go vaulting over the stone crushers keeping her trapped. The wood was very flexible after all, so it wouldn’t be a-

Wait, no. It was made of wood. Which meant, with Henry’s luck, they’d toss it to Ellie only for the trio to watch it be burnt to ash mid-flight. That would be a terrible way for the Triple Threat to burn out.

So, something that wouldn’t be destroyed by the fire, and something that she’d be able to control even under these poor lighting conditions. That left…

A silver chain glistened in the firelight, strong and fierce and far, far more fireproof then the wooden pole. The primary purpose of this thing was to lift and pull, and Henry couldn’t use it for much else. Ellie, however, was far more versatile, and that showed in her shining eyes as she caught the chain in midair, not even looking back at Henry as she did.

Ellie smirked, and Henry knew they were in for a good time.

She whipped the silver chain over her head and out to one of the many decorative protrusions on the rounded ceiling. It stuck firmly in place, and just before a crushing pillar could flatten her into pancake, Ellie launched into a wide swing. Fire licked at her feet and clothing as she came around to Henry’s side of the chamber, but she didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, she held one arm out wide to catch her partner as she swung past, and Henry gripped her hand for all it was worth. They continued their arc around the chamber, and Henry didn’t even need to be told to hold on to Ellie with one arm as they approached where the strong geyser of water had Charles pinned. Henry grabbed him by the collar and held him tight as the soaked pilot got his grip on Ellie.

“You guys okay?” Ellie called down to them, and Charles nodded while Henry gave her a thumbs up. “Awesome! Hang on tight, we’re going up!”

The arc of their swing widened and quickened, spinning them around the room again and again until they built up enough speed for Ellie to launch them towards the spot where the skylight would be. The air rushed past them as they flew upward. Ellie released one hand from her chain, reaching towards the stone covering. They inched closer, and closer…

And something clicked as Ellie’s outstretched hand pushed in the final button.

Below them, the traps disappeared as quickly as they had activated. The fire stopped. The stone crushing pillars retreated back to their spots hidden in the ceiling. The stream of water sputtered to a halt. The trio landed back on solid ground just as the skylight began to open again, illuminating the temple with sparkling sunlight. Just behind them, the ground rumbled and shook before opening up to reveal a spiral staircase into the unknown depths.

“Woo-hoo!” Charles cheered. The fabric of his clothing was drenched and worn from the pressure of the water that had trapped him earlier, but Charles hardly paid it any mind as he threw his arms around his partner. “Way to go Els!”

“That was so cool!” Henry gushed, piling into her from the other side to keep her sandwiched between them. With her two loves surrounding her, Ellie was able to wind down a little, her shoulders relaxing and her smile widening to expose cute dimples on each side of her mouth.

Ellie giggled in response to their compliments. One of her arms snaked around Henry’s waist while the other latched around Charles’ shoulders. “It wasn’t a big deal.” She shrugged, mock bashfulness on her face even as she reveled in their praise. “I just figured, once Charles said that thing about fire and water and stone, that the traps were based on the elements, and from there it wasn’t hard to figure out that there was another button on the skylight.”

“Still! That was AWESOME!” Charles eyes practically sparkled with delight. “The way you tossed that hook and just-” Charles paused to lift both Ellie and Henry off the ground. He was strong enough to do so, but only barely, leaving Ellie squealing and Henry clinging on for dear life. Charles spun as he continued to recount the events that they’d just lived through, thank you very much.

When Charles finally put them down, Henry took the opportunity to link their fingers with Ellie’s, bringing a softer expression to her face. “Seriously. You were amazing.”

Ellie met their eyes. Those purple orbs seemed to glow softly in the sunlight, reflecting every feeling she couldn’t say. All her worry, her joy, her excitement, her pride, her love… she could spill it out in a thousand words like Charles, but that was never her style. She showed her love in her actions, in her worried fussing, in the look in her eyes as she watched after the two of them.

Henry squeezed her hand a little tighter, relishing in her tender gaze.

“-and then you landed perfectly!” Having finished his little tirade, Charles gazed back at the two of them, and his entire demeanor seemed to soften when he noticed their intertwined hands. “So, yeah. That was super cool.”

“It was.” Ellie agreed finally. She gave Henry’s hand a final squeeze before pulling away to jog lazily towards the newly revealed stairwell. “Now come on! We’re so close to the amethyst I can practically taste it!” Charles chased after her, laughing, and Henry followed suit down the long set of spiral stairs. Darkness waited below, but for now they had the beam of light from the opening directly overhead, granting them safe passage. As they descended, the air cooled; from Henry’s limited experience, the jungle was never anything but unpleasantly humid, so it was a nice change of pace. They zoned out as they walked: listening to Ellie and Charles discuss what might lie ahead, feeling the cool air grant their skin sweet relief from the awful heat, seeing the shadows grow across the ground below them, smelling the old musk of trapped air rise-

Henry blinked and looked back down at the ground below the skylight. The rays hit the ground uninterrupted, illuminating the old stones for the first time in centuries. They then looked upward at the skylight, seeing it clearly, without any sort of obstacle that could cast a shadow. But Henry could have sworn…

No, it was just their paranoia acting up again. Henry exhaled deeply and continued onward.

--------------------

The spiral staircase went down a long, long way, extending past what Henry thought would be the bottom of the pyramid. When they finally reached the end, the Triple Threat found the passageway as dark and foreboding as the ones upstairs before the skylight. They had Charles’ torch, but even its beam could only extend so far. Down below the surface the air was cooler but stale, and the walls, while thick and beautifully crafted, had no more stories to tell. Instead a pattern of intricate molding and paneling lead their way to the depths of the tomb.

The silence between them was deafening as each member of the Triple Threat prepared, in their own way, for whatever traps might lay ahead. As it turned out though, the largest trap they had to worry about was the architecture. Each pathway ended with a split in two directions. All it took was two turns for Henry to realize just how lost they could get in this convoluted maze. Luckily, their partners had a solution.

“It’s the same system we use when gaming together.” Charles explained as he scribbled on a piece of notebook paper. “We’ll make a map as we go, and mark shapes into the walls so we don’t get turned around.” As if to demonstrate, Ellie marked an o with a line through it right next to a clear dead end, and Charles made a corresponding mark on the map. “I don’t mean to ah, brag or anything, but we’re basically professional cartographers at this point.”

As if to demonstrate their prowess, Charles turned and proudly presented the map, which was just a jumble of lines with random symbols on it to Henry. Still, they gave the two an approving thumbs up.

So the trio marched on. This section of the pyramid wasn’t necessarily difficult, given that the traps were all laughably easy to dodge, but it did drag on a bit. The labyrinth was designed to confuse and entrap any enterprising thieves, and perhaps it would have successfully diverted one on their own.

Good thing these thieves came in a set of three.

At some point they reached a long sloping hallway, stretching so far forward that Charles’ flashlight could not even illuminate the far wall. The scent of upcoming danger wafted in the air, causing a mixture of anxiety and excitement in the trio. Charles got the privilege of leading the way due to his incredible skill of remembering to bring a torch, but Ellie and Henry were not far behind.

“Keep a sharp eye out.” Ellie warned as they crept down the long, long passageway. “There could be traps everywhere. Be prepared for anything-”

Click.

Henry looked down at their foot, and the slight indent in the floor from where they’d managed to step on a button. Whoops.

“What did I literally just say?” Ellie scolded, looking more annoyed than genuinely panicked. All Henry could muster in response was a sheepish grin.

The whole pyramid shook underneath their feet. Ellie and Charles, somehow, kept their balance, but Henry could not, and it was only after they’d fallen to the floor and were forced to look up that they saw the giant boulder cascading down towards them. They were up and running in an instant, and the screaming behind them told Henry their sunshine and moonlight were trailing behind them.

“Ah, Henry?” Charles called. His voice held a hint of nervousness – just a small touch – as he somehow managed to keep pace with the two thieves. “Now might be a good time for one of your tricks. You know, like that earthbending thing you can sometimes do-” Wouldn’t work. Henry’s skills weren’t strong enough to stop something that big in it’s tracks. They’d create a ramp to launch the blasted thing just above their heads and end up managing to crush the trio like a batch of gross pancakes. “-or maybe one of those Gizmo Gabe things you’re always carrying around-” Nah, Henry didn’t even need future sight to see where that would go wrong. Gadget Gabe (Charles never could get that name right) meant well, but their devices were… well, half-baked. The Float-O-Matic in their pack might get them away from the boulder, but it might also get them stuck to the ceiling with no hope of escape. No thank you.

“Or, you know,” Ellie yelled over the rumbling. Her voice was a little stressed, but also a little teasing, “We could teleport away from it!”

“Get bent!” Henry snapped back at her. “We don’t need that thing! It ALWAYS backfires!”

With that, Henry pulled out a sheet of paper, a canvas about the size of their body, and spun around to face the boulder head on. Ellie and Charles called out behind them, but Henry was singularly focused on the rock speeding at them at high speeds. The paper in their arms crinkled loudly as Henry waved it with both arms, as if airing out a towel, before dramatically bringing it up over their head. They waited for the boulder to get in to place.

Waiting…

Waiting….

Waiting… now!

The paper tore the boulder into tiny little shreds, sending shrapnel flying all around. Henry paid it no mind, driving the giant sheet of paper down further and further. It ground down the boulder until nothing but dust remained.

“See?” Henry looked back, speaking between deep breaths. Using that much force really took a lot out of a person. “We don’t need the teleporter.”

Ellie blinked stupidly at the display in front of her. “What- but- how did you-?!”

Dearest Charles, the only sympathetic party to her confusion, patted her gently on the back as he explained: “Paper beats rock. That’s just logic.”

“That only works in rock, paper, scissors!” Ellie cried out, frustrated. “That’s not how-”

She was shushed gently, and treated to one of Charles’ sunshiny smiles. “It’s Henry.” He said plainly, as if this explained what she’d just seen. “Don’t question it.”

As Henry passed her, listening to her frustrated grunting, they couldn’t help but smile. Mere moments after they disappeared into the darkness, the crackling and crunching of stone debris could be heard behind them.

--------------------

Finally, after long hours of trekking, after all the falls and traps and near death experiences that had protected the treasure within, the Triple Threat arrived at the grand entrance to the tomb. Before them stood a door at least as tall as the three stacked up. It was engraved with the Queen Empress’ visage, grand and imposing as she stared down at the mighty rats who dared steal from her precious tomb. Never one to do things by halves, the Mighty Empress had the door’s framing made of shining gold, which had Henry and Ellie salivating and Charles rolling his eyes. The torches that once illuminated the path to her final place of resting had been damp and cold far longer than any of them had been alive.

“You know,” Ellie looked up at the humongous image of the woman, as grand as she was tall, with crossed arms and thin lips, “I think this might be the burial chamber. Not sure why, but I just get that vibe, you know?”

Charles snorted. “I dunno, we’ve seen a lot of this woman plastered everywhere.”

“Good point.” Ellie agreed.

While they bickered and quipped, Henry took a good look at the grand entrance and stroked their chin thoughtfully. They pushed at the door and, to no one’s surprise, it didn’t budge. So they’d have to pull it open. A difficult task, without handles on a door more than twice Henry’s size, but Henry was a master of work smarter, not harder.

Except for that one time with the bank.

Or that other time with the prison.

Or… you know what? Henry was just going to drop this line of thought before they embarrassed themselves further.

Instead, Henry pulled a crowbar out of their inventory and wedged it carefully between the giant stone doors. Its lodging gave Henry the leverage needed to pry the door open, and the task was made easier when Charles and Ellie finally broke away from their banter to lend their strength. Together they succeeded, as they always did, and the door to the crypt opened with a gust of wind and a pungent odor. Rot and decay caused the trio’s eyes and noses to burn, but they pressed onward. Ellie, in a moment of practical brilliance, handed out air fresheners she’d stolen from the helicopter rental place. The scent of pine was too faint to completely block out the stench, but it provided a little relief.

The entire interior of the chamber was bathed in green light, illuminated by lines of shimmering green stone on the ground. Made from the same glowing material as the murals upstairs, it did such a good job of lighting up the joint that Charles was able to give his poor, overworked torch a well deserved rest. The lines ran up the walls, across the floor, in circles and in straight dashes across dark stone, revealing a room about as large as the temple above, and… largely empty. A few altars were placed in each corner beneath a mural, and in the center of the room was an unremarkable stone box which must have contained the queen’s body.

Charles echoed Henry’s thoughts exactly. “Wait, is this it?”

“Not seeing a lot of treasure here, Charlie.” Ellie remarked. She waltzed ahead to the stone casket, frowning as she mulled it over.

“No, wait, no!” Almost frantically, their poor pilot began zipping around the room, at this point uncaring of any traps he might uncover. “There has to be more! There’s no way this isn’t the place! Unless… they didn’t bury her with it? But that wouldn’t make any sense…!”

Henry idly pat Charles on the back while he spiraled over the misinformation. They were just about to tell him something along the lines of ‘It’s about the journey, not the destination’ (a useless platitude, but one that might make him feel better) when their eyes drifted to the wall behind one of the altars, to the large portrait of a god surrounded by mountains. The divine being’s eyes were blank, painted without pupils, but the rest of their body language – their stance, their expression, the scowl on their face – suggested pure, unbridled rage. Scanning the rest of the room, Henry found two more familiar figures along the walls near the other altars. The Ocean God and the Sky God, each gazing into the room with the same fury as the Mountain God.

Henry had seen this before.

While the fire and water and giant stones had been a very good distraction from what Henry had assumed was just a common legend immortalized upon the walls, they had still managed to take a good look before they’d been forced to move on. Three altars for three gods that had needed to be placated by a trickster.

Just as Ellie had made her way over to join them in comforting Charles, Henry left his side and made their way over to the Mountain God’s altar. How had the mural gone again?

A god of the mountains defeated with a seed. All Henry had on them that could satisfy that condition was some sunflower seeds that Charles had packed for snacking. Taking a breath and praying this wouldn’t get them all killed in some horrible way, Henry took one seed from the packet and dropped it on the altar.

The glowing lines on the floor suddenly shifted, spinning as the mural changed before their eyes. The angry god smiled down happily at the seedling on their altar, placated by the promise of new plants spreading across the mountains. Sounds of awe came from Ellie and Charles, but Henry paid their partners no mind as they struggled to recall the next image. The god of the sky, with storm clouds flooding the air around them and lightning a their fingertips, had been placated with a… piece of jewelry? A ring? No, that wasn’t right… a necklace…? Yeah, that was it.

While Henry had more than their fair share of fine accessories, they weren’t in the habit of bringing those accessories with them, on account of potentially losing them, or breaking them, or being electrocuted when the metal catches lightning or something. So instead of a nice, fancy necklace like in the mural above ground, all they could offer to the sky god was their employee badge from work, a little lanyard with a picture of Henry and a bar-code on it. Nothing like the ornate piece that was offered in the mural, but the sky god accepted it anyways. As before, the lines on the floor changed, transforming the image instead to that a pleased god with calm skies and a sunny smile.

That just left the final mural. The god of the oceans, vast and temperamental, plagued with storms and swells alike, glared down at Henry in clear rage. The last god was soothed with a song, Henry recalled. So how should they proceed?

Henry already knew singing was out of the question. Their throat was already sore from a day of mere conversational talking, and even beyond that Henry’s musical gifts did… not extend to their vocal chords. Breaking out into song would only shatter all their heads like glass. Hitting the high note was not among Henry’s many talents; Their B sharp would only fall flat.

So, instead, Henry produced a long out of date mp3 player from their inventory. How long had that thing been in there? Five years? Ten? However long it took for the once widespread piece of musical tech to become completely irrelevant. Of course, somehow, it still had a charge on it, and Henry’s grin only widened as a familiar hip hop tune, popular in whatever decade Henry had last bothered to update the thing, began thumping out, echoing sweetly in the large chamber.

Charles’ face lit up immediately, “Ooh, I remember this! Aw man, I used to sing this all the time when I was a kid!” As if to prove his point, Charles joined in with the next line. Much like Charles himself, the singing was a little clumsy, a little off note, but so sweet and so enthusiastic that you couldn’t help but bask in the warmth.

Ellie laughed along, reflecting Charles’ enthusiasm with her own uniquely charming mirth, and joined in on the singing. Her voice was elegant and refined, carrying the tune of the song far more easily than Charles’. Ellie would have never sung like this even a year ago, when they’d first started dating, too concerned with proving herself cool and reliable to her new comrades, even if she let her true self slip through once in a while. Now she was unafraid to really let her hair down, matching Charles’s silliness with unrestrained enthusiasm.

And, of course, they’d never leave Henry out. For even though Henry couldn’t sing, they were quite the dancer, and all it took was the gentlest pull of their sun and moon’s gravity for Henry to be sucked into their orbit. They spun and twirled and danced to the beat of the song, Henry guiding their partners through the motions of the rhythm. None of the Triple Threat paid any mind to the change in the green lines, or the appearance of a fourth mural as the beaming trickster appeared to create a fourth line of green luminescent light. It was only at the end of the song, when the trio were exhausted and laughing on the floor, did they catch the tail end of the changes in the room as the lid of the coffin retracted.

Henry exchange a look with their partners before approaching the open tomb. They expected a collection of withered bones and tattered clothes to be laid before them as they peered into the grave, but to their surprise what instead met their eyes was one final staircase.

“So this was a false burial chamber.” Ellie mused from behind them. “Sneaky. Verrrrry sneaky.”

“Hah!” Charles cheered, pumping an arm in celebration. “I knew there had to be more to it! No way my information was wrong!” The melancholy of his earlier disappointment had completely flipped on its head, leaving fierce determination in its place. “That treasure’s gotta be just up ahead! Come on, team! Final stretch!”

He extended out a hand, and it was almost without thought that Henry reached out to place their own atop it, followed swiftly by Ellie. Their eyes met, green and red and violet sparkling with the emerald light of the glowing stone lines surrounding them, and the Triple Threat nodded as they broke their huddle by launching their hands to the ceiling in one final show of commitment to their quest before charging down the secret stairs, energy renewed.

All the while unaware of the silhouetted form shadowing them, silently darkening the space behind them. The figure halted, watching and listening, before descending down after them with slow, tenacious steps.

--------------------

Darkness crept upward as the Triple Threat crept down. The ray of Charles’ torch, now beginning to fade in intensity after several hours of use, was the only source of light in the dank, shadowy crypt. Almost as unnerving as the darkness was the silence, the complete and utter cessation of any sounds other than their echoing footsteps. Tingling sensations traveled along Henry’s spine with each stride downward they took, muscles tensed as they awaited the next trap, the next emergency, the next big bad thing that would jump out from the pitch black nothing stretching ahead of them and their partners.

What instead greeted them was the sound of rushing water.

Each member of the team immediately jolted to a halt as their tired minds finally processed the sound, and once they did Henry spared a glance to first Ellie, right behind them with eyes blown wide, then Charles, whose jaw dropped so low it was practically on the floor. Caution thrown to the wind, the Triple Threat redoubled their pace, going as fast as they dared until they reached the end of the final descent. The bottom of the stairs lead to a hallway only a few meters long, its exit beckoning them with a rainbow of illuminated stones. Charles’ torch clicked off, but the light in the room didn’t diminish enough to hamper the quickened steps of the suddenly elated adventurers. Henry’s heart pounded harder, disbelief buzzing over their bones as hope built in their chest. Was this it? Did they make it?

The end of the hallway opened up, and Charles’ sharp gasp of shock and awe did more to express Henry’s feelings in that moment than anything they could have put into words.

The Queen Empress had built her final resting place atop an underground spring full of crystal clear water carving its way through the spacious cavern. Its forks and twists created small islands, upon each of which was a small mountain of captured treasures for the Empress to take into her next life. It felt like something out of a cheesy movie; piles of glittering gold coins and cups and whatever else the tyrant had managed to snatch away from their rightful owners, stretching so tall one almost couldn’t see over them to the rocky edges of the naturally formed cave. Henry took a few stunned steps forward, only noting the possibility of more traps after failing to be hit by any. A quick glance to their six showed that their partners were in similar states of awe, Charles oohing and ahhing and Ellie practically salivating over the piles of treasure.

With this much moolah, the Triple Threat would never have to work again… they could live in the lap of luxury, servants at their beck and call, all their wishes and desires fulfilled with only a snap of the fingers… diamond jewelry and name-brand furniture and private chefs and golden toilet seats and-!

“Aw man, this is so cool!” Charles chirped up behind Henry, knocking them out of their daydreams, wading across the one of the streams with a carefree swagger. “It must’ve taken years to get all this down here! How do you think they got it all down those stairs?”

Of course. Damned logistics. Well, Henry was certain they could get at least a good chunk outta here before their vacation was up. After they found their prize, of course.

At the center of the spring, surrounded by waterfalls and luscious cave flowers, was the Queen Empress’ sarcophagus. It was delicately carved, much more ornate and intricate than the fake sarcophagus upstairs, which made Henry feel silly for ever thinking that slab of lazily slapped together stone was the real tomb of such an egomaniac. And hovering above her coffin, the centerpiece of a grand chandelier dangling from the ceiling, was the Amazonian Amethyst, shimmering stunningly as light from the glowing stones that decorated the tomb reflected off of its brilliant surface.

“Beautiful…” Ellie whispered, walking ahead of Henry almost as if in a trance. Henry themselves hadn’t even realized they’d paused in a stupor until she overtook them, and then, well, it became a race. They playfully, not too hard, shoved Ellie to the side and bolted ahead, and of course she ran after them and shoved back even harder.

Somewhere behind them, Charles laughed. “Play nice, you two!” He called forward, no doubt fully aware that his demand would go unheeded.

The impromptu race took Ellie and Henry swiftly across the pathway through the spring, up the staircase and finally halting just underneath the chandelier. Now, how to lower it? Henry could just jump up and try to pull the gigantic gemstone loose, but something told them that they’d take the whole chandelier – and part of the stalactite it was dangling from – down with it, crushing both themselves and Ellie. Not the kind of bringing down the roof they were fond of. They could try and poke it loose with a stick or something, but it looked pretty wedged in there. It wouldn’t budge for quite a while, and them and Ellie would poke harder, and harder, until they’d used enough force to launch it into the air, where it’d fly up and up and then down and down and then hit their pilot in the head, knocking him out cold. Some anniversary present, eh Charles?

It was while Henry was skimming through their options that the sudden sound of metal clanking and clacking startled them into a jump. Their gaze darted around until it finally rested on Ellie, carefully lowering the chandelier on the opposite side of the sarcophagus with a smile and, once her eye caught Henry’s, a playful wink.

God, they loved this woman.

The chandelier came to rest atop the coffin. Henry and Ellie stood above it, and Henry didn’t need to look over at their moonlight to know that her eyes reflected the excitement as their own. They didn’t even need to speak; Henry pressed down on the chandelier with the full weight of their body while Ellie hopped atop the structure to pull at the amethyst.

“Come on,” She muttered to the gemstone stuck in the structure,” Come to mama.”

Her arms were quivering with the effort it took, but unlike Henry Ellie was strong, so with each pull it came a little more loose, then a little more… then more…

Until, with a pop, it was finally free. Ellie had been using so much force that she toppled off the chandelier and into Henry’s waiting arms.

She looked down at the gem, as if she couldn’t quite believe it was there in her hands, and then back up at Henry to begin laughing in sheer astonishment. “We found it,” She forced out between chuckles. Henry sauntered over to place their own hands underneath the gigantic gem, helping Ellie to support its weight. “We actually found it! Charles! Hey Charles!” Their guy, who had been distracted combing over the mountain of treasures, looked up at them and immediately his eyes popped out of their sockets. The expression had Ellie laughing even harder. “Aw, man, I can’t believe-”

Her mirthful tone was cut short by a bang.

Its echos thundered across the cavern, piercing Henry’s eardrums and stilling them instantly. There was no mistaking that sound, not for a trio of experienced adventurers like them. The sharp gasp that followed, however, was far scarier.

Henry and Ellie whipped their heads down to watch their partner gasp and stumble back, clutching at his leg, Without a second to spare Ellie dropped the gem and began sprinting back, and Henry followed swiftly after. They only halted when Charles’ fall to the ground was interrupted by a pair of large hands grabbing him and forcing him back on his feet. Streaks of red began running down Charles’ leg, staining his clothes, and as painful as it must have been for him to stand on his wounded leg, Charles’ only response was to bite his lip and glare up, past the muzzle of the gun shoved in his face, at the assailant now holding him hostage.

There was something familiar about this man, something that had a name dancing on the edge of Henry’s brain, but in their panic they couldn’t quite grasp it. Rather than try, Henry squared their shoulders and took a defensive stance, eyes darting around as they looked for options.

So far, nothing that wouldn’t get Charles killed.

“I don’t know who the hell you are,” Ellie addressed the attacker with a near business-like seriousness, only a hint of the rage Henry was sure she had bubbling within her lacing the words, “But if you drop the pilot now and begin running, I’ll give you five minutes to get out of here.” Swift as a hurricane gale, the sidearm Ellie always carried was in her hands, drawn and pointed at the assailant. She wouldn’t actually fire it, of course. She’d never risk hitting Charles-

(Which was why Henry hadn’t drawn theirs. With their bad luck, it’d misfire and put a hole clear through his skull.)

-but the attacker didn’t know that. Probably.

“Feh.” He scoffed, his red mustache twitching as his lips curled in disgust. “Ya don’ bother talkin’ about us, Henry?” The sheer resentment in his tone tickled something in Henry’s mind – a life they hadn’t lived, an alliance they hadn’t made, broken by a man they’d never met. If only they could put a name to the face…

Henry forced themselves to snap back to reality. Charles’ needed them in the now, they couldn’t afford to get lost in a life not lived.

“Or do you two actually not remembah me?” This time his embittered query was directed at Charles, which sparked an increasingly familiar protective fury in Henry’s chest, “Ya took everything I had, ruined my life, and ya can’t even be bothered ta remembah?!” As he went on, his voice got louder, his wrath colouring his words more and more, until he was screaming in Charles’ ear. Credit to their partner, Charles didn’t so much as flinch, the stern military composure that he almost never displayed finally being put to use.

That didn’t make it any easier to watch.

“If you’re so ticked about us forgetting,” Ellie quipped, the only clue that she shared Henry’s fear and fury hidden in the tenseness of her shoulders, “Then why don’t you remind us?

The call-out caused the bristling man to cool, at least somewhat. “Tch. It don’t actually matter a lick if ya know why ya need to die.” He pressed the muzzle of his gun into Charles’ neck, and their pilot, their sunshine, only grew colder and stonier in response. “Just that you do.”

He forced Charles to take a step backward, and in response to Ellie’s call of, “Wait, stop!”, he only aimed his gun at Henry and Ellie, forcing them to stop. His grip around Charles’ tightened to prevent escape in lieu of the gun threat; even if he hadn’t, the shot to the leg would’ve kept Charles’ from running.

“Oh, no, you two ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Growled the assailant. “This ol’ tomb is yours now. You’ll both die in this place. Not ‘im though.” Again, the gun’s tip rested against Charles’ skin. “’E’s my ticket to my next target. Can’t kill ‘em ‘til I get my ‘ands on that ringleader o’ yours.”

That one puzzled Henry a bit, but Ellie picked up on the clues faster. “You’re after the General.” She accused.

“Him,” The assailant proclaimed, and for just a moment Henry could see a flicker of red mechanical? light in one of his eyes, “’Is subordinates, ‘is witnesses… everyone who ‘ad a hand in bringing us down. I’m gonna get a little payback.”

Echoes of a voice across a timeline, a fight that never occurred, a betrayal from a man he never met… “Time fer a little payback!”

Without even thinking, Henry’s mind found the name amongst the fractures of futures that never were, and they whispered, “Right Hand Man.”

“So ya do remembah me.” He snipped. In this world, Henry had only really seen the man on the news, back when the Toppats were first being arrested, but he’d changed since then. His hair had grown far longer, his body thin from a diet of delicious prison slop, and his hat didn’t quite match up with the ex-con’s memories. But Henry felt stupid for forgetting what the man looked like, considering his impact in the alternate futures Henry had seen. “How flattering.”

“Know this guy, Hen?” Ellie asked, her brows furrowing at her partner. Henry tried not to think about what that could mean, or, with their mind fractured between timelines, how easily she could pull up memories from a world they weren’t as friendly in.

All they could manage was one word. “Toppats.”

“That’s what this is about?!” Charles exploded, breaking his stoic mask to glare at his captor. Henry’s silent prayers for him to shut up went unanswered, proving once again how the universe hated them, “Dude, we took down the Toppats, like, three years ago or something! You seriously couldn’t have found another clan to-?!”

Apparently this was what it took to offend the Right Hand Man, because he shifted his hold to grab at Charles’ hair and yank hard, causing a flinch of pain that made Henry’s arm hair stiffen. “I may need ya alive fer now,” He spat, “But if ya wanna keep that waggin’ tongue of yers, I suggest puttin’ a sock in it.”

Charles, thankfully, took that advice, even as he was forced to walk backwards on his injured leg. Everything in Henry was telling them to run after the Toppat cretin, to take back their Charles and make him pay for the damage he’d caused, but the gun barrel pointed at Charles’ face kept both them and Ellie painfully still. All they could do was watch as their sunlight was dragged away from them, leaving the duo stuck in the dark of the cavern.

“Dammit,” Ellie growled under her breath, We’ve got to-”

Once again, she was rudely cut off with a bang, this one much grander in scale. The cavern began to shake with the force of a small explosion set off from the very exit Charles and the Right Hand Man had just taken. Rocks began falling from the ceiling and, with growing horror, Henry realized that the Right Hand Man had intended to keep his promise: The exit was being sealed off. They would die here.

Ellie’s voice cut through the air with a sharp, “Henry, move!”

The exit seemed so far away, and the rocks were falling so fast. They wouldn’t make it. Not at the speed they were running at. Henry’s gut sank, and their mind raced as they peered desperately into the future.

A power slide wouldn’t get them enough speed. They’d make it just close enough for their foot to be crushed underneath the falling debris. Miles away from a home run.

Ultra speed shoes would make them go too fast, overshooting their target and burrowing through the staircase on the other side. That would cave in on top of them just as painfully as standing in the entrance would. And them without any power rings.

Time was slipping away. Fast. Soon the clock would run out, and they’d be trapped, and Charles would be- Charles would-

There was one other option. A change for escape that was just fast enough to get one of them out before the passage was sealed off. Without warning Henry grabbed Ellie’s hand, ignoring her sharp shriek as they spun around once, twice, three times… before tossing her like a hammer. Ellie barely had enough time to brace herself as she flew just underneath the falling the rubble, making it to safety on the other side before the final stones fell, sealing off the tomb completely.

A sigh of relief escaped Henry.

From behind the pillar of rubble, Ellie’s voice cried out. “Henry?! Henry!! Henry, are you there?!”

“I’m here!” They called, moving more swiftly towards the barrier between them and the outside. “I’m okay, I promise! Now get out of here!”

“What?! But you-!”

“Have air and water.” Henry cut her off. “I’ll be find until you can send for help. But Charles is alone with that psychopath. He needs you far more than I do right now.”

There was a pause from the other side, but no sound of Ellie moving away, so Henry kept silent until they finally heard her, “I’m coming back for you.” She promised, her voice carrying a rare sense of desperate seriousness. “I promise, I’m not going to abandon you here. No matter what happens.”

Ah, of course. Their Rose, their shimmering light in the dark, had been chewed up and left for the cops by some previous associates. If there was one thing she’d never joke about, it was betrayal. “I know.” They told her with all the trust in their heart, and they hoped that was enough for her. “Now go get our boy and show that Toppat jerk just who he’s messed with.”

“Okay.” Ellie agreed, her footsteps audible even through the debris. Then they fell silent. “I love you.” Her voice called back, and before Henry could respond Ellie was sprinting off into the distance.

Though their was no way their quiet voice could reach her, Henry whispered back, “Love you too, Moonlight.”

They continued listening through the rubble, Ellie’s footsteps becoming quieter and quieter until, finally, the only sound remaining was the babbling of the underground river, slowly flowing by. With no way to follow after their two loves, all Henry could do was drop to the ground, releasing the tension within them into a heavy sigh.

There was nothing they more they could do at this point. As well stocked as they kept their inventory, they’d somehow failed to think they’d need to bring any sort of mining equipment. Forcing their way out was out of the question. And while they could follow the underwater streams, there was no way of knowing how far the channel traveled before emptying itself outside – if it did at all. There was just as likely a chance of Henry finding a flooded cavern, and while they could swim reasonably well, they were far from a seasoned diver. The safest option was to wait for Ellie to save Charles and return to rescue them.

If she managed to catch them at all, a traitorous part of their brain whispered. Henry swallowed thickly around the familiar dryness in their throat.

Instead of dwelling on the what ifs and the fight no doubt going on above, Henry tried instead to focus on the positives, what few they could find. Right Hand Man’s explosion had only been large enough to cave in the entrance; the rest of the burial chamber, sans some debris and a few displaced pieces of treasure, was entirely intact, with little chance of caving in on Henry’s head. Glancing around the cavern, they could also see algae and moss growing along the sides of the river. With luck, that meant fish, so they were not likely to starve before help arrived either. Sushi was far from their preferred meal of choice, but they were used to working with what little they had.

Continuing their observation of the burial chamber, Henry’s eyes were quickly drawn to something out of place; a splotch of bright red in a room otherwise filled with muted blues and greens and golds. A gym bag, made of a rough modern fabric with a dark zipper, sat unassumingly not far from where the bloodstain of Charles’ shooting marred the ground. Alarm bells went off in Henry’s head the second they registered what they were looking at. Bags like this were typically used in the case of an inventory being exceeded, but the only tool the Right Hand Man had used was their gun, a pistol that lacked the equipment requirements to necessitate that much gear, and the explosives that had blown up the cavern. And why leave the bag behind?

Henry forced themselves to stand, an uneasy weight shifting in their gut as they moved. The bag was zipped shut. Henry’s fingers were slowly and shaky as they pulled the zipper up, over, and down…

Exposing the bomb left instead the bag. A much larger explosive with a much bigger yield. Henry’s experience with this particular brand of bomb was minimal, but they knew enough to know that it could easily level the entire pyramid.

The bastard had promised that Henry would die, after all. Of course he wouldn’t leave it to chance.

There was no clock on the bomb, no sign that it would just explode at random. That didn’t mean it wasn’t on a timer, of course, but given how spiteful the Right Hand Man had been so far, Henry had a feeling it would go off at his whim. Either way, however, time was short for Henry Stickmin. They had to find a way out of the mess, and fast.

Attempting to disarm the explosive was a possibility, of course, but Henry didn’t know diddly squat about bomb disposal. Any attempt to cut the wires would just set the bomb off. All the wires might as well be the red one when you have no idea what you’re doing, after all.

Their next thought was to attempt an escape through the river, but their previous logic gave them pause. If the stream emptied out into a completely submerged cavern, then Henry would either have to swim for freedom and hope they could find an exit or… drown. And there was no guarantee a bomb with this kind of yield wouldn’t cause a cave in that could leave Henry trapped without air. Of the many, many ways they’d seen themselves die, suffocating to death tended to be some of the worst, primarily because suffocating was slow. The worst deaths were always the slow ones.

Sighing heavily, Henry plopped themselves down next to the bag. Their eyes scanned it over when they noticed something… underneath the bomb.

No way. The Right Hand Man was NOT stupid enough to leave anything else inside that bag… right?

Very carefully, so as not to set off a premature explosion, Henry inched the bomb aside and took a gander at the contents underneath. Indeed, the Right Hand Man had left other things inside along with the bomb… mostly his trash. Old wrappers, what may have been a shopping list before water damage got to it, a photograph of Henry and their partners littered with cigarette burns that was absolutely not chilling in any way, thank you very much. Growling a little, Henry continued to shuffle things around, hoping that something in this trash might be a little useful. A manual for the explosive was probably too optimistic to ask, but maybe there was some gum they could use to gunk up the interior, or an old radio that could be used to jam the activation frequency, or… or…

Henry’s mind ground to a halt as they reached the bottom of the bag, staring down at the final piece of garbage with their mouth agape. For the first time since bidding Ellie adieu, they spoke.

