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drxwsyni · 4 years

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Healing (pt.2/3)

Yandere Chisaki Kai/Overhaul x quirkless!f!Reader

Part 1︱Part 3

a/n: there’s probably only one more part to this series unless i get more ideas for it, idk where to go with it after that tbh.

warnings: violence, implied poor mental health & self harm, needles (i have a horrible fear of them so i thought the warning would be good for others like me)

3.9k words

_____

The things that an unchanging environment could do to the human psyche are infinite. Too long and you begin to over analyze everything down to the most minute detail, leaving you at odds with every decision you’ve ever made.

It had been five days since waking up, alone and confused, back in Chisaki’s compound.

Whatever form of schedule you had before was entirely altered to fit your newest predicament. No more walks, going outside―anything that would put strain on your injuries was eliminated.

It left you with the sole company of a few books, three meals a day, sleep, and the brief appearances of Kai himself every so often.

There was more than enough room to contemplate exactly what had developed between the two of you.

If you thought the first incident was enough to show a side of him that you thought never existed, then the encounter a few nights ago well overshined that. This new sense of isolation only left you all too partial to endless thoughts as to what he meant by his actions.

None of the recent developments were something you could’ve anticipated. If they were you’d likely never taken up Chisaki on his offer. But that didn’t matter now―everything came down to figuring out how to dig yourself out of this hole.

Naturally, this proved to be much harder than anticipated.

The rules to your new case of recovery were stricter than ever, leaving little space for manipulation. So for the time being, biding your time until an opportunity presented itself was your only option.

This also proved to be harder than expected.

The few days since that encounter were excruciatingly dull. There was only so much reading a person could do, and it left you staring at the wall or ceiling for hours; just thinking of how to make your time there easier.

Slowly, you couldn’t think about anything else than leaving the sterile, dreary examination room.

The idea came to mind that if you just had something to make the stay down there a little more comfortable, maybe you’d be able to keep yourself sane before the ordeal was over. You thought about what would be best for a while, and then settled on at least having normal clothes to wear. You were still being supplied with the strange dresses and sweaters to wear overtop of them since the most recent incident. Not that they weren’t comfortable, but it made you feel more like a test subject than a human with actual freedom.

You did what Kai had told you to and pressed the button on the side of your bed to alert whoever was outside your door. You’d done it a few times prior, and a subordinate usually entered immediately.

That’s what you were expecting now―but nobody ever showed up.

Pressing the button a couple more times, thinking maybe they just hadn’t noticed it the first time, it became evident that for some reason you were alone.

It was strange, seeing how strict the yakuza leader had been when it came to monitoring your condition.

Maybe they were just on break? Surely they would be back soon, he wouldn’t leave my room unguarded like that.

Thirty minutes went by as you waited for someone to come to your assistance. Frankly, this only made you more irritated with the reality of being stuck in this god-forsaken base for who knows how long.

Resolving that they were likely never going to come and help, you swung your legs over the bed and removed the heart monitoring clip.

The feeling of independence was invigorating as you approached the door. Unfortunately you had no shoes at the moment, leaving you in sock clad feet to implore on the short journey to your room and back.

The door was thankfully unlocked, and opening it proved your suspicions that there was in fact nobody stationed outside.

You thought back for a moment to the day you’d left the compound to do something similar―picking up belongings so you didn’t feel too out of place. But this was different. You weren’t leaving the base, and it would take no time compared to that day to get your things.

He wouldn’t even find out, stop stalling.

You stepped outside the room, quietly closing the door behind you. The pain from your injured ankle was quite present, but nothing you couldn’t handle for the time being.

Before the attack, you only came down to the underground expanse twice a week for checkups, and you were always accompanied by either Chisaki or one of his underlings while you made your way to the examination room.

Now you realized just how little you actually knew of the endless tunneling network.

You’d taken the constant escort for granted, now having found yourself fairly lost amongst the winding corridors, all looking nearly identical to each other. You pushed on, hoping that eventually you’d come across some form of exit.

It took a minute or two, but eventually you found a door to the stairwell. By now the throbbing in your ankle was becoming more prominent, so you opted to take your time maneuvering the staircase.

Finally atop the landing, you shoved the heavy metal door open. Thankfully, the area you were now in was recognizable, and you headed in the direction of your room.

Oddly, there was nobody to be seen amongst the hallways. Usually there was someone going back and forth for whatever reason.