“You have GOT to be kidding me!”

--------------------

For the second time in a single day, a thousand years of peaceful rest for the dead was disturbed by a barrage of footsteps. The first time Ellie traversed these halls, her steps carried caution, nervousness, excitement, and determination that damped the sounds of her and her partners’ (and their stalker’s) traversal through the tomb. Now, however, those same sounds were louder, stronger, more frequent as they bounced off the walls and amplified ten times over. Just as loud was the steady, heavy breathing that escaped from her gasping mouth as she raced backwards through the pyramid.

Louder still was the beating of her heart in her chest.

Ellie couldn’t’ let herself think. If she did, all her worries and fears, the danger her boys were in, would overwhelm her in an instant. All she could do was keep pace, keep looking forward. Follow her map through the labyrinth protecting the burial chamber and try not to think of the silly look on Charles’ face as he focused on making it. Climb the staircase into the temple and don’t think of Henry’s confident smile as they danced their way through the false burial chamber. By this point the purple jelly… rubber… things had dissolved or something, so Ellie had to use Henry’s metal chain to swing across the pit of deadly spikes and potentially less deadly snakes and not think about whether or not the kidnapper got Charles across unscathed.

At last she reached the exit, the light at the end of the tunnel. Exhaustion was seeping into her bones, but Ellie did her best not to heed it any mind. She ignored the searing pain of fresh sunlight piercing her sensitive retinas as she returned to the land of the living. Ellie’s gaze darted around the jungle, searching for her targets with the same discerning eye that once picked originals out of fakes. In mere moments she found her boy struggling against the grip of his attacker at the very edge of the treeline.

Ellie couldn’t waste a second. She skipped the stairs and slid down the side of the pyramid instead, coming to a halt at the very bottom. She didn’t pause to so much as catch her breath. Instead she flew forward, her lungs burning at the sight of Charles stuck in that bastard’s grip, his pistol at Charles’ temple, and without so much as a cry of warning she shot her pistol with pin perfect accuracy. Her mark, the tree immediately to the left of the captor and hostage, had a smoking hole clear through the center ring, at the same height of the red-headed bitch’s face. A singular warning of just what kind of force he was messing with before things got ugly.

(And if there was so much as a scratch on her Charles… oh, would things get ugly.)

Though she hardly needed to make the demand aloud, Ellie called out to the Toppat, “I’ll give you one more chance. Release the pilot, now.”

The Toppat – what had Henry called him? The Right Something? - took one look at her, at the smoking tip of the gun in her hand, and had the utter audacity to smirk at the sight of it. “Heh. You all by your lonesome, girly?”

Let it be known that Ellie’s boys could never keep a secret from her, and even through his military bravado Ellie could see the truth in Charles’ eyes. The initial wave of relief when her shot rang out, noting her safety, followed by a stunned sense of fear and panic. His eyes met her, the unspoken question broadcasted plainly in the crinkle of his brow, the way his lips pressed tight. Though he dared not speak aloud, Charles was all but begging for the truth.

Never one to let a dramatic moment go to waste, Ellie answered the questions of both men with a smirk. “What, you mean to imply your little firecracker did any actual damage? Hardly.” Charles’ shoulders relaxed just a fraction in response to Ellie’s answer, and her grin widened. “They’re a little caught up though, so I’m sure they won’t mind me having all the fun.”

The Right Hand Whatever’s smug expression only got smugger. Something sour coiled in Ellie’s gut, an alarm bell signaling trouble on the horizon, but despite her suspicions Ellie couldn’t back down. Not when all the chips were on the table, when Charles was clearly struggling on his injured leg. Not when her opponent clearly had an ace up his sleeve, while her cleverly disguised hand was an utter train wreck waiting to happen. All she could do was shore up her grin and keep her poker face strong.

For her Charles, who was hurt and scared and had a gun pointed at his face. For her Henry, who was trapped and alone and waiting for her to return. She needed to find out what this son of a bitch had planned.

“That right?” The Right Something or Other asked cheekily. “You should know something, girl. I was Right ‘and Man of the Toppat Clan. Second in command of the entire brigade. The enforcer to our leader’s brains. I ‘andled every threat that would ever cross ‘is desk.” His one hand, the one that had Charles’ arm in a death grip, began moving up, fingers dancing on Charles’ sleeve, until they reached his shoulders, where they tapped, tapped, tapped away. Ellie could see Charles’ brow wrinkle as he tried not to show his discomfort with the action. “I nevah missed a mark. Even when I did, I didn’t. Because I always, always ‘ad a backup plan.”

Ellie’s very mind went numb as a bone chilling dread set in.

And then, behind her, the pyramid exploded.

The force of the explosion was enough to very nearly knock Ellie off her feet. All she could bring herself to do was stare back at what remained of the ruins. Every thought in her head came to a grinding, crashing halt as she struggled to comprehend what she was seeing. Henry, her gemstone, her partner in crime, her best fucking friend was in there. Ellie left them there, and had promised to come back, and didn’t. And now they’re gone. She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to scream.

All she could do was stand there and stare, like the idiot who’d let herself be betrayed all those years ago.

Charles did the reacting for her, calling out, “Henry!!” In a bone-chillingly horrified cry that, momentarily, drew Ellie out of her stupor. She spun back around just in time to see the Right Hand Man’s grip around Charles shift so that his arm was wrapped around their sweetheart’s throat, not quite tight enough to completely cut off air but tight enough to choke and hurt, and a new terror grew in her when she saw Charles struggling to break free. Their eyes met.

The hope that had ignited in Charles when Ellie had appeared was entirely gone now, replaced with a darkness Ellie couldn’t quite place in her normally optimistic partner. The tears in his eyes broke free every few seconds, leaving a scorching trail down his face. Ellie felt the sight trigger a burning in her own eyes and bit her lip to try and keep it in. She already knew that was a losing battle.

Then, Charles’ escape attempts redoubled as he shouted, “Shoot him!”

Stunned, Ellie’s eyes briefly darted to her gun, the sidearm she hadn’t lowered once throughout the entire exchange, before returning to Charles, “What?!”

“Shoot him!” Repeated the pilot. His lack of resistance to his captor so far, combined with his injury, must have left the Right Hand Murderer complacent, because he was genuinely struggling to get Charles under control again with only one arm, “Fucking kill him-! Make him pay, he can’t get away with this, he can’t-!”

“But-” Half of Ellie’s remaining strength was channeled into her hands, trying to prevent them from shaking. Her vision was too blurry with building tears to tell how successful she was, “I can’t- he’ll shoot you-” The Right Hand Monster’s weapon had been drawn away a little, but it was still pointed at Charles’ head. He could still very easily get a shot off before Ellie could finish pulling the trigger.

The utter rage in Charles’ voice only made Ellie’s shaking worse, “I don’t care, I don’t fucking care! He needs to die! He needs to suffer for what he did-!”

The murderer was yelling something at Charles, but it flew over Ellie’s head as she swallowed past the heavy lump in her throat. Her eyes burned, her vision blurring so badly she could only barely tell her boyfriend apart from that monster. The pressure of all that had happened in the past two minutes began to crush her lungs, leaving her gasping for air.

Henry was dead. They were gone and dead because of that man, that monster who hurt her partners and if she were a better agent, a stronger person, she could take the shot, take him out and avenge her gemstone but- but Charles was right there. All it would take was one misfire, one mistake, one twitch of her shaking hands and then she’d have lost both her partners.

She couldn’t breath. Her lungs were burning, Every gulp of air she took only fed the fire, suffocating her faster in a smoky haze of grief and terror.

Then, for what must have been the fourth time that day, Ellie was blinded by light.

This burst of light, however, was far more short lived, only blinding the three for a few key seconds. Just long enough for Henry’s fist to collide with the Right Bastard’s face. He flew back from the force of it, head colliding with the trunk of a nearby tree. That accursed gun was launched into the distance and lost amongst the natural chaos of the rain forest. Ellie frantically wiped at her face, desperate to clear her clouded sight and prove this wasn’t a trick of the eyes.

Once she could see, Ellie was treated to a vision of absolute beauty. Her partner, her gemstone, standing tall and proud above the Right Hand Loser, breathing heavily. His one hand was balled into a fist. His other kept hold of a painfully familiar device, and the sight of it nearly brought Ellie to tears of laughter.

“Never bring the teleporter!” Henry scolded the old man with all the fierceness of the drill instructors Ellie overheard back at base. They tossed the offending device far off into the distance, utter disgust written on their face. “It always backfires!”

“Henry…!” Charles called out, having been knocked aside in the chaos. As Henry’s attention was directed to their partner, Ellie noted the Right Hand What’s His Face darting towards the jungle and immediately turned her gaze in his direction. Her hands still, her vision clear, Ellie aimed true and hit the hat clean off his head.

This knocked the Right Hand Bastard off balance, which gave Ellie just enough time to rush him with all the force she could muster. Compounded with the strength of her force power, it was more than enough to knock the monster off his feet and onto the ground.

Her follow-up blow was blocked by his elbow, and when their gazes met Ellie could feel the resentment in his sneer. There was something below the hate, below the anger that brought them to this point, but now that her two lovers were safe Ellie let the full force of her rage out, throwing her fists and her feet into the man’s body wherever she could manage. His arms, his stomach, his head, his legs… wherever her hits could land, they landed with precision and force. Ellie barely felt the blows she got back in return, the punches to her stomach and head and chest that she knew she’d feel tomorrow. She didn’t care. She couldn’t care.

All she cared about was unleashing her pain on this sick, sick bastard.

An explosion of force suddenly hit Ellie’s stomach, propelling her back and away from the target of her wrath. For a moment nausea and vertigo overwhelmed her, just enough that the Right Hand Man managed to get back on his feet and start hurriedly limping towards the jungle.

Gritting her teeth, Ellie twisted herself around to launch herself again, feeling the rocks on the ground dig into her palms, feeling the heat of the jungle sun on her back. She could leap like a lion, could tackle him to the ground and beat him bloody before he even knew what hit him-

“Ellie!”

Henry’s voice gave the once thief pause, and she turned her gaze around to see Henry sat on the ground, Charles’ limp form cradled in their arms. The sight of the bloody bandages hastily wrapped around his leg caused her stomach to start spinning all over again.

Cursing her own stupidity for letting the Right Hand Whatever distract her for so long, Ellie pushed herself up and limped over to help Henry. Looking her partner over, Ellie could tell Henry had escaped by the skin of their teeth yet again. Their clothes were filthy, covered in soot and damaged from the rocks. Their hands, wrapped around Charles and holding him close, were stained with blood. Ellie briefly wondered if all of it was Charles, then immediately shut that thought down. She couldn’t handle any more worries right now.

Henry’s mouth opened and shut in a few false starts as their overly stressed brain struggled to put words in their mouth. Eventually they managed to spit out, “Help. For Charles.”

“Help for Charles.” Ellie agreed. Hopefully Henry remembered more from Charles’ on the fly piloting lessons than she did, because otherwise it was going to be a very long, very dangerous flight back.

--------------------

Ellie awoke to fingers at her face, pushing in her cheeks. Not forceful enough to hurt, but definitely enough to be annoying.

“Henry?” She grumbled, clumsily pushing their hand away from her. Despite their mutual agreement to get some sleep while their partner was being treated, Henry barely looked any better. They’d changed clothes at least, wearing some cheap t-shirt and sweatpants that the hospital had kindly provided, but dark shadows still highlighted their eyes.

But there was a shiny happiness in those ruby red orbs that brought any complaints Ellie had to a grinding halt. Their hands, stiff from soreness, moved slower than normal as they signed to her, “Charles is awake.”

That woke her up more thoroughly than any coffee could have.

Sure enough, sitting up on the bed at the end of the room was their pilot, their sweethearted ray of sunshine, who was too focused on picking the crust off his provided sandwich to notice the two approach at first. But Ellie could see the moment he spotted them, how his excited grin grew so wide it brightened the entire room.

“Yo, Els!” Charles greeted. “How are you feeling?”

“I think I should be asking you that.” She responded, keeping her tone light and playful despite the nerves wriggling within her. “Are you alright? Are you hurting anywhere?”

“Don’t worry, they got me hooked up on some good stuff.” Charles assured her, then hesitated, and something in Ellie went cold. Was something wrong? Had she missed something snoozing away?

Before her thoughts could get away from her, a warmth enveloped Ellie’s hand as Charles took it in his own. The light in his eyes was dim, morose, and it only made her want to hold him tight and never let go. The urge to follow up on that impulse, however, was halted by a single pair of words.

“I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Ellie hadn't been sure she’d heard him right. “You’re… sorry?” At his affirmative nod, she asked, “Sorry for what?” A thought occurred to her, and Ellie scowled, “If you’re blaming yourself for getting shot-”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Charles paused a second, “I mean, I should have been paying more attention-” Whatever he was about to say was interrupted with a light jab from Henry’s elbow into his side “Ah!” He shot a glance at Henry, who merely stared back at him, silent, expressionless. With a sigh, Charles proceeded along his original train of thought. “But I’m talking about what happened when- when Henry-” The words seemed to get caught in Charles throat, so again he redirected, “Uh, when the pyramid blew up, I said some… really aggressive things.”

Ellie forced her face into something neutral. She knew what Charles was talking about. She was trying not to dwell on it, on that unfamiliar rage in his eyes, on the sickening feeling that she was going to lose everything in one single, horrible day. If she looked as bad as she felt even remembering that moment, Ellie was certain she’d only make Charles feel worse.

But her skill at maintaining a poker face must have been out of practice, because Ellie could see the hurt in his eyes anyways.

“And- And I know I made you feel awful. I’m so sorry.” Charles buried his face in his hands and leaned back, allowing Henry to hold him as he continued. “I was just so mad… I thought Henry was- was gone, and I thought it was his fault, and- and- I just wanted him to pay for it. I didn’t care what happened to me, as long as he suffered. But- but that wasn’t fair to you.” Charles sighed, and Henry’s fingers began coming through his hair soothingly. “I’m really, really sorry, Els.”

Ellie exhaled deeply, feeling the tension in her body begin to relax a little. “I get it.” She said, approaching Charles’ bedside and sitting next to him. Curled up into Henry’s side, Charles looked incredibly small, and it made her heart leap. Ellie slipped her hand onto Charles’ knee, rubbing it comfortingly. “When the pyramid exploded, and Henry was still inside… I was angry too. I still am.” Ellie looked down at her bruised knuckles. She wondered if she’d managed to hurt that insufferable bastard. She hoped so. “If I thought for a second he’d have been the only one hurt, I would’ve taken the shot. Hell, if I were in your place…” Ellie could feel Charles’ muscles tense under her hand at the mere thought, and leaned over to lay her head on his shoulder. “I’d have probably done the same thing.”

“Are you sure?” Charles asked, uncertain. “Because you’re supposed to be smarter than me. You remember that, right?”

Henry snorted, drawing both of their attention upward. “If you thought that explosion could take me down,” They signed, grinning smugly, “Then both of you are idiots.”

“Rude.” Ellie snapped back with no bite. One of Charles’ hands came to rest on hers, and she brushed their fingers gently together, hoping the sensation was as soothing to Charles as it was to her. Judging from the pleasant sigh her partner let out, she was right on the money. On Charles’ other side, Henry had taken a seat on the bed and seemed content to have Charles’ weight pressed into their own, eyes a shimmer with fondness as Charles nuzzled into their side.

All was peaceful. All was calm. So, naturally, the government had to step in to ruin it.

More precisely, a small procession of soldiers came through the door with barely an announcement, causing the Triple Threat to scramble to attention, practically throwing themselves away from each other to sit up straight and look semi-professional. They inspected each corner of the room, clearing it inch by inch, before lining up at the doorway and saluting professionally.

When Galeforce walked into the room and dismissed the procession to play guard in the hall, Ellie felt her muscles all simultaneously slump into an awkward half-laying, half-sitting position. She was so done with surprises today. Any more and her heart would burst, Ellie was sure of it.

Once they were alone, Galeforce quickly reached their bedside with long, purposeful strides. “I’d just gotten word through my contacts that you’d been rushed in with a gun wound. Glad to see you’re all alright,” The old man admitted, an unusual softness in his voice. When working, Galeforce endeavored to remain professional in his interactions with his men, but it was not much of a secret that he had a weakness for the little orphan pilot that could. His attention turned to Henry and Ellie, both now recovered enough to sit casually by Charles’ side. “But what happened? I didn’t receive any reports of organized criminal activity in this area- at least, not anyone who would’ve known who you three are.”

“Toppat scum.” Henry signed at their commander. Just those two words had them looking like they’d swallowed something sour.

Galeforce’s sign language skills weren’t quite at Charles and Ellie’s level, but he recognized at least the important word and his shoulders went rigged. “Dammit.” Swore the general. “You all have my sincerest apologies. I should have warned you sooner.”

“Warned us?” Ellie asked, her tone sharpening at the implications.

The General sighed heavily, barely managing to keep his shoulders square with the weight of his guilt on his back. “Just after your vacation started, I’d gotten word that the leader of the Toppat Clan, Reginald Copperbottom, had been assassinated in prison.”

Ellie felt her eyes go wide, and she could feel Charles stiffen in surprise as well. Glancing across the hospital bed at Henry, Ellie found them staring up at the general aimlessly. She’d seen this lost look in their eyes before, when they were gazing into futures that would never happen, and wondered, not for the first time, how they managed with such a heavy burden on their shoulders. Seeing the future was a curse Henry bore mostly with silence, but her and Charles had been learning to pick up on the cues. Ellie’s arm wrapped around Charles, gripping Henry’s hand with just enough strength to anchor them to the present, and a moment later she felt them squeeze it back in recognition.

They’d explain later, most likely. For now, though, the General’s explanation kept their attention.

“Some prison guard had a family history with one of the chief’s predecessors. I won’t bore you with the details.” Galeforce sat on the empty bed nearby, leaning forward with his hands folded in front of his face. “But that very same night Reginald’s Right Hand Man, the second in command of the entire clan, escaped from prison. We’re still not sure how he even knew about Reginald’s death, but he managed to kill the assassin and grab his leader’s corpse on the way out. I thought he’d be more focused on resurrecting the clan than anything else, and with your vacation being out of the country, I decided to bring you into the loop once you got back.” Regret and frustration shone in the General’s eyes as he spoke, his gaze downcast to avoid looking at any of the trio. “I have no idea how he even managed to find you three, let alone pull off something like this. He has nothing; no resources, no allies, not even a penny to his name. I didn’t think-” The old man sighed, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t know how I can even begin making this up to you.”

Ellie took a moment to breath. Her first reaction was the familiar sting of hurt and betrayal, and at one point she may have gotten up in Galeforce’s face to really give him a piece of her mind. Years of unconditional support from her partners, however, gave her the patience to wait out that initial wave and follow up with a much more logical response of understanding. They were on vacation, out in the middle of nowhere with minimal ways to track them down. It wouldn’t have occurred to Galeforce that the bastard would even know where they are, let actually finding them and making them suffer. It would have been nice to have warning, but at the end of the day it wasn’t really his fault.

Henry stared off into space, their eyes clouded with conflict as they struggled between the frustration they were no doubt riddled with and the same logical conclusion Ellie came to. Charles sat slumped in the hospital bed, gazing down as he fiddled his thumbs. Charles had known Galeforce longer than either of them, and the bond of trust they’d built as subordinate and commander was hard to break, but she had no doubt her sweetheart was still upset.

So Ellie took the lead, smiling cheekily at the General, “Well, a few more weeks of vacation would be nice.”

Two pairs of eyes instantly hit the back of Ellie’s head, and she struggled not to turn around and face them. But hearing Ellie let the General off easy must have helped them make up their minds, because soon she felt Charles leaning against her back, his smile tickling the skin on her shoulder as he agreed, “And maybe a bit of overtime? I mean, we did technically face off against an enemy of the state…”

Galeforce chuckled at their responses, the weight on his shoulders lightening up bit by bit. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Henry pushed away from the wall, drawing enough attention to them so they could sign, “I can come up with a trap for the guy.” Their signing was more fluid, more playfully bouncy, and Ellie felt a little more of her worry edge away, “All we need is a few miles of rope, a pool of pudding, the Tunisian Diamond…”

“Now you’re pushing it.” The General joked back, standing with a smile. He seemed lighter on his feet than when he first entered. “I’ll arrange for transport back to base once Charlie is feeling a little better, and you’ll be under guard until further notice. For now, though, just focus on getting some rest. We’ve got protection duty taken care of.” The General began walking back towards the door, only to pause and look back, tipping his hat. “Oh. And happy anniversary.”

Silence rang loudly between them as Galeforce stepped out, quietly opening and closing the door behind him. The moment hung in the air and stretched the seconds into hours.

Finally, at last, Charles broke through the quiet with his usual blunt charm, clumsily destroying the remaining tension in the air with his joking snort. “Some anniversary.” He declared, crossing his arms. “We almost died, an ancient marvel of the lost world got blown up, and we have nothing to show for it!” He huffed, pouted, and then loudly declared, “Whoever planned this trip deserves to get shot.”

And despite all of it, Ellie couldn’t help but burst into laughs.

“It is a shame,” She agreed, wistfully recounting the weight of the amethyst in her hands. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Henry stand, but paid them no mind for the moment. “Still, up until that Toppat clown showed up it was pretty fun.”

“Yeah.” Charles agreed. “Like when you swung over those traps to pull our sorry butts out of the fire? Heh, that was pretty cool.” The stars shimmering in his eyes suggested he remembered the event being way more than cool, and Ellie couldn’t help but puff up a little in pride. It hadn’t been hard – she’d done way crazier back in her criminal days – but something about Charles’ earnest, enthusiastic reactions made her feel like the tallest person in the world. Henry (standing weirdly close, with a weird grin spread across their face) called him their sunshine for a reason, and as much as the two liked to tease them about their choice of nicknames, Ellie had to admit they were right on the money with that one.

“Or how you created a path of freakin’ bouncy balls to get across that weird spike pit.” Ellie recounted. At the time she’d felt her blood pressure spike with each bounce, but now, in hindsight, it had been both impressive and hilarious.

Charles laughed along, as full and bright as himself, and nodded eagerly. “Or- or how Henry broke out into a random dance and that somehow opened the way to the real tomb?” The memory of their dance across the false burial site only caused Ellie to laugh harder, a deep blush growing across her face. How could she have ever wanted to be a serious criminal, when being silly with these two idiots was so much more fun?

The fluttering laughter came to a slow halt as Ellie suddenly noticed Henry’s arms outstretched between her and Charles. More specifically, the gigantic purple gem nestled in their hands, reflecting the harsh light of the hospital to shine brighter than it had in the dim catacombs of the tomb. Ellie’s eyes trailed up Henry’s arms, across their shoulder, all the way up to that stupid smug grin on their face.

The cheeky bastard. When had they even had time to grab that thing?

“You clever little sneak!” Charles yelled out, recovering from the shock of seeing their hard won prize much faster than Ellie. His arms reached out, grabbing for his two partners, and Ellie and Henry reached back without hesitation. Any thought of the Right Hand Whatever, of the dangers past and dangers to come, of anything that could stand in the way of the Triple Threat floated to the very edge of Ellie’s mind, leaving her clear to focus on what was really important.

As far as anniversaries went, Ellie supposed this could have gone a lot worse.

--------------------

As the sun set over the city, a single man sat on a lone rooftop. His gaze was as piercing as the setting sun, matching it’s blinding glare with equal fierceness.

Feh, of course they bloody survived. Nothing could go right for the prior Right Hand Man lately.

Unwilling to let himself drown in his thoughts, the once Right Hand Man removed a crumpled piece of paper from his inventory, directing his ire down at the paper as if it was what had offended him, and not the myriad of names listed upon it.

Dozens upon dozens of people would have found their names upon that list. A small number were crossed out. A worthless avenger, a couple of gossiping jail guards, an old judge with a bad hair cut; a mere handful, compared to the number of names remaining. A thief, a pilot, and, more recently, an ex-gang runner. A general, his personal guard, a witness pulled from the airship’s brig. Turncoats and traitors to the clan, selling out their brothers for a scrap of leniency. Anyone and everyone even remotely involved in the fall of the Toppat Clan and the death of it’s leader were listed on this single scrap of paper.

“Don’ you worry a bit, Reg.” Murmured the enforcer, running his finger down the list like he was running a knife across some traitor’s skin. “I’ll make ‘em pay. Every last one of ‘em fuckers ‘at destroyed our clan. ‘Ey’ll all pay for wot they did. And once ‘ey do…”

His finger finally paused on the list’s final name, the ultimate victim of his revenge spree. The one who’s failure had lead to the destruction of everything the once Right Hand Man held dear.

“...I’ll be comin’ for ya, Reg. Save a spot in ‘ell fer me, would ya?”

--------------------

Aw, yes! More Polythreat!

I'm sorry for kind of being AWOL. I've been active on Tumblr, but was afflicted with some nasty writer's block. It took me a whole year to write this, believe it or not. I'd hoped to get it done by my birthday, but I'm just happy to have it done. Merry Christmas, everybody!

The events surrounding RHM and Reginald are depicted in a comic here on my tumblr: Atychiphobia - Fear of Failure. You can probably find it pretty easily. Neither RHM nor Copperright have been tagged, though. To preserve the surprise. Tags do kind of give away something going down, but it happens.

Thank you for reading! Hopefully I'll come up with something else to write soon.

#The Henry Stickmin Collection #THSC #Henry Stickmin #Polythreat #Poly Threat #Charles Calvin #Ellie Rose #They/Themry #Triple Threat #Knightmare Writing #Action/Adventure #Gun Violence #Hostage Situations #Tomb Raiding #Protective Triple Threat #Henry's powers are depicted as Future Vision #Assumed Character Death #Galeforce is here too for a lil bit #There's also a surprise mystery character! #They'll help the plot later!

[thesandsofelsweyr]

⚠️ cw: caning, torture

"Please, Batman!" he squeals as the cane tears into his flesh again, leaving another bloody furrow of agony in its wake. Tears pour down his sunken cheeks. This... this isn't right... he thinks weakly as he twists in the chains that suspend him from the ceiling. His mind feels thick and sluggish, as if it's stuffed with gauze. The searing pain mixed with the haze of hallucinogens make it hard to distinguish fact from fiction. He knows Batman is behind him, preparing to lash him again with a thick bamboo cane, but... Willis beat him, not Bruce. Bruce is supposed to be different. Bruce is supposed to love him. People who love you don't whip you with a cane until blood runs down your back and ass and thighs. People who love you don't laugh when you beg them to stop hurting you. But people who love you also don't abandon you in a house of horrors with a sick, sadistic maniac; they don't replace you like a worn out pair of sneakers, no matter what you did to deserve it. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," he cries, despite knowing that his apology will fall on deaf ears.

🏷 WIP Snippets, Everything Taglist: @aaliyah-wayne, @ladytauria, @betty-1880, @deans-spinster-witch, @hlg8

#sands writes #my wips #wip: knightmare #series: ruined #my arkhamverse #jason todd #robin #arkham knight #arkhamverse #dcu #jason todd fanfiction #arkham knight fanfiction #jason todd whump #whump

[galactic-knightmare]

Me, writing the prologue : man, everyone in this fic is depressed and traumatized... at least the main protagonist isn't gonna be? Me, writing chapter three : ...weeeelll fuck I traumatized her.

#Mercytale #thoughts of knightmare #writing #writing progress

[sortanonymous]

A vent about my uncertain writing (distant) future that really doesn't matter much

You know, it's weird whenever I think about what I could write after Meta Knightmare is over (which I'll just say that I know when that ending will come). I mean I could just eek out some more side stuff, some of which I've wanted to make for a while (might even include some Kirby stuff not connected to MKM), and I would like to make YouTube videos of whatever I want instead of just lounging on AO3 forever. But I keep thinking up ideas of fics I could make for other things I love like Steven Universe and especially Angry Birds (definitely have some thoughts for the latter). At the same time though, with what ideas I have for those, I'm worried that it would just be too much like a retread of Meta Knightmare. I might just make another action-tinted dramedy filled with so many crazy AU ideas with varying amounts of canon compliance that it borders on crackfic, yet tons of heart and found family stuff at the same time. Who knows if I'd even move on past the outline format? Granted, I love using those tropes with Kirby, but I'm worried that if I apply it to those other things, then I may as well just be writing Meta Knightmare again but with a new coat of paint like it's a new LEGO game. Not to mention that it feels comfortable with Kirby because not only is there plenty of material in the base games, but the lore is so extensive while leaving plenty of stuff wide open to the point where even flipping fundamental canon on its head feels suprisingly alright. But while Angry Birds has the characters to potentially work in my style, the world and stuff is nowhere near as extensive to have an easy time fitting into something good unless I try to just rip off the movie or maybe go straight for Angry Birds Stella (which I love, but I'd like to give the main flock some love first, especially the found family idea with ALL OF THEM, even the more forgotten ones). Steven Universe, which I haven't even thought that much about, kinda has the opposite problem in that while it has tons of lore, it's largely open and shut in a way that it isn't that fun to imagine changes to it. Not to mention that even if I tried some of that family theme stuff, a lot of that in my existing work is kinda inspired heavily by SU in the first place. It'd be kinda like if a growing rock band with heavy inspiration from the Beatles tried covering the Beatles and trying to make it sound way different from either of them while still respecting the feel of the originals. Good luck with that. (Admittedly though, I did just come up with a Spinel AU idea that absolutely blew my mind, but I'm not so sure if I'll still have the mood for it by the time MKM's over, which won't be for quite a while. I might just throw it out there for someone else to write in the comments if anyone asks.)

Why am I even talking about this? I've got 12 of the 26 chapters of MKMIII left to write with 4 already published! If I'm no more than halfway through my first fanfic project, then maybe I shouldn't be thinking just yet about my next project. Also now Magolor's in the fic and with how much Magolor instantly makes fans flock to any fic, I may as well bask in the hits while I can! A big thank you to my readers, by the way!

#meta knightmare fanfic #I'll explain the steven universe au i thought up if you press me on it #vent about nothing important #writers on tumblr #writer's block that won't actually happen until like a year from now #what am i even doing #don't be too shocked if i repost this in a year and laugh at it #steven universe au? #ramblings #for both my followers i'm sorry that you still aren't getting the kirby stuff i promised #i'm doing fine i just felt a little uncertain about my writing future and got my ramble on

[gethoce]

A Knightmare in the Underworld: No fighting on the Train

[Prev] - [Next]

[First]

As the train moves on Axe Knight tries to keep the mood steady, pointing out notable locations to Meta Knight as they appear and explaining things along with Blood Knight. Meanwhile Papi just watches the situation disgruntled, only occasionally chiming in with an addition or correction if an explanation seems particularly off to him. Both of the other underworld warriors laugh it off, especially Blood Knight.

"I swear Papi isn't always like that. He's actually a really nice kid, it's just that he really really hates me."

"Everything goes wrong whenever you're involved. The pattern doesn't lie."

"At least I am involved."

Both Axe Knight and Blood Knight begin to laugh heartily. Not even Meta Knight can resist a chuckle, meanwhile Papi's expression darkens even further. Instead of engaging with the insult he looks outside the window to see for how much longer he has to endure the company of these knights.

"Stop at the next station. We'll have to go on foot from there on out."

At that moment a light in the upper corner of the train's dashboard begins to shine and a monitor displays the name of a station. Blood Knight takes a look at it while addressing Papi.

"Looks like we're gonna stop there anyway. Someone ordered a ride."

He tabs the monitor to switch to a different screen which shows a camera recording of the station and is immediately met with a close up of Morpho Knight's face. Holding back a laugh he turns to his guests pointing at the screen.

"Oh, it's… You know. The one we're looking for."

Papi moans, rolling his eyes annoyed about the waste of time he just experienced. Axe Knight chuckles while Meta Knight tilts his head in confusion.

"That I did not expect from them."

"Morpho and I have known one another for a very long time. We're comfortable enough with each other to be silly like that."

"I see. It's like with my crew."

Upon hearing these words from his boss Axe Knight almost explodes from happiness, he can hardly hide his excitement. Papi, still sitting next to him, begins to slowly move away in dismay.

Meanwhile Blood Knight has his eyes on the upcoming station and notices Morpho Knight waiting, however, unexpectedly, they are not alone. Next to them stands Galacta Knight, the Greatest Warrior in the Galaxy!

"That's Galacta Knight. Galacta Knight is with Morpho Knight."

"Galacta Knight is here!?"

He mutters, followed by all three of his guests. Blood Knight brings the train to a halt at the station shortly after and opens the door for the two ancient warriors. Both enter, Morpho Knight smiling at Blood Knight warmly at first greeting him, yet upon noticing Meta Knight they immediately turn hostile and draw their sword.

Galacta Knight jumps into a corner with a flap of his wings and holds up his shield defensively. Without hesitation Meta Knight lets his cape fall back and draws his treasured sword Galaxia from within it to counterattack. As the two swords clash Papi withdraws his own weapon, a nasty looking mace and attempts to swing it in Meta Knight's direction only to be met with Axe Knight's axe.

"NO FIGHTING IN THE TRAIN!!"

"NO FIGHTING ON MY FUCKING TRAIN!!!"

With sudden brute force Blood Knight pushes Morpho Knight out the door using his water ability to help wash them outside the vehicle. The lighter warrior had no choice but to leave the train immediately. At the same time Axe Knight kicks Papi with full power and he as well gets washed out before he can react. Immediately after Blood Knight pulls a lever that shuts the train's doors and additional water is shot from the train's sides to push the two butterfly warriors further away.

The train begins to pick up speed leaving both Papi and Morpho Knight in the mud. The remaining warriors look at each other with heavy breathing. Axe Knight points at Galacta Knight dramatically shouting.

"We found Galacta Knight! Mission successful!"

To that Galacta Knight does a little victory dance akin to Kirby's classic dances with his hands in the air.

"I have been found! What does that mean, though?"

Meta Knight shakes his head in dismay with Galaxia still in his hand.

"That was only one of our goals. I also meant to ask Morpho Knight why they attacked Magolor, Marx and I at The Divine Terminus. Admittedly I should have expected them to be hostile towards me once again."

Then Blood Knight points at him still trying to figure out the situation in his head.

"You! You acted in self-defence!"

"Yes?"

"Great. This is how I'll justify this to Morpho Knight."

He then turns back to his dashboard to check in on the current status. At the same time Axe Knight sits back down followed by Meta Knight and then Galacta Knight. The skull-faced warrior shrugs even though he himself had been concerned for a moment.

"Morpho Knight and Papi both know as well as you and me that fighting is forbidden in here. Lord Meta Knight, however, didn't and is therefore excused."

"Sounds about right."

Blood Knight nods while watching his monitors in an attempt to catch a glimpse of Morpho Knight in the camera footage with no success.

"You see, this used to happen a lot and the train has derailed because of that far more often than I wanna think about. I began to insist on a no-fighting rule in here, anyone who doesn't follow this rule gets kicked out immediately."

"I've been in here while it happened one time. It was almost as bad as that one time the Halberd crashed."

Axe Knight nods along approving of every word his old friend says. The remaining two warriors listen carefully before addressing one another, starting with Galacta Knight.

"Last time we met, when you were travelling with that noddy and the halcandran, what happened?"

"Morpho Knight… absorbed you and then attacked us. We defeated them, but you didn't reappear. We were worried about you, Galacta Knight. I should be the one to ask what happened."

"Apparently Morpho Knight brought me here to fight someone or something. Typical."

To that Blood Knight joins the conversation again.

"Dark Nebula. A negative Matterborn, Darksouldream hybrid. If you guys don't mind I'll bring us there and we quickly take care of them so Morpho has less reason to be mad on us and then I'll bring you all back to the overworld. Deal?"

"Deal."

Everyone agrees, eager to get this whole thing over with. The pressure of the Underworld lays heavy on both the souls of Meta Knight and Galacta Knight, neither wishing to stay for longer than they need to.