Now however, it was oddly quiet, unsettlingly so.

You kept moving towards your destination, but your injury was worsening at an alarming rate. It had you grasping the wall for stabilization, ultimately slowing your pace even more.

It wasn’t much farther now, just around the corner and then roughly thirty feet away. But you had overestimated the amount of pressure in which your seethingly painful ankle could withstand. Coupled with the disturbance in balance as you rounded the corner, hands slipping from their support, you felt your body falling to the ground.

Yet, the impact never came.

You felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, effectively stopping your body from colliding with the floor. Before you could even stand up straight, you heard whoever was conveniently assisting you at the moment speak.

“What are you doing out of your room, miss (y/n)? Overhaul is looking for you.”

You recognized the voice immediately. Kurono.

One strange request, or rather requirement, that was laid out when you arrived at the compound was that you never referred to Chisaki as ‘Overhaul.’ It was strange, seeing as how his subordinates were always told to. At the time you brushed it off, but given recent events his instructions for you to use his real name started to make a little more sense.

You straightened up in his grasp, as he opted to now keep a hold on you by the shoulders.

“I was just getting someth―”

You heard a bang just down the hallway in which you came from, sounding like a door hitting the wall harshly. Not a moment later and Kai appeared from around the same corner.

“What’s she doing here?”

Not even bothering to address you, he stared intently at Kurono.

You didn’t let him answer. “I was getting some clothing from my room. There was nobody outside my door when I tried getting help. I’ll just grab it and then go back if that’s okay…”

He didn’t say anything. The part of his face that you could see was furious, burning holes through your head as he leered at you. You watched his eyes flicker to your now swollen ankle, seeing as you were propped up on your other foot to try and alleviate the pain. A deep sigh came from the man, and he shared a glance with Kurono, relaying some unspoken message.

At that moment you felt an arm snake around your waist, the other behind your knees, successfully lifting you up bridal-style.

Out of fear you wrapped an arm around the back of Kurono’s neck, desperately trying not to fall. The two began moving back in the direction you came.

“H-hey! What the hell, I just wanted something from my room!” You began squirming in his arms, trying to get him to put you down.

“Are you even listening? Let go, I can walk just fine!” His grip only tightened as you fruitlessly struggled, heart beating a million miles per minute.

“Miss (y/n), I’d advise you calm down before you injure yourself.”

Calm down? What are you supposed to do in a situation like this?

At this point something told you no matter what you did, you’d end up back in the exam room one way or another. Yet, that understanding did little to settle the worsening anxiety that was making you sick to your stomach. Frankly, part of you wasn’t surprised at the way Kai was acting, and you prayed that he wouldn’t take his anger any farther.

You’d reached the door to your room, Chisaki silent as ever as he swung open the door and held it open for Kurono.

You were set down on the bed, waiting for the next turn of events as the two men relayed information.

“Go and find the filth neglecting their duty. Make sure he doesn’t leave.”

“Yes, sir.” With that Kurono swiftly left the room, leaving you in a precarious situation with the still aggravated man.

You figured that for some reason he’d come to check up on you just as you’d left the room. It would be extremely inconvenient timing, but how else would he find out of your actions so quickly?

The yakuza leader opened one of the cabinets to your left, pulling out what looked to be a small box of bandages. He moved to the foot of the bed, still silent, and began to unwrap your injured ankle.

It seemed that somewhere along the way the dressing had come undone, as part of it was now hanging loosely around the appendage.

Surprisingly gently, Kai fixed the bandages, maneuvering them expertly to support the ankle once again in no time. You wanted to say something―anything. But the words couldn’t seem to form in your mind.

Maybe it was due to the still racing of your heartbeat, panicked over the unconsented handling. Or perhaps there was nothing you could say that would make this better, and it was just easier to wait it out.

Finishing up with his work, Chisaki put the unused bandages back into the box and returned them to the cabinet. He closed the glass doors, standing unmoving with his hands atop the counter. Likely, he was trying just as hard to calm down, judging by the deep breaths that were observable by his heaving chest.

A moment later and he started towards the heart monitor behind you. He pressed a few things here and there, you watching intently as he picked up the recently discarded clip.

You let him gently lift your left hand, attaching it back onto your index finger.

...The alarm.

You didn’t hear anything go off. There was nothing, you’d just carelessly taken it off before leaving.

How stupid could you be?

You stared at the device, unable to move for a moment as you comprehended exactly why Chisaki must have been so emotional. Looking up, you saw that he’d taken the clipboard, writing furiously on the paper.

Without even so much as turning in your direction, he spoke. “I’ll see to it that this doesn’t happen again.” Punctuating the end of his sentence with the click of his pen, he returned the clipboard to its wall-mount.

Without another word, he turned on his heels, exiting the room before you could even think to apologize.

The door slammed shut, noise echoing off the walls, and you could’ve sworn the sound of a lock falling into place followed.

_____

A week had ensued since the third incident. Generally speaking, things were normal.

Except for the visits that Chisaki was frequenting to your room more often than ever before.

He would never stay for long. Sometimes you’d hold a conversation for a few minutes: asking about his day, him about whatever book you’d been reading. And then he’d leave to resume the task he’d abandoned for the time being.

Now whenever you needed someone, there was always a subordinate waiting at the ready. You hadn’t seen the person who was responsible for leaving you unattended since that day, having known him after the few times he helped you. Knowing what Chisaki was capable of, you could only fear the worst while hoping for the best for the man’s condition.

On a less solemn note, it turns out that one week is more than enough time for some of your less serious injuries to heal. By now the cuts had mended nicely, and the bruises were less painful. As for your ankle, not walking on it was helping, and you figured that at least by now you’d be able to return to your old room.

That’s what you expected, but Kai had other ideas.

You brought the topic up during one of his impromptu visits, seeing as it was as good of a time as any other. The question was polite enough, done so in regards to his sensitivity to his rules. Your evaluation of the subject deemed it okay to move on from this monotonous room.

“It would be best if you continued to remain in this environment. I’m afraid doing otherwise would put your health at risk.”

That was all you two spoke of the matter, as he’d left quickly after, and you didn’t want to push him. So you settled for keeping yourself busy with the available pastimes, anticipating the day when you’d never have to look upon the bleak, colourless walls ever again.

_____

Another week, still no change to your current lifestyle. So, you revisited your concerns with Chisaki.

He’d been there for one of your regular twice a week check ups. You waited until he was finished, knowing that it’d be rare he was going to give you any feedback if you stayed silent.

“So...I was just thinking that there’s not much need anymore to stay down here. My ankle is feeling pretty good, and all my other injuries are just about cleared up.”

You were certain he heard you, but he didn’t give a response as he put his equipment away.

Now you had a reason to be pushy. “Ah...Kai? Do you think I can go back to my room now?”

He paused his movements, you could practically see the gears shifting in his head before he returned to cleaning up.

“I’ve given you an answer over the matter already.”

Yeah, he did...last week. A lot of things have changed since then.

“I don’t understand, my injuries aren’t even a problem anymore.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “They’re still very much a problem in fact. It’s more efficient to tend to these issues from here.”

“Listen, I get it might be easier from here bu―”

“You agreed to let me help you, correct? I gave you an answer, don’t bring it up again.”

You could tell he was trying to hold back something―irritation, anger, both. It left you deeply unsettled, frightened even.

Once again, there was little you could do to change the situation. It boiled down to being a repetitive process of biding your time until even Chisaki couldn’t ignore how you’d completely recovered.

It was agonizing, to say the least.

Gradually the reality became worse than the reasons you had subjected yourself to his care in the first place. There was nothing left to fix, or at least nothing that needed so much attention to detail. It was becoming damaging in ways that were fine before, while the other more physical parts of your body improved.

_____

Three weeks.

A whole twenty-one days since you last tried to convince the yakuza leader that there was no need to remain cooped up in the mind numbing examination room.

And mind numbing it was―taking every ounce of your being to not go crazy while you spent day after day there. Patience was your goal, the long con being more reasonable than fighting the man over your circumstances.

You thought the isolation would get to you much sooner, but somehow you waited it out this long. It was the most intense test of mental fortitude you’d ever gone through, but you couldn’t hold on any longer.

It was bound to happen sooner or later, as clearly Chisaki had no plans on changing the routine anytime soon. You only hoped he’d see things your way just this once.

Waiting for the next spontaneous visit by him, you reassured yourself of your end goal. As always, he showed up at some point throughout the day, and you jumped on the opportunity.

He was about to bring up a usual topic for conversation, but you started before he could.

“So...I think it’s safe to say that I’m more than ready to get out of here, right?”