#Galacta Knight #Morpho Knight #Meta Knight #Axe Knight #Papi Kirby #Kirby OC #Pitchion #Blood Knight #A Knightmare in the Underworld #my terrible writing #gethoce #wow another update this shortly after the last?? #I was suddenly struck with inspiration #Even though I haven't finished the art for the last chapter yet... #I'm not known for doing things chronologically anyway

[distort-opia]

The talk about Bruce’s relationship with the Family, and his abusive parental style, made me think of this specific issue in King’s Knightmares (Batman #61-63, #66-69) -- so I need to exorcise the thoughts before it starts bugging me. The arc is part of an ongoing effort to break Batman’s mind, orchestrated by Bane and none other than his father from an alternate Universe, Flashpoint Batman (who... well it’s just interesting to see that a Batman version of Bruce’s father is also not getting any ‘Best Dad ever’ mugs for his birthday any time soon). Bruce is strapped to a machine and pumped full of Scarecrow’s gas, having a series of hallucinations; each of them is centred around a different issue/important person he’s been grappling with.

The issue I mean is #62. In it, Bruce dreams that he’s restrained by a rope and hanging upside down, bleeding and bleeding, while Professor Pyg is standing there with a knife waiting to slaughter him. The comic is drawn in very bright colors, in a style that’s clearly supposed to evoke a psychedelic feeling and experience. From the start, we are more or less told of the key players (or symbols) of the dream: blood, a man in a mask, rope, a knife. All of these elements undergo change and impact each other, one way or another.

But the most important thing about this dream is that it’s clearly supposed to symbolically reflect the way Bruce relates to the Robins -- and more precisely, it reflects what he fears from them. The key to understanding this mess is keeping in mind who Professor Pyg actually is under the mask (Damian, his son), and who he represents.

What follows under the cut are lots of comic panels and wild extrapolation and interpretation on my part, since overthinking is my hobby. Fair warning, there’s lots of blood involved.

There’s already a lot to unpack, at the beginning. “The rope was talking, now it’s yelling. Understand, sympathize, thank it for its help. And cut. And cut.”

It’s an interesting contrast, the fact that the rope -- what’s keeping Bruce restrained -- is the one with a voice. Meanwhile, the “enemy”, the man in a mask (who, again, is actually Damian underneath) keeps talking and shouting, but Bruce cannot hear anything at all.

“They all want the same thing. Year after year they beg for it. And you can’t give it to them.”

What, Bruce? Love? Approval? That’s very likely it, and in light of this, I think the ropes in the beginning signify Bruce’s own emotions. What he always sees as an obstacle and something that binds him. They yell and they beg, but all Bruce really does is acknowledge them as he cuts them anyway. He escapes in order to attack Professor Pyg, whose voice Bruce still cannot hear.

“You should have heard him... listened... There’s a knife in you now.” Here an exchange of elements takes place. Bruce sheds the rope, and gains the knife. As the story progresses, Bruce tries to pull out the knife and survive, using the pain to ground himself. All along, he can’t hear a word of what his assailant is saying. But the inner dialogue begins to suggest (like on the cover of the issue itself) that what Professor Pyg is saying is “Little pig, little pig. Let me in.”

And Bruce does this:

He turns the knife on his enemy, but not for long. Bruce tries to interrogate him by inflicting pain, and has to remind himself not to kill him. All the while, Professor Pyg manages to pick the knife back up from the floor.

At this point, Professor Pyg begins to rant again, with Bruce not hearing any of it -- but all the while, his memories are coming back. He remembers being attacked by Bane, and by his own father. Slowly begins to realize that this is all a dream, that they’ve done something to him. He begins to fight Pyg with batarangs and then asks himself, “What is Pyg? A metaphor. A myth. A story. A dream.”

And here come the crucial elements to interpreting it:

“Your children aren’t safe. They’re dying. You love them, you created them, created their love, and they’re not safe.”

The “she” in there is Selina, of course. Since all of this takes place quite recently after Bruce proposed, and after she left him at the altar, a lot of the whole arc of Knightmares is Bruce dealing with that. There’s definitely an amalgamation in Bruce’s head, when it comes to his attachments: Selina, Alfred, Dick -- his children, all of it is love, and all of it is something he thinks he built. To Bruce, it’s all dead marble that he shaped and sculpted into being his ideal. It’s something he desperately wanted but couldn’t muster on his own, so he prayed to make it come to pass. 

In the end, he desperately asks Professor Pyg, “How did I get here? How do I get out?” And for the first time... he can hear the answer.

And then Damian leaves. The dream ends. Nothing is truly resolved, because Bruce has a couple more hallucinations before he manages to break out of it. The idea that Bruce built his love is the point his mind is trying to make through them, and the moment he gets confronted with that by Selina in issue #69 -- with the fact he didn’t truly love her, but that he wanted to (”I have to love you,” he says) -- he finally comes out of the dreams.

But in this issue... it’s just interesting to me that his Family, his children, Damian (possibly as a stand-in for all the Robins) are included in this too. What textually happens in the dream is Professor Pyg simply having Bruce tied up and talking while holding a knife, with Bruce attacking him twice -- and Pyg only stabbing and defending himself the moment he does.

There’s a continuous exchange happening. The rope never comes up again: Bruce thanks it for its service, but sheds the hold of his emotions. What’s left is the blood and the knife. The knife is the power love affords you over another. Blood represents all the things you lose when the knife sinks into you; it’s weakness. And it keeps switching. Bruce is overcome with blood and then gains the knife, and uses it to hurt a person he cares about. But then Damian gains the knife and all Bruce is left with is the blood. And all along, while Bruce is attacking, Damian is reaching out but Bruce can’t hear it. And what he’s saying is, “Let me in.” Bruce only hears it when he stops fighting and uses his damn words to ask.

I do believe Damian here is not just Damian. From the start, Professor Pyg is drawn in colors reminiscent of the Robin uniform, so I do think this applies more generally to all who’ve been Robin to Bruce. Always begging to be let in, and Bruce not being capable of it, because he inherently sees that as a threat; the edge of a knife, weakness. Always trying to talk to Bruce, but Bruce not hearing them.

The issue also pretty much says that Bruce thinks he made them, like Pygmalion made the object of his love. That he chose them to be Robins, and chose to love them, and made them love him. Not only that, but since this is all under the influence of fear gas, there’s also what Bruce sees as a threat... what he created slipping his control, and turning against him. The people who love him not getting their love returned in full, not being let inside, and thus Bruce finding himself under the sharp edge of the knife because he didn’t listen. And yet... the final nail in the coffin, I feel, is that the ending of the issue isn’t simply Damian leaving.

It’s Damian asking to be let in, with the “I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down” another potential reference to how opening up to someone can make you weak. This is the answer to Bruce’s question; this is what he needs to do in order to wake up. Let himself be vulnerable. And then Damian waits, but Bruce just falls back into old patterns, the things he’s been saying to himself all along. “Evaluate. Reassess.” He doesn’t answer. And when Damian leaves, he doesn’t call out -- he just looks resigned.

The way Bruce is constantly torn between wanting love and his utterly monumental fear of it, which makes him crave control so badly and hurt so many people and in the end himself... it certainly makes me feel all kinds of ways. Some of which I can definitely descibe as ‘feral’. And sad.

#I think I just need to acknowledge that I like King's writing sometimes #though it's very likely just because I'm into dissecting stuff into tiny little bits #and when he's not being fake deep and utterly nonsensical #King does provide the opportunity for that #anyway yeah. gonna tag this under #batman: knightmares #since I'm pretty sure I'll analyze the other dreams Bruce has at some point too #should I make a tag for my personal Bruce-centric comic metas #haha it could be #welcome to Bruce's twisted mind #we'll see #batman #batman meta #bruce wayne #bruce wayne meta #damian wayne #batfam #batfam meta #my meta #blood tw

[shabbyshoebox]

Ever Prepared [Ectober 2022]

Summary: Lancer was qualified to teach. Not to protect students from the supernatural. Rating: PG, Teen+ Content Warning: Passing mentions of death in a school environment, anxiety attack. Characters: Mr. Lancer Genre: Angst Word Count: 562

Everything in order, everything in its place.

Mr. Lancer had prepared for his homeroom class. His students’ papers were all graded, in neat piles, in alphabetical order. The grades have been uploaded online with a backup record in his physical grade book. His copies for the full week were made, stapled, and organized by bell. He had even written the next two full week’s homework assignments in the corner of the blackboard.

He checked, double-checked, triple-checked his lists. He wanted to be missing something. Anything.

No. He never did.

Lancer sat down at his desk. He pulled out his copy of Paradise Lost, opening up to the chapter that was due today. He read it five times yesterday.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Only five minutes until students were allowed to be in the building.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Lancer’s eyes skimmed over the familiar paragraphs. He realized halfway down the page that he hadn’t taken in a single word. He sighed and went back to the top of the page, this time using his finger to help keep his place

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He snapped the book shut. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I need to go on a walk,” he muttered.

He stood up from his chair, pushed his swivel chair back in where it should be, strode across the room, and unlocked the door. He used his foot to slide the doorstop in place so his students would be able to come in without him.

He looked back in the classroom one more time before walking away.

Everything in order.

Everything in its place.

A couple of years ago, Lancer would have never dared leave the door open. Principle Ishiyama would have torn him a new one for creating a security risk.

Locked doors didn’t protect them anymore. Not when those who wished harm could walk through walls.

All a lock did was slow down the escape route.

As he stepped away, he knew there was no telling if today would be another bad day. No one could predict when these attacks would occur, only that they only seemed to do so when school was in session.

Lancer didn’t know when he’d lose another colleague. Another student. He had to always mentally prepare to call someone’s family and tell them that they were killed.

He walked faster. He was too aware of his limbs as they were filled with shaky energy. The back of his neck grew hot.

He knew that ghost kid- Phantom- did the best he could. Lancer didn’t know what his story was, but thought he likely died near the school. Why else would he be haunting it so much? Why else would he be making sure no one else died?

Come on, Ronnie.

In.

Out.

Slow down.

In.

Out.

He never seemed to realize how fast his breathing became.

In.

Out.

He focused on the lines of the tiles on the floor. The sound his shoes made in the empty, industrial white hallway. The way his shirt felt on his skin.

In. Out. In. Out.

Anything but the pit of dread opening in his chest. Anything but the knowledge that he may have to evacuate the students to keep them from joining the dead.

Anything but the knowledge that everyone’s safety was out of his control.

#ectober 2022 #eh originals #knightmares #22 Order #ectoberhaunt22 #danny phantom #mr. lancer #day 3 #angst #content death mention #content anxiety attack #am i proud of this? #no #However Im actually participating in this for once and writing for the first time in forever so its a good thing #fanfic #I gave him a first name

[moonsharky]

so like,,, does anyone wanna see the full wraparound for my book? my artist was amazing!

#knightmares saga #ks: do you believe in ghosts? #moonsharky writes ks #writing tag 📝

[blastlight]

diversity win! the henchwoman who has aided in attempts to take over the world 99 times is transgender!

#cucumber quest #rosemaster #cuqu #(cant abbreviate it cq) #blast babbles #cuquposting #anyway i’ve finally read a bunch of Cucumber Quest (someone’s house i was in got paperbacks of it from a library) and i’m hooked #the art the humor the characters. i love them #noisemaster and peridot are my favorites #it’s like really lighthearted and funny but it gets Real too sometimes and i loooove it #knightmare night joke especially tickled me because Deltarune :3 #that reminds me i have to write down a joke i made in my head bye

[jenseits-der-sterne]

I'm curious about Glances, Gifts, and Kisses from your wip list...

Certainly!!

So... this one is kinda... a vibes story? And honestly, maybe if I think of it that way, it'll unblock me on making progress on it. Here are the details:

It's post-Calamity

Zelda and Link are shy with each other, but also like... crushing on each other.

Link gifts her the cloak we see her wearing in the Tears of the Kingdom trailer.

Impa teases Zelda and is all like "Ooo, looks like you've got a suitor" and Zelda gets all blushy and flustered.

Zelda cuts her hair and Impa and Paya get all offended/upset. Link gets all blushy, because he likes her new haircut.

The rest of it is vibes? Idk. I've written a lot of this, but I don't really have an end goal with it so that's what I need to figure out. Or maybe the vibes are fine? lol Obviously, they've gotta smooch, that's in my working title, so maybe that's the goal and then it's just... the end? lol 😂

#wip tag game #wip ask game #the-knightmare #my fic #my writing #my zelink fics #my wips #wips #zelink wips

[meta-susie]

ik meta knightmare returns isn’t like a canonical mode but the framing device of it being a simulation running on the halberd is soo full of metasusie potential,,

#my post #kirby planet robobot #meta knightmare returns #metasusie #it would be cool to write a fic where the simulation starts getting out of hand and things aren’t going how they’re supposed to #and the simulated susie seems to know she’s talking to meta not Kirby

[knightmareaceblue]

A picture is a moment in time captured forever - A reminder of the key events in your life, preserved for eternity. As you gaze into the past, you might even feel like you can reach through the frame and pull those feelings, those events, those people back into the present.

Thanks to The Second Coming, this feeling becomes reality for Mango, giving him a second change he'd never thought possible. Together with Purple and his past self, he may be able to change fate and have his whole family together. Of course, things are never that easy. Especially when the sins of the past still hang heavy over his head.

------------------

With a single click, the moment was captured forever.

Mango’s kid, his shimmering Gold, grinned brightly at the lens from her spot on top of the podium, arms stretched up to triumphantly display her silver trophy. She’d been disappointed to have lost the final round of the tournament, of course, but the young stick had always rebounded quickly. She’d wiped her eyes, offered a handshake to the kindly Ruby kid who’d won, and accepted her place on the second highest podium with victorious pride.

The picture Mango took was glorious; not quite as precious as the real sight of his child’s accomplishment, but it would serve as a fond reminder. A window back on this precious day for years to come, even long after his child was grown and far from his side. A wistfulness grew in the tall stick’s chest at the thought. The day he’d be without his child was still a long ways away, but he knew he’d never be prepared for Gold’s inevitable departure from the nest and into the greater world. He couldn’t even begin to imagine a life without her.

“Woohoo!” The excited proclamation broke the older stick from his thoughts, looking down at his child just in time to see Gold kick open the front door of their abode. A broad, excited grin stretched from cheek to cheek across her face, illuminating the room like the little ray of sunshine she was. The trophy in her hands was thrust up into the air above her head as Gold continued to cheer, exclaiming wordlessly in her zealous excitement.

Mango took a moment to chuckle at his child’s antics before switching into dad mode to parent her out of this sudden hyperactive state, setting his camera aside for the moment to focus entirely on the present Gold. “Easy there, honey.” He gently scolded, taking the trophy into his own arms. It wasn’t particularly large, only about as long as Mango’s forearm, but it was more than heavy enough to break something if Gold got overexcited and began swinging it around. “Let’s put this somewhere we can show it off, eh?”

As he spoke, Mango hoisted the trophy onto the nearby bookshelf, where the sunlight from the window caused the metal to sparkle. It stood tall and proud, glittering silver standing out against the more earthy tones of their living room.

“Okay, okay!” The young stick agreed, a bubbly laugh mixed in with her words. She bounced on her heels as she gazed up at the silver trophy. “But I’m not stopping here! Next tournament’s in six months, and this time-” Her first pumped excitedly in the air, “-Gold’s going for the gold! You’re gonna be so proud!”

“I’m already proud!” Mango insisted joyfully, delighting in Gold’s squeal as he scooped his kid into a firm embrace and spun them around, “You worked so hard for this, I’d be proud even if you got last place!”

Gold’s only response to Mango’s praise was to continue to laugh, pretending to struggle in his hold while reveling in the twirling motions. He brought them down slowly, gently, only releasing her when her feet touched the ground. She bolted from his hold as soon as she could, little firecracker that she was. How Gold could still have so much energy after a fifteen-round tournament was beyond Mango’s comprehension. Just watching that final round had made Mango tired.

But still, he kept his chin up as he informed the younger stick, “After all that hard work today, I think it’s only fair that I let you choose dinner tonight. You can have anything you want-”

“Secret ingredient pie!” Gold cheered, throwing her arms up in celebration.

Mango frowned, annoyed for more reasons than that he’d have to throw together the family-famous, overly complicated secret ingredient pie. “-Anything you want that’s an actual dinner food.” He amended. “I’ll make the pie for dessert later, but you need to eat real food too, honey.”

“Aww.” Gold groaned, momentarily put out, before springing right back up. “Tacos, then?”

“Tacos sound good.” Agreed Mango, already compiling a list of ingredients in his head. “I’ll need to grab a few things from the store, but that shouldn’t take too long-”

“Wait!”

Mango had not taken but three steps towards the door when his child’s call caused him to spin around. She barreled towards him, the discarded camera clutched in her hands, and her skid to a stop came a few seconds too late, resulting in Mango having to reach out and steady her before she bowled him over. Gold didn’t miss a beat, immediately hopping back and holding out the camera for her father to take.

“We gotta take one more picture!” The younger stick insisted, “You took like a million pictures of me at the tournament, but we don’t have any of us together!”

Taking the camera, Mango briefly flicked through the photos and found that Gold was right: though he had taken plenty of her preparing for the tournament, at least one from each match, and had those perfect, precious shots of Gold’s triumphant smile at the podiums, there were none of the two together. Of course there weren’t. This was Gold’s special moment, Gold’s time to shine, and the fact that her only complaint of the day (besides no pie for dinner, which was just typical kid nonsense) was that her dad wasn’t sharing in this victory with her was… just so Gold.

How a stick like him ended up with a kid like her he’d never know.

“So we don’t!” Mango agreed lightheartedly, playfully tussling the kid’s hair. “Go get your trophy, we’ll take one real quick before I head out.”

While she did just that, Mango took the time to adjust the settings on the camera so the indoor photos wouldn’t be too dark to see. Mango heard her thundering footsteps approach before he was ready to look up. Gold, the little rascal that she was, pressed the cold metal of her trophy into the side of Mango’s face as she whined at him to hurry it up. Mango chuckled at her, chiding her gently even as he obeyed her request.

His arm outstretched to put some space between them and the camera, Mango alerted his child he was ready with a simple, “Say cheese!”

Trophy held high above her head, Gold cheekily replied, “Mascarpone!”

A click, a flash, and the moment was captured forever.

Gold snatched the camera out of Mango’s hand before he could move it back, trophy quickly discarded on the ground, and the older stick could only shake his head in response to her overeager antics. Her bright smile shined brilliantly as she gazed down at the photo, but in the span of a few seconds it grew duller and duller, until her smile transformed into a confused frown and her eyes reflected apprehension.

As a father, Mango was well aware that he had a weakness for his child’s frown. Logically he knew that he couldn’t just magically make everything in her life all sunshine and rainbows all the time. That just wasn’t realistic. But knowing this didn’t stop the curdling in his stomach at the thought that something in her life just wasn’t perfect, or the urge to fix it, no matter what it took.

“Honey?” He asked gently, “What’s the matter? Did the photo not come out right?” He leaned over her shoulder to take a look himself.

Gold didn’t resist, tilting the camera so her father could see the picture. “There’s something else in the background. I thought it might be a smudge, but… it has eyes…”

Mango didn’t need his child to point out the problem with the picture – he could easily see it for himself. At first glance it did indeed look like a bit of grime had gotten on the camera’s lens, but a closer look indicated that this wasn’t the case. The top of the figure looked like a stick, with a hollowed out head and brilliant emerald eyes, but the bottom half was more distorted, like a number of monstrous limbs sprouting out from their body in distorted blobs of flesh. Locking eyes with the figure caused Mango’s entire body to stiffen.

It was like it was… staring at him through the camera.

Unease stole the breath from Mango’s lungs, leaving him unable to vocalize his confusion. There was nothing like that… thing in their home. He was certain there wasn’t, even before he whipped his head around to stare at the spot in their kitchen where the figure would have been. Of course there was nothing there, just the scratched up kitchen table standing where it always did.

Now Mango’s expression matched his child’s confusion, “What is that-?

A strange noise, like the distorted buzzing of television static, drew the tall stick’s attention back to the photo. Mango’s breath stilled again, for an entirely different reason this time. The figure had moved. Its arm was stretched out towards them, hand open as if inviting the two sticks to take it, to pull them into that picturesque world with it and remain in that moment of time.

A chill ran down Mango’s spine. “Delete the picture. Now.”

The sudden command – or maybe the unnaturally stern tone in which it fell from Mango’s lips – caused Gold to jump, briefly fumbling with the camera as her little fingers search desperately for the delete button. When Mango’s eyes connected again with the picture, he could feel his heart stop as the ghostly image’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, its hand extending to grab rather than invite. Gold’s fingers found the delete button, but one tap did nothing. The second tap did nothing. Third, fourth, fifth… Gold mashed the button repeatedly, but the picture remained, the figure remained, the emerald illumination of its eyes growing brighter and brighter, closer and closer-

“It’s not working!” Gold’s obvious panic jolted Mango’s brain back into place and jump-started his fight-or-flight instinct. He snatched the camera out of her hand, noting how the glow of those eyes seemed to have reached the other side of the camera’s screen, threatening to melt through the frozen image and into reality. The only thing Mango could think to do was hurl the camera as far as he could and put himself between that ghoul and his kid, holding her close so that every inch of her was protected from the green light that had finally broken free of its glass prison. The emerald beam engulfed them both, expanding to completely swallow the father-child duo without even a second for them to move out of its way.

Then, in a flash, the green light vanished. All that remained of the Ochre family was a camera, cracked and abandoned on the floor of their small home.

-------------------

“-And we’ll finish this off with some fresh basil on top. Then, voila! The perfect lasagna!” Mango concluded, sprinkling the green leaves atop the lasagna with a touch of dramatic flair. Purple, predictably, was enraptured by the showmanship, their eyes alight with enchantment as they clung to his every word. It was always like this with them, though – whether it be cooking or fishing or whatever hobby of the week Purple had picked up, the kid would drag him through all of it with those same warm eyes, like the ‘Old Man’, as they oh so affectionately called him, could do no wrong. It melted Mango’s heart, and he’d often wonder if Purple was doing this to him on purpose.

He wasn’t the same stick he’d been on the day he’d lost his child, and he’d never be again, but slowly, surely, Purple was helping Mango grow into somebody new. That was a debt he’d never be able to repay.

Purple hummed over the meal, inspecting it exaggerated scrutiny. “Not bad, not bad…” They agreed, nodding in approval, “But it’s missing a little something…”

“Oh?” Mango cocked a brow at the younger stick. Knowing Purple, this could be a pleasant surprise worthy of a Michelin star restaurant, or the grossest thing he’d ever put in his mouth. Never in his life did Mango think he’d become a gambling man, and yet, here he was.

“Yeah, I think it could use a little…” Purple quickly whipped a white bottle from behind their back. A wild grin spread across their face as they held it precariously over tonight’s dinner, “MAYONNAISE!”

“NO!” Mango yelled back. He reached out to snatch the squeeze bottle, moving just slow enough for Purple to yoink it back with ease.

Vicious cackles fell from Purple’s lips. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” They assured him between chortles. The kid laughed like a jackal, far louder and scratchier than Gold’s delicate giggles, but Mango still found it charming all the same. So much so that it took actual effort to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching upward.

“You’d better be.” Mango warned with faux gruffness in his tone. “You’re enough of a heathen as it is. There’s only so much blasphemy one stick can take in his own home.”

“Hmph.” Purple huffed dismissively at him, the effect somewhat diminished by the wide grin they couldn’t keep off their face. “If you ask me, you don’t blaspheme enough. Still,” A subtle change in Purple’s demeanor signaled the end of the game. Mango let himself relax and lean against the counter, confident that Purple wouldn’t destroy their dinner now that they’ve had their fun, “we haven’t even put this in the oven yet, and it looks incredible! I didn’t realize cooking was so much fun!”

Honestly, neither had Mango, before Gold’s presence had forced him to make the jump from an all-instant food diet to cooking from scratch. “It’s quite relaxing.” Mango agreed. “If you’re interested, I can teach you to make all sorts of new stuff.”

“Oh?” Purple glanced at him from the corner of their eye before looking down and beginning to play with the hem of their shirt, which Mango had quickly come to learn was something the kid did when they were nervous. It happened more or less whenever they tried to ask him for something, which just about broke Mango’s heart. “Then maybe… maybe you could teach me how to make your secret ingredient pie?”

Mango tried not to wince, but couldn’t help the sudden stiffening of his shoulders. Subconsciously, his gaze drifted from Purple to the picture hung beside them; The day of his last tournament, with the luster of Gold’s second place trophy being completely out-shined by her smile as she playfully pushed the trophy into her father’s face.

There were more differences between Purple and Gold than Mango could possibly count, but every day he seemed to find just as many similarities. One of which was their shared love for that confounded secret ingredient pie. It was… fine, as far as pies went. Sweet and soft, with a hint of tartness. Nothing you couldn’t get from any bakery standard fruit pie, and certainly not good enough to warrant the ridiculously complicated recipe that had been passed down through the generations of the Ochre family. And yet, somehow Mango had managed to end up with not one, but two kids who absolutely adored the taste of the stupid treat.

For every special occasion, little Gold would trail at his father’s heels and tug at his pants, begging to lick the spoon or mix the filling. With age Gold’s interest in the pie hadn’t wavered, begging time after time for her dad to teach him the recipe. But it was always such a pain, so Mango put it off. Not right now, he’d say. I’ll do it later. Maybe next time, again and again, and then…

And then Gold was gone. There would be no more ‘next time’.

Some part of Mango recognized that this was a chance to make up for his mistake, to knock away one of the many regrets he carried on his shoulders, and yet…

“Well, it’s… a bit much for your first time baking.” Mango waved away Purple’s request with a too wide smile. His cheeks hurt from forcing his grin so large. “Why don’t we start with something simpler… like cupcakes?”

Purple deflated a little, but much like Gold before them, they bounced back quickly, matching his fake smile with a sincere, if mildly sad one. “I do like cupcakes…” They brought their eyes up to meet Mango’s, and the sheer affection reflected back at him, even after being denied, was almost too much for his heart.

“Then we can make cupcakes tonight.” Mango compromised, talking over the twisted wrenching of his heart. He then gestured over to the pile of dishes from their dinnertime prep work that laid in the sink. “AFTER you finish cleaning the kitchen, of course.”

“Aww, what?!” Purple whined.

“Well, I warned you, didn’t I?” Mango laughed off the complete horror on Purple’s face at the prospect of doing their daily chores. “I told you, ‘it’s your turn to clean the kitchen, so think carefully about what we cook’, and you still chose lasagna for dinner.”

An adorable pout was the only response Purple had for Mango’s proclamation, crossing their arms and glaring menacingly at the pile of prep dishes soaking in the sink. After a moment of the dishes not being intimidated into cleaning themselves, Purple spun around towards Mango and fluttered their lashes, sidling up to Mango and staring up at him with big, watery eyes. “Old man~!”

“No.” Mango responded coolly, slipping and letting his smile show at Purple’s aghast expression.

“But- but- we both made the mess, so we should both clean it up!” They argued back.

Already the older stick was shaking his head. “Nope. We already agreed on a chore schedule, and I’ve done all my chores for today, including cleaning up many of your messes. You can’t change the rules now just because they don’t suit you anymore.”

With that the oven timer dinged, and Mango redirected his attention back to tonight’s dinner. He slipped on a pair of oven mitts and delivered the lasagna to the oven, all the while Purple was muttering agitatedly behind him. “So not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, kiddo.” Mango replied back, slamming the door to the oven shut. “Get used to it.”

The kitchen then went silent, save for Purple’s irritated muttering, which in itself was slowly petering out. Mango liked to think that Purple was maybe going to accept their lot and just do the stupid dishes, but he knew that it was far more likely the kid had only shut up to try and scheme their way out of their chores. There were only so many ways one could escape the ever-present threat of dirty dishes, however, and Mango was confident enough in his counter-strategies to not pay Purple any mind, instead directing his attention to setting the table.

Peace reigned for only a short time in their home, however, before a cacophony of shouts and blur of colours tore through Mango’s kitchen like a tornado, sucking Purple in as the colourful gang that made up Purple’s friend group trampled through his kitchen. The five sticks emerged in waves; first Green and Red, leading the pack with enthusiasm and gusto as they embraced Purple eagerly. Following suit was the Yellow one, the bright kid to whom Mango had entrusted that stupid staff he’d made, easily slipping behind the others to startle Purple with a poke to their back. Blue was next, a little slower but with no less fervor that her friends as she pulled Purple into a headlock to grace them with a playful noogie. Finally, there was Second. They hung back a little from their friends at first, only approaching the group once everyone had calmed down to throw their arm around Purple’s shoulders in greeting.

Now, Mango didn’t necessarily dislike the kids. He honestly thought their positive and forgiving nature was a good influence on Purple. That said… “How the hell did you all get into my house?” He demanded flatly.

Yellow grinned back at him, using Purple as an armrest to prop herself up. “You left the front window unlocked.” She informed him breezily, entirely too calm.

“I did not.” Mango crossed his arms as he retorted, subconsciously bristling as five of the six kids began to snicker at him. The last one, Second, merely twiddled their thumbs in the back of the party, focused entirely on their fingers even as their entire body stood tensed behind the others.

“Not the bottom front window.” Blue chimed in, pointing to the clerestory window just above the front entrance. Sure enough, the thing was open, but Mango was absolutely certain he’d have heard the kids come in through that thing. They were many things, Purple’s friends. Subtle was not one of them.

Sharp squealing cut the conversation short, and before Mango could find its source Purple suddenly yelped and fell to the floor. Mango’s heart jumped into his throat, suffocating him for a prolonged, painful second before playful laughter restored his breath. In the middle of all that commotion, nobody had noticed the friend group’s infamous pig until it had tackled Purple to the ground to shower the young stick in licks and snuggles. Purple responded in kind, petting the pig atop its head with a little chuckle.

“Whoops!” Red ran forward to scoop his precious pet up. “Sorry Purple! Reuben hasn’t seen you in a while, so he got a little too excited, didn’t you boy?” Red’s voice went high-pitched and cooing as he praised his pig. “Yes, you did! Yes you did, you silly little man!” Purple could only laugh at the tone of Red’s voice and continue to scratch the top of the pig’s head.

As precious as the moment was, Mango couldn’t even bring himself to savour it before reality caught up with him. “Oh no,” He interrupted, pushing himself to the center of the crowd. “No, you all know the rules: No Minecraft stuff on the main floor! Keep it in the basement, or take it home!”

Red gasped, holding the pig close. “Reuben’s not a stuff! He’s a member of the family, aren’t you boy?” Red scratched under the pig’s head as Purple scratched its ears, utterly lavishing it in attention.

“I don’t care if its your twin!” Interrupted Mango. “I’m not getting arrested for video game smuggling because of you chuckleheads!” Back during the ‘Plan’, Mango hadn’t really cared about taking such risks, but now he had something to lose if he went to jail. He was willing to make exceptions for Purple – this was Purple’s home too, after all, and he could trust the kid to be careful with their elytra. The rest of the gang? Not so much. “It stays in the basement, or it goes home. Pick one.”

Red made a show of his reluctant acceptance, sighing theatrically as he picked up his pet. “I’m so sorry, Reuben.” Sobbed the sorrowful stick, clutching the pig close as if this were a eulogy and not just sticking it in the basement. “You’re just too much pure goodness for this… sinful world!”

The display had even Purple, monarch of melodrama themselves, rolling their eyes. “We’ll go down and spend some quality time with him later.” They promised, “We can… uh, play catch?” They suddenly looked a little lost, “Do pigs like catch?”

This seemed to be enough to placate Red, for now. As they walked towards the basement, Mango turned to Yellow. “And you-”

“Staff’s already down there.” Yellow promised, briefly flicking through her inventory to demonstrate its emptiness. “Teleported it when we got here, don’t worry.”

That suited Mango perfectly fine. In addition to the whole not being arrested thing, he’d rather not have to handle that staff again. It was a brilliant feat of engineering, a masterful display of game code. It was also the catalyst to a near apocalypse Mango himself had caused for the sake of punishing everyone – anyone – for Gold’s fate. By the time he’d realized what he’d done, Mango had nearly lost a second child, and almost killed Notch knows how many innocents.

So, needless to say, he’d prefer to not have to look at that thing.

By this point Red and Purple had returned, sans pig. Green’s elbow into his side and whisper into his ear caused Red to suddenly perk up, dour expression brightening exponentially as if suddenly reminded of something. Blue and Yellow, on the other side of Purple, exchanged a knowing look as they smirked at each other. And Second, who’d taken advantage of Red’s scene to withdraw to the shadows behind the group, was suddenly pulled back to the forefront with the others.

Alarm bells once again rang in Mango’s head. “Did you kids, uh… want to stay for dinner?” A whole lasagna was probably enough to feed all seven of them. Though he’d hoped to have leftovers for the next few days, Mango supposed he could make the sacrifice. For Purple’s sake. “We’re having lasagna.”

Blue’s eyes immediately lit up in interest. “Ooh~! Lasagna! That’s a recipe I don’t have yet!” As if by magic, a pencil and paper appeared in Blue’s hands. “I’ve been meaning to try recreating a dish from taste alone. I bet I can identify all the ingredients-”

“The food can wait!” Unable to contain the excitement he’d clearly been holding this entire time, Green finally let loose, cutting Blue off at the pass as his patience ran dry. He jumped on his heels before rushing towards Purple, taking the startled stick’s hand to pull them forward. “We came here because we have big news! Huge news! GIGANTIC news! And you’ll never guess what it is!”

Purple squirmed back and forth in the other’s hold. “Uhh…” They leaned away from Green’s entirely too close face, and Mango took that as his cue to intervene before the kid exploded from embarrassment or something.

“Go on, guess!” Insisted the green stick, his hold on Purple not loosening until Mango’s firm grip pulled Purple out of the smog of excitement to get some calming fresh air.

Once he was certain Purple had gotten a gulp or two of tranquil space, Mango set the young stick down and directed his attention back to Green. “Just get to the point.” Mango insisted for all of their sakes.

The denial didn’t do anything to diminish Green’s excitement, or the enthusiasm of the four fighters as they worked together to push Second into the limelight. Being thrust into the center of attention only caused the already nervous stick to grow ever more anxious, their entire body going stiff at the sudden sensation of eyes trained on them from every direction. Now, Mango didn’t know know these kids quite as well as Purple did, but he’d squared off against Second more than once in his quest to destroy Minecraft, and the orange stick never showed fear like this, even when things were at there most dire. So what could be causing them such distress…? Combined with the excitement of the other four sticks, Mango could hear the alarm bells getting louder.

Oblivious to their friend’s blatant discomfort, Green blurted out, “We just found out… that Sec has super powers!”

Mango could feel his eyebrows skyrocket up as he stared at the excited group of children, mouth agape. At his side, he could hear Purple exclaim, “Yo, what?!” Followed by the sound of excited arm flapping.

Second scratched at the skin on their arm, holding themselves with all the rigid attention of a child at the principle’s office. “Yeah, heh. Surprise…”

“Whoa, that’s so cool!” Purple’s proclamation only brought Second more discomfort, and Mango reached over to take hold of the kid and force them to calm down, lest the downcast and blushing Second keel over and die on the spot, but Purple slipped away before he could make contact. In a blink of the eye Purple was in Second’s face, bouncing energetically on their toes as they eagerly questioned, “What kind of powers? What can you do?”

“Oh, you know, just the typical stuff…” Second trailed off, their eyes focusing on a spot on the ceiling instead of Purple’s wide, bright expression. “Flying, telekinesis, healing, electricity… uh, eye lasers…”

Each item added to the list only caused Purple’s smile to grow and grow, until a wide grin was stretched across their face. In any other circumstance such a look would cause Mango’s heart to melt, but at this moment it only caused an electric tingle along his spine to signify incoming danger. Flapping their arms again, Purple demanded, “You HAVE to show them off!”

A cacophony of agreements came from the rest of Second’s friends. They were all varying levels of excited; Green seemed most eager, strongly encouraging Second by lightly shaking their shoulder. Red squealed in open excitement, and Blue immediately started pleading with wide puppy-dog eyes. Only Yellow kept some modicum of self-control, but curiosity and excitement still lit up her eyes. Despite the discovery being fairly recent, it seemed none of these kids had any experience with Second’s powers, and that caused a pit of dread to form in Mango’s stomach. This was a recipe for disaster.

Hurriedly, he tried to speak up, “I don’t think-”

Mango’s attempt to interrupt was completely bowled over by Purple in their excitement. “What should we have you do?” They wondered aloud. “Maybe we can set up some targets for you to shoot down?” The other kids seemed eager, nodding along to that idea. “Or you can race me flying with my elytra! Or-!” Purple suddenly gasped, hands covering their mouth as they smiled wider, “Or you can use your powers to clean up our entire kitchen!”

For a brief moment, annoyance trounced Mango’s anxiety, “Purple, that’s your chore for the day. You can’t just use your friends to do your chores for you.”

Purple only paused to give Mango a smug, satisfied look, before completely disregarding his words. If anything, Mango was certain his disapproval had only prompted Purple to go ahead with the request. “Please, won’t you clean the kitchen? Pretty, pretty please?”

The fluttering lashes and puppy dog eyes worked better on Second than Mango himself, but not quite enough to completely convince them. Conflict clear on their face, Second shrunk in on themselves and dug their nails into their arms. None the wiser to Second’s inner turmoil, each of their friends began pilling into them, begging incessantly.

“Come on, please~!” Red whined, pulling on Second’s arm.

“I’ll make you all the cookies!” Blue promised from their other side, pushing her head into the crook of their neck. “Like, so many cookies!”

“With that much stuff? It’ll be epic to see if flying all around!” Yellow mused. “I bet with enough practice you could pull off a ‘Wizard’s Apprentice’!” Her arms flapped at the thought, “Ooh, man! That would be the coolest!”

“You gotta show Purple what you can do!” Green pleaded, giving Second a sorrowful pout that would put even Purple’s best acting to shame. “Please! Please! Please! PLEASE!”

The kid demonstrated an iron will as they shook off their friend’s clutching hands and pleading eyes to put some distance between them. “Guys, I dunno…” Second kept their eyes away from their friends, focusing instead on a spot on the wall. “I’m still pretty new at this… and I don’t want to mess anything up…”

Despite their clear reluctance, Second’s friends kept egging them on, and Mango stepped forward to put a hand on Second’s shoulder. “I agree.” He stated, giving the kids a glare when they started to protest. “These powers sound like they’re still new, and using them so haphazardly would be blatantly irresponsible, especially for chores. You kids could stand to be a bit more thoughtful about this.”

Mango looked down, prepared to reassure Second that they were indeed doing the right thing, only to find Second staring up at him. Their lips were pressed thin as they pierced him with a burning, non-laser glare for a long, long moment, as if trying to see into his very soul. After a moment, the orange stick turned back to their friends. “On second thought, let’s do it.”

“What?!” Mango shouted in disbelief, his exclamation drowned out by the cheers and hollers of the others. The rainbow whirlwind sucked Second back in and absconded to the center of the kitchen, their voices blending into a single tangle of noise as they discussed the upcoming show. The sudden change in Second caused Mango to freeze in place, staring stupidly after the group. This… well, if Mango was being honest, this was far more like the Second he knew from their previous encounters than the skittish stick that had stepped into their home only a few minutes prior. But the fact that Second had even been that nervous to begin with…

Well, there was nothing else Mango could do but swallow his apprehension, make a silent vow to try reverse psychology on the rebellious brats next time, and trail after them.

By the time Mango had rejoined the group, the others had forcibly propped Second up onto the table Mango had just set like, not even ten minutes ago. Though clearly still wracked with nerves, they took a moment to gain their balance atop the structure, knees a little wobbly.

Despite the resistance he’d faced previously, Mango tried one more time to talk sense into Purple’s friends. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Mango was surprised to see that Green was the first to turn to him, a fierce glare aimed directly at the protesting adult. Everyone else seemed to have varying levels of exasperation and confusion at Mango’s interference. After a moment of silence, Second responded. “Yeah, I know. But it’s fine. I can do this.” Second looked down at their own hands, gaze unfocused. “I can do this.”

Second’s eyes fell shut, and when they opened again, their natural green colour had sharpened into a bright, illuminating emerald shine. Electricity crackled and zapped as it crawled over their form, stretching away from Second’s body to spread across Mango’s kitchen. The faint scent of ozone began to permeate the air. Mango could feel static run across his exposed joints, causing him to shiver. After a moment of just this, Second’s body lifted off the table, hovering in the air a few meters above the floor. Soon enough, other things in the kitchen began to lift up as well – the clean dishes on the dining table, the table itself, the chairs. In the span of maybe thirty seconds, everything in the kitchen lighter than the microwave was hovering weightlessly in the air, as though being touched by Second’s sparking power had turned off the gravity.

In spite of his early complaints, Mango couldn’t help the awe that washed over him as he took in the display of power. There was a pattern to the movement of the objects, to the flowing of electricity, that was nothing short of graceful. To his side, Mango could hear Red oohing and awwing over the display, drowning out Yellow’s mumbling as she thought aloud to herself. There was buzzing on Mango’s other side as well; whispers between Blue and Purple as they observed the show. When he glanced over at the kids, Mango found Green also present at Purple’s side, watching Second with a painfully familiar expression. One Mango saw every time he looked at a picture of himself and his Gold: Pure, unadulterated pride.

Second’s power soon brought order to the chaos they’d made of Mango’s kitchen, conducting the flying dishware in a delicate ballet. Every single item bobbed and weaved around each other to the rhythm of an intricate melody nobody but the Second Coming could hear. The swishing and swirling of water drew everyone’s attention to the sink, where a stream of water began to bend and twist upward to form rings between the layers of dancing cutlery.

“Hydrokinesis!” Yellow gasped. “That’s a new one!”

The scratching sound of pencil meeting paper was only barely audible over Blue’s inquiry, “Is it really hydrokinesis, though?” She scratched her chin, “Or just… telekinesis used on water?”

“Is there a difference?” Red asked.

All three of them were immediately hushed by Green, “Let them do their thing.’ He scolded roughly. Mango hadn’t considered that there was a second in command among the group of friends, but given how everyone immediately shut up at Green’s order, it seemed the most melodious stick took that role when Second was out of commission.

Once everyone had quieted down, Mango returned his attention back to Second’s show. Along with the ring of water, globs of what Mango assumed was soap had joined in the choreography. The tempo and melody of Second’s inaudible song changed, transforming the ballet into something more of a waltz. The dishes flowed from water to soap to water, two steps forward, one step back, before the clean dishes were added to an entirely new ring of floating tableware to dry. On and off flickered the ceiling lamp as Second’s power crawled across it, and combined with the jade sparks of lightning that flowed freely through the room, it completely transformed Mango’s kitchen into a much larger, more ominous space. Mango’s fingers twitched, itching with sudden nerves, and to sooth them he reached around Blue to take one of Purple’s hands. Though he couldn’t see Purple’s face, Mango could feel the kid squeeze his hand back, and for a moment all fear was erased from his mind.

Then a plate broke.

Its shattering echoed loudly through the entire house, trampling over any thought Mango could have formed and forcing all attention on it. Throughout the entire performance, Second’s face had been one of pure concentration, serenely focused on the energy surging about, but the sound had utterly destroyed any illusion of control Second had beforehand. Panic flittered in their illuminated eyes as they stared down at the shards of ceramic littering the kitchen floor, no longer affected by Second’s power.

“Ahh!” They cried out, startled by the mistake. Immediately Second’s body language changed, shrinking in on themselves as they focused their attention on the broken plate. Their power forced the shattered remains into the air once again. “Uhh, d-don’t worry, I can fix it!”

The change of attitude caught them all off guard, and Mango’s dread returned tenfold, churning his stomach. Green was the first to speak up, stepping forward with arms held out in an attempt to placate Second. “Hey, dude, it’s okay-”

Unfortunately for Green, his attempt at reassurances only startled Second further, and a glass cup exploded into millions of tiny shards against a wall. Mango subconsciously pulled Purple closer at the sound, heart beating a mile a minute in his chest. Second themselves squealed frightfully, their attention redirecting again. The once meticulous dance had grown discordant in response to their distress, the dishware weaving and bobbing in random, quickening movements around the kitchen. Second’s uneven breathing could be heard over the sharpening crackle of lightning and thunder that was slowly growing louder and larger as the kid lost control. One of the larger bowls hit the corner of a chair, chipping it and causing more distress to the stick in the center of the chaos.

“Sec! Stop!” Red cried out. It was unclear if Second had even heard him; they were hunched over in the center of the room, practically hyperventilating as all their focus centered on the broken objects. More things began to break in the chaos; A cracked cup here, a bent fork there. The longer their panic continued, the faster the rings of crockery spun until the kitchen had become a veritable tornado. At this point even the appliances had begun to join in the anarchy.

Purple, still firmly clutching Mango’s hand, stepped forward. Not enough to be caught in the tornado, but enough that Mango could see fear in their eyes, and it only made him hold on all the tighter. “Dude!” Purple called over the noise. At this point the chaos had created a cacophony so loud Mango could barely hear the kid over it. “You need to calm down! You’re gonna destroy the entire house at this rate!”

The loud hiss of, “Purple!” From Mango came too late. The idea was already out there, and it only increased the sense of panic from every stick present. A pathetic whine signaled an increase in the speed of the spinning kitchenware. Green surged forward the instant he heard it, with Yellow barely being able to pull him back before he could get clocked in the head by a flying food processor.

“H-hey!” Blue worked her way in front of the group, hands held out placatingly in front of her. “Second, try and focus on me, okay? It’s going to be alright. I’m going to approach now – slowly.” True to her word, Blue made small, cautious steps forward. The wild winds whipped her hair violently, but she showed no signs of distress against their might, “I’m going to make my way to you, and you’re going to calm down, and nobody’s going to get hurt. We’re going to be fine.”

And, for a brief moment, it seemed like she was right. Second’s eyes were glued to her approaching form, and the sight of her smile eased the tension from their body.

“Look out!” Red shouted suddenly, then tackled poor Blue just moments before a spinning plate shot through the air where her head once was. Instead the dish continued to whirl through the kitchen, straight over the ceramic shards of another broken plate and right towards… towards the photo on the wall-!

Mango’s heart leapt into his throat. Without thought he started forward, maybe to throw himself between the flying dishware and one of his last memories of Gold, but by the time he’d released Purple’s hand and made the first step it was already too late. Though it took only a second in real time, to Mango it felt like it was playing out in slow-motion. The plate shattered against the frame, shards of ceramic and glass flying in every direction, and the frame fell to the ground. Wood splintered apart with a deafening crack as it finally hit the linoleum. The picture fell, face down, on the ground.

Around him, Mango could barely hear the sound of audible gasps and whispered exclamations over the ringing in his ears. The tips of his fingers felt cold and numb. For just that moment in time, nothing existed but him and the broken remains of Gold’s memory.

Green sparks crawled over the pictures, shaking Mango from his stupor and forcing him to tune back into reality. From the center of the kitchen he could hear a tangle of jumbled words and accelerated breathing, “No, no, this is okay, I can fix it, it’ll all be fine, I can fix it… I-I can fix it…!” Once the picture was levitated up, a miracle was revealed to Mango; though the frame was broken beyond repair, the picture itself appeared mostly in tact.

“Kid, hold up-” Mango tried to call out, turning to look at Second. Sharp emerald lights met his eyes in return, freezing the tallest stick in place for a bone-chilling instant.

“I can fix it, I can fix it, I can fix it…!” The haphazard promises fell from Second’s lips along with their labored breaths. Then they clutched their head and screamed, “I CAN FIX IT-!”

An explosion of emerald light knocked everyone back. Mango’s body tumbled maybe a meter or so before coming to a grinding halt. Mango winced at the burning sensation on his limbs, but the second he was able to move he immediately crawled over to the kids in order to put himself between them and the violent storm Second had made of his kitchen. The green energy had formed an opaque tornado, completely hiding The Second Coming from view. Through the chaos Mango could see shattered remains of plates, randomly bent cutlery, and even full-on appliances that had been forced airborne by Second’s power poke out of the squall before being sucked back in.

Mango barely had a minute to take in the catastrophe that Second’s show had become before the kids’ chatter redirected his attention. “Okay, let’s not panic!” Yellow instructed, pushing her glasses up as she picked herself off the ground. “We can- uh, we got this! If we just ground the lightning-”

“Ground it with what?!” Red snapped back, gesturing wildly at the mess in front of them. “Sec’s power isn’t like normal lightning, that wouldn’t work!”

“And you have any better ideas?!” Purple demanded. Thankfully for Mango’s poor heart, the kid stayed down close to the ground, even as they joined in the argument.“We can’t just do nothing!”

Blue joined Yellow’s side quickly, fidgeting with her fingers. “It-It’s just because Sec’s panicking! We just need to wait for them to calm down, and-”

“And what, just leave them like this until then?!” Yellow questioned sharply, causing Blue to flinch back. If Yellow noticed, it didn’t show on her face. “I am not going to abandon them! Not after everything, I can’t-!”

Everyone seemed to wince in response to Yellow’s outcry, and the following tense silence was quickly filled with a pitiful, mournful wailing from the kitchen. The sound seemed to echo in Mango’s head, plucking at the strings of his heart painfully. And he barely knew Second; he couldn’t imagine how this must feel to the kids, who had known The Second Coming for their entire life.

A hitched breath drew Mango’s attention behind himself; Green had gotten a little lost in the chaos, overshadowed by the others yelling over themselves in an attempt to find a solution. That cry, however, had him marching ahead of everyone until he was standing directly in front of the entryway, his green form seeming to glow in the luminescence of the emerald lightning that surged along the tornado. Green’s fists were shaking, but if the expression on his face was anything to go by, it was not fear that caused him to tremble, but sheer determination.

After a moment of simply staring ahead, Green finally spoke aloud. “Screw it,” He said, and that was the only warning any of them had before he charged forward. “Hang on, Sec! I’m coming!”

Everyone watched him disappear into the chaos in stunned silence, before Yellow gritted her teeth and shouted, “Don’t worry, we’re on our way!” as she followed suit.

Blue and Red spared a moment to glance at each other, nodding as they each reached the same conclusion. Though they both jumped up at the same time, Red was on his feet first, running directly into the tornado with a battle cry.

Trailing directly after the others, Blue cried out, “It’s going to be okay, Second! We’re on our way!” as she barreled ahead.

Movement at his side jolted Mango’s attention as Purple stood up against the winds of the storm. Though their body was rigged in fear, conviction was strong on their face as they, too, began to run forward. Everything seemed to slow in that instant. Tension squeezed Mango’s lungs in his chest. All air escaped him in one startled gasp. Purple’s form seemed to transform, going from violet to deep yellow. The green light threatening to engulf them turned to black corruption. Red lights flashed at the corners of his vision. A fatal error has occurred, this connection is terminated.

“No!” Mango managed to force out, leaping to grasp Purple’s hand once again. His hold on them was tight like a vice. Though he could hear his own heavy breathing, his lungs burned with a craving for oxygen.

Though startled, Purple quickly began to struggle against Mango’s hold. “What are you doing?!” They asked, voice laden with desperation and fear in equal measure, and it only made Mango hold on all the tighter. “We- I have to get in there! Sec needs us- needs me!”

“I need you!” Mango forced out in a single, painful gasp. “I- I can’t lose another…! I’m not going to let you run to your death!”

Though the slip up made Purple’s expression soften some, they still held firm. “If we do nothing, then Sec’ll, like, I don’t know, explode or something! Then we’ll all die!” Instead of trying to get away, Purple clasped Mango’s hand with their other, meeting the taller stick's gaze with fire alight in their eyes. “I can do this! I promise, nothing will happen to me!”

Mango glanced down at their intertwined hands, Purple’s fingers gently rubbing soothing circles into his skin. Subconsciously his breathing began to follow the rhythm of the motions, and the burning fire in Mango’s chest was extinguished. With a deep breath and one final look into those pleading eyes, Mango relented. “Okay,” He said, but refused to release Purple’s hands. Instead he pulled the both of them up to a standing position. “Then we’ll go together.”

After a serious nod, Purple broke the tension with a playful wink. “Try to keep up, Old Man.” They teased, and something in Mango felt lighter, even in the face of oncoming danger.

With his hold firm on Purple, Mango began walking against the fierce winds of Second’s maelstrom. The gales of the tornado roared louder and louder the closer and closer they got, until its rumbling was all Mango could hear ringing in his ears. The sharp cold of it stung at his face, but Mango kept firm, doing his best to stay in front and shield Purple from the worst of it. One of Purple’s hands slipped from Mango, and a near heart attack was mitigated when he looked back to see Purple pulling Red down from where he’d been sent flying back. Looking around, Mango could make out the three other friends scattered in various directions, struggling to walk against the wind only to be pushed aside by a particularly strong gust or forced to jump away from a large piece of debris haphazardly flying around.

“We can’t get close!” Red yelled over the rushing tempest. “We keep getting knocked back by all the stuff flying around!”

As if to demonstrate, a chair flew straight at them, only visible once it was moments away from hitting them. King quickly moved to pull Purple and Red down to the floor, covering their heads with his arm in order to protect them.

Purple was the first to lift themselves up, gritting their teeth. “Then how are we supposed to get through…?”

Yellow’s shout, barely audible above the roaring winds, drew Mango’s attention up and towards the irritated stick as she charged forward. She got close to the eye, a mere arms length away from the goal, before Green yanked her out of the way of a swarm of flying knives set to impale her in five different ways. His heroic efforts were rewarded by Blue being tossed into him and Yellow, knocking all three back to where Mango, Red, and Purple were hunkered down.

Not even a second after being tossed back, Blue was already back on her feet. She went to charge forth one more time, but was stopped by Green grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back. “This isn’t working!” He scolded, sounding angrier in his attempt to yell over the hurricane. “We have to try something else!”

“Well, what else can we do?!” Blue asked tearfully. In lieu of an answer he couldn’t give, Green instead took hold of her hand.

The gears in Mango’s head began to turn. They couldn’t get anywhere near the center of the storm; the winds were too strong, blowing so hard that it was impossible to make it to the center before being hit by the dangerous debris flying haphazardly around. A stick alone wouldn’t be able to breach the maelstrom without getting blown away, but there was no way a group could move through without getting hit by one of the large appliances or pieces of furniture caught in the tornado. Not without a shield to guard them.

Mango knew what he had to do. With a shaky breath he picked himself up, bracing his knees to stand against the storm. Purple made a concerned noise as Mango’s hand slipped away from theirs, but in spite of that Mango instead focused on his surroundings, on every little sliver of glass or lump of wood flying around that could hurt them. As he focused, Mango called back to the kids, “I have an idea!” Everyone looked up at him, all of the young sticks suffering various degrees of battery from their attempts to reach Second. “All five of you, huddle together and move in tandem! If you keep a firm hold of each other and work as a unit, you’ll be able to stand against the wind!”

“But what about all the stuff flying around?!” Red asked, even as he and the others moved to take hold of each other. Red was at one end, Blue next to him, then Green in the middle, with Purple at his side and Yellow on the opposite end.

Mango took a deep breath, focusing on the rapidly approaching microwave as it flew closer and closer. Once it was within range, Mango demonstrated exactly what would happen with all the stuff flying around. He braced himself against the floor and was only pushed back a few centimeters as he gripped onto the heavy appliance. Though taking the force and weight of the microwave made his arms ache, Mango spun around and tossed the now useless contraption to the side.

“I’ll take care of that.” He assured the children as he turned to them, forcing down the anxiety and pressure he felt and forcing up an encouraging grin. “You all just focus on getting Second out of there.”

Purple swallowed down their nerves before matching Mango’s smile. “Just be careful, Old Man. I’m not taking care of you if you throw your back out.”

Snorting, Mango turned away from the kids to focus on his job. “If you’re my nurse, I think I’ll take my chances with the lightning.” His voice then dropped, turning serious. “Now get moving!”

All of Mango’s attention then focused on the winds around him. He played the role of guard for the children as they inched along, using each other as support against the harsh gales. The friend group moved together in near perfect harmony. Purple’s inexperience, in comparison, was obvious. They stumbled where the others stepped smoothly, needing to glance at their feet or their friends while everyone else seemed to simply trust that the others would step where they needed to. Even with the handicap of Purple’s inexperience, however, they made surprisingly quick progress through the raging storm. Mango moved as quickly as he could to knock back any debris, any heavy machine, any sharp piece of glass or ceramic that could harm the kids. They were encouraging each other behind him, counting down the steps until they reached their goal.

“Just a little closer!” Purple cried out as Mango wrangled a cabinet door away from the group. Their voice was almost entirely lost in the wind that surrounded Second. “Just… a little…!”

And then the five disappeared into the heart of the storm. Mango breathed a sigh of relief, switching up his focus to dodge the hazardous kitchenware instead of blocking it head on. Nothing in the tornado ventured any closer to the eye than where the children had just entered, so Mango could be certain they’d be fine from then on. A bone-deep ache made itself known as Mango let himself relax a touch, but he didn’t fall back. Instead Mango rooted himself firmly nearby, alert for any kind of disturbance in the maelstrom; any sign that the kids were distressed or injured.

That was all he could do for now, besides put his trust in them.

---------------------

Second could barely hear the sound of the winds whipping about over their own heart pounding in their ears. Every part of them burned; their throat, their lungs, their arms, their eyes. Shaking fingers yanked at their long, flowing hair. The cyclone’s violent winds pressed down on them harder with every haggard breath they took, stealing the air from their lungs as they slowly suffocated in their gale storm of despair.

The storm had started as a seed of panic within them, planted as the sound of shattering ceramics itched at their skin. With very new mistake, every blatant screw up, every near miss on their dearest friends’ lives, the seedling began to sprout, bringing with it a harsh, ashy wind that left a bitter sensation on their skin. The photograph’s destruction had been like bone-meal, escalating the growth of the squall until it swallowed Second whole. The winds raced at the same rate as their heart as it pounded within them, fighting to escape the cage of Second’s body. With each forced beat the ache inside of them grew and spread. They were dying, Second’s thoughts screamed at them from within their fuzzy brain.

They were going to die here.

They were doing to die here.

And it was all… their… fault…

This wasn’t the first time Second had ruined everything. Every new experience they brought to their friends was marred by pain and death in some form. The darkest corner of their mind swirled with memories of their torn-apart, dying bodies slowly fading into distorted code, or disappearing in a puff of gray smoke as their programs were ended without a second thought. Their own hands tingled with the memory of a cold steel blade pierced through Green’s body, or violet bruises ringing on their fists as they looked down at Red’s frightened face. At every step, through carelessness or powerlessness or their own unhinged actions, Second was always forced to watch the most important parts of their life suffer and agonize and absolutely languish in pain.

Why had they thought they could fixthis? Second knew they’d lose control, knew that this power would poison what they’d built, but they’d made the mistake of giving in, and now they were going to die.

They were going… to die…

All alone… after ruining everything…

They… they were… going to…

“Sec!” A sharp voice cut through the cyclone, jolting Second out of their thoughts with a wave of prickles along their body. Before they could even register the origins of the sound, a pair of arms encircled their waist. The touch was soft and sweet, causing the burning of Second’s body to ease just a little bit; just enough that they could make themselves look down to lock eyes with Green. He smiled up at them, not so much as flinching against the blazing heat of Second’s shining emerald gaze. “I’m here! I’ve got you!”

Stunned, Second couldn’t even bring themselves to return the embrace before another pair of arms forcibly wrapped around them. “Don’t worry, Sec!” Red assured through a large, vibrant grin. “It’s just a little thunder, nothing we can’t handle!”

Another jolt to their side signaled Yellow’s entrance, squeezing them so hard that rough burning churning within them was squeezed out, to be replaced a soft, bittersweet pressure. “Told ya, didn’t I?” Yellow asked, never once letting her hold loosen. “I’m not letting anything tear us apart.”

Next to join in the group hug was Blue, her shimmering eyes taking in the fierce, violent green of the lightning and reflecting back only a soft, gentle aura of emerald. “I know you must feel so scared right now,” She consoled, her voice feather-light on their skin, “But you’re not alone – everyone’s here! We’re all here with you!”

Last but not least, Purple forced themselves into the hug by worming their way between the others to snake their arms around Second’s middle. “Pfft, if you’re trying to get rid of me,” They scolded jokingly, “It’s gonna be a lot harder than that, Sec.”

Though the storm raged on, Second found themselves unable to tear their focus away from their friends. The many arms around them were velvety smooth, sweet on their skin with a tang of desperate heat. Their voices caressed Second with gentle softness as they whispered fluffy comforts for the winds to carry to their ears. Warmth flooded over Second’s entire body, forcing out the various aches from all over. Second’s shoulders relaxed as they took in a deep breath. Oxygen hit their lungs for the first time since the picture broke. Second’s eyes fluttered shut as they let themselves relax.

What had they been so worried about? Despite the accidents, the threatening villains, the near-death experiences, they always came through it together on the other side. Mistakes were forgiven, wounds were healed, and no matter what came their way, Second could stand against it, firm in the knowledge that their loved ones were at their side, supporting them all the way.

As long as Second had them, they’d be okay. They could fix anything.

Second opened their eyes. Beyond the twister they found a pair of silhouettes, a tall one and a short one. Second couldn’t make out their faces, but the tension in their limbs betrayed their obvious fear. The emerald eyes of the super-powered stick remained trained on the nervous figures,

It’s okay, Second tried to tell them, to reassure the clearly frightened figures, but all that escaped their mouth was a staticky noise that made their friends hug them all the tighter. Upon realizing that their voice was turned off for the time being, Second instead reached out to the pair, to try and show them that it would be alright, that they weren’t alone, that help was right there and ready for them.

The strangers grew more panicked, and Second stretched their arm further to reach for them. All of Second’s attention was hyper-focused on the two upset figures, to the point where everything beyond them and the arms around Second’s waist disappeared from their mind. All they wanted was to give the two strangers a little taste of the comfort that everyone’s presence granted them. To fix the pain they could sense on the pair and stop the fear that was clearly growing stronger and stronger within them as they fiddled anxiously with something in the smaller one’s hand. Second felt something deep inside them urging them to keep extending their arm, to keep pulling at the two figures. To fix the distress on their face and bring them home.

All they had to do was reach a little further… further… just a bit more…

And then everything disappeared in an explosion of brilliant emerald light.

--------------------

Between the ringing in his ears and the throbbing in his head, Green was certain he’d be in for a world of hurt the moment he opened his eyes. Despite this, the distant murmurs of fear and horror from his friends had Green forcing his eyelids up, inviting a piercing beam of light and agony into his brain. Seconds stretched into years as Green waited for the discomfort to fade enough for him to focus his eyes and look out over what was once the Ochre family’s kitchen. Now the room was in absolute shambles; everything, from the smallest plate to the gigantic refrigerator, was damaged in some way. The linoleum floor, cool on Green’s aching legs, was positively littered with shards of glass and ceramic. A food processor was stuck in the wall, its cord dangling uselessly over a crack in the tile beneath it. Water formed small pools throughout the room, one dangerously close to an electrical outlet on the opposite wall. The only electronic in the room that still functioned a little bit was the ceiling light, which flickered on and off rapidly enough to compound Green’s growing headache.

Green forced down a swallow as he took in the wreckage. The memory of Sec’s pleading, of the fear on their face, played in his mind like a broken record, and then his eyes began to burn anew. Just a few minutes ago they’d all been having fun, and Second had finally begun to relax. He’d thought that maybe, just maybe, they were finally starting to accept themselves… and then everything exploded. The thought of how Second must be feeling was like his heart was sinking to the bottom of his stomach, swirling its contents into bile.

Still, there was much to be done, so despite the nausea and tears threatening to break through Green pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing as the pounding in his head compounded. He fought through the fuzz at the edges of his vision and the painfully loud ringing in his ears to focus on his friends, to try and ascertain their current condition. Mango was the first one he was able to pinpoint, and naturally the taller stick had rushed to Purple’s side. Other than a few bumps and bruises, neither of the two looked too badly injured. Red appeared to be fine too, sitting next to Yellow and speaking unintelligible words to her. Yellow’s one leg was splayed out in front of them, and when Red made contact with her ankle she winced. Green couldn’t see how badly it was swollen, or if there was any sign of a break, but the fact that she was injured at all nearly brought Green to tears again. He forced it down and left Yellow’s care to Red, scanning across the room until he found Blue, also mostly unharmed, hovering anxiously over Second’s body with her hand on their neck.

The sight of his motionless friend caused Green’s breath to catch in his throat. No… were they… did he cause his best friend to…?

Mere moments later Blue’s shoulders relaxed and she visibly exhaled, a small smile forming under her tired eyes. Green echoed her relieved sigh. Second was… alive, at the very least.

In the little time between awakening and checking on his friends, the ringing in Green’s ears had died down. Not completely gone, but low enough that he could now hear the others chattering amongst themselves. Their voices blended together into a cacophony of noises, and Green found himself unable to tell his friends apart. He could catch the occasional word, but without context they made virtually no sense.

Mango unexpectedly stood up at the other end of the room, his shoulders stiff with tension as he immediately stood to put himself between Purple and… something. Because they hadn’t moved Green had initially overlooked them, but following Mango’s gaze Green could see… someone in the corner of the room. An extra person- no, two extra people, lying unconscious on the floor nearby. Green struggled to focus entirely on them and Mango, who made a hush motion in response to Purple opening their mouth to say something, before steadily approaching the two new entities. His face was set with grim determination as he approached the figures, but as he got closer, it gradually shifted. Mango’s eyes widened, beginning to bulge out of his head, and Green forced everything into focusing on the older stick as he inched over to that dark corner, truly taking their new guests.

And then he started laughing.

A loud, humourless cackle that reminded Green more of the mad king who’d almost killed them all than Purple’s sarcastic guardian. Green continued to push through the fuzz in his brain as Purple picked themselves up and raced over to the old man. They paused once they reached him, staring in shock at the source of Mango’s distress.

“It’s finally happened!” Mango declared between laughs, his eyes completely glazing over with a sheen of distress. “I’ve finally gone insane!”

Purple, eyes wide, stepped in front of Mango with their arms stretched out in an attempt to placate him. “No, no!” They assured him, words rushed in their panic. “You’re not crazy, I promise, I see them too! P-please stop laughing-!”

“-I’m fine! I’m not the one who, exploded, you need to go help Blue-!”

Green winced, struggling to stay focused as everyone else’s voices began to pick up volume, fighting each other for his attention.

“Okay, c’mon, wake up-!”

“You can’t walk on that, are you nuts-!”

The voices pounded in Green’s ears to the rhythm of his racing heart.

“H-hey, come on, take some deep breaths-!”

“Seriously, let go-!”

“Please, Sec, please-!”

He groaned as he held his throbbing skull. Every noise was blending together; the voices of his friends, the dripping of water from the sink, the buzz of the malfunctioning light as it flickered on and off, on and off, on and off, poking at his brain through his pupils. The bile in his stomach churned again, fighting to rise up his esophagus.

“I- This isn’t real. There’s no way this is real, this has to be-!”

“C-come on, Old Man, focus-!”

“Yellow, will stop trying to-!”

“Get off of me-!”

“Come on, Blue, think-!”

“Will you all just SHUT UP?!” Green shouted over all of them. Every single stick in the room went totally silent, finally relieving a little bit of the pressure in his skull. After taking a moment to catch his breath, Green used the wall to help himself stand. Though his limbs ached, the worst of the pain was in head, allowing Green to stand without opposition. Looking out over the chaos, Green felt something well in him at the scared, desperate looks his dearest friends were giving him; Guilt and determination and sorrow. It fueled the flame within him, and Green took charge, immediately pushing past the pain to issue commands. “Yellow, let Red help you to the living room.”

“I’m fine-!” The injured stick tried to object.

Green immediately shut that down. “No, you’re not. If you were, you would have walked away from Red by now.” Green sighed. “Look, I don’t want to be mean, but if you try to walk on that ankle you’re going to make it worse. And the last thing we need right now is for things to get worse. It’ll only take a few moments for Red to help you walk to the armchair. Let him do that, and we won’t have to worry anymore, alright?”

Any protests died on Yellow’s lips as she absorbed Green’s argument. Though she may not have been happy about it, the logic won her over, and she huffed in irritation even as she hooked an arm around Red’s shoulders. The two began to stand in order to limp out of the room, and Green shifted his focus.

Mango’s breakdown had been halted by Green’s sudden cry, too stunned to continue, and Green used this opportunity to make his way over to him and Purple. The violet stick quickly moved to the side to let Green through, and for the first time Green was able to get a clear look at the new sticks summoned by Second’s power. His eyes immediately went wide as he absorbed the sight before him.

The first of the two newcomers, the taller one, looked nearly identical to Mango. The very few differences were entirely cosmetic; his hair was a little shorter, his clothes a little neater. There were no bags under his eyes or scars on his body from the fight for Minecraft. Small though the differences may be, they made a huge impact, making this version of Mango look ten years younger than the reformed tyrant Green knew. Curled under his arm, as though shielded from the entire world, was the second, smaller stick. Their body was a deep gold, and despite not knowing anything about this stick, Green was immediately struck with a sense of deja vu. It felt like he’d seen them somewhere before, but the context entirely escaped him.

Green was not, however, stupid. Given how the other Mango was curled protectively around this new stick, and the real Mango had a mental breakdown at the mere sight of them, Green was certain this new stick was someone of great importance to Mango. A few theories were already cooking in Green’s brain, but there were more important things to focus on at the moment.

“Once Red’s done helping Yellow,” Green informed the two, drawing their attention to him. Though Mango was no longer laughing like a madman, his eyes were almost entirely blank. Purple was more present, holding themselves anxiously as they focused entirely on Green. “He’ll help you guys get these two somewhere more comfortable. Should we put them in Mango’s room?”

A moment of silence fell over the two. Purple suddenly couldn’t meet Green’s eye, glancing awkwardly to the side, while Mango seemed to take a moment to process the question. Eventually, the old man answered, “We can put them in Gold’s room. It’s a little dusty, but it should be fine, I guess.”

Green cocked a brow at the taller stick. “Wait, Gold’s room…?” That answered some of Green’s questions and raised so many more, but for the moment Green restricted himself to the most important one. “There are only two bedrooms in this house. Where does Purple sleep?”

“I gave them my old room,” Mango answered without hesitation. Purple seemed to flinch at the confession, something like shame crossing their face. “These days I’m usually not sleeping through the whole night anyways, so I’m good with just the couch.”

Well, at least Purple had a real bedroom. Still, something about this revelation left a sour taste in Green’s mouth. It would have to be dealt with at some point. Not now, though. Now, Red had returned, and Green flagged him over to assist, flinching a little as Red’s fast movements caused his head to spin.

“Uh, Red and I can handle, um, the old man- the other version of you, I mean.” Purple muttered, stumbling over their words. “You can take Gold- i-if you’re okay with that, that is.”

It took Mango a moment to recognize what Purple was saying, eyes glazed over as he stared vacantly at this Gold character. Upon realizing what was being asked of him, Mango’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched as he approached the two with heavy, slow steps. Gingerly he pulled back his other self’s arm to expose Gold, who stirred slightly but did not awaken. Mango’s hand lingered above them, hesitant to touch them. Slowly it lowered, flinching away from them several times in the process. Eventually, his hand met their face, and Mango’s eyes welled with tears when their body held solid against his touch. From there things moved quicker, Mango taking the younger stick into his arms with delicate care. Cradling them like a baby, Mango took long, careful steps out of the kitchen.

Purple watched after him until the two were gone, twiddling their thumbs. It took a gentle tap from Red to bring Purple back to reality, the other jumping a little at the touch. “Um, sorry.” Red scratched his head, a little awkward in the face of current tensions. “But, err, I don’t know where the bedrooms are, so I was thinking you could take the feet and direct us, and I’ll grab the head. You good with that?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Purple agreed. Green watched as the two set about lifting the taller stick up and out of the room. His aching head was absolutely throbbing, pounding in rhythm to the flickering light on the ceiling. But he couldn’t slow down now. Not when he hadn’t even dealt with the worst of the damage he’d caused yet.

Taking only a moment for a calming breath, Green slowly waltzed over to Blue. She held Second’s head in her lap, whispering soothing words and little pleas to awaken as she ran her hands through their long mane of hair. Though he knew Sec was alive, the sight of them shocked Green; their eyes had dark shadows under them, their limbs weak and limp. Second looked sicker than Green had seen them since the day they had-

Green shook his head, ignoring another wave of nausea that rolled over him. “How are they?” He asked instead.