Of course, he didn’t reply. Instead he offered you a cold gaze.

You continued. “I’m feeling much better, Kai. You’ve really helped me in the past couple of months, but I think I’m ready to head home…”

The silence was insufferable. Chisaki seemed to stiffen up at the proposal, eyes flickering to the door on the opposite end of the room. He was standing at the moment, leaning against the counter to your left, arms crossed over his chest.

“Um...if you could just turn off the monitor, please.”

His finger tapped lightly against his arm. “No.”

“...Excuse me?”

His tone was unwavering. “It’s in your best interest to remain here. I’m not done treating you.”

“My best―there’s nothing left to fix, I’m perfectly fine!” How he could’ve come to that conclusion was beyond you.

He cocked an eyebrow, “Are you, (y/n)?”

So that’s how he’s going to be.

Politeness be damned, if you said you were okay then he had no place to say otherwise. It was clear that physically you were healed―there was no other way that statement could be taken.

“You know what, I don’t need this.” You plucked the heart monitor clip from your finger, letting the silent alarm go off however it did, you were too fed up to find out. Swinging your legs off the bed, you began to stand up.

Seeing what you were attempting, Chisaki moved in front of you.

“What are you doing?”

You could almost laugh at his disbelief, as if this could go any other way. He was delusional, thinking you needed to stay any longer. Any sane person would’ve realized long ago that you were overdue for release.

“I’m getting my stuff, and then going home. We can talk about this later but I refuse to stay in this room for another minute.” Aggression wasn’t something you enjoyed showing, always being the considerate person when it came to other’s feelings. But you feared there was no way to get through to him without acting as such.

“It’s concerning that even you don’t realize how much treatment is still necessary.”

How could someone be so condescending over that matter was beyond you. If anything, it only proved how poorly this relationship had developed.

“Get out of my way Chisaki, I’m leaving.”

He didn’t move, rather he intently stared down at you, painfully drawing out the moment.

“Don’t do this to yourself, (y/n).” He’d uncrossed his arms at this point, his right hand now in his jacket pocket while the other hung by his side.

You could only shake your head in disbelief. Standing up, which forced him to step back in the process, you headed towards to exit.

Not so much as a hand could be placed on the doorknob when you felt a tight grip latch onto your upper arm, spinning you back to face Kai. You yelped in surprise, but it was quickly cut off as he moved to grip your throat in his left, shoving your body against the cold metal door.

The shock to your system almost made you miss it, but not a second after you felt a sharp prick in your neck. The way your head was angled didn’t allow you to see what he’d done, but it didn’t quite matter as it was over before you could even move to protest.

“What was―what did you do?!” His grip loosened slightly, your hands having unconsciously moved to his forearms trying to pry him off. You observed the empty look in his eyes, devoid of any emotion.

“I can’t let you put yourself at risk, it’s clear you don’t know what’s best for you at this point.”

You wanted to be seething, but the feeling of intense anxiety―a crippling fear―was much more powerful.

Whatever Chisaki had given you, it worked fast. Likely due to your accelerated heart rate causing your blood to pump faster than normal, the drug began to sink its teeth into your system. A lightheadedness began to cloud your mind, unable to focus on any one thing too intensely.

Vaguely, you felt him pull you into his chest, an arm wrapping around your waist to support your quickly weakening state.

“G-get off...let m-me…” Desperately, you attempted to form words to deter him, but your tongue felt too heavy to get a coherent thought out. Not even your arms were strong enough at this point, pushing against his frame having zero effect.

He noticed the shakiness in your legs before you did. The sensation of being lifted into his arms came in a hazy blur, your head lolling to hang in front of you.

Your eyes closed for what felt like a few seconds, and when they opened again you could vaguely register the feeling of blankets coming to weigh down on your chest. Summoning the last ounces of energy in your body, you dragged your eyes upwards to get a final look at Chisaki.

He was staring intently at your form, sitting too closely on the edge of your bed. You felt an ungloved hand tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear before moving to cup your cheek.

Words were no longer an option, instead your face contorted ever so slightly in worry, tears brimming in your eyes. A tear rolled down your cheek, and you gave a small whimper involuntarily as you felt him wipe it away with his thumb.

Unlike before, his amber eyes seemed to hold some form of warmth, a genuine care for seeing you so conflicted.

The heavy influence on your body from the drug was finally finding its end goal. Resisting was hopeless, feeling your eyes flutter closed for the last time.