“Well, I can’t find any serious injuries,” Blue updated as she continued to stroke the fluffy mess of bedhead, “But they may have internal injuries? It’s hard to tell- I’m equipped to deal with minor wounds and Minecraft ailments. Not… this.”

“Wouldn’t their healing powers take care of that?” Green asked, kneeling down next to Blue to take their dear friend’s hand in his own. It was cold and clammy against Green’s skin, which made him clutch all the tighter, willing some of his warmth into it.

As if to answer, Blue pointed out a number of bruises on their body. “It hasn’t kicked in yet. Maybe they’re too tired to do it? Or maybe it’s a good sign!” Blue forced herself to perk up at the thought. “Every time Second’s used their healing powers it’s because someone got seriously hurt. Maybe they’re not hurt bad enough for it to activate on its own.”

“Maybe,” Green agreed, even though that didn’t really sound right to him. Since Sec had become aware of their powers, they’d shown the greatest connection to their healing. It was one of the strongest abilities. “Still, I don’t think they’d be too comfortable sleeping on the floor. Is it safe to move them?”

“Oh! Uh,” Blue thought for a moment, her eyes scanning over Sec uneasily. Moments passed into minutes before she answered, “I- I think so. As long as we’re careful.”

Green nodded, already standing to take hold of Second’s legs. “Okay, I’ll walk backwards with their legs, you take their head.” Blue nodded, taking a firm hold of Second as she slowly stood up. Between the two of them the limp stick weighed almost nothing, and Green carefully walked backwards into the living room. He could see Yellow resting in Mango’s giant armchair, leg propped up on the coffee table with a pillow. Her eyes followed their movements like a hawk as Green and Blue, working in perfect harmony, brought their unconscious friend to Mango’s couch and slowly, gently, set them down. Second didn’t so much as stir during the transfer, which only made Green all the more worried. What he wouldn’t give to have his best friend suddenly sit up and throw a pillow at him for disturbing their rest…

For now, Green once again took hold of Second’s hand and watched their drained, pale face as they slept. He didn’t know where he’d even begin to apologize for this.

----------------------

While Purple had snuck into this room to learn more about the illusive Gold in the past, this was the first time they’d been allowed to enter Gold’s bedroom, and it made their heart beat a thousand miles per second. The Old Man stood to the side, cradling his kid as he allowed Red and Purple to maneuver the… er, other Old Man into the twin-sized bed. He was barely able to fit, but once they set him on the mattress some sense of familiarity must have kicked in, causing him to curl in on himself to fit a little more comfortably. Once he was set down, Mango waltzed over and slowly, reluctantly, put his child to rest next to the bizarro world Mango. Immediately Gold curled around his father, her arms wrapping around him in search of comfort, and even unconscious the handsome version of Mango immediately returned the embrace.

Something sour slithered in Purple’s gut at the sight, a bitterness that immediately made them disgusted with themselves. As much as they coveted the same kind of love so easily given to Gold when they were feeling off, to feel this kind of jealously towards a dead kid… well, it wasn’t like they hadn’t known they were a bad person, but still. Not cool, Purple.

They were a little lost in thought, so Mango suddenly lugging himself up to the bed’s side to stare at the two intertwined sticks startled them. Though he was looking directly at them, the Old Man seemed to not see the two, instead staring at something far, far away.

“Uh…” Red’s awkward voice reached Purple’s ear, and they turned to look at the stronger stick as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. The old man didn’t seem to hear him. “So, I’m gonna go, uh, check on the others… yeah… we’ll be in the living room if you need us… uh, sorry again about your kitchen.”

Purple watched as Red sidled towards the door, staring at them with wide, unblinking eyes, as if expecting them to come at him. When nothing happened, he turned around and hastily walked back to the living room. That left Purple alone in the house’s forbidden room with an Old Man, an unconscious Old Man, and a ghost.

Swallowing past their nerves, Purple approached Mango and reached across the sudden chasm between them to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” They addressed softly. Mango didn’t so much as twitch at their touch. “Are you feeling okay?”

It took a moment for Mango to respond. “Sweetheart, I’m feeling a lot of things right now,” He droned, not taking his eyes off of the two sticks curled up on the bed, “and none of them are okay.”

Purple winced. Sweetheart only tended to come out when one of them was feeling particularly bad. Usually Purple themselves. Still, they pressed onward, “Yeah, that’s fair,” They agreed. Then, with a little hesitation, they asked, “How… how do you think Second… brought them here?”

Mango sighed, bring his hand up to hold his forehead. “I dunno. Cloning, maybe? They have art powers or something, right?” He stumbled back, and, thinking quickly, Purple pulled the chair from the nearby desk and got it to Mango just in time for the Old Man to collapse into it. Once he was seated, Mango nodded his thanks to Purple and leaned over the two bedridden sticks. “I’m not exactly in a state to think too hard about that.”

Okay, fair. Purple tried to think of something else – anything else – that they could do in order to make Mango feel better. After fumbling over their words for a moment, they eventually asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I think…” Mango’s breath hitched. “I think I just some time alone, kiddo.”

Something deep inside Purple shattered at the request. Still, they nodded obediently. “Okay, I’ll go check on the others, then. We’ll… be in the living room.”

Purple knew if they turned back to look at Mango, whatever they’d see on his face would push them to tears, so instead they kept their eyes trained on the floor as they walked out the door and shut it behind them. Despite their proclamation, Purple lingered for a few moments, just long enough to hear soft sobs come from the other side of the door. Their heart ached, urging them to go back in, to let him know that it would all be okay, but that single, weak request kept Purple’s twitching fingers at their sides. With great effort they forced themselves to trail back from the bedrooms, leaving the Ochre family alone to process the events of that day.

Once back in the living room, Purple was met with another tense scene. Each member of the gang was idling around in total silence. Green was sat by Second’s side on the couch, holding their hand and petting their hair as he watched them warily. Blue also hovered over their orange friend, fretting over them as she searched for any change in their condition. Red stood in place in between the armchair and the couch, tapping his foot impatiently. Yellow was the only one who was entirely still, slouched uncomfortably in the armchair with her foot propped on the coffee table. Her eyes were trained firmly on the wall opposite the couch. The air was thick with tension and nerves.

Steeling their nerves, Purple asked, “How’s everyone doing?”

“Okay,” Green murmured, briefly looking up to meet purple’s gaze.

“I’m good!” Red assured, plastering on a huge smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Blue assured gently, tapping her fingers on Second’s arm as she checked their pulse again.

“Peachy,” Yellow spat sarcastically, glaring at the ground.

Then, after a pregnant pause, all four turned towards Second’s unresponsive form. The tension returned tenfold.

Red finally spoke up, cutting off the pressure as he smiled awkwardly at the group, “You know, if Sec were awake, they’d probably say something like, ‘At least they let me sleep in for once’.” The turn of phrase was made in a terrible impression of Second’s voice, followed by a nervous laugh that quickly petered out, “Hehe, hehe, he…”

More silence.

“They’ll be okay… right?” Blue asked softly.

“Of course they will!” Cut off Green, looking mildly insulted at even the suggestion that they wouldn’t be. “They’re Sec! They’re always okay!”

Yellow’s already haggard face wrinkled, making her look far more tired than just a few moments prior. Her eyes reflected the ghosts of memories past as she once again cast her gaze away to avoid looking at Second. “Yeah,” She agreed absently, though she sounded like her mind was somewhere far, far away. “They’re always okay…”

Immediately Purple got the sense that they were missing a few pieces of the puzzle. Like, maybe half of the pieces. And the box. And it was was one of those obnoxious white puzzles, so it was hard to put together in the first place.

Desperate to escape the pressure of the moment, Purple’s eyes scanned over the group, and soon came to rest on Yellow’s ankle. Though mildly swollen, it didn’t look broken, so Purple hazard a guess that it only needed rest and icing. They piped up, “Um, why don’t I get you some ice, Yellow?” The query broke through whatever spell Yellow was under, dragging her mind back into the present.

Before she could respond Blue let out a sharp gasp, immediately turning to Yellow and waving her hands in a placating way. “Oh my gosh, Yellow, I am so sorry! I didn’t even think about that- I was so focused on Second that I forgot- I can’t believe I-!”

“Hey, hey,” Yellow consoled, sitting up straight for the first time, “It’s alright. We all know the rules: The one who’s hurt worst gets priority treatment. And it’s just a little sprain, it’s not like it’s broken or anything.”

“But still…” Blue kept her eyes trained on Yellow’s propped up foot, swallowing audibly past a lump in her throat.

Purple winced, mind racing as they searched for a way to cut through the tension, but Red beat them to it with a cheery, upbeat proclamation: “Personally, I blame Green.”

“What?” Green snapped back, looking vaguely offended by the accusation.

“You have two working legs,” He explained in a matter-of-fact manner, “You could’ve gotten up up at any time to take care of Yellow, but nooo…”

Purple snickered openly at the look on Green’s face, which only got louder when he turned his glare at them. Yellow, snorting, chimed in, “Yeah, Green, aren’t you supposed to be the responsible one?”

“Oh, we all know there’s no ‘responsible’ one!” Green put strong finger quotes around the word responsible, causing a wave of roaring laughter to engulf the living room. And just like that, the atmosphere grew lighter.

While the others fell into their normal banter, Purple used this opportunity to slip into the remains of Mango’s kitchen. The place certainly looked like a tornado hit it, with every object damaged in some way or another. Purple stepped around cracks in the ground and puddles of water splattered around on their way through, taking note of the damage as they went. Literally all of their cutlery and tableware was in pieces. The food processor was firmly embedded into the wall, its glass cracked and its cord swinging sadly in air. Purple stepped over the dented door of the microwave, and had to glance around for a moment to find the rest of it crunched up and tossed to the side.

Convincing insurance that a super-powered stick created a twister in the middle of their kitchen would be a pain in the rear, Purple mused as they sidled over to one of the cabinet drawers that had been forced out of its place. There they found a cloth rag, which they quickly grabbed before heading towards the tipped over, broken refrigerator. If they wanted a payout good enough to rebuild their kitchen to its former glory, they’d have to come up with a good story. The damage was too extensive to be explained by a burglary turned fight, so they doubted that would pass the smell test. A bear attack, maybe? Were there even bears in this area…? Honestly, the best thing Purple could come up with was an explosion. The microwave was relatively new, and still under warranty, so with a little ingenuity Purple was certain they could alter the scene of the crime to fit that narrative. Perhaps they’d even get a bit of a payout from the company that made the microwave.

Nodding in satisfaction, Purple paused in front of the fridge. They’d have to go over the story with Mango later to smooth over any mistakes, but they were certain they could get a full remodel covered with ease. The satisfaction the thought put on their face disappeared when they opened the freezer door a bit too roughly, resulting in it falling off its hinges and dangling from Purple’s hold. Gingerly they set it to the side and dug out a few pieces of melting ice to wrap in the cloth before finally making their way out of the kitchen to return to the others.

“-and so I said, ‘That’s positively blue-tiful!’” Red recited, and Yellow groaned lightly while Green and Blue cracked up. Somehow Purple got the feeling that they were laughing more at Yellow’s misery than whatever joke Red had set up.

Purple suppressed a smile as they approached, holding up the makeshift ice bag as if to explain their absence. “Thanks,” Yellow grumbled with a pout. She winced as the ice was set on her swollen ankle. “You got anything for the headache Red’s puns are causing?”

“Come on, Red’s just trying to make you feel better.” Purple scolded playfully, “It isn’t very ice of you complain.”

They almost cracked at the complete and total betrayal that befell Yellow’s face. “Purple,” She gasped in horror, “I trusted you.” Green, Blue, and Red all howled with laughter, Red even doubling over and clutching his side.

“That was your first mistake,” Purple informed her ominously, their grave tone in contrast to the wide grin stretched across their face.

A sudden, deep voice broke through the merriment. “I see you’re all doing well,” Mango noted, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. Purple could tell that his eyes had a hint of redness to them, but that was the only sign that there had been anything amiss. If anything, he was… too composed, which made Purple’s gut curl in on itself. How many times had the Old Man cried in secret, hiding his pain from Purple? How often had they stumbled across Mango post-crying session and bombarded him with their pointless complaints, completely oblivious to his suffering?

Their self-deprecating musing were ground to a halt when Mango made his way across the living room to Second’s side, taking a look at them himself. “How bad is it?” He asked.

“N-not that bad… no serious wounds or anything, I think they’re just drained,” Blue filled him in. She again checked Second’s pulse.

Mango hummed aloud, “Still, I’d rather be safe than sorry. We should get them to a hospital or something.”

“A hospital?” Green questioned, suddenly looking uneasy. It quickly spread to Blue and Red.

“Um,” Yellow interrupted, “Look, the details are too… complicated to get into right now, but that would be a really bad idea. Especially if they decided to isolate Sec.”

Red and Green both went pale. Blue looked close to tearing up. The argument Mango was clearly about to get into died on his lips at the sight, but he still didn’t look quite ready to let this go. Knowing how the old man worried and figuring that it wouldn’t be the greatest idea in the world to give a vulnerable super-powered stick to the government, Purple decided to step in. They moved from Yellow’s side to place a comforting hand on Mango’s arm, redirecting his attention back to them.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” They confirmed, “Sec’s got super healing powers, so they’ll be able to patch everyone up once they’re rested up.”

Still Mango looked unconvinced. I don’t know…”

“Trust me,” Purple pleaded, and they were pleased to see a little crack in the old man’s armour.

After a moment of hemming and hawing, he sighed, “Alright, fine, for now,” Mango agreed. The others slumped in clear relief at his resignation, “But if they’re not up by sundown, we’re taking them to the nearest doctor.”

“They will be,” Green stated with unyielding confidence.

Mango nodded, then glanced over at Yellow. “Your ankle isn’t broken?” He asked.

“Sprained,” She confirmed, “Just need to ice it and keep it elevated. I’ll be fine.”

Satisfied with that, Mango nodded affirmatively. He looked a little more at ease than he had been back in the kitchen. “That just leaves one more. Green,” Said stick flinched at being called out, “Hold still for a moment. You hit your head pretty hard back there. I want to make sure you’re not concussed.”

Purple winced. Come to think of it, they had heard a pretty hard thump after Second had exploded. Had that been Green’s head hitting the wall? There had been so much going on they’d barely taken note of it.

Nearby, Purple heard Blue whisper under her breath, “I didn’t even notice…” They didn’t respond to her, but placed a gentle, consoling hand on her shoulder.

Some simple questions were exchanged between Mango and Green, each one Green answered with ease and clarity. Finally, Mango asked Green how he felt, “I was nauseous and dizzy at first,” The musical stick explained, “But after I sat down and relaxed a little it went away. Now I just have a raging migraine.”

“Hmm,” Mango scratched his chin, “Well, try to take it easy, just to be safe. Head injuries are no joke. I’ll ask you again later, but so far you seem fine.”

Some relief returned to the room at Mango’s unofficial diagnosis. Red and Yellow tossed some concussion related jabs at Green while Blue smiled warmly down at him. Laughter returned to the living room, and it felt like their friends were finally at peace – save one glaring omission to the group.

They hoped Second would wake up soon.

--------------------

Line after line, form after form, their art came to life.

Through careful craft of masterful strokes, an animation came to be. Tiny little paws made contact with an invisible floor as a kitten was gently coaxed into existence. Nose pointed straight, tail upturned in the air. Little bits of fuzz were represented by stroke after stroke of line. The small kitten stood proud, ready to make the step forward, and The Second Coming looked down at her with pride. Then they clicked to the next frame, and began the process again. Frames of the same drawing were gradually altered, until the little kitten made her way across the ground in order to explore the brand new world she was brought into.

The Second Coming nodded at her, turned to save her existence, and came face to face with the Second Coming.

A reflection stared back at them, eyes aglow with soft emerald light. No words were exchanged – they were seldom needed when the Second Coming faced themselves. The quiet contained no tension, no fear. Only a sense of peace. Some moments passed, and then the mirror turned and walked away. The Second Coming tried to follow after them, as they were usually expected to, but a hand held up in a universal ‘stop’ motion kept them in place.

Carefully maneuvering down beneath them, The Second Coming waltzed through the timeline of the kitten’s animation without concern. Their gaze remained focused and forward until, quite suddenly, they stopped at the very first key frame of the animation. It held firm in place as they pulled at it, harder and harder, until a perfect copy was pulled free, along with a brief flash of a fresh, entirely blank timeline. Seeing the timeline empty of their creation caused a moment of panic in the Second Coming, which quickly quieted when they looked back to see the kitten sitting there, unharmed, licking her paws with perfect grace and serenity.

Quick as they’d made their way across the timeline the Second Coming returned, carrying the key frame with the same care as though it was the kitten herself. A hand gesture beckoned the Second Coming over, and the Second Coming joined themselves at the precipice of the timeline and the canvas. They looked at themselves, and their self looked down at the key frame. Gently their hand stroked the top of it, before it took hold and began to stretch it larger, and larger. The Second Coming leaned forward to get a closer look, and was rewarded with a kitten jumping into their arms.

The kitten stared up at them, mild confusion on her face. She also stared at them from across the canvas, hackles raised as she noticed her other self’s presence. In response the version of her in Second’s arms hopped down, carefully skirting around herself as kitten and kitten inspected each other.

For a while the Second Coming and the Second Coming watched as the two kittens came to terms with each other and began playing. Though they were the same kitten, they may as well have been simple litter-mates with how easily they came together. A tap on the shoulder drew the Second Coming’s attention over to their other self, who gazed at them with strong, unblinking eyes. They held up the key frame, then gestured to the kittens. The Second Coming followed their movements.

From the key frame…

To the kittens…

To the key frame…

To the kittens…

And the Second Coming understood.

--------------------

Second shot up from their resting position, crying out, “Holy heck I broke space time-!”

Just as they’d made it into a sitting position they froze. Pure, unadulterated agony spread across their entire body. Burning tears built up in their eyes, and Second desperately blinked them back even as their breath hitched. It was like every single one of their muscles were trying to pull away from their bones, burning as they struggled to break free.

“Ah…” They winced, and tried to ease back into a laying position. This only caused another flare of horrible pain from every muscle that was forced to move. “Ow, ow, ow…”

“Easy, Sec!” Blue consoled, the gentle heart being by their side in an instant. She carefully positioned her hands on their back and chest to help them back down. “Take slow, deep breaths… there you go, you’re almost there…”

Slow and steady, Second pushed past the pulses of torment to lie on their back. The worst of the pain faded, though uncomfortable aches still wracked their entire body. Following Blue’s advice, Second began to take in deep breaths, holding them for a short time before exhaling. Breathing clearly made it easier to relax their muscles, which in turn made the pain… not disappear, but lessen just a tad.

Blue was suddenly shoved to the side, and Red’s face appeared in her place. “Sec! Oh man dude, you had us so worried!” Out of the corner of their eye, Second could see Purple nod in agreement.

“Hey, give them some space!” Green scolded as he pulled Red back.

Yellow snickered, and Second tilted their head as much as the pain would allow to glance at her. She was sat in Mango’s ridiculously large armchair, her leg propped up on the coffee table before her with an ice bag on top. Looking over their friends, Second found that they were all sporting various bruises, cuts, and lumps. Even Mango, the least harmed of the sticks, had clearly irritated eyes and dark purple spots on his forearms.

They did this, Second realized. After everything, they’d hurt the people they cared about most. Again.

“Are you alright?” Mango’s voice, unusually kind, cut through the self-loathing that was starting to dominate Second’s thoughts. He towered over Blue as he gazed down at them. “I know you have healing powers, but it might be best to let a doctor look you over. I can get you to the hospital in less than ten minutes.”

“Hospital…?” Second repeated, swallowing down a fresh lump of nerves. A hospital meant doctors – scientists, men in coats, isolated in tiny space, don’t move, it’s for your own good… “N-no, I’m okay. I’ll heal myself once I’ve got a little more energy.”

“You’re sure?” Asked Mango. When Second made a small sound of affirmation, he relented, albeit a little reluctantly. “Alright, I’ll let it go for now… but I’d like to change the topic, if you don’t mind.” Mango took a spot on the couch, careful not to touch Second in any way. “What did you mean when you said you ‘broke space time’?”

There was a glint in Mango’s eyes that brought an entirely new sense of discomfort to Second, but they ignored it and did their best to explain, “It’s like I said,” Their throat was already beginning to ache from just this amount of talking, but it was easy enough for Second to ignore, “I- my powers used the picture as a sort of key frame, like in animation. You can jump between key frames to get to dynamic moments in the piece, to- to plan the pacing of-” Judging from the look on Mango’s face, Second guessed that they were getting a little off-topic and tried to steer themselves back on track, “Er, anyway, the key frame created a portal back to the moment it was created and- and basically made a ‘split’, to bring them back here.”

“A split?” Yellow asked, stroking her chin curiously. “So, does that mean they’re copies?”

Second shook their head instinctively, then winced at the resulting ache. “Not quite… it’s more like, I split the timeline? Since everyone’s memories of Purple and Mango are in tact and history clearly didn’t change, it’s likely I created an alternate worldline where those two sticks mysteriously vanished one day. You know, because I pulled them into the future.”

“Um…” Red looked completely lost, “Okay, can you explain that again, but in a way that makes sense?”

Thank goodness Yellow took point, because Second’s head was already aching, their thoughts spinning as they tried to come up with another way to put it. Instead they laid back and listened as Yellow explained, “It’s basically just alternate universes.” She stated smoothly. “Like, instead of the timeline exploding or all of our memories altering to account for Mango mysteriously being brought into the future, instead there’s another world entirely identical to this one, except that Mango and that other stick don’t exist there, because they’re here.”

“I’m still confused,” Red said.

“For now, just know that these are past versions of Mango and Gold Ochre.” Purple summarized, “But, man… that’s incredible. We knew you were strong, dude, but…”

Every pair of eyes was on Second, pinning them with a sudden pressure on their chest. More little murmurs broke out between Second’s friends, whispered words that they couldn’t quite make out, and Second forced their eyes shut. Unable to hear their friends’ conversations, Second’s traitorous brain filled in the blanks, shouting at them about how different they were, how dangerous they were. How they no longer belonged with these amazing, wonderful sticks. Second groaned and tried to drown out the chattering both in and out of their head, but it only made the voices louder.

Why did they have to be cursed like this? Why couldn’t they just go back to being normal?

“All that aside,” Green suddenly said, drawing attention back to him and away from Second. Freedom from the burden of being the center of attention muted the voices in their head, at least for now, “I think we’ve waited long enough, so I wanna know. Who the heck is Gold?”

Mango suddenly went rigged. He frowned coldly, glaring at nothing in particular, while Purple immediately moved to hover anxiously at his side. They reached to comfort him, but didn’t make contact before withdrawing and instead offering gentle reassurances. “It’s okay. I can explain if you-”

“She’s my kid,” Mango finally revealed. Everything went quiet as the news echoed in their thoughts. “He… died a few months before I met Purple.” Mango’s eyes suddenly darted up, meeting Second’s head on. “And you brought her back.”

An awkward feeling settled over Second, as though they were taking credit for something they didn’t do. “I hadn’t exactly planned that,” They reminded him, “I just wanted to fix what I broke.”

“Fix what’s broken…” Mango echoed, then huffed out a gentle laugh, “Well, you certainly fixed something. I don’t think I can ever repay this.” Some sort of weight fell off of Mango’s shoulders, and he gratefully smiled down at them. The weight of his appreciation sat heavy on their chest. It didn’t feel like they’d done anything but mess things up, and yet… they’d saved a life? The duality of their feelings clashed within Second, leaving them unable to vocalize their thoughts. Oblivious, Mango continued on, “Now it’s just a matter of… explaining this whole mess to them,” He visibly winced, “That’s gonna be ugly.”

Second, sensing the discord in his tone, immediately volunteered. “I can do it,” They proclaimed, ‘I’m the one who brought them here, so it only makes sense…”

“Appreciate the thought, kid,” Despite his words, the disapproval was clear through Mango’s tone, “but this is kind of a family matter. I wouldn’t feel right about having you do my job. Besides,” He tossed a side eye to Red, Blue, and Green, all of whom, Second noted uneasily, were watching them with very intense expressions, “I think if you try to get up off that couch, your friends are going to duct tape you to it.”

Unable to deny that, Second agreed, “Okay, fair enough,” Then they chuckled, “Heh, at least they’re letting me sleep for once.”

For some reason, Red burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Meanwhile Purple stood up, eagerly rushing to Mango’s side. “I’ll come help!” They offered.

“That’s not a good idea either,” Mango told them, and if he noticed how their entire form seemed to slump, he didn’t comment on it, “If I know myself as well as I think I do, then I know exactly how my past self will react to the news that Gold’s dead, and…” A haunted shadow fell over the old man’s eyes, “I don’t think you need to see that side of me again. In the meantime, hold down the fort here. I’m officially putting you in charge.”

“Wait, why’s Purple in charge?” Yellow complained.

Mango side-eyed the lot of them, as though they were the ones who’d almost blown up an entire video game world, “Because they’re the only ones I’m certain won’t try and get themselves killed the moment I’ve left.” Mango stood up and walked towards the bedroom hallway, paused for just a moment, and then picked something off of his bookshelf. A dusty relic, shimmering bronze in a painfully familiar circlet. A crown.

Probably Purple’s, though Mango didn’t seem to have any reservations about borrowing it. He waltzed out with only a wave backwards, which Purple echoed with drained melancholy.

Once Mango was gone, Red took his place sitting next to Second, plopping down with a raspberry. “So, what, we just wait around for them to wake up?”

Purple shrugged. “I guess-” They were cut off by a loud roar, fierce and angry like a lion, and Purple’s face started glow bright pink.

Yellow couldn’t help but poke fun at the suffering stick, “Aw, is someone a little hungy~?” She cooed.

“Agh, will you shut up?!” Snapped the mess of a stick, “I didn’t exactly get the change to eat after you guys showed up. We did make a lasagna, but…” Purple’s voice trailed off, and without further explanation they disappeared.

Oh yeah. In addition to all the other problems they’d caused, Second had ruined Purple and Mango’s dinner. It wasn’t much of an offense, in comparison to all the other events of that day, but it felt like the sour cherry on top of the melted garbage sundae.

Soon enough Purple returned, oven mitts covering their hands and a casserole dish carefully carried along with them. The look on their face was uncertain and vaguely disturbed as they presented what was supposed to be their dinner to the group. A perfectly normal, if underdone, lasagna, with the added twist that it glowed a sickly green.

“Uhh…” Second couldn’t tear their eyes off of the abomination. “Whoops.”

Red twisted away from the cursed creation, staring at it as though expecting it to attack. Green and Blue each approached to investigate themselves. Green’s nose wrinkled as he got closer. Uneasy silence covered the room as they all wondered just what Second’s power had done to the poor thing.

Then, at last, Blue shrugged and pulled a knife and fork out of nowhere. “Meh, I’ll still eat it.”

Everyone’s horrified expressions shifted from the monstrous creation to the monstrous stick. Green looked vaguely ill. “Dude,” He stared in disbelief, “That thing’s like, three different kinds of radioactive.”

“I’ve put worse things in my mouth.”

--------------------

Soft sunlight poured through the window, gently caressing Mango’s face with unseasonable warmth. His eyes fluttered open, his blurred vision gradually clearing to reveal the familiar sight of his child’s bedroom ceiling. Spending nights here wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, especially when Gold was younger and afraid of what might be hiding in the room’s darkest corners, but what bugged Mango were the holes in his memory. He and Gold had just returned from a tournament, that he recalled. They’d celebrated and begun planning dinner, and then… nothing. Just a deep-rooted sense of unease and a blinding green light assaulting his eyes.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Mango’s attention was immediately drawn to the divot in the mattress right next to him, where Gold was curled up at his side. She was unharmed – which thank goodness, but why would he think she was hurt? - and slumbering as soundly as she always did, her breath escaping in sweet little whistles.

“Gold?” He grabbed her by the shoulder and gave her a rousing shake.

Like the deep log-sawer she was, Gold grumbled and groaned at his prodding. Her face pinched as she resisted the toll of the living world, grumbling and groaning at Mango’s attempts to awaken her. “Five more minuteees…” She whined, pulling her pillow around her ears in an adorable fluff sandwich.

Though he couldn’t shake the nerves wracking his entire body, Mango found himself smiling at the adorable sight. “C’mon, honey, get up,” He nudged her a few more times, and she complied with a ridiculous amount of effort, picking herself up like she had suddenly doubled in weight. She let out a cute little kitten yawn, stretching up so high he was sure she’d reach the ceiling. Turing, who gave this kid permission to get so big? Mango would have to have words with them.

Once she got her bearings, Gold looked around and immediately put on a puzzled frown, “Mm, dad?” He asked, his voice shifting in a subtle way, “When did we go to bed…?”

“Still putting that together, hun,” Mango answered. There was an itching at the back of his neck, a nagging sense of forgetting something important, but whatever it was kept escaping his grasp every time he reached for it.The oncoming migraine was already clawing at his skull.

The sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the air, forcing every thought in Mango’s head to a grinding halt. Instinct had him throwing an arm up to push Gold behind him, only barely registering the kid’s gasp, before he turned to glare firmly at this intruder. Then his glare dropped in shock as he found himself face to face with… himself.

Or, at least, a man who looked nearly identical to him. Instead of neatly tying back his hair he let it hang haphazardly off his shoulders, with bangs and curls jutting in every direction. Dark shadows lined hie sunken eyes, with little hints of redness indicating a level of exhaustion Mango hadn’t felt since Gold was an infant. Even his clothes were a wreck; ever since Gold became old enough to start doing his own laundry Mango had made a point of keeping his own clothing as neat and pressed as he could, if only to set an example. So while the wrinkled, stained clothes didn’t turn him off as much as it would other sticks, it was certainly startling to see.

“Nice to see you’re both awake,” He commented coolly, not yet addressing the blatant elephant in the room. His voice was like a recording of Mango’s own, altered mildly to add some huskiness.

“Wait, dad? But you’re… and you…?” Gold’s head spun back and forth as he looked between his father and his father’s perfect doppelganger. The poor dear seemed so lost. Finally, he pulled his head over Mango’s still extended arm to whisper a little too loudly, “Dad, do you have a secret twin you never told me about?”

Before Mango could respond, Mango- the other Mango, ah heck, that was gonna get confusing – answered in his place. “Not exactly, honey. It’s a bit more complicated than that, but…” He stepped a little closer, and smiled a tiny, broken smile, “It’s so good to see you.”

A sinking weight began to form in Mango’s gut at the sound of his voice. There was sincere, unadulterated joy there, and while Mango would never be unhappy to see his kid, there was something under the happiness that was far more desperate than he was comfortable hearing in his own voice. His eyes, though darkened by the shadows of exhaustion, were shimmering as unshed tears reflected the sunlight.

“I understand why you might be confused. I’ll explain everything in a moment, but I’d like to begin by re-introducing myself.” To that end, his other self sauntered across the floor with surprising confidence for someone who was clearly such a mess, grabbing Gold’s nearby desk chair and spinning it around to sit backwards in it, in exactly the same way he’d always scolded Gold for, and placed some cheap looking prop crown atop his messy mane. “You may call me ‘King’. At least for now, so people can tell us apart.”

Gold blinked dumbly at his father’s doppelganger for a moment, then a bright, wide grin stretched across his face, “Whoa!” He cried out, pure excitement dancing in his eyes, “You look so cool!”

“You look ridiculous,” Mango informed him matter-of-factly.

“I know,” King stated, dramatically tossing his hair back with one hand. He didn’t specify who he was agreeing with, “But to get back to the subject at hand…” For a moment this King guy hesitated, slumping and folding his hands in his lap before eventually proceeding, “There’s no real way to ease you into it, so I’m just going to come out and say it: You’re in the future. About two years in the future.”

Mango could feel his eyes widen. Gold’s fingers dug into his arm as he gasped, “The future…?”

“Indeed,” Confirmed King, and his eyes crinkled in amusement.

This new knowledge had Mango looking over their surroundings with fresh eyes. Something about Gold’s room was different. Not in the sense that it had been rearranged or had needed repaired in some way, but that it felt… uncanny. It had a level of order that was very unlike Gold. There were no books left out, no school supplies haphazardly thrown around, no broken boards from Gold’s attempts to learn some new move. Everything was arrange like some sort of display room; too nicely, too neatly, contradicted only by the scent of dust lingering in the air.

King’s broken smile as he looked upon Gold came back to mind, and the knot in Mango’s gut tightened.

“Whoa, that’s- that’s crazy!” Gold pushed past Mango’s arms to crawl closer to King, totally enraptured by the infinite possibilities the future might bright. “Do you call yourself King because you rule the world? Has there been some kind of crazy apocalypse and you’re leading the survivors? Has the Internet ended!?”

Before Gold could take his hyperactive, overly imaginative questioning any further, Mango took the reigns and pulled Gold back by his collar, “Easy, Hon,” Mango scolded lightly, “Remember, it’s only been about two years. I don’t think the world would’ve ended in that time.” Much less Mango becoming some sort of monarch, but that thought was so ridiculous it didn’t need to be said. What idiot would make Mango a king?

King stood surprisingly rigidly, looking… too uncomfortable at questions he should’ve very well expected from his kid, “A lot can happen in two years.” He informed them both without any further elaboration.

“Still!” Gold pumped his arms up in excitement, his sunny smile shining so bright that even dull, downtrodden King seemed to lighten up, “You’ve gotta have so many crazy stories! Like that big fair coming up this summer,” That made King visibly flinch, raising so many more alarm bells in Mango’s head, “or-!” Gold gasped, “The next tournament! You gotta tell me how I’ll do! Do I win?! Did I screw it up?! How many people did I beat?!”

The look on King’s face was visibly pained, and the weight in Mango’s stomach became a black hole. It sucked in everything – his feelings, his attention, his damned air – as a terrible puzzle began to put itself together in his head. The dust on everything. The longing in King’s eyes. The exhaustion that encumbered every inch of his form.

No. No, I’m just imagining things. There’s no way-

A sigh, and King sunk in on himself, looking every bit like a monarch burdened with the weight of the world. “There are… some things you need to know. Don’t get up, this is going to be a long story…”

--------------------

Of all the things Purple had thought they’d be doing with tonight’s dinner, playing some odd combination of keep away and football was not what they expected.

The ball, also known as the ‘radioactive lasagna abomination’, was held high above Purple’s head as Blue stretched herself to try and steal it from them. It was all in good fun; Blue wasn’t seriously trying to fight Purple, and Green had decided it was safe enough to not risk worsening his potential concussion. Instead he sat off to the side, offering wayward advice and vague warnings to help keep the lasagna out of Blue’s clutches. Red was cheering over in vaguely the direction of the couch, more on the side of chaos than either of his friends. Meanwhile Second and Yellow, while initially entertaining themselves by watching, had quickly grown tired of the antics and were quietly talking amongst themselves about quantum… something? Purple wasn’t smart enough to be able to figure out what they were talking about from just the little snippets they could overhear. Not when they had to focus entirely on Blue.

The thing about Blue was that she was ever so slightly taller than Purple, tall enough that Purple had to lean back to keep the lasagna away from her. This inevitably lead to them losing their balance and falling flat on their face, nose inches away from the glowing casserole. Its smell smacked Purple with a repugnant odor, like the food was three weeks out of date, and they gagged involuntarily. How could Blue even want to put this disgusting thing in her mouth?

When they’d fallen Blue had landed on top of Purple, and it took almost no time for her to begin scrambling forth to get at the lasagna. Purple sharply butted her chin with their head and slipped out from under her to take hold of the dish once again. They were only up on their feet for a moment before Blue charged after them.

Panicked, Purple began frantically scanning all around the room, from table to window to houseplant, looking for somewhere, anywhere, to get rid of this radioactive time bomb before Blue could make the mistake of eating it. Finally they caught sight of the open window on top of the door, the same one Yellow had jokingly implied the group had entered through earlier, and without a moment’s hesitation they got into form and began to spin, building up momentum, all the while aware of Blue’s heavy footsteps stomping closer and closer. Just moments before Blue could grab them they tossed the lasagna like a discus, sending it flying over the door, out the window, and into Mango’s front yard.