Faintly, you could make out the distant feeling of a hand gently running over the top of your head. The action soothed you in your subdued state, and you let it accompany you into a deep slumber.

End of Part 2

#yandere bnha #yandere overhaul #yandere chisaki kai #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #yandere overhaul x reader #yandere chisaki kai x reader #yandere bnha x reader #yandere mha x reader #yandere my hero academia x reader

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sakichi56 · 5 years

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Poll I guess?

Okay, so, I wasn't originally going to do this, but then I realized this is the easiest way to do this. So here I am. After I finish my dumb little AU series for them on AO3, I am still planning to write more for them because they have so little and I feel horrible for all of y'all who ship them. I have a whole comp book full of ideas for the pairing and I am going to list a hand full of them that I have the most outline work done, and I would like anyone who is interested to tell me which ones you would like to see (if any) and specifically which one I should write first.

1.Omegaverse- Just a dumb little oneshot about Frieza being an omega who likes to mask his scent with that of an alpha because he wants people to think he is one, and Goku is totally cool with it. Vegeta is suspicious and decides to do some investigating into what Frieza really is.

2.Soulmate AU- Specifically the one about not being able to see color until you meet/touch your soulmate. Frieza never believed in or cared for the idea of soulmate, until he saw color for the first time during a fated battle with a certain Saiyan on a planet called Namek.

3."Zombie Flipper AU"- Frieza lives on Earth with his family. Cold is a politician, Cooler is the district chief prosecutor, and Frieza is in the business of flipping houses. But his latest project happens to be a bit tougher than he bargained for when he finds out that the property in question happens to be plagued by a terrible local gang, not to mention the people livijg in the home arent too open to talking with him. All except for the youngest member of the family, and boy is he something.

4.Highschool Au- Actually don't know which of the two ideas I want to go with for this one, so I guess I will just list both and let you guys vote on that too. The first is that Frieza is used to going to Private school all his life, but when the highschool he is slated to go to ends up being closed down, he gets thrown last minute into a public school and finds himself completely lost. Luckily, he happens to share gym class with a very friendly and helpful boy named Goku, who offers to show him the ropes, and the two hit it off. In this one, Frieza wouldn't necessarily be meek, but he would be a bit more shy than in canon. The other idea is just that Frieza is your typical snotty rich kid with high grades, student council president, head of disciplinary committee, etc. And he choose to go to a public school because he is bored with private schools. Goku is your friendly guy with awful grades (minus gym), shows up a bit late regularly, but all his teachers love him. When he gets in trouble and is sent to see Frieza, he shows no signs of fear or remorse, and is instead very chatty. Frieza is both infuriated by this brat not knowing his place and showing him the proper respect and fear he deserves, but also very intrigued because he is so different. So, he decides the boy's punishment will be to join the student council, that way he would be required to behave better, hoping this will give them more time together to learn and study one another.

5.Actor Au- Basically, everything that happened between all the characters in canon, it was all a show. Frieza and Goku are just actors playing their roles. And Frieza is ecstatic to be working with the man once again. He always had a crush on him, but he never worked up the courage to say anything back when they were recording Z, nor did he when they were filming his movie. So, with Super nearing it's end, Frieza decides he will finally confess his feelings to Goku and see what happens, since he has no idea if they will ever get to work together again.

6.New God Of U.7- Just a short oneshot about what could happen if Beerus either decides to retire and has Goku and Frieza compete for his position, or if something happens to him and Whis has to make a hasty decision to fill the position and it comes down to them. Goku would end up getting the job, and Frieza, having been brought up all his life to fear the God Of Destruction and be respectful to them, has a hard time knowing where they stand with eachother now. So he defaults to forced, reluctant politeness and submission. Which Goku does not like at all.

7.Idol AU- Just what it sounds like. The good guys are an idol group, and the villains are an idol group. With Goku and Frieza leading them respectively. The two groups end up competing for the right to perform at the World Musical Arts Convention, the two groups end up being forced closer than they ever thought possible by unforseen circumstances.

8.Servant AU- When Frieza has a fight with his father over an arranged marriage, he runs off in a rebellious huff and bumps into a servant around his age who begins talking with him. He is in a foul mood and considers killing the other boy, but something about the Broly soothes him, so he ends up taking a liking to the other male and tells him about the fight he had with his father. The two become something akin to friends, but only when they are alone, as his father would kill the other boy if he knew. Frieza appoints the Saiyan as his own personal servant and swiftly moves him into his wing of the palace, meaning they are closer and can get to know each other better. All goes well for the two, until King Cold springs a meeting with the Frieza's betrothed princess on him.

9. Kindergarten AU- What it sounds like, everyone is a child, Beerus and Whis are the teachers, there are cliques such as Goku, Krillen, Yamcha and Bulma, who are sometimes joined by Tien and Chiaotzu. 17 and 18, the twins who always stick together in their own world, but have recently been approached by Krillen. Piccolo is a loner, until the transfer student Gohan worms his way into his life. Vegeta is also a lone wolf, but he has a somewhat friendly, somewhat hateful friendship with Goku, and he and Bulma are quite sweet on each other. Then there are the trouble makers, Frieza and Cell. They are sometimes accompanied by Buu, as the child is quite chaotic, but not always since he is also fairly nice and he doesn't entirely fit in with them. Frieza has a crush on Goku, as he admires how the other boy stands up to him and is always called in by his friends to protect them from Cell or even Frieza himself. But, as they are both so young, Frieza does not know how to show the other how he feels, so he picks on him instead.

10.Chapter fic- I have an entire fic outlined from beginning to end, and have had it for a few months now. It's basically one of rhose dumb 'what if Goku brought an unconscious, cut in half Frieza back to Earth with him' story. Bulma ends up fixing him up instead and he has to undergo a lot of physical therapy and recovery to get used to the robotic limbs. Bulma and Goku keep him in check (as Goku spends the year at C.C. with Bulma and the tyrant) and along the way they all forge a friendship, even though Frieza would never admit it. Frieza is given the option by Goku of staying or leaving, as Bulma will build him a ship if that is what he wants. But before the year is up, the two have shown him such a good time, especially the Saiyan, that he does not know which option to choose. While he deliberates on the choice, trouble approaches the Earth.

So those are a handful of what I have, I still have a ton of other ideas, but those are the ones I have the most prepared for at this time. So yeah, please let me know what you all think. If you want me to try any of these, and if so which one should be first, or even if you think I should scrap any entirely from my book.

Much appreciated, and sorry for wasting anyone's time!~♡

#friku #fanfiction #time for you guys to vote i guess

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thezeekrecord · 3 years

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GAGEGN ch14

[index/summary]

REPORT: Regarding G.Freeman's recovery from the resonance cascade (pt.2)

“I really think I should be there.”

“It’s fine! You should really stay home and rest.” Bubby insisted as he pulled on his shoes. “Gordon can cope with not seeing you for a single day. I already went through this whole process, I know how it works, so I’m just as capable of helping him as you are.”

“I had one dissociative episode yesterday. That doesn’t mean I should miss out on being there for my friend!” Harold argued.

“Harold, I know you all too well. You’re going to overextend yourself.” Bubby said sternly. “You can swing by tomorrow if you’re so worried. But for now, you’ve earned yourself some rest.”

Harold sighed miserably. “I don’t want Gordon to think I don’t care.”

“Trust me, if there’s anyone in this whole group who’s made it known that they care about Gordon, it’s you. He knows, and he’ll understand if I tell him you’re not feeling well.” Bubby told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Besides, we have a whole week of checkins to be doing. Missing one isn’t going to kill him.”

“Just...” Harold squeezed his fingers tightly in his hand. “Be gentle with him, Bubby.”

Bubby rolled his eyes. “Alright. I’ll refrain from kicking his ass. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Bubby, my dear, I love you very much, but you do have a tendency to be mean.”

“I know.”

“And Gordon doesn’t need mean right now. He needs a compassionate friend to show him kindness.” Harold went on, holding him firmly by his shoulders. “Be gentle with him. Okay?”

“Of course I’m going to be nice, Harold, he’s my friend. I care just as much as you do.” Bubby said hurriedly. “I’ll be back in a little while. Call if you need me.”

Harold pulled Bubby into a quick kiss before letting him go. Bubby did his best to look serious as he turned around, heading out the front door and across the street to Gordon’s house.

As he approached the door, he could hear shitty music coming from inside. Good, at least that meant he was awake this time, Bubby thought as he tried the door. Locked. He knocked on it a few times, unsurprised when Gordon never answered. He opted instead to head around back, hoping to find the back door unlocked. The music was louder here, and this time, he got a good look at what Gordon was up to through the sliding glass door.