Everyone froze. Silence fell over them all before slowly, gingerly, three sticks made their way towards the door. Green first, getting up off his chair to inspect the damage, then Purple, then Blue sheepishly trailing behind. The sun was starting to go down, but there was still plenty of summer sun warming their faces as they stepped outside. It took a moment to find the lasagna – the thing had flown roughly thirty meters once it exited the house, landing food side down in one of the neighbor’s flowering bushes.

...There was smoke coming from the hydrangeas. The entire plant withered in double speed; its leaves going black and stems drooping down. The delicate pink petals shriveled up and fell off. Soon enough those poor flowers were dead, a single wilted shrub amongst the rainbow that decorated the neighbor’s front lawn.

Silence reigned for a heavy second. Then Blue made a sound like a small ‘meep’, her hands flying up to stroke her jaw, as if verifying that it was indeed still in tact.

“...And this is why we don’t like it when you put random things you find on the ground in your mouth.” Green scolded, sounding more tired than genuinely angry. His fingers were massaging his temples in a vain attempt to stave off what was no doubt a resurgence of his earlier migraine.

Blue anxiously tapped her fingers as she murmured in acknowledgment, “Yeah, I’m gonna go try and get that pan back before someone notices… Sorry, Purple…”

With that Blue trudged out into the big stick world all on her own, tiptoe and tumbling across the lawn as though avoiding the gaze of some non-existent sentry. Nobody was present, of course – after moving in Purple began keeping meticulous track of the neighbors comings and goings, mostly for safety reasons but also for their own amusement, and knew none of the neighbors who would care would be home for several hours. Everyone else knew how to mind their own business, so Purple gave Green a casual shrug and made their way back inside.

If there had been any tension inside from the Great Lasagna Toss, it had completely dissipated by the time Purple had returned. Second and Yellow had roped Red into joining whatever conversation they were having, and though Red looked to be developing a migraine on par with Green’s, he seemed to at least be beginning to understand what they were talking about.

“So a ‘fixed timeline’ means that nothing you can do will altar the past and change the future, even if you tried to directly?” Red asked.

Yellow nodded, seemingly satisfied with how Red’s slap-dash time travel education was coming along, “Exactly. The most common reason for this is the single timeline theory. If you time travel, you will always have time traveled, and so the time travel was a canonical event from the beginning. But there are versions of this theory that say the universe will altar itself in order to course correct. Things can only go one way, and there’s no changing fate,” She hummed, stroking her chin, “That’s actually one of my primary concerns with the current situation. Maybe we can stop Gold from dying, but in doing so we may be condemning them to an even worse death later.”

Purple’s heart jolted in their chest. They jumped over to Yellow, startling the bright stick as she scrambled a little in response to their sudden closeness. “Hey, hi. Maybe don’t say that in front of the Old Man? Like, ever?” Without giving her a chance to respond, Purple continued, “I think he’s had enough mental breakdowns for one day.”

“Ngh…” Second groaned from where they were still laying on the couch. There had been some positive progress, in that they could now turn their head and make tiny movements without crying from pain, but they still couldn’t pull themselves up into a sitting position, “The more I think about this, the more I feel like I should be in there with him. I mean, I’m the one who brought them here, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” Yellow agreed, though her eyebrow was quirked up at the sickly stick.

Second continued to ramble to all the sticks presence, barely paying mind to Green when he joined them, having apparently gotten bored of watching Blue stealth across the front lawn, “He doesn’t even know about string theory, or multiple worldlines, or- or the risks of tearing a hole in space-time? Like, what if there’s some sort of backlash from using that much energy at once?” Second’s face grew more and more tense as their rambles continued, “Or what if there’s actually still a microscopic black-hole in the kitchen, and it could tear open and swallow everything at any time?! Or-or-” Seconds eyes seemed to lose focus as they gazed up at nothingness. Their voice got hoarser, their breathing harder, their speaking faster, “W-what if we were wrong about the multiple timelines thing, and the paradox of having past versions of two people here is slowly tearing the universe apart, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but the cold, endless void-?!”

“Whoa there, buddy, reel it back a little bit,” Red was the first to break free of the stunned stupor Second’s stream of madness caused, but once he did he moved to Second’s side to place his hands on their shoulders. Judging by how Second didn’t so much as twitch at the contact, his touch must have been unusually gentle, “You’re doing the thing again.”

Second’s eyes were bulging out of their face, but in a strange way their confusion seemed to ground them, forcing Second to focus on Red, “W-what thing?”

“You know, the thing,” Red leaned over Second to make sure they could see him as he continued, “That spiraling thing you do, where your train of thought hits, like, this tiny little pebble of random danger and goes flying off the rails into this insane paranoia tornado, until it goes crashing back down into the central station of common sense,” A grin fit for a clown spread wide across Red’s face as he described this phenomenon, “You know, that thing?”

Whatever the intention of Red’s comment, it at least got Second to calm down, even if it was only by making them more annoyed than worried, “I do not do that,” They insisted.

Green’s snickering laugh only increased the level of petty pout that Second was putting on, “You totally do, dude!”

“Majority rules,” Yellow added, smugly pushing her glasses up her nose.

In desperation, Second tilted their head towards Purple, “I don’t do that, right Purple?”

“I may not be a quantum physicist like you and Yellow,” The violet stick crossed their arms and leaned back, “but I am not stupid enough to get in the middle of this.”

Howling laughter erupted from the other three sticks, and Second sighed melodramatically, head slumping back on the couch, “I hate you all,” They declared in a weary sigh.

“Aw,” Red cooed, moving his hands to cautiously squish second’s face, “Is da wittle cwybaby feewing gwumpy?”

Second’s face lit up in a bright green blush, “What did I do to deserve this?”

Purple felt lighter as they laughed along with everyone. They hadn’t realized just how rigidly they’d been holding themselves until all that tension was forced out of them by a little dose of joy. That was the nice things about these guys; no matter how bad the circumstances, no matter what horrors life put them through, they always managed to come out the other side whole and together. What was it that got them through the tough times? Was it one anchor that held them together, like Second’s protective attachment, or Green’s compassion? Was it all of their good traits coming together, making something greater than the sum of their parts? Or maybe they just loved each other that much, that they could manifest happy endings for themselves by believing hard enough?

Envy scratched at Purple’s insides, just the same as it did every time they saw the colourful group together, but its insistent scratching got softer and quieter every time they got together. Though their earlier thoughts about Gold proved Purple was still a terrible person, they felt like being around the others was slowly, surely, making them better. At least, they really hoped so.

The merriment of the moment was interrupted by a loud, angry, “You son of a bitch!”, followed by a thump that seemed to shake the house.

Second was first to react, immediately trying to sit up, but Red vetoed that idea by pushing down on their shoulders roughly enough that Second winced. “Stay down, ya masochist!” He scolded, “We got this! Come on, guys!”

The prompting shook Purple out of their momentary shock to follow Red out of the room, heart racing. Heavy footsteps behind them indicated that Green was following as well, racing along in tandem through the side hallway where the bedrooms were. They filed past Mango’s Purple’s door to reach Gold’s, and Red yanked it open to exactly the sight Purple had been afraid of. The younger Mango had knocked down the older one, pinning him with his weight and attempting to punch his lights out. Old Man Mango was barely blocking his blows with his already bruised forearms, wincing visibly with every hit. Purple’s crown, once proudly displayed in the living room along with one of Gold’s trophies, had been knocked to the ground in the middle of the chaos.

Purple’s breath hitched.

“D-dad, please-!” Gold was crying, visible tears running down his face. Her entire body was shaking, “Please, c-calm down!”

“How could you?!” Younger Mango seemed deaf to everything, even his own child, at that moment, “How could you let this happen?!”

All Old Man Mango did in response was grunt as he was hit again.

Nobody was moving forward to stop this mess; Red and Green were utterly petrified, and Gold was clearly not in any state to do anything. So without further thought Purple leapt into action, barreling into the forbidden space and grabbing onto the younger Mango’s arm. The sudden touch had him turning his tearful, angry glare at Purple. Ice spread through Purple’s veins as their eyes made contact, freezing them in place for the entire half-second it took for Mango’s fist to connect with their face.

Pain exploded across their cheek and traveled through their entire head, and for a moment Purple felt so much younger, so much smaller. A tall stick, the same colour as the sunset the night sky towered above them, looking down at his their child with wild, frightened eyes. You need to get up, Purple! Their voice echoed through Purple’s ears, ringing heavily with each throb of pain, You need to fight, Purple! I can’t protect you forever, Purple-!

“Purple!”

Jolting back into reality, Purple blinked away their blurred vision and found warm orange replacing cold navy. The Old Man Mango had finally stopped letting himself be used as a punching bag and was hovering anxiously over them, hands reaching out but seemingly unable to bridge the gap between them. Beyond the clear horror, Mango wore guilt plain on his face, looking close to tears yet again. Over… Purple? Or scaring Gold, maybe?

Whatever it was, the hysteria of his current mood remained in the old man’s voice when he called out again, “Purple! Are you alright?!”

The throbbing pain lingering in their jaw, but at that moment all Purple wanted was for the Old Man to stop looking at them like they were some kicked puppy. The way his eyes bore into them, with lingering tears and intense focus, was making their heart clench painfully tight and their chest fill with a strange warmth. So Purple playfully smacked away his stalling hands and smiled their biggest, brightest smile, “Pfft, I’m fine. I’ve taken hits twice that hard when I was half this size.”

Mango retreated a little at Purple’s words, no longer bordering on the edge of hysteria but still looking very uncomfortable, “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but that’s actually doing the opposite.”

Not even bothering to hide their rolling eyes, Purple quickly surveyed the room again. Poor Gold was the first thing they noticed; their eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets as they covered their gaping mouth, horrified at what their father had just done. On the opposite side of the room, Green was being held back by Red. He glared daggers at the younger Old Man, who in turn was staring at Purple themselves with shock and… something else, something dark, that made Purple’s insides squirm in familiar fear.

Why? What did they do besides get punched out?

Some sort of accord seemed to have been reached between Red and Green, the two briefly nodding at each other in the corner of Purple’s vision before separating. Red lazily jogged along the outer edges of the room while Green approached the younger Mango and grabbed his arm roughly, “Well, since you two are clearly going to behave like children,” Green scolded as he dragged Young Mango over to Old Mango, only to do the same to him, “Then we’re going to have to treat you like children. Red!”

A sharp squeaking noise flooded the room, signaling that Red had yanked opened the closet door, and without further notice Green pushed both adults inside. Red slammed the closet door closed immediately once the two were inside, and Purple was joining in on their mutiny before their brain could fully comprehend what was happening, grabbing the knocked over chair from Gold’s desk and using it to prop the door shut. With the chair wedged firmly in place, the thumps from within the sealed room had no hope of breaking free.

“Hey!” One of the two old men called out from within, beating on the door with such force Purple could swear they could see it shaking, “Let us out of here, you damned brats!” The pounding of their fists against it matched the pounding of Purple’s heart as they realized Holy Heck they just locked their guardian in the closet-!

Red leaned against the door with a smug aura. From the safety of the outside he taunted, “Nope~! Naughty adults have to be punished in the time out zone~!”

“Listen, you little-!”

“Don’t bother,” A more tired version of the same voice reasoned with the angry one, “They won’t listen to you anyways.”

Maybe it was how calm the Mango he’d always known sounded in the midst of all this chaos, or maybe the shock of the situation was finally starting to wear off, but Purple suddenly found themselves grinning at this ridiculous situation, “C’mon, Old Man,” They teased, hearing a bristling repetition of the nickname from who they were sure was the younger of the two, “You know you can’t really come out of the closet until you truly accept yourself.”

Who the heavy sigh that followed came from didn’t even need clarification, nor did the mumbling of, “Purple, I swear to Turing-”

As Green and Red went over the security on the door to be sure the two fighting adults couldn’t just bust their way out, Purple found themselves turning back to Gold, who had been watching the entire circus play out with utter shock. Purple had guessed from pictures that they and Gold were around the same height, but the way he curled in on himself made them look so much smaller, so much more fragile. It wasn’t easy seeing a parent lose themselves to their own madness, Purple sympathized. Especially when learning about your own death was the catalyst.

So Purple approached and, making sure not to startle her by speaking too loudly, asked, “Hey, how are you doing?”

Gold jumped a little at suddenly being addressed, anxiously twiddling his fingers as he answered, “Uh, fine, I’m fine, I’m… sorry, I should’ve done something to stop them, or help, but-”

“I think we can excuse you for being a little… out of it today,” Consoled Purple. They felt like they should do comfort them – rub the kid’s shoulder, hug her, something – but the full weight of the situation kept them standing awkwardly still. Eventually, Purple managed to break the silence, “I’m Purple, by the way. I usually go by they/them.”

They held out their hand, and after a moment of silent staring Gold took it, “Uh, Gold. I’m- I’m a guy, at least for now. That’ll probably change, but I’ll let you know when it does.” Despite his clear discomfort, Gold forced a familiar smile onto his face. The family resemblance between father and son was so strong it would’ve been impossible not to see the Old Man in Gold.

“Thanks!” Red chimed in, sliding up to them from the side, “I’m Red, and that’s Green. We’re guys too! Mostly!”

Green rolled his eyes as he sauntered up behind Red. “Chill out, dude. C’mon, we should leave Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dork to their suffering and introduce Gold to the others.”

“Others? There are more of you guys?” Gold asked, too stunned to protest as Red and Green practically pushed him out of the room, “D-did my dad start an orphanage or something after I died?”

Purple couldn’t hold back their snorting laughter, “Nah, I’m the only one who lives here. Everyone else is just freeloading until further notice.”

---------------------

SO. Today hadn’t been going exactly like Gold planned.

He thought he’d be winning the tournament today, taking home a trophy just as golden and shiny as his colouring, but managed to flub it up at the last moment. Then, before Gold could even start to lick his wounds, he and his father were thrust years – literal years – into the future, where Gold was dead and his dad looked halfway to it. They’d gotten as far as the incident at the fair before his other father completely lost his marbles and began trying to beat himself to death, only for some poor other kid to suffer the consequences.

Now he was standing awkwardly in his own living room, so familiar yet so different, where a rainbow of strangers were hanging around with a variety of injuries.

“Blue’s not back?” Green asked as they all entered and wait, this wasn’t all of them???

One of them, a yellow stick with glasses, shook their head, “Probably still stealthing her way back. I’m sure she’ll-”

The front door exploded open with enough force that Gold was certain the old bat next door heard (if she was still alive after two years, dear programmers it’d been two years-), and a bright blue stick with a cheeky grin and one of dad’s new two year old casserole dishes held over her head triumphantly. “Behold! I have retrieved the evidence!” She looked around the room, stopped her gaze at Gold, and blinked owlishly for a long moment, “Uh, I feel like I missed something.”

Green openly snorted, “A few things.” He agreed, waltzing past Gold without concern to plop down next to the messed of a stick laying on the couch. Without even looking he took this stick’s hand and continued conversing with the blue stick, poking some eating related jab at them. Looking past them, Gold did a double take as he finally caught sight of the kitchen and holy heck what happened to the kitchen?!

A violet hand on his shoulder made Gold jump momentarily, glancing back to see Purple smiling kindly despite the fresh bruise on their face. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of Purple; they’d been so nice, even after Gold’s dad straight up punched them in the face. A part of Gold felt like they were taking advantage of Purple’s hospitality after what dad had done, but an even bigger part was grateful for something – anything – to cling on to in the middle of this insanity.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout the mess,” Purple gestured vaguely to the ruined room, shrugging, “As it turns out, time travel has some wicked side effects. Including literally exploding.”

The stick on the couch, who Gold had assumed was asleep (or maybe in a coma), mumbled an exhausted, “Sorry…” before rolling a little to better face the others.

“Ah, right, let me introduce everyone!” Purple leapt out from behind Gold to take center stage. It was obvious to Gold how they reveled in the spotlight, every gesture made being grand and graceful, “Firstly, presenting the perilous potion pilferer, the gluttonous god of the grill, the mighty Miss Blue!” The blue stick had seated herself on the arm part of Dad’s armchair, snickering at Purple’s introduction, “Sitting next to her, measuring up at a whopping 1500 grams of brains and 50 grams of muscles-”

“Hey,” The Yellow stick warned, not bothering to wipe the amused smile from their face. Gold brought a hand up to his mouth to help hold in his giggling.

“-Her sassiness, the Unyielding Miss Yellow!” Purple spun around the armchair to stand between it and the couch, “Now, you’ve already been introduced to the Wrathful Red,” Purple presented Red who, despite his title, was grinning like he’d just won the lottery as he posed, “And Green the Guileless!” Green rolled his eyes playfully, “But be prepared, for our last friend is certainly not our least. They are the world’s deadliest mom friend, a hot-headed herald of hibernation…” Purple presented the stick on the couch with jazz hands, “The Second Coming~!”

The others let out a round of whoops and hollers that didn’t seem particularly appreciated by this Second Coming character, who waved everyone off with a grumpy frown. “You can just call me Second,” They informed Gold in a mumble. While they weren’t as visibly injured as everyone around them, they made up for that by looking deathly ill. Their eyes were practically swallowed by dark circles, and their exposed flesh was clammy and pale.

Dropping the act, Purple seemed a little more serious as they informed him, “Second’s the one who brought you here with their super powers. It kinda drained them.”

Gold’s mouth was open before he could even fully take in the information, “Oh, so that’s why they look like a drowned cat.”

Immediately his eyes bulged out of their sockets, and howling laughter flooded the air from the other sticks. Why did he say that?! What in the Outernet made him say that to the stick who SAVED HIS LIFE?!?!

Second looked like they were suppressing a grimace, “Gee, thanks.”

Waving his hands frantically, Gold immediately tried to eat his words, swallow them, anything to take them back and redo his introduction, “I am SO sorry! I-I don’t even know why I said that, that was SO stupid-!”

“Hey, hey,” Second awkwardly consoled, slowly lifting themselves up into a sitting position. Everyone who could stand immediately stood at attention, watching their change of position with hyper-vigilance, “It’s okay, let’s just… start over,” They lifted their arm with shaking effort, managing a grin for Gold, “Hi, I’m Second.”

Feeling a little relief wash over him, Gold reached over and carefully took his hand, giving it a light shake, “I’m Gold. It’s nice to meet you.”

Second’s eyes remained trained on Gold’s face the entire time, watching him as if looking for something, and Gold’s muscles locked up as he struggled not to look away. It felt like those emerald eyes were trying to pierce through his very soul. After a moment, a wide smile spread across Second’s face, “What’s wrong? You look like a cat that’s about to be drowned.”

Everyone laughed even longer and louder than before as Gold’s jaw dropped. Once his brain caught up with the present, Gold found himself joining in on the merriment, “Okay, okay, that’s fair.” He agreed. Green’s arm slung around his shoulder, and Gold found himself feeling surprisingly warm. Despite how crazy his life was right now, even with his dad locked in the closet for actual assault, Gold found himself feeling genuinely relaxed. He felt like… things would be okay.

A pained stomach grumbling out interrupted Gold’s thoughts, and everyone turned to Purple with various levels of amusement. “Geez, you still haven’t shut that thing up?” Green teased, his arm still around Gold’s shoulders.

“With what?!” Purple asked, “In case you haven’t noticed, the kitchen’s still wrecked!”

Gold perked up a little. All this time he had been allowing himself to be drawn along by the chaos, going along with everyone else and allowing himself to be comforted by the generosity. But this was Gold’s house too, and a little nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that Gold had the power to give back, at least a little, for everything they’d done for him. Like giving him comfort and taking his mind off things and saving his damn life.

“Ooh! I can handle that!” Gold informed the others triumphantly, before pulling away to sprint towards the living room’s bookshelf. Once it had been neatly arranged; there had been a separate shelf for dad’s manuals, dad’s novels, Gold’s novels, and Gold’s comic books, but now books of various genres and owners were mixed up. There were also books about flower meanings and game guides mixed in, as well as novels from medieval fantasies that Gold assumed were Purple’s, on account of this being a genre neither Gold nor his father were into. But pressed against the very same spot as it was two years ago was One Hundred and One Ways To Pick Up Sticks. Dad had told Gold it had been a tasteless gift after a bad breakup, but it did have its uses. Like, for example, being ridiculously large and thick for the type of book it was.

Gold opened the hollowed out book and took a wad of the large amount of cash – not as much as two years ago, he noted, but still plenty – before turning around to wave the fistful of bills for the others to see. Yellow’s eyes lit up as she squealed, and everyone else seemed to freeze in place at the sight of real money.

Purple’s mouth fell open in shock, “Wait, he had a secret stash this whole time?!” They scowled, “That cheap Old Man…”

“Nice!” Blue recovered first, grinning wickedly. She rubbed her hands together and licked her lip. On the opposite side of Yellow, Green and Red exchanged a high-five, grinning wickedly.

Only Second seemed to hold some reluctance, “Uh, is it really okay for us to use that?”

“Geez, you really are the mom friend,” Purple rolled their eyes, plopping down on the couch near Second’s feet.

Still, the worried look on their face was making Gold’s stomach squirm, so he held up a finger and declared, “Well, why don’t we ask him?” Turning towards where his bedroom was in the house, Gold raised his voice and shouted, “Hey, Dad! We’re gonna use some of the emergency fund to order out! If that’s not okay, say something!” Gold held a hand up his ear to amplify his hearing, and waited.

And waited.

And waited…

After a few more seconds of nothingness, Gold shrugged, “Guess it’s okay.”

Second weakly smiled in response, “Heh, alright then.” Their eyes fluttered a little, trying and failing to resist the siren song of slumber.

“Pizza cool with everyone?” Purple asked, already pulling out a cellular device. It was sleek and dark, with a protective jacket covered in adorable stickers. After receiving a round of affirmations, they nodded and began dialing.

“Oh, make sure no meat for me!” Red suddenly piped up.

Blue nodded thoughtfully, “I’ve never gone full vegetarian with a pizza. That actually sounds pretty good!” She licked her lips, no doubt imagining the taste of red sauce and vegetables on her tongue.

“I’m good with whatever,” Green piped up, “But make sure to get something simple for Sec. They tend to like the more traditional pizzas, and they’re already not feeling well, so…” His hand found its way to Second’s head, gently petting through the long orange tangle of hair, and Second subconsciously pushed back into his touch.

Purple nodded along to their requests, taking clear note, “Okay, so we’ll get three pizzas. One classic pepperoni, one veggie…” Gold perked up, and quickly leapt to interrupt Purple and get his own favourite pizza added on.

“Oh! Oh! Could the last one be Hawaiian?”

“-And the last will be Hawaiian, obviously.”

The two sentences, spoken in perfect harmony, echoed through the living room as Purple and Gold’s eyes met. Silence lingered in the air between them; It held no awkwardness or tension, only a strange sense of warmth and understanding. Somewhere deep inside of him, Gold could feel the spark of a new bond ignite.

Purple smiled, sauntered over to Gold’s side, and tossed an arm over his shoulder, “Goldie,” The violet stick smiled as they cheerfully proclaimed, “I think you and I are gonna get along juuust fine.”

---------------------

Thump.

“Arg… come on!”

Thump.

“Why won’t this stupid thing-”

Thump.

“Open?!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Behind Mango, the so-called King sighed from the spot on the ground where he’d made himself comfortable, “Give it a rest. Those kid’s aren’t going to make it so easy for us to get out of here.”

Spinning around on his heels, Mango glared furiously at this pathetic future version of himself. How could he just sit there, all poised and collected like their his child wasn’t out there, alone, grappling with the knowledge of his incoming death and stuck with a bunch of strangers. If anything he seemed… detached, staring at the wall in front of him without an ounce of concern for what was going on. The expression on his face was completely and utterly devoid of emotion.

His blood began to boil.

“Maybe it’d be a little easier,” Mango sneered out under his breath, “if you did anything other than just sit there, you useless piece of-”

King cut him off, “Oh, shut up. You’re giving me a migraine.” As if to emphasize this point, King began digging his fingers into the temples of his skull, “Take it from someone who’s been there: You don’t want to fly off the handle at any little thing. Trust me, you’ll end up regretting it.”

Spinning on his heels, Mango leveled a glare at King. “This isn’t any little thing!” His fists twitched at his side, begging Mango to let them fly forth, to punish, to hurt. He held off for now, “This is my baby! My Gold! Dying! How could you not be furious?!” Just the thought of Gold’s suffering constricted Mango’s lungs in his chest, making each inhale of air a fight, “How could you just let this go?! He’s the only good thing in this cursors damned world, and he’s gone!” Turmoil churned in Mango’s gut, making him vaguely nauseous. He pushed through the pain, spitting it all back out at King, “He was pulled into some game attraction, glitched out of existence, and you just sat back and watched! YOU LET HIM DIE!”

He could see it now. Gold, pushing back against the pull of that accursed game, desperately reaching out to him, Dad! Dad, help me! I’m scared! Before his body would be overwhelmed by the errors, horror and pain spreading across his face as he was eaten alive-

Struggling to speak against his own heaving lungs, Mango’s volume lowered as he growled, “I don’t care what you say, I am not you. I would never sit back and do nothing while my child was murdered.”

Throughout the tirade, King didn’t once speak up. Didn’t so much as twitch. He kept his gaze level and even on the wall opposite of him. “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already told myself,” He responded coolly, far too coolly, once Mango was done. His vacant, uncaring eyes wouldn’t meet Mango’s, which boiled his blood hotter, “But I’ve been where you are. I know exactly how you’re feeling, and I know that giving into that anger will just make things so much worse. If you don’t cool off, you’ll end up doing something you regret.”

“Regret more than letting my kid die?” The idea was almost laughable, if it wasn’t so painfully stupid.

Finally King got off his lazy butt, standing and at last meeting Mango’s eyes. They were as cold and empty as King himself. “Earlier, when that kid tried to stop us from fighting, you swung your fists without even looking,” The phantom pressure of that child’s face danced across Mango’s knuckles, causing him to flex his fingers on impulse. He supposed the kid had been innocent in all this, but it was hard to feel bad when he’d caught the look on his future self’s face; how could he have so much concern for this random bystander when his dead baby was right there? Oblivious, King continued, “Did it ever occur to you that it could have easily been Gold who’d tried to stop us instead?”

Now that made Mango’s blood run cold, because he was certain his future self was right. If those kids hadn’t run in to interfere, Gold would’ve tried to stop him as soon as the shock wore off. That was the kind of kid Gold was; sweet and selfless. And then he would’ve punched his own child.

Pushing that thought of his head, Mango immediately redirected, “Are you sure it’s Gold you’re worried about? Because you seemed awfully concerned about that other kid… Purple, was it?” King’s brow furrowed in irritation, and Mango felt a small bit of pleasure in finally getting a reaction out of him, even if it confirmed his worst suspicions, “Who are they, anyways?”

“They’re…” King tripped over his tongue, looking away from Mango as he no doubt realized what Mango had, “It’s complicated…”

“Doesn’t seem too complicated to me,” Mango stepped into the other’s space, backing him into the wall. For a so-called King, he didn’t seem to have any of the qualities of a king: the decisiveness, the bravery, the poise. He was just a cowardly old man, with fear in his heart and sweat on his brow. “It seems like you just picked up some random kid off the street to fill the hole in your life,” King seemed to bristle at that, which only spurred Mango on, “You disgusting, pathetic bastard. What kind of father are you, to just forget your child and replace them with-”

That was as far as Mango got before he was thrust against the opposite wall, a bruised arm threatening to crush his windpipe. The King’s eyes had gone wide and wild, like a feral dog’s, and Mango reveled the fury, “Purple is NOT a replacement for Gold,” He growled, voice low and dangerous, “No one could EVER replace Gold.”

Despite the pressure on his throat, Mango gave the other his biggest, smuggest grin, “What was it you said about giving into anger?”

The single sentence caused King to remember himself, and he quickly retreated, leaving a vacuum of tension between them. He sighed, and attempted to wipe the anger from his eyes, and didn’t quite succeed, “I know how you feel because I’ve been there,” King grumbled, “Do not presume to know how I feel in return. Purple is not Gold. They will never be Gold, and I don’t expect them to be Gold. I was going to tell the full story before you lost your shit, but to make it short, after Gold died, I… hurt people. A lot of people,” As he spoke, King’s eyes lost focus, staring at the wall in front of him without seeing anything, “I was going to kill them. I was going to kill myself. And I failed because of Purple. They saved me. I owe them my life- No. My life isn’t valuable enough. I owe them so much more than that.”

A ghost of a smile formed on King’s face. Mango’s stomach turned. How could this… sick monster smile while his baby was dead?

“I’ve already been angry about Gold’s death,” Continued King. He sounded less angry with every sentence, which began eating away at Mango’s limited patience yet again, “I know what that feels like, what it does to me. But this isn’t a time to be angry. Thanks to this… miracle, I have a chance to change fate. I’m elated,” King’s hand reached up to brush his too long hair out of his face, smiling softly, “I can save my child.”

“My child,” Mango interrupted insistently. Owlish blinking was what he got in response, and he sharpened his glare as he elaborated, “Your child, if you’ll remember, is dead. Gold is my kid, and I’m not going to become you. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

King pressed his lips together thinly and stared at Mango, but did not protest. “Fine. Whatever,” He brushed off, “That’s not what’s important. The only thing that matters right now is Gold,” For once, the King was speaking sense, “I won’t try to make you like me, or pretend that’s even possible. But for Gold’s sake…” An empty hand reached out, an olive branch of peace, “We’ll need to work together.”

There was no need to elaborate further. This King was his and Gold’s only connection in this world. It was still unclear if there was a way for the two to return to the past. They’d need a safe place to say, and while this had once been Mango’s home, it now belonged to King. Two years was not a terribly long time, but it was more than enough to rock their worlds upside down. They’d need to rebuild everything from scratch, and as much as he loathed this carefree version of himself, this King who as good as murdered his own child when he turned his back on Gold, they needed the safety and security he could provide. Furious as Mango was, he at least maintained enough pragmatism to see that.

So Mango stared the Usurper of his home in the eyes, and took the offered hand, “Fine. For now. But the second I’m on my feet, I’m taking MY kid and we’re leaving.”

“As long as Gold’s safe and happy,” The King smiled a weary smile as he shook his hand, “That’s all that matters.”

Once the truce was firmly established, Mango pulled his hand from King’s grip and wiped it on his shirt. King took this opportunity to gently shove his way in front of Mango to inspect the sealed door. He first tried the knob, then knelled down and began banging at the door in random spots. “If you’re trying to break through, you’re going to need more force than that,” Mango advised, folding his arms, “I figured if we both hit it in tandem-”

“We’ll break down the door,” King put a single finger up, shushing Mango like a child, and then he beckoned with his hand to his seething younger self, “but before we resort to destruction of property, hand me one of those hangers, will you? I want to try something.”

Automatically, Mango reached up and took hold of one of the wire hangers. Letting this bastard boss him around was far from Mango’s idea of a good time, but at this point he just wanted out of the stupid closet.

King spun the wire hanger and began to methodically deconstruct it. Even the weakest of sticks were more than strong enough to bend the metal without use of any special equipment, so it was only a matter of seconds before King had untwisted the hanger out of shape. He then carefully bent the top into a hook-shape and slipped it through the crack on the side of the door. Mango leaned against the wall and simply watched. He was more than capable of putting together the plan, but wondered if it would really work, or how long it would take for Mango to take hold of the chair. If the wire metal would even have enough hold to pull the chair down with breaking or bending out of shape.

It did, in the end, but it took long enough that Mango had begun to nod off while leaning against the wall. The crash of the chair meeting the floor had been what startled him back into the world of the waking. Once his eyes were open, Mango’s eyes met King’s, and it was only then that he’d realized that his response had been to jump at the sound. There was an unpleasant crinkle of amusement around the foolish King’s eyes as he stepped out, took back his crown, and mockingly bowed.

Smug bastard.

---------------------

Madame Marrone’s Pizzeria wasn’t the best pizzeria Purple had ever eaten at. Heck, it wasn’t even the best one in delivery range, but it was fast and cheap and good for what it was, so it was Madame Marrone’s chocolate brown visage on their pizza boxes when they’d finally arrived. Everyone was eager to dig in, and despite the initial scramble for the best, hottest slices, everyone worked in tandem to best serve each other. Green poured soft drinks with showmanship and flair, and Blue took care of Yellow and Second, so that they could get their fair share despite not being able to stand.

The Hawaiian pizza, which everyone else had stupidly left untouched, was shared equally between Gold and Purple. The Old Man had stared a hole through Purple’s head the first time they’d ordered pineapple pizza, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. And now that they knew the reason, Purple could barely contain their laughter. Who’d have known that the crotchety Old Man would have such an amazing kid?

Because he did. Have an amazing kid, that is.

Over pizza, it became obvious to Purple why Gold’s loss had hurt the Old Man so deeply. It wasn’t just that Gold was his kid – it was because Gold was a one in a million child, especially kind and especially sweet. They had only known the gang for a few minutes, but they already fit in far faster than Purple had. It was like they’d always been one of them, joining in the jokes and ribbing as if it was second nature. Watching them interact made Purple feel cold and lonely.

They were a bad person.

Gold told them all what the Old Man had shared, and it had quickly become apparent that they’d only gotten partway through the tale before the Old Man who would be known as Mango assaulted the Old Man who would be known as King. The fact that Gold had no idea who any of them had been should have been Purple’s first clue, but in their defense they’d had more important things to focus on at the time. They’d only managed to get to the point of Gold’s demise before the chaos had broken out.

Red had winced, hearing the details of Gold’s passing. “I’m sorry, man,” He sympathized, “Minecraft glitches are rough.” Though the Booth Thirty incident and the ‘Herobrine’ incident were two very different circumstances, it was likely the closest any of them could ever come to understanding what Gold went through.

“It’s not like I actually experienced that,” Gold shrugged off the show of empathy. They’d all rearranged themselves after the pizza had arrived, and Gold had taken over the arm of the Old Man’s armchair, right next to Yellow. “But it’s so weird to think about. I mean, I knew death was a thing, obviously, but I’ve never even lost someone before. I’ve never thought seriously about what happens after death. Have you guys?”

Nobody seemed to be in a rush to answer that question, only exchanging nervous looks amongst themselves. Yellow stared directly at Second, while Blue and Red leaned in closer to them and Green took their hand. The group had all had their near death experiences in the past, but this didn’t feel like that. It felt like earlier, when the idea of taking Second to a hospital was brought up. Like they were keeping something from them.

Ignoring the tightening knot in their chest, Purple spoke up to finally respond to Gold. “I have,” They confessed. It was hard to avoid that topic, when your last remaining family was slowly fading away in front of your eyes, “They say when data’s deleted from a hard drive, it’s never really completely gone. That some trace of it always remains. I don’t know if that’s true, but I want to believe it is.”

Because it meant, in some way, that Purple’s mother had remained with them after her death. That Purple hadn’t been entirely alone. It was a cold comfort in the darkest of nights, when Purple had no company but the chilling moonlight, but a comfort nonetheless.

“I… hope that’s true, too,” Gold agreed.

It occurred to Purple that they could tell the rest of the story right then and there. The details they’d been missing from the Booth Thirty Incident had been covered by Gold’s retelling of the event, and everything else they’d been present for. But the look on the Old Man’s face when he left to finally speak with Gold, that utterance of ‘This is a family matter’, muted their voice. It wouldn’t be right for Purple to tell Gold what they’d done. That was- that was King’s job. From family to family, no room for anyone else.

...Purple was a really bad person.

“Well, personally, I don’t,” Yellow declared, “I can barely handle one Green. The army that would arise from his many, many foolish Minecraft deaths? No thank you.”

Green scoffed at Yellow’s complaints, “You’re just jealous. You couldn’t possibly compete with an army that awesome.”

“H-hey…” Second’s mumbling broke through their ribbing, “Can we maybe change the subject? I’m not really up for talking about this right now…”

A round of worried looks passed around the room. While Purple lacked context for many of the group’s misadventures, they knew Second well enough to know that the fact that they were asking so pleasantly was more of a red flag than anything else they could’ve done. The group instead decided to tell Gold a story from their shared history. It seemed subconsciously unanimous that they not share the memory of their first meeting, what with Purple leaving Blue and Green to drop down a pit and then getting their first home in years burnt down. That could come later, when there was a little less tension to go around.

So instead they told some tales from League of Legends, a place renowned for its lack of sportsmanship but where, ironically, Purple and their friends had some of their most pleasant memories. Purple themselves took the limelight, being the experienced storyteller that they were, and weaved a tale of swords and sorcery to enrapture the bright golden stick. Green hopped up and joined as co-host, abandoning his second slice of pepperoni at his spot, while the others chimed in at timely moments. Red interrupted with humorously over-embellished assertions. Yellow added a dash of sarcasm to every mistake any of them made. Blue would defuse the little tension that popped up with expert ease. Even Second, as exhausted as they were, acted as the straight man for their comedic shenanigans. Between the six of them, it was all too easy to make Gold bust a gut.

This was the state the two Old Men found them in, when they finally escaped their imprisonment. The one who Gold told them would keep the name Mango was first, crossing the room in long, quick strides before anyone could even register that he was there. The second he was able to he took Gold in his arms, peppering his face and curls with sweet, soft little kisses. Gold giggled and laughed and proclaimed his embarrassment, but Mango didn’t relent, only holding on all the tighter.

…Purple was a really, really bad person.

The Old Man who would be King emerged afterwards, staring at the embrace between father and child with a wistful wanting that made Purple’s stomach turn. It was so obvious how much he yearned to be his other self, to be able to hold his real kid tight and never let them go. Then, in the blink of an eye, the mask of a calm, collected king slid onto his face. He adjusted his crown, pushed back his bangs, and began marching straight towards Purple.

“’Bout time you broke out,” Purple said in lieu of a proper greeting.

The backhanded remark was barely acknowledged. Instead Old Man King tenderly took Purple’s face into his grip and inspected the still sore side where the punch had landed. A strange tingling sensation drew Purple’s gaze over the old man’s shoulder to the other old man, glaring daggers at them from over Gold’s fuzzy curls, and they couldn’t help the flinch in response.

Whether or not King could feel it too was unclear, but he shifted positions to block Mango’s view of Purple, and they allowed themselves to relax a little.

“It’s not as bad as I’d feared,” King spoke in clear relief, though his small smile was dampened by clear hints of guilt, “How do you feel?”

Eager to clear that remaining fog of regret from the Old Man, Purple scoffed and tossed their hair back, preening dramatically, “Alas, despite Mango’s best efforts, the curse remains in full effect. I’m still tragically beautiful.”

King snorted, “At least your ego’s still in tact,” He then glanced down at the plate of pineapple and ham pizza sat nearby. It was Purple’s third slice, which they had no shame about. It wasn’t like they’d have to share with anyone but Gold (and maybe Blue, though she seemed content with her veggie pizza), “Ah, you ordered out?”

“Yup!” Purple chirped, breaking away easily from the Old Man’s fragile hold to take their food, “We tried to salvage the lasagna, but…”

“It killed a bush,” Blue blurted out, a haunted look in her eye as she recalled just how close she’d come to swallowing the rancid thing.

Both Mango and King wore comically identical expressions of shock at the news. King, more used to their mayhem than his younger self, broke free of his stupor first. He sighed and buried his face in his palm, “Of course. Of course it did. If the neighbors ever sue me because of you brats, I’m dragging you all down with me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time!” Red chirped, like he was referring to casual criminal mischief and not that time King nearly killed them all. Purple couldn’t help laughing along with the others as they all cracked up. Nearly dying hadn’t been funny at the time, obviously, but among the many lessons these chaotic gremlins had taught Purple was that it was important to be able to look back at your pain and find the joy in it. It hurt, but it also gave Purple everything they had today, so it was hard to see it as all bad.

Someday, they mused, looking up at King’s grimacing face, they’d manage to convince the Old Man of the same.

For Gold, however, all the vague reference and laughter caused was confusion. “What do you mean?”

It had been so easy to forget, in the wake of all the revelry, that Gold still wasn’t aware of everything that had gone down. Purple could see the Old Man tense and pale as he realized what was coming, and without thinking Purple immediately took his hand, folded behind his back where nobody could see. They squeezed it tight, pouring all their care into their grip, letting the Old Man know, in their own way, that they were here, right here, and that it would all be okay. He wasn’t alone anymore. Their reward was seeing King slowly relax, his shoulders slouching and his breathing smoothing into an even, pleasant rhythm.

After a moment of drinking in each other’s comforting presence, King released Purple’s hand and exhaled, “I’ve brought this up to… your father before,” There was a strange intonation to those words, your father, and the implications made Purple frown, but they didn’t interrupt, “But there was more to the story I was telling you earlier. Things that happened after you died. You… deserve to know.”

Mango looked to the side. It wasn’t clear how much King had revealed to him, but it was enough for him to avoid his child’s confused eyes searching him for answers.

“Oh boy,” Yellow sighed, pushing back into the armchair and making herself comfortable, “Green, pass me another drink. This is gonna be a long one.” Green did so, and everyone made themselves comfortable on the couch. With tender care Second was shifted over to make enough of a spot for Purple to take a seat on the couch, which they did with a grateful smile. King grabbed the desk chair and took over Purple’s spot at the center of attention. Unlike Purple’s showmanship and jolly energy, however, he held himself solemnly, like a man trudging along to the guillotine.

It took them a moment to settle down enough for King’s satisfaction, and once they did he sighed and began, “When you… died,” The light in King’s eyes completely left him, “I lost everything I had. My hopes, my dreams, my faith in this world… it was all gone. How could I hold on to any of that when my baby was dead…?” Unrestrained tears fell from the Old Man’s eyes, and Purple’s fingers itched with the desire to reach out, to take his hand yet again. But the eyes around them, the burning anger in Mango’s face, the repetition in their head of ‘this is a family matter’ kept them frozen in place.

Gold, however, had no such restraints, and even Mango’s hold couldn’t stop the bright stick from slipping out of his grasp and over to King. His arms wrapped around the Old Man’s neck, grounding him with the pleasant weight of warm sunshine. Purple’s fingers dug into he fabric of their pants, wondering why couldn’t they just be happy to see that? Why did it hurt so bad? Why couldn’t they just be a good person?

“I’m so sorry, Dad…” Gold cooed, and King’s breath hitched, “I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.”

“Oh, honey,” Even through the tears, King managed to smile for Gold, “You never hurt me. Losing you was painful, but that was not your fault,” Purple turned to glance at Mango, and found him frowning in open displeasure at the sight before him. Well, at least Purple wasn’t the only bad person. King allowed Gold to hold him for a moment longer before gently, reluctantly, pushing him back, “but… please go sit down. I need to finish telling the story.”

With a great amount of effort, Gold broke away, sitting down next to where Mango was standing. The second he was within arm’s reach, Mango had him back in his embrace, holding him tight so he wouldn’t disappear again. His worried eyes stayed glued to King the entire time.

“Nothing mattered anymore. All I could think about was that moment, that terrible moment where I’d lost everything… I saw it every time I closed my eyes, every time there was a red light or a blaring alarm, every time I saw that cursed game symbol. It was all could think about. Every day and every night for… who knows how long. I was hurting, and I wanted to hurt the monster that took you from me.”

Silence fell over the room. While the friend group had known, in a general sense, that King had undergone some sort of trauma and went mad, this was the first time they’d truly realized why King had done what he did. Gold’s eyes widened, and Mango’s narrowed.

“But I’d already beaten the game’s technicians to a pulp,” That had Gold openly gaping, and Purple winced as a phantom pain echoed across their cheek. If King had gone that hard against the techs who’d been trying to run the game, they’d certainly felt it for days, “And the company had me sign a waiver. It’d been foolish of me not to read it, I know, but I couldn’t undo it. There was no legal recourse for me. I could’ve gone vigilante with it, but I didn’t have the resources or know-how to do such a thing without getting caught. And besides…” King’s eyes darkened, “My attention had focused… somewhere else.”

“On the game itself…” Green realized aloud. Red and Blue exchanged a look over Second’s head.

Gold still looked confused, but now there was a hint to alarm in his eyes, as though he was beginning to suspect what was going on, “I… don’t understand…”

“From my perspective,” King began to explain, “it had been Minecraft that had ripped you from me. The game was an unstable, volatile mess that promised you happiness and fun and instead robbed you of everything. I know now I wasn’t being rational, but at the time, it felt like the monster that had taken you from me was Minecraft itself. And I swore to myself that I was going to destroy it,” A mad gleam fell across King’s eyes, “No matter what it took.”

Mango’s posture had stiffened, looking over at his other self in something like astonishment, “...huh,” He muttered, “You weren’t kidding…”

“But- but-” Gold sputtered, confused and grieved and horrified by what he was hearing, “But it’s a game! An entire world filled with monsters, and npcs, and other players, and- and- innocent people!” Gold’s hand flew to his head, holding it high while Mango immediately reached to comfort him. How much comfort he could offer when he was the mirror image of the one who was upsetting Gold, however, was up for debate, “It wasn’t the game’s fault the fair booth was glitched up! You can’t punish innocents for something that wasn’t their fault!”

King sat silently, unable to meet Gold’s haunted eyes.

The utter anguish on Gold’s face struck Purple to their core. They still remembered the pain of being walked out on, and left behind, and having a back turned to their pleading hand. Being betrayed was rough. Being betrayed by a parent… well, nothing cut quite so deeply. Eager to push that pain out of Gold’s fragile heart, Purple intervened, drawing the spotlight to themselves, “But we beat him~!” They spoiled, hoping that knowing King lost would mitigate at least a bit of the heartache, “And we undid all the damage King and I did! No sticks were harmed in the making of this final showdown!”

“Uh, yes, sticks were harmed in the making of this showdown,” Yellow interrupted incredulously, “MANY sticks were harmed in the making of this showdown, actually.”

“Quiet, peg-leg,” Purple hissed back.

“Back up for a moment,” Mango suddenly interrupted, standing rigidly straight, “You said ‘all the damage King and I did’.” Purple winced. Yeah, they had let that slip, hadn’t they? “What do you mean by that?”

This was where King regained control of the narrative, taking back the spotlight from Purple to spare them the interrogation. “In order to destroy Minecraft, I needed an immense amount of power. Something strong enough to destroy the game down to its very base coding. Something from the game itself… to that end, I created a staff capable of harnessing the full power of any game item that I could acquire. I spent my life savings on illegal game smuggling, trying to get an item capable of what I’d envisioned, but nothing I acquired was strong enough. They could break things, sure, but they weren’t able to break down the game in the way I really needed. Then, during my research, I uncovered the secret of the Icon; an in-game item that enabled complete and total creative freedom over the world. You were invincible, able to place any item at whim, and had total control over the game. The only problem was nobody knew where to find it.

“I didn’t give up, though. Finding this thing, and using it to destroy the game that took my baby from me was all I could think about. I didn’t sleep, I barely ate. I wandered the city aimlessly, asking anyone who’d give me a second of time, ‘Have you seen this icon? Do you have any information? Please, anything, I’d give anything…” King’s voice cracked, which signaled him to take a moment, take a breath, before continuing, “Then, I finally found it. Through a YouTube video, of all things.”

A chorus of groans came from the couch and the armchair. Second buried their face in their hands. Green sighed and muttered, “That’s how you found us? Cursors damn it, Alan…”

“We’re gonna need to have another long talk about this,” Blue moaned, “Ugh, as if the last one hadn’t been bad enough.”

“Alan’s the human you all live with, right?” Purple asked, receiving some half-hearted confirmations in response.

Gold seemed confused by the mere concept, “You all live with a human?” He arched his eyebrow at them. Though his haggard eyes indicated King’s actions were still haunting him, Gold was able to put that aside for the moment to indulge a subject many city sticks knew little about: humanity, “I thought all humans were violent, stick-killing psychopaths.”

That wasn’t so uncommon a belief in a city run by Rocket Corp: everyone knew the tragic tale of its recently deceased leader, how they’d been created for the sole purpose of suffering and dying, how they’d manage to drag themselves from the Recycling Bin and rose to power, creating a safe haven where humans couldn’t touch them. Many older sticks had some human related trauma, from negligence to downright abuse, and though the younger generations were spared the direct trauma of human interaction, the horror stories remained.

“That’s not… always true…” Second protested, but it sounded weak and shaky for reasons beyond Second’s physical state.

The tension returned with a vengeance.

“...actually, that kinda proves King’s even dumber than we thought,” Red suddenly piped up, mockingly oblivious to the bristling of the Old Man. He picked the perfect insult; most things unrelated to Gold (or, occasionally, Purple themselves) rolled off King’s back, but one of the few insults he couldn’t stand was one to his intellect. It was, to put it in King’s own words, one of the few things he hadn’t lost that day, “I mean, you saw Alan’s videos of our adventures and you still thought it was a good idea to threaten and steal from us? Talk about moronic.”

Seething, King spoke through grinding teeth as he responded, “Well, I hadn’t exactly planned on fighting you kids…”

“You shouldn’t be fighting anyone,” Gold scolded, and though his glare bore into King, Purple didn’t miss his side-eye at Mango as well, “Or stealing anything.”

Thoroughly scolded, King winced and looked away, “Right, sorry. But, to continue, I used what I learned to seek out the sticks who had the Icon. That’s what lead me to Purple. Or, rather, them to me. I… wasn’t exactly honest with them.”

Purple snorted. “That’s putting it lightly. The guy framed the entire thing as a game. More extreme than I was used to, sure, but the end goal was to get complete and total control of Minecraft. With the staff and the full power of the Icon, we could rule together with an iron fist!” Purple pumped their first up, as though in example, “...Of course, I didn’t know what the staff was really capable of, or what the Old Man intended to do with it. If I had, I don’t think I’d have gone along with it.”

Or at least Purple would like to think they wouldn’t have. They didn’t want to ponder too hard on it – given Purple’s thirst for power and how nice the Old Man had been when Purple was obedient, Purple wasn’t sure they’d like the answer they’d come to.

“So, the Old Man and I conquered a fortress in the game… even without the Icon, the staff was ridiculously powerful, it was so easy. Then we set about following his plan. I’d go find the others and lure them into a trap, then I’d get the Icon for King and we’d conquer the world,” Purple looked over at their friends, and felt a familiar kick in their gut, “Again, I am so sorry about that. I had my reasons, but…”

“We know,” Green consoled, patting Purple on the shoulder, “We’ve already forgiven you.”

“You know what they say about trusting people,” Blue chimed in, grinning cheekily, “Third time’s the charm!”

“Don’t think that’s about trust…” Second rebuffed jokingly from the comfortable cushion of Blue’s shoulder.

Warmth flooded into Purple’s cheeks. They couldn’t say what miracle allowed their friends to forgive them after all the garbage they’d pulled, but Purple would never take it for granted. Er, this time.

Red had taken over story-time in the meanwhile, “So, we ran into Purple after an already pretty long day,” Purple could hear Blue mumbling under her breath. They couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but it made Second chuckle, “And they lured us into this parkour course. It was pretty fun at first! But, then I won, and I realized the others weren’t coming, and the guards wouldn’t let me leave…”

“We were trapped,” Green summarized, “Stuck there so King wouldn’t have worry about us while he stole our Icon… hey,” Green’s brow furrowed, “Were you just going to keep us there? While you blew up Minecraft? Did you at least have some way to get Purple out?”

This question made Purple look away from the Old Man’s face for the first time throughout the entire story. It was done and over with. They didn’t need to know. They didn’t want to know. King’s mistakes, however painful, were done and over with. They were happy now. Questions like these shouldn’t be haunting Purple. They shouldn’t.

“There were plans in place for that, to get you all back to your PC before everything went down. I may have been cruel, but I hadn’t planned to sacrifice anyone else to Minecraft,” King answered, and Purple let out a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding, “Things got… out of hand after you all broke out, though.”

“Seems they were out of hand for a long time before that,” Green quipped dryly.

Gold nodded along, staring blankly ahead of him, “Yeah, no kidding…”

The dismissive scoffing from Gold seemed to stun both King and Mango, but nonetheless King continued on, “When the kids realized what I was planning, they tried to stop me. We fought. I… didn’t hold back. Purple had succeeded in getting me the Icon, and after that I stopped caring about anything but reaching my goal. And… I succeeded.”

“Wait, what?!” Gold jumped up, alarmed, “No, but… no! Everyone here’s fine, that means you- did you actually destroy a whole…?”

Taking in shallow, rapid breaths, Gold backed away from King and held his head in his hands. Mango’s hands rubbing his back and voice speaking soothing comforts did little to ease his panic. Purple glanced back at King and felt their heart ache in what was surely only an echo of the pain the Old Man felt. Though he clearly longed to reach out, to close the gap and squeeze all the pain out of his child, something held him firmly in place. His hand, though outstretched, couldn’t seem to bridge the gap between them.

Well, if King couldn’t bring himself to comfort his child, then Purple would have to take up his job for him. They reached across the chasm between themselves and Gold and gently prodded his shoulder, forcing him to look up at Purple, “Hey,” They put on their biggest, most confident smile for Gold, “Remember what I said earlier? I turned on King, and the good guys won. Minecraft’s still in one piece. King screwed up, but nobody died, I promise.”

Too distressed to respond verbally, Gold just swallowed and nodded. His father drew Gold closer and hugged him tight, and though Gold’s hands gripped at Mango’s arms, he didn’t look any more at ease.

King’s longing eyes clung fast to Gold’s anxious form, but after a moment he continued, “With the Icon’s power, the staff was able to create a beam of destructive force that would erase the entire world of Minecraft line by line. And if anyone dared to try to stop me, all I had to do was point the beam at them and wait for them to be erased or give up,” Gold’s hands flew up to cover his mouth in shock, “But Purple… didn’t give up. Even when the beam was pointed right at them and their body was disintegrating…” The Old Man’s voice shook as he remember. Purple winced, rubbing at their arm to soothe an ache that wasn’t there, “They kept pushing forward, and… and by the time I’d realized what I was doing to them… they were almost…” The Old Man’s eyes, pained and sorrowful, redirected towards Purple. The sheer intensity of emotions forced them to look away. It was so hard to breath when he looked at them like that, so full of regret and guilt and something else, something warm that made Purple feel very, very small, “I… will never be able to apologize enough for that.”

For once, the natural snark Purple tended to depend on caught in their throat. All they could bring themselves to do was nod. Eyes bored into them from every side, but Purple kept their gaze glued to the ground and ignored them all.

“...So you almost killed Purple?” Gold spat. Purple pried their gaze from the flooring to where the other kid was staring, “It wasn’t enough for you to try and wipe out an entire world, you had to hurt the only person who was trying to help you, too?!”

King didn’t have a response. He didn’t even try to defend himself, merely hanging his head in shame.

Mango, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to reassure his child, “Don’t worry, Honey,” He tried to console, unaware that his soothing words made Gold grit his teeth all the harder, “This isn’t going to be our future. I’ll make sure of it-”

“Right, because you’re not going to do anything like that!” Gold snapped, pulling away from Mango’s attempts at comfort, “It’s not like you just started throwing punches at literally everyone the second you heard something you didn’t like!”

The poor Old Man couldn’t have looked any more hurt if Gold had punched him.

Scrambling to do damage control, Purple hopped up fully out of their comfortable seat on the couch to stand in front of Gold, arms held up placatingly. “Hey! Hey! It’s okay, it’s all gonna be-”

“It’s not okay!” Gold screamed at Purple, his tear-stricken face a near-perfect mirror of Mango’s. Unlike Mango, however, Gold immediately retreated when he saw Purple flinch away, “Sorry, ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean that, I just…. I don’t understand,” His head fell into his hands again, tears flowing free and unashamed down his face as he repeated, “I don’t understand… he hurt you. He almost killed you,” Purple idly rubbed at their arm, unsure of what to say, “How can you forgive that?” Gold looked past Purple, to the many sticks sitting at attention on the couch, “How can any of you forgive that?”

For a long, long moment, nobody spoke. The silence rang heavy in the air, a blaring siren of tension and pain. Then, with a rigid inhale, Second handed their single slice of barely touched pepperoni to Blue, who gave it a long glance before setting it aside, and sat up straight with visibly pained effort. Their voice was soft as they answered, “I can’t speak for the others, but now that I know, I can kind of understand why Mango- King did what he did.

“When you lose someone… or even think you’re going to lose someone… it’s like there’s a vice grip on your heart. You feel so many things, all at once, and they all make you feel small, and vulnerable, and helpless,” Second took a brief break to cough before diving right back into it, “but, one of those things you feel is anger, and anger is different. It… tricks you, because even though it's just as bad as the other stuff, it feels constructive. Like, even though everything’s breaking down around you, there’s something you can do. Some power you can take back. And by the time you realize it was lying to you…” Second’s eyes fell, clouded by dark thoughts, “You’ve already hurt the people you wanted to protect.”

Without exchanging words, Red reached over and took Second’s hand into his own, squeezing it tightly. Green’s arm wrapped around Second to pull them in close, allowing their head to rest against his pulse. Surrounded by the comfort of their friends, their tense body relaxed completely.

Gold frowned at the group, “But that doesn’t make it okay.”

“No,” King agreed, quietly surprising Purple. With how heavily his sins were weighing down on him, Purple hadn’t expected the Old Man to speak up again, “It doesn’t.”

Silence lingered in the air as Gold struggled to find a proper response. And evidently failed, as after a moment he looked to the others and asked, “How did you beat him?”

“It was all Sec, baby!” Green cheered, proudly displaying his orange friend.

Second rolled their eyes at him, “It was a team effort, actually. I realized we could reset the game if we got the Icon back to our PC, so we ran back as fast as we could and just BARELY made it!” After that proclamation, Second sunk further into Green, somehow looking even more tired, “For real, though, I wouldn’t have gotten close without you guys.”

“What would you do without us?” Yellow teased, a smug grin settling on her face. The friends shared a round of chuckles amongst themselves. Gold didn’t partake, only staring blankly at the wall behind the group. He only broke out of this trance when Yellow’s gentle touch on his arm caused him to jump, “Hey, I get it. You only just learned that you were going to die in less than two years,” Yellow spoke those words so casually, but the ripples of pain they caused through the room were all too palpable, “and then we dumped all this on you. It’d be a lot for anyone. You should take a break and get some rest. Looks like it’s getting pretty late, anyways.”

Purple glanced past their friends towards the window and, sure enough, the sun had set along the horizon, leaving the outside world blanketed in a canvas of shadows. Even if Second and Yellow weren’t injured, they’d likely be staying the night anyways. It was simply too dangerous to traverse through the Minecraft world at this time of night.

“Okay…” Gold acknowledged, hugging himself. Mango once again attempted to reach out to him and was once again rebuffed, “I’m… I’m going to go get cleaned up.”

And without another word, Gold disappeared around the corner of the bedroom hallway.

From there, everything began to unwind. There was an initial awkwardness that had been broken by Second yawning, which prompted everyone to clean down and get ready for the night. Green and Red went to the closet where King had stored extra bed supplies, Red grumbling all the while about how they couldn’t even compete for the spot on the couch. Green teased back easily, carrying probably too much for a guy with a suspected concussion. After dinner clean-up had fallen to Blue, who asked Second numerous times if they were done before carefully wrapping up the single pizza slice they’d been nibbling on for later. She carried stuff to the basement while Yellow, still stuck in her armchair, made herself useful by holding a trash bag, albeit begrudgingly. Mango had, of course, immediately jumped up to trail after his child, and disappeared into the hallway after him.

In the midst of all the chaos, King sat rigidly still, glossed over eyes staring dead ahead at nothing in particular. He didn’t so much as twitch as the flurry of activity picked up around him.

Taking a calming breath, Purple approached, resting a hand on his shoulder. The Old Man remained stationary, “Hey,” They broke the silence hesitantly, “You doing okay?”

For a moment, it was like King hadn’t even heard Purple. They were about to repeat themselves when he finally responded, “I did the right thing, didn’t I?” He asked.

“Yup.” Immediately responded Purple.

That, at last, broke the mask King wore, making a small smile appear, “No hesitation, huh?”

“Look,” Purple leaned their full weight on the Old Man, “I may not be an expert on ‘healthy family dynamics’,” They punctuated their words with air quotes, “but I’ve seen a lot of sitcoms in my time, and every time someone hides a big secret, it always comes out in the worst way possible. If you hadn’t told him yourself now, then he’d find out from someone else later, and that would have been far worse.”

Just the thought of that put a visible wince on King’s face, the poor Old Man nodding, “That’s true. I just wish I didn’t have to make him hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” They reassured, carefully watching King’s face to make sure he wasn’t getting too upset, “He’s scared, and hurt, and really overwhelmed. Give him some time. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

Well, Purple couldn’t really say that for sure. They weren’t in Gold’s head, after all. But speaking from their own personal experience, hating a parent was hard. So much harder than it had any right to be. Even now, in the midst of the happiest time of their life, Purple couldn’t stop their mind from wandering to dangerous what ifs, could have beens, and impossible futures where they had three loving, happy, healthy adults in their life.

Fragile hope sparked in the Old Man’s eyes, “You think so?”

“I know so,” Purple, master of ‘fake it ‘til you make it’, proclaimed.

Their reward was a pair of arms wrapping tightly around them, so quickly Purple couldn’t help the instinctual flinch in reaction, but once they recovered they immediately moved to return the embrace. Hugs weren’t uncommon between the two, per say, but there was something bittersweet about this one. After all, King had his own child back. This… may be the last hug Purple would get for a while. So they held fast for far longer than King was normally comfortable with, soaking in the warmth of his arms around them.

Purple would be okay with this. For King’s sake, they’d be a good person, just this once.

“Ahem,” A voice broke shattered the moment, ending the embrace and leaving Purple to retreat into their own cold loneliness. Mango stood there beside them, arms crossed, looking around at everything but Purple, “Sorry to interrupt,” He actually looked anything but sorry, but Purple wasn’t about to call him out and get punched again, “but I looked around, and I couldn’t help but notice that I no longer have a bedroom.”

Right… Purple had also taken over the Old Man’s room. King had presented it to Purple as a spare room, and he rarely slept through the whole night anyways, so it had taken Purple a while to piece together that the room next door had been Gold’s, not the Old Man’s. A part of them felt guilty for not even offering the room back to King, but they selfishly felt kind of glad that he was willing to make such a big sacrifice for Purple. Even so, it was clear in hindsight that Purple should have insisted they make themselves a room in the basement. And now they looked like a selfish prick in front of King’s kid and past self.

“That’s right,” King acknowledged, surprising Purple by taking one of their hands into his own, “Purple needed a space of their own, and I don’t sleep much anymore, anyways. Normally when I need to sleep I’ll catch a nap on the couch, but…” He glanced over to said couch, where Green was fluffing a pillow for Second, “I suppose that’s not an option tonight.”

Purple’s posture straightened immediately. They could sleep in the living room with the others – all five were used to bed sharing, it wouldn’t be too weird. That way Mango could get his old room back. It was only fair, since it was his room to begin with. And maybe they could start mending bridges with the younger Old Man, or at least get him to look them in the eye without glaring. They opened their mouth to make the offer-

“You can sleep on the floor in my room.”

-And Gold beat them to it. He’d appeared from behind the corner of the bedroom hallway, looking just as drained as he had when he’d disappeared.

Both King and Mango appeared startled by the invitation. “Both of us?” King asked incredulously, and his brow only furrowed further when Gold nodded, “Are you sure?”

“If I didn’t offer, you’d both just be up all night worrying about me anyways,” Gold huffed. It was clear from his guarded body language and low voice that nothing was forgiven quite yet – but for him to make this offer, Purple must have been right on the money with their earlier reassurances, “So, yeah. You can both sleep in my room with me if you promise not to fight.”

The two versions of Gold’s dad eagerly agreed, and Purple fell back, swallowing the unmade offer, where it lodged in their throat and weighed unbidden on their lungs. They’re fine, they told themselves, watching Gold walk away to grab what little linen remained in the closet after the friend group had taken what they’d needed. They were fine with this. The Old Man could be really, truly happy.

And if Purple felt anything other than pure joy at the thought? Well, that was just them being selfish again. They’d get over it.

---------------------

Mango had always been a light sleeper.

Even before Gold had come along, sleeping just wasn’t something that came naturally to Mango. He’d stay up late, awaken multiple times throughout the night, and be up and out of bed at what his old roommates called ‘the unholy hours of the morning’. Having a fussy baby around had only solidified this for him. As a small child Gold would often be up and out of bed for a late night glass of water or trip to the restroom, or to climb into Mango’s bed after a bad dream. He was used to his daily alarm being the sound of the hardwood floor creaking and groaning as Gold tried and failed to sneak into his room.

So when Mango’s fretful slumber was interrupted by the all too familiar rasping of old flooring, he was up before his brain could even catch up with his current situation. “Gold…?” He mumbled, pushing up from the surprisingly hard mattress he was sleeping on.

His full memory only came back to him when another hand, the same colour as his own, rested on his shoulder, reminding him that he’d been sleeping on the ground next to his own lookalike. “No, Gold’s still in bed,” King confirmed, tossing his head in the direction of the bed, where Gold slept with his back to the two, “That’s probably Purple. ‘M gonna go check on them… be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, King picked himself up and hobbled silently out of the room. Mango took a long, slow breath in, steadying his mind to recall everything that had happened. Right, he was in the future. King, who claimed to be him, was a failed terrorist, his kid was… dead… and then there was Purple.

Thinking of Purple made Mango scowl and roll back over. It wasn’t the kid’s fault his evil doppelganger had used them as a replacement for his dead baby, but it was hard to separate that reality from the sour taste King’s blatant affection left in his mouth. The tyrant didn’t hesitate to shower Purple with praise, or shield Purple from Mango with dagger-like glares. And because of… what? Gratitude to the kid for stopping him from destroying an entire world? Guilt for almost killing them? Why had Purple even come to King in the first place?

You know, there’s an easy way to find out…

Mango turned under his blankets to look away from the door. No. No, he wasn’t going out there. He couldn’t leave Gold alone after everything, and Purple wasn’t his problem. It was just a passing curiosity. Nothing more.

And where’s their real parents? Their real home? Who ARE they, anyways?

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

Why were they so content to play therapist to a stick who almost killed them?

It… didn’t matter…

The way they cowered when you hit them… were they…?

Mango forced himself up. It wasn’t like he was going back to sleep, anyways.

Instead, he slipped out of Gold’s room, trailing far enough behind King that he wouldn’t take note of Mango’s presence. They both knew which of the floorboards would creak if they were stepped on, and which ones could be traversed safely, so following after King was a simple affair, even in the dead of night. They both cautiously stepped over the gaggle of sticks sleeping like babies in the living room, carefully maneuvered through the completely destroyed kitchen, and Mango watched King slip out the back door before creeping next to it. The wood of the door, while splintered, was one of the more undamaged parts of the room. While the air carried a mildly humid heat, the door was pleasantly cold against Mango’s face as he pressed his ear against it to listen in to the two on the other side.

“Hey,” King began with a greeting, and Mango could hear someone scrambling on the other side of the door.

“Ack! H-hey, don’t scare me like that,” Purple’s scolding voice responded.

Laughter followed, deep but playful, “Sorry, sorry.”

“What are you even doing out here? Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Huffed the younger stick.

This was followed by an exaggerated groan of complaint as King audibly ruffled Purple’s hair, “I barely sleep on the best of days, and today’s been… a lot.” Purple mumbled something that sounded like agreement, “So I was already awake when I heard you leave you room. So, you want to tell me what’s up?”

A long, silent moment, filled with only the distant sound of crickets in the night, passed before Purple eventually responded, “I- It’s nothing, really. Sorry to drag you out here-”

“Don’t give me that,” Chided King, “C’mon, tell me what’s going on. The King demands it.”

Purple snorted in laughter, though it wasn’t a particularly jolly sound. Rather, it sounded… tired, “It’s not important,” They tried to downplay, “Just… a bad dream. I’ll be fine.”

“Ah,” Another moment of silence passed, followed by a simple question, “Pink or Blue?”

“Why do you think it always comes back to…?” There was another pause, in which Mango could imagine King giving Purple the same look Mango would give Gold when his child would come home with unauthorized candy. Purple sighed, “Pink.”

“That makes sense, given that we’ve seen the dead come back to life today,” King shuffled over on the stoop; closer to Purple, maybe, “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Not really much to talk about,” Purple proclaimed, before elaborating anyways, “Mama and Pops and I were up at the beach, north of the city. Do you know it? It’s at the lake with the little island in the middle.”

“Never been, but I’ve heard good things,” Confirmed King, “Is it nice?”

“It’s beautiful,” Purple sighed, their voice tinged with melancholy and nostalgia, “We’d go every year, and we were always there until super late at night. Pops would carry me on their shoulders into the deep water, and Mama would take me to see where all the pretty fish gathered… then, when it got late, we’d have ice cream and watch the sun set together. No matter what else was going on, we were always happy there.”

Were. Mango’s mind clung to that word, brow furrowing. He knew now that Purple had parents at some point, but the family they came from seemed to be in just as much ruin as King’s own. That answered some questions, and raised so many more.

“We’ll have to go up there sometime,” King responded, speaking to Purple like one might speak to a skittish kitten.

“Yeah…” Despite the affirmation, Purple didn’t sound particularly enthused at the idea, “but, normally when I dream of the beach, it’s a happy dream. So I was surprised when a storm rolled in and my Pops… disappeared. Then I heard screaming, and I saw my Mama out in the water, where it was really deep. There was something clinging to her. Some kind of… monster. I couldn’t make it out really well, but it had really big, really sharp teeth.

“It dragged Mama down into the water. She kicked and screamed, and started coughing really bad, but she couldn’t get away from it. At first I just sat there and watched like a total idiot,” Mango couldn’t help wincing at the raw bitterness in Purple’s voice, all directed inward, “but as soon as I was able to move I dove down after her. I swam as fast as I could, but it was like there was some sort of upward current. I couldn’t break free of it, no matter how hard I kicked, and she just got dragged down further, and further, and then… then I couldn’t see her anymore,” Purple’s voice shook a little, “I… once I lost sight of her, I froze. All I could think was that I wasn’t strong enough to save her, wasn’t good enough to save her, and it hurt so bad. I didn’t even realize I was drowning too until I woke up gasping.”

King and Mango both took a tense moment to absorb Purple’s story. The guilt Mango had been suppressing redoubled in his chest, creating an uncomfortable bubble of pressure within him. Despite the way their voice shook and warbled as they recounted their dream, Purple wasn’t crying. Was it because they didn’t want to burden anyone with their grief? Were they too used to the pain to cry? Mango couldn’t say for sure, but the idea of a child pushing their pain down so deeply, when they were being used as a narcotic to drug away someone else’s…

“I’m… so sorry,” King cooed softly, his voice a careful orchestra of concern and restraint. “You know… once Second recovers, we can ask them to do what they did for Gold for your mom. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

“...No.” Purple’s answer was sad, but resolute, “No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. What happened to Gold was a tragic accident. Mama’s death was… not. She died of a long, incurable, painful illness, and we don’t know if Sec’s healing powers work on diseases like that. If we brought her to the future, no matter how far back we went, I’d just have to watch her die again. Not only that, she’s so nice, all my friends would love her, and then they’d have to lose her too. It just wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved.”

Mango felt a stupor fall over him as he mulled over Purple’s answer. When he’d learned about Gold’s death, he could only process two things: the fury he felt at the monster who’d allowed his baby to die, and the urge to protect Gold, no matter what it took. The effects on other people, on the world around him… he’d never even considered such things. How could he even think of anything but his child? The amount of thought Purple was able to put into the consequences of their actions was… utterly baffling.

“That’s an incredibly mature decision,” Spoke the King, “and I’m sorry you had to make it, sweetheart.”

“Eh, those were more like excuses not to ask, really.” Purple sighed, far more world-weary than any kid their age should sound, “Even if the others didn’t kill me for asking after Sec almost died, it wouldn’t be right to make them risk their life again just for me,” They paused, then added, “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, though.”

“I know,” Consoled the adult. Mango could hear him gently patting Purple on the back, presumably, and without thinking Mango clasped his own hands together. “I’ve heard being in a more comfortable space can help with nightmares. You said you wanted a hammock bed, right? That shouldn’t be too hard to install.”

There was a brief pause before Purple answered, “You… don’t mind me modifying your room like that?”

“Your room,” King corrected without hesitation. “It’s your space now, Purple. I’d like some heads up if you want to, you know, knock down walls or anything, but you can change it up however you like. You deserve to feel at home here.”

“Heh,” A little more cheer was evident in Purple’s voice as they absorbed King’s words. They seemed more confident, somehow, “Yeah, thanks. Hey, maybe we can take that trip up to the beach. You know, if you don’t bring any drama.”

Now that Purple’s mood was on the upswing, King’s own voice took on a more jovial tone as well, “Excuse you. I’ll have you know that I had absolutely zero flair for the dramatic before you entered my life.”

Mango couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Um, no. Even he had to call bull on that one.

“You’re welcome~!” Purple teased back, “But, seriously, the beach is kind of my happy place. So we can only go together if you promise to keep it a happy place.”

Context made King respond a bit more seriously, “I promise. Nothing but happy memories at the beach!” Then he hummed in thought, “It might be a while before we get to go, then. ‘Drama’ has kind of taken over our lives right now.”

“When hasn’t it?” Purple joked back, “But, until then, maybe we can go somewhere else? And we can even bring Gold and your evil twin.” Mango scowled as King snorted. How did he, the one who wasn’t a terrorist, end up with the title of evil twin? “Like, we can check out the amusement park! Or I can show Gold my tree house-”

“Gonna have to veto that one, bud,” Interrupted King, “I know it wasn’t the game’s fault, just some malfunctioning tech, but I’m not sure if I’m ever going to be comfortable with Gold going into Minecraft after what happened… I’m only barely able to handle you going in there alone.”

Mango flinched away from the door for a moment. The game that killed his kid… Purple played it? And King let them? What was wrong with this guy?

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Purple agreed casually, as if they weren’t talking about a stick-killing murder simulation, “then I guess we can do something else. Maybe the park?”

“Yeah, the park…” King sighed dreamily. Which park they were referring to was easy to guess; it had been his and Gold’s go-to place for after school playtime since the kid was a kid. His child was a hyperactive angel of destruction, and the park was a perfect place to let out all that excess energy in a healthy manner. Mango smiled at the memory of scrapes on his arms and legs from sword dueling with branches. He could practically feel Gold’s weight in his hands as he helped the child across the monkey bars. If Mango had to pick a happy place of his own, that would probably be it. “That sounds lovely. Gold could show you all his favourite spots, I could use myself as a punching bag to teach you both proper dueling,” Mango rolled his eyes as Purple let out a snorting laugh, “We could get corn dogs.”

“I hate corn dogs.” Purple answered. He’d suspected it after noting their taste in pizza, but this confirmed it for Mango: Purple was an absolute heathen.

King took this betrayal in stride, “Then the princess can get themselves a pretzel.” Purple tried to complain, but King cut them off by ruffling their hair. He chuckled fondly at them, all sweet and loving and… how could he not feel any guilt, showing them this kind of affection, when all he’d done was use Purple to fill the hole in his life? “How are you feeling now?”

“Mm…” Purple took a moment to mull it over before answering, “Tired, actually. I think I’m ready to head back in.”

The two were already standing by the time Mango processed what that meant. He scrambled to separate himself, jumping away like it was on fire and hopping across the sprawled out bodies of Purple’s friends like they were hurdles on a track. The echoing creak of the door opening hit Mango’s ears just as he darted out of sight, throwing himself behind a wall to avoid being seen. Purple and King were murmuring softly between themselves as they slowly and carefully walked through the living room to avoid waking Purple’s friends.

That slowness would be Mango’s saving grace. He turned and began creeping through the hallway towards Gold’s bedroom at the end. In his haste to escape, he forgot himself, and placed a foot down without thought.

Creeeaaaak

...Damn it. Mango winced. It was doubtful that Purple heard that, given how new they were to the house, but there was no way any version of himself would mistake the sound of the door outside his old room creaking. Not with how many times he’d been woken up in the middle of the night by a restless little golden angel knocking at his door.

“...Purple, hold up a second,” King’s voice quietly called out. Purple’s questioning noise turned to one of shock, “You’ve got something on your cheek. Here, let me-”

“Ew, Old Man, no-!”

Oh. King was giving him a chance to get away without being busted by Purple. Mango didn’t take the time to question his motives; he quickly walked, paying more mind to avoid the squeaky boards on the floor, and cautiously, quietly, pulled the bedroom door open. It made a slight squeaking noise, but there wasn’t really any hiding that, so Mango hurried inside and shut the door as quietly as he could manage.

Gold, thankfully, was still in bed, turned away from where King and Mango had set up their blankets for the night. Even in his sleep today’s events were clearly weighing on him, and Mango’s heart ached at the sight.

At least the poor kid was able to get some rest.

--------------------

Gold hadn’t been able to get any rest that night.

How could he? The joy and excitement of preparing for the tournament this morning felt like a far off, distant dream. All he could think about was that shameful confession his father – his Dad – had poured out to him. All the people he’d hurt, the world he’d almost destroyed for Gold, over an incident that was almost completely separate from the game itself.

Both Dad Mango and Dad King had gotten up at some point, but Gold hadn’t even bothered to roll over and check on them. Were they fighting again? It shouldn’t have mattered, but another knife of betrayal stabbed into Gold anyways. He’d asked them to do one thing, one thing! And they couldn’t even manage that.

As he laid there, Gold’s mind flickered through the day’s events like he was mindless clicking through programs on the television. Purple had tried to hide it, or downplay it, or whatever, but Gold knew that his dad had hurt everyone in the living room, including Purple themselves. Whenever he tried to close his eyelids, his imagination conjured movies of the others fighting for their lives, of Dad glaring them down with a maniacal grin on his face, of Purple pushing against the pain of whatever hell Dad had summoned, begging him to stop, glitches and errors threatening to pull them apart pixel by pixel just like they had King Dad’s Gold…

Tears burned at his eyes, and Gold sniffed and hastily wiped them away. He’d always known his Dad had a temper, but… but he’d thought his Dad was a good person…

Eventually one of the Dads came back, a near inaudible creak in the otherwise dead silent night signaling his return. Gold didn’t bother to turn over to check which one, or if it was both of them. The idea of talking to his own Dad made him feel worn down – the bad kind of worn down, where your entire body was sore and you could feel the strings of sanity snapping in your mind. Gold held as still as he could and hoped Dad wouldn’t approach to check on him.

Several moments passed, and Gold felt a sense of guilty relief when he heard the rustling sound of sheets as Dad got back under the covers.

He was followed soon enough by the door opening again, and other Dad entered. The door clicked shut behind him, only audible in the silence of night, and then the air was painfully still. The lack of noise caused Gold’s heart to beat louder in his ears. Anticipation stole his breath.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop, you know.”

Gold gulped down his nerves. Shoot.

Thankfully, before he could make the mistake of speaking up, the other version of his Dad, the one who’d entered first, responded from where he laid on the floor, “...Sorry.” The voice was soft, and lacked the hostility he had in previous conversations with himself.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” The Dad not laying down answered, “Tomorrow you’ll be telling Purple, and saying a proper ‘sorry’,” His tone was firm, and Gold realized that the one standing by the door was, most likely, King.

“I will,” Mango replied. He didn’t put up a fight at all, which somehow made Gold more nervous and suspicious than he would’ve been if he’d fought the demand. He paused for a brief second, then asked, “...Purple’s mom is dead?”

Gold’s breath caught in his throat. Purple was… was that why Purple went along with everything Dad had wanted? Because they didn’t have anyone else?

King sighed out a long, tired sigh before responding, “Yeah. She’s been dead longer than Gold. Some glitch in her core coding… I haven’t exactly pressed Purple for details, and they weren’t keen on giving them.”

“And their other parent?” Mango asked gingerly. Gold was reminded of an incident from when he was younger, when he’d broken a window with a baseball, and Dad was asking about the damages owed. The dread was tangible.

For a long moment King didn’t respond, and Gold was almost starting to think he wouldn’t when he finally answered, “That’s not my story to tell,” King’s voice was tinged with quiet rage, making Gold shiver. Is that what the others heard, when his Dad tried to destroy a world? Or was Gold’s father louder in his villainy? “And if I tried, I’d genuinely get too angry to sleep. Just know that if I had my way, that stick would NEVER get anywhere near Purple again.”

“So my hunch was correct,” Mango’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible, “The kid’s an abuse victim.”

Oh, and it just got worse.

“Like I said, Purple’s story isn’t mine to tell.” King spoke through gritted teeth, “If you want the details, you can ask them like the adult you’re supposed to be. But I’m not saying anything else about it. I don’t even think Purple knows how much I know about their previous home.”

Mango scoffed, “No wonder the kid’s so attached. How can you not feel guilty?”

“Guilty?” King echoed.

“For using that kid like you are? For taking in some sad, pitiable orphan just to make them replace your dead child?”

That- that wasn’t true, Gold forced himself to think. There was no way that Gold’s Dad would do that to some poor kid, right? But… there was no way Gold’s Dad would commit attempted murder, or destroy an entire world, either. He searched himself for some sign, any sign, that his Dad wouldn’t do that to Purple, and was met only with a clawing emptiness in his chest.

At this point, Gold didn’t know what to think of his own father.

“I’ve already told you,” Anger crept into King’s voice, though he kept the volume low, “Purple is not a replacement for Gold. They’re not some pet project, or some band-aid solution I’ll abandon now that Gold’s back.”

“...Well, it’s not like it’s my business,” Mango dismissed. Gold could hear rustling as he turned away from King, “Once I have the money, Gold and I are out of here. After that? You and your sad orphan can play happy house all you like.”

Bile churned in Gold’s stomach. How could his dad talk like that about Purple? After what they’d done for Gold? After what he’d learned about them?

Was his Dad always a bad person, and Gold had just been too stupid to see it?

The argument may have continued, but Gold was beyond caring. Bitter resentment and sour guilt pooled in his stomach to create a nauseating mixture. He couldn’t understand; how could his Dad claim to love him while using his death as an excuse to treat the people around him like trash? And poor Purple, caught in the middle. King’s emotional support and Mango’s target of resentment, allowing themselves to take on the Ochre family’s burdens so the rest of them could be happy. It felt to Gold like someone should take on Purple’s burdens, for once.

And if his father wasn’t up to the task? Well, then Gold would have to do it instead.

---------------------

(Inhale) So.

I've been itching to put this story down for a while. My original idea was to make it a comic, but after some thought I decided to make it a fanfic instead. I just didn't expected it to be so LONG. Seriously, this is a multichapter fic and this is chapter ONE. Oh boy.

Feel free to let me know what you think so far, or if you come across any typos or anything. I did my best to edit, but this ended up being a lot longer than I'd expected. There were just so many little moments I'd wanted to include, I couldn't bring myself to cut anything.

I'm not sure how often I'm going to update this fic. It took like a month of work to write and draw everything, and I do have other things I want to do. But I'll do my best, I promise.

#Animator vs Animation #Animation vs Minecraft #AvA #AvM #Knightmare Writing #King Orange #Mango Tango #MT #Gold AVA #Purple AVA #The Second Coming #Orange AVA #Red AVA #Yellow AVA #Green AVA #Blue AVA #Fanfiction #Fanart #Family Drama #Time Travel #Past Character Death

[galactic-knightmare]

Man being both an artists and a writer REALLY leads to your search history being weird as fuck doesn't it...

#writing #art #thoughts of knightmare

[sortanonymous]

Sorta Angry Comics #2 - "Group Trauma-Dump (and Friendship Time! :D)"

Alternate Title - "Angsty Birds"

#angry birds #angry birds memes #angry birds comic #angry birds comic studio #angry birds hal #angry birds stella #angry birds silver #angry birds bubbles #way more headcanon-heavy than the last one #this may as well be a backdoor pilot for any angry birds fanfic i write if/when i miraculously get off my bum and finish meta knightmare iv #yeah i love imagining hal as a failed banjo singer who back-doored into the flock (although usually with terence and bubbles by his side) #and oooooo boy silver! #i LOVE imagining her having a super weird and complicated relationship with the pigs #yeah they almost cooked her and probably indoctrinated her but they also raised her and probably did love her at least a bit #i especially love imagining king smoothcheeks as her estranged older brother who was basically her little brother in all ways but age #(on the off chance you've read my meta knightmare fics they were basically like susie and sirica except if susie were a complete dumb-butt) #also for some reason i just imagine chef pig being the absolute worst to silver and trying to ruin her life at every turn #basically all of this was stuff i imagined for half-rate fic ideas in the late '10s that i never even wrote an outline for... #...but still cared a TON about #don't expect these to be daily i just had two straight bursts of energy #angry birds headcanons #sorta angry comics #angsty birds

[gethoce]

A Knightmare in the Underworld: Dragged Along

[Prev] - [Next]

[First]

Slowly waking up by the sound of his armour scraping against the ground Galacta Knight opens his eyes just wide enough to spot two bright orange butterfly wings located directly next to him. Startled, he pushes himself onto his feet wide-eyed.

"Morpho Knight? Where are you taking me?"

"Oh. Ye're finally awake. Pure dead brilliant, mah arm wis getting tired."

Still struggling to believe what he's seeing he looks the other warrior up and down just to make sure what he's perceiving is real. It has been a long time since Galacta Knight last met Morpho Knight. As a matter of fact, he hasn't seen them since he was sealed away aeons ago. Something feels off about them, but Galacta Knight can't quite tell at first glance.

"Come on this way. We need yer help."

They begin to pull Galacta Knight by the pauldron again using I one of their floating disembodied hands. Upon realising that Morpho Knight has no arms he feels even more uneasy.

"Help with what? What makes you think I'd be willing to help you after all that happened?"

Protesting Galacta Knight presses his heels into the ground to slow down Morpho Knight's pulling. The butterfly-winged warrior turns back to him with a deadpan expression and answers softly.

"Because I likely broke th' spell used to seal ye for ever. Galacta, pal, I've been trying to fin' a way to set ye free since th' moment th' spell connected wi' yer being."

"Took you pretty damn long if you're sincere. Besides, you clearly owed me that one."

With a flap of their wings Morpho Knight jumps behind their horned friend, grabs him by the pauldrons with both hands and begins to push him ahead.

"Ye see, mah dearest friend, all I had to work with were mere theories as to what might do th' trick, each a wee bit harder to achieve than th' next."

Reluctantly Galacta Knight walks ahead with an annoyed expression on his face. At very least he's free! Somewhat. He still feels an immense pressure weighing down on him, a cold chill in his back and an odd electrical sensation on his skin. This isn't an ordinary dimension they're in, this much is clear. Morpho Knight continues to be jolly, which does help ease the mood just a little bit.

"Foremost I hoped to convince mah dear brother to undo his spell. As ye kin see that didn't end well for me! For neither o' us pure. Only he kens the spell he used 'n' after his death he lost all his memories. For years I tried to get him to remember. Nothing!"

What could they possibly mean by that? Didn't end well for them? Swiftly Galacta Knight pushes against Morpho Knight's grip and turns around to them with anger in his crimson eyes, his voice a low growl.

"Morpho. By the stars, where are we?"

While keeping one hand on Galacta Knight's pauldron the butterfly warrior flutters into the air and gestures towards the landscape that surrounds them.

"This is th' Underworld! Allow me to show ye around!"

As quickly as they made their way into the air they land once again and begin to eagerly drag their friend along with them. Galacta Knight now feels even more confused than he did before.

"Why are we here, Morpho? … What is it you need my help with?"

At that moment Morpho Knight suddenly draws their sword and slashes it against a creature that snuck up on them, while still holding Galacta Knight with one hand. The fiend is quickly taken care of regardless.

"Damn soul eaters don't realise they're dealing wi' th' Greatest Warrior in th' Galaxy here!"

Then they turn back to Galacta Knight satisfied with their victory.

"I need yer help beating someone up. In return I'll show you how to get out of here."

"You're summoning me for another battle… of course."

Disappointed but not surprised, Galacta Knight frowns. If Morpho Knight is sincere, this may be the last time he is being summoned just to be used as a weapon. The ever-growing hope drags a nasty sense of anxiety along with it. What if things don't go as planned? Only one way to find out. Morpho Knight appears to put a lot of effort into trying to cheer him up, he notices.

"Believe me one thing, I would have wished to summon ye to hurl a few pints wi' me instead o' this no nice fankle! th' thing is, this kinch has been goin' on for few years. That I managed to fin' 'n' free ye merely coincidentally happened some time after we originally lost control o' th' situation.

Somewhat relieved Galacta Knight takes a deep breath that is very quickly released once again as Morpho Knight suddenly begins to pull on his hand again dragging him along.

"Let's have a go to think positively! it isn't everyday that ye git to see th' underworld! that is 'til ye die… then that's th' only thing ye see."

#Galacta Knight #Morpho Knight #A Knightmare in the Underworld #My Terrible Writing #Gethoce #I should have a wee bit more time than expected to draw the thing that comes after that so here is the thing that comes before the next

[metalhoops]

The place was Chicago. The year was 1990. 

It was early enough into the year that the term ‘1990′ still sounded space aged. It’d been the 80s for as long as Eddie cared to remember. It was late enough in the year that everyone kept telling him winter was over. Nevertheless, he wore the leather jacket he’d ‘borrowed’ from his ex-boyfriend. Spring in Chicago was worse than a million L.A. winters. 

Eddie hated California on principle, but his record label was in Burbank. Despite the band being one of the biggest rising stars in the metal scene, he didn’t have room to get cocky. He’d spent the break between tours last year with his aforementioned ex-boyfriend in his New York apartment. 

The place had been small enough that smoking with the windows open felt like a hotbox session. There was one window in the apartment. It was in the bathroom and only opened an inch if you could get it to open at all. It wasn’t the rockstar life he’d fantasised about back in high school, but he was getting by. 

So how the hell did he end up in Chicago? He was getting there. 

As the filmmaker he’d slept with in Toronto had told him, opening in media res was the best way to hold an audience's attention. Was that what Eddie was doing? Trying to retell the shitshow of his life back to himself? Trying to make sense of it all, make it climax to something meaningful? Maybe. 

Eddie had gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, mostly for lyrics. The band was meant to be recording their third full-length studio album in a matter of months and Eddie only had three songs that were worth anything. To make matters worse, the other two had been concept albums. 

Corroded Coffin’s first and sophomore albums had been different enough that the band hadn’t been boxed into anything. Yes, they were a metal band, but they got their fair share of punks, goths and even a handful of yuppies that’d shown up to their gigs in the past. Hell, their opening act had been a grunge band. It sounded pretentious as fuck, but Eddie wasn’t afraid to transcend genres. The metal scene was changing. They had to learn to change with it.

The nail in his goddamn Corroded Coffin was that the band were known for their concept albums. Their first album Knightmare was a D&D-inspired thrash, metal album. Think Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, with a few more homoerotic undertones. Their next album, Dream Dimension was more sci-fi leaning. It told the story of an unnamed group of kids who’d stumbled into another dimension. It was a little more glam metal. Some of the B-sides like ‘My Year’ and ‘Lakeside Interlude’ had been downright shoegaze. One magazine had likened the story to Dream Warriors, which Eddie thought was fitting. 

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t have ideas for the next album. That was the problem. Eddie did have an idea. He just couldn’t write the damn thing. It was meant to be his magnum opus, the third album that’d stand on its own but also interconnect with the other two. 

He’d call it Daydream. It followed the story of a white-collar guy living the perfect nuclear family life, complete with a white picket fence and a Malibu Barbie, dream house. The thing was, the dude was miserable. He’d spend all his free time daydreaming about adventure and forgotten realms. 

The kicker was halfway through the album the listener would realise the guy was the titular knight from Knightmare. His perfect suburban life was turned upside down when his kid disappeared à la portal to another dimension. It’d be perfect. All Eddie had to do is write it, and that was the damn thing. He couldn’t.  

All his albums were about something. There was always a meaning beneath the meaning. Knightmare? Easy, that was about escapism. Dream Dimension? It was about growing up too fast. Daydream? That was more complicated. 

Daydream was why Eddie needed to write in his journal. It was why he needed to remember that the year was 1990 and that he was in Chicago. 

The thing was, Eddie didn’t remember writing Dream Dimension. There was a 1988 sized hole in his memory between their first and second US tours. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what caused it. In their early days, they were practically paid in 8 Balls and party favours. Eddie always had an addictive personality and getting into anything stronger than weed had been a bad idea.

It wasn’t until his bandmates had an intervention that he’d been able to see the forest through the trees. Realising there was a whole chunk of his life he’d missed out on was petrifying. So, Eddie kept a journal. 

He’d been sober for almost a year. He was practically fucking straight-edge without all the pretentiousness that came with it, but he knew one slip-up was enough to send him spiralling. That was how he ended up in Chicago.

It was the last show of their Dream Dimension tour, and they were in Chicago. Eddie was always lively on stage. Gareth had abandoned one of his drumsticks during a solo only for Eddie to run across the stage, slip and bite the dust with his ankle going one way and the rest of him going another. 

He’d woken up in a hospital with a lump on his ankle the size of a baseball and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being high off his face on painkillers. 

To answer the question, Daydream was about getting older. It was about being okay with getting older. It was about doing it your own way. Back in the thick of it all, it’d looked like Eddie wasn’t going to make it to thirty. He was trying to be okay with the idea that he might. 

Last year, Jeff got married to a nice girl who’d been their costume designer for their first music video. It’d shaken him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. He was in his mid-twenties, yet suddenly he felt old. Wayne had retired and with Eddie’s help brought a Winnebago. He was probably fishing in Nebraska right now. 

See, the thing about the titular character in Daydream, was that he’d conformed to what life was supposed to be. By the end of the album, he’d have left that life behind for another, one of action and adventure, because Eddie could never understand why Dorothy wanted to leave Oz for fucking Kansas. Fuck Kansas, on principal.

Something about the album wasn’t clicking. Knightmare was leaving his boring life but ultimately, he was alone. Was that what getting older was all about? Being okay with being alone? When you were gay in 1990, it might be. 

After the tour ended he hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment in Burbank. He hated it there. He’d entertained the idea of heading back to New York but it was depressing. It reminded him of Jack, and how so many of their friends weren’t around anymore. 

When all was said and done, he and Gareth decided to stay in Chicago. He never said it out loud, but Eddie was sure his friend had stuck around to keep an eye on him. 

Sometimes, Eddie just wanted someone to come home to. Maybe that was why he’d had a string of shit boyfriends. If you weren’t picky, people would walk all over you. 

Jack had been the one that’d made Eddie swear off dating. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d rather die alone. His name wasn’t even Jack, it was Corey, but everyone called him Jack. Short for Jacket. Eddie wished he was joking. That should’ve been the first red flag. 

The thing about Corey was he always wore the same goddamn custom-made, leather jacket, all year round. He’d liked having sex in front of his full-length mirror with Eddie always on his knees, which should’ve been at least a yellow flag. He never liked anything gentle. Corey liked the idea of having a rockstar boyfriend more than he actually liked Eddie or monogamy. That was why when Eddie left, he took his jacket. 

He didn’t know why he was still wearing it, but he was. He pulled it on as he hobbled in his moon boot across the street from his and Gareth’s rented apartment to the record store. He hadn’t gone outside in a week, and he was about to start climbing up the goddamn walls. He just needed to go somewhere, and Eddie loved record stores, especially little indie ones. 

Once inside, Eddie noticed the place was practically empty save for the guy behind the counter. They had an eclectic mix of records and zines lining the shelves. Eddie was glad the place was quiet. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. It wasn’t like they were The Beatles. They could go places but in a big enough crowd, he was sure to turn a few heads. Some days, Eddie just wanted to disappear. 

They had Corroded Coffin records on the display shelf and a couple of magazines with his band's name on the cover, which made pride swell in Eddie’s chest, but he wasn’t here for stroking his ego. He wanted to know what other people were doing and get back in touch with the scene. 

He was busy sifting through the bargain bin when he felt someone slide in beside him. He cringed, almost expecting it to be some over-enthused metal head with a pen and a Corroded Coffin tee shirt, but it was just the dude behind the counter.  

“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the guy mumbled, a crate of records awkwardly tucked beneath his shoulder.

Eddie did his best to make himself small, his dumbass ankle making a simple task seem like an effort. He didn’t miss the way the man’s free hand brushed over his side as he passed, as though trying to assure Eddie stayed stable. 

“Place sure is quiet,” Eddie observed glancing over at the man.

His jeans were fitted, tight in all the right places. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal more of his bicep than Eddie deemed necessary and god his hair. There was something about his hair. Something about him seemed familiar. Eddie really hoped they hadn’t hooked up once. That’d be awkward as hell. 

“Yeah, we usually close around five,” The man replied putting an album on the shelf. 

It was almost six. Shit. 

Eddie hated when people did that. They treated him differently because his name was in the papers. Everyone wanted something from him, and they thought doing favours was a good way to win him over. It wasn’t. The guy could clearly see something shift in Eddie. 

“It’s no big deal. I have to stay an hour late to replace the stock, plus my roommate has a girl over, so I’d rather be here,” The boy laughed, shooting a look at Eddie over his shoulder, a stray strand of his perfect goddamn hair falling in his face. 

The boy paused, teeth worrying away at his lower lip, his hand falling to his hip as his eyes searched Eddie's face. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked. 

And there it was. Sometimes people did that. They played dumb about who he was before making a big goddamn deal out of it. Eddie suddenly wanted to crawl back to his apartment and spend another month in isolation. 

The boy snapped his fingers in triumph.

“Munson,” He practically shouted and holy fucking shit, that wasn’t what Eddie expected. 

No one knew his last name, not his real one. Everyone changed their names when they got famous. He’d gone for something simple, Eddie Emerson, it had some alliteration, just like Corroded Coffin. It wasn’t too far from his real name but not even the die-hards knew him as Munson. 

Then Eddie remembered. 

This guy was Steve goddamn Harrington. He didn’t remember many people from high school, but he remembered Steve. 

“Harrington,” Eddie breathed in disbelief. To his surprise, Steve screwed up his nose. 

“Unfortunately,” He admitted and stuck out a hand expectantly. Eddie leaned down and clasped Steve’s hand. From what he remembered of Steve, the guy had never been this friendly. 

“Nice to re-meet you I guess. I’d like to think I’ve changed a little in over five years.” He had, Eddie didn’t know how to explain how he knew, he just did. It was something about the way the boy held himself. 

“What brings you to Chicago?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of Eddie’s records was sitting on the shelf beside him. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air to find someone who didn’t know who he was. He could keep the charade up a little bit longer. 

“Oh you know, work stuff,” Eddie answered vaguely, toying with his hair. 

That was something he did when he was flirting and holy shit, he needed to squash that right goddamn now. He wasn’t looking to date anybody, and he remembered Steve being very straight in high school. He needed to save himself from another heartbreak. 

“You live in Chicago now?” Eddie asked. The‘ because you didn’t seem like the type to ever leave’ was implied. 

“Yeah. Rob, my roommate, she practically dragged me here. We’ve been attached at the hip since I graduated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else I wanted to be,” Steve answered. 

A little detail about the statement screamed for Eddie’s attention. 

“The same roommate that has a girl over?” He pressed and watch Steve fold his arms over his chest, all huffy indignation locked and loaded, begging for Eddie to choose his next words wisely. 

“The same,” he confirmed. Now that Eddie knew, he noticed they were selling a couple of queer zines. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve might just be progressive. 

“I thought you were meant to be the lady's man, Steve,” Eddie tried hoping that was enough to make Steve’s defences fall. To his surprise, Steve snorted and shook his head. 

“Like I said, lots changed since high school. My luck in the dating department couldn’t be worse,” he admitted as he returned to stacking the shelves. 

Eddie watched the planes of his back move beneath his shirt, wanting to push himself against him, to feel what it was like for Steve to move beneath him.

He really needed to get a hold of himself. 

“Couldn’t be worse than my luck,” Eddie rebutted offhandedly. 

Steve shook his head and shot Eddie another glance over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as though preparing to tell a long story. Eddie leaned against the shelf to show Steve he was all ears. 

“Last month, I went on a date with a girl and she asked me if she could call me by her ex-boyfriend’s name,” Steve began. 

Eddie screwed up his nose in response. 

“Worse still, I was so shocked she’d asked, I just agreed to it.” It was Eddie’s turn to snort. 

“Stevie, you didn’t.” 

Stevie. Goddamn Stevie. Don’t do this to yourself, Munson. Pet names are one step away from a full-blown crush. 

“I did. Do I look like a ‘Juan’ to you?” Steve asked honestly. The question had Eddie doubled over in stitches. 

“Alright, alright. That’s pretty bad, but that’s one bad date,” Eddie reasoned. 

“Dude, I wasn’t finished. The girl before that realised she was a lesbian, while on a date with me. Which is like... the third time that’s happened,” Steve admitted.

Eddie’s hand had betrayed him and returned to toy with a strand of his hair. He hid behind it as he tried to mask a laugh. This guy did have shit luck. 

“You’re a lesbian magnet,” Eddie reasoned watching as Steve hid behind his hands. 

“And the time before that, I thought I was getting somewhere with a guy. We’d been on three dates before he told me he had a wife.” 

Steve made the next confession a little quieter than the others, a little more reserved. Eddie felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Steve had changed since high school.

“Once I hooked up with a guy who’d only give me head if I sang to him while he did it,” Eddie admitted, feeling the need to get Steve off the defensive and add to the pity party. He watched the boy’s features shift.

“Oh wow, that’s bad. You should’ve pretended to be tone-deaf,” Steve reasoned, once more proving he had no idea what Eddie did for a living. 

“See I was torn between that and singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.” Steve snorted, honest to god snorted.  

The two lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one. Steve smoothed down his hair five times within the space of a minute before taking a deep breath. 

Eddie knew what was coming. He wasn’t dumb, but a part of him would always be trapped back in high school. It kept screaming there was no way a popular kid like Steve would talk to a loser like him. He thought he’d buried that part of himself, yet here it was, rising from the dead. 

“Do you want to get a drink?” 

And there it was. Eddie didn’t mean to cringe, but Steve caught it, his hands stuffed themselves into the too-tight back pockets of his jeans. 

“Or not,” He muttered averting his gaze. 

“No. It’s not that. I... I don’t drink.” 

There you go Gareth. He was responsible enough to look after himself. 

“I could do dinner though,” Eddie tried to throw Steve a bone. 

Eddie waited for Steve to throw up one of the red flags he’d gotten used to seeing with all the men he’d dated or hooked up with. Eddie would say he didn’t drink, and they’d give him a funny look or mutter something about him being a killjoy. 

“There’s a place that does a wicked deep-dish pizza not far from here. You said you weren’t from Chicago, right? You’ve gotta have the pizza, it’s a rite of passage,” Steve ploughed on.

“Sure,” He muttered trying not to look as surprised as he felt. 

He watched Steve buzz around the record store, shutting up shop and then extending a hand shyly to Eddie. Right, his stupid goddamn leg. At least it gave him an excuse to get up close and personal with Steve in the street and not draw too much attention. 

The two made the short walk to the pizzeria at a plodding pace, talking about nothing in particular. 

“What happened to your leg?” Steve asked as they slid into the booth. 

“Slid on a drumstick and took a nosedive off a stage,” Eddie admitted. He wasn’t going to outright lie to Steve. 

“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, passing the menu over to Eddie. 

“So, you still do band stuff? I remember that high school talent show,” Steve noted, and Eddie cringed, letting his head drop to the table. 

“I really wish you didn’t,” He chuckled before confirming,

“Yeah, I still do band stuff,” as he raised his head and chanced a glance at Steve. 

“Cool,” was all he said before they shifted the subject. 

They were swapping stories about best friends, roommates, shared high-school trauma and generally flirting when a figure approached their booth. It was a kid, who couldn’t be older than fifteen with a shaved head and a battle jacket. He reminded Eddie of himself at that age. He knew what was coming.

“You’re Eddie Emerson, right? From Corroded Coffin,” the kid asked, his hands shaking. He watched as a furrow appeared on Steve’s brow before his jaw dropped. So Steve wasn’t totally clueless. 

“One and only. You want me to sign something for you?” Eddie asked, having gone through this song and dance a million times before. He tried to be nice, after all, it was a kid, but sometimes he got tired of always having to be on. 

To make matters worse it happened in front of Steve. Something about people coming up to him always sat wrong with other guys he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or ego that did it, but he knew if he ran into a fan on a date, the rest of the night typically went sideways. 

He signed the back of a napkin as he listened to the kid rattle off praise for their music. He talked about his favourite songs and lyrics. Eddie wished he knew what to say, wished he knew how to take a compliment but he didn’t. To his surprise, he heard Steve speak. 

“Hey, did you make this?” Steve asked indicating the kid's battle jacket, forcing him to come up for air.

“Yeah, all on my own.”

The kid blinked and ran his hand over a couple of the hand-sewn patches. Steve obviously knew nothing about the scene because if you didn’t make your own jacket people would call you a poser. It was a nice shout though because he watched the kid light up. 

“Even the safety pins?” Steve asked curiously.

Eddie watched as the kid launched into a story of every little pin and stitch in the jacket, turning his attention away from Eddie, and giving him space to catch his breath. It was nice. He felt like Steve had seen him.

After another few minutes, the kid’s dad came to collect him and Eddie felt his body sag against the diner booth. 

“You get that all the time?” Steve asked, his foot nudging Eddie’s under the table. 

“You wouldn’t believe it,” He grumbled scrubbing his face. Steve nudged his foot again, giving him a goofy grin. 

“At least he liked your stuff,” He proposed. 

“I’m guessing it’s not your thing,” Eddie reasoned. He wasn’t one for stereotypes, but he really didn’t look like the typical Corroded Coffin fan. 

“I’m not too picky when it comes to music. I just listen to top forty stuff.” Eddie shot him a disbelieving look.  

“Dude you work in a record store,” he laughed and Steve shrugged.

“Among other things. I just got the job to hang out with Robin. She works there too. She only took the job to try and peddle her girlfriend Nancy’s zines. Sometimes I write the sports section because Nancy, Robin and Jonathan don’t know anything about sports.” Eddie rested his head in the palm of his hand, listening attentively. 

“Wait, is that the same Nancy that you dated back in high school?” He asked, trying to sound scandalised, glad to have a break from the rock star bullshit. 

“Like you said, lesbian magnet,” Steve grumbled, mirroring Eddie’s gesture, resting his head in his hand. 

“What are you actually doing in town?” Steve asked, more curious than nosy. 

“Trying to run away from writing our third album,” Eddie spoke. 

It’d been the first time he admitted it out loud. He didn’t talk about his music until he thought it was worth something, but Steve was a good listener. To Eddie’s surprise, he found himself spilling his guts to Steve. He told him all about the third album, about the goddamn symbolism, and the way things just weren’t clicking. 

“Why don’t you give him a reason to stay?” Steve asked when Eddie finished his monologue, as though it was the simplest solution in the world. 

“I mean, Dorothy doesn’t go back to Kansas because she doesn’t like Oz, she misses home. She misses her family. You want your knight guy to stay in fantasy land? Give him someone to stay for,” Steve proposed, and it was like the final puzzle piece sliding into place. It was brilliant.

“Stevie, I could kiss you,” Eddie spoke.

“Is that a promise?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.

“Let’s get out of here and find out.”

#steddie ficlet #steddie #steve harrington #ficlet #corroded coffin #eddie munson #drabble #prompt fill #stranger things #rockstar eddie munson #normal guy Steve Harrington #this won my prompt poll #it's not usually a trope I reach for #but I really LOVED writing this #I don't know how to explain it #but it came so easy #tw addiction #also I guess a blink and you'll miss it #reference to #aids/hiv #because it felt disingenuous to leave it out #some context for y'all #an 8 ball is #an eighth of an ounce of cocaine #while a party favour just generally refers #to hardcore party drugs #also 'Dream Warriors' is the third Nightmare on Elm Street film #and also a song #by the glam metal band Dokken #Corroded Coffin makes concept albums