Gordon was enthusiastically singing along to the song he was playing at full volume—I tried so hard, and got so far / But in the end, it doesn’t even matter—using a hairbrush as a pretend microphone as he sang. What a cliché, Bubby thought as he rolled his eyes. Sat sideways in the armchair, though, was Benry of all people, pressing his palms to his ears and his hat pulled over his eyes. Maybe Gordon was trying out psychological torture as a means to get Benry to leave, Bubby mused. Bubby tried the door, finding it just as locked as the front, so he knocked again, watching Gordon expectantly as he jumped in surprise and looked at Bubby.

The music grew painfully loud as Gordon slid the door open for Bubby, causing Bubby to plug his ears the same as Benry. Gordon swiftly reached for a little remote, turning the music off for them.

“Gordon, what the fuck?” Bubby questioned.

“I was just—I was trying to prove a point.” Gordon explained with a hesitant, lopsided smile.

Bubby squinted at Gordon, then looked around at the living room. There were empty beer bottles everywhere, along with an empty vodka bottle and a half-drunk mixer.

Harold’s words echoed in Bubby’s head. Be gentle with him. But he was already finding it hard to follow up on that promise.

“Are you fucking drunk?” Bubby demanded.

“Uhhh—I mean, I had a few drinks.” Gordon said sheepishly.

“It’s nine o’clock in the fucking morning!”

“...I haven’t slept.”

“Please tell me you at least did something to benefit your life before you started drinking.”

Gordon sank down onto the couch, clumsily brushing his hair out of his face. “Well, I mean—I talked it out with Benry.”

Bubby looked to Benry, who waved at Bubby.

“Should I ask? Or is it gonna be a whole story that’s just gonna make me angry?” Bubby asked.

“Uhhh...”

“Gordon, that’s all well and good, but this isn’t appropriate right now.” Bubby scolded, indicating broadly at the mess in the room. “Tommy and Darnold are watching your son so you can figure your shit out. Not so you can get drunk with Benry!”

“Hey, you guys were the ones who wanted me to make peace with Benry.” Gordon argued. “And now that I have, you’re getting mad at me over it?”

“I didn’t say you talking to him was a bad thing! You’re putting words in my mouth.” Bubby snapped. “The thing I have an issue with is you getting drunk and ignoring your responsibilities!”

Gordon deflated, burying his face in his hands. “God. I know, I know. I’m sorry. I just—I got a little carried away.”

Bubby let out an exhausted sigh. “It’s fine. Whatever the fuck was going on in here stops now, though. You—”

“Yooo, you’re gonna be a party pooper?” Benry asked with a huff.

“You’re not helping!” Bubby growled before turning back to Gordon. “Let’s just start easy. You two start cleaning up this mess.”

“What? What’re you telling me what to do for?” Benry complained.

Bubby lifted his hand, a controlled flame sparking into his palm threateningly. “Because you let this happen! Get up!”

Benry let out a long-suffered groan, rolling off the armchair and flopping down onto the floor.

“I’m going to need to borrow your computer, Gordon.” Bubby announced.

“Oh, yeah, uhh—you can grab my laptop from my room. It’s on the nightstand.” Gordon muttered.

Bubby nodded and headed up the stairs. Was he being too harsh? He wondered. What would Harold have done? Probably coddle him until he got back up and got to work, which would’ve taken a good while. Bubby’s approach may have been harsh, but it was efficient, at least. Gordon would have things shaped up in no time.

He wasn’t actually mad at him, he thought as well as he found the laptop and unplugged it to take downstairs. He paused, glancing around at the mess in Gordon’s room. He was just...worried. He didn’t know how to act when he was worried. Maybe that would have to be something he discussed with his therapist, he contemplated. That thought made him recall clipboards around him, hushed scientists talking about his “emotional dysregulation”—Bubby shook the memory out of his head and shifted the laptop underneath his arm as he left Gordon’s bedroom.

Bubby returned downstairs with Gordon’s laptop, sitting down on the couch and opening it up. He pulled out the page he’d torn from his own confidentiality agreement packet with the list of recommended therapists, trying to be sly about the fact that he’d clearly taken notes on it—he didn’t want to admit to Gordon he was going to therapy himself if he didn’t have to. Gordon turned the music back on, much quieter this time as he and Benry slowly worked through getting the living room organized. By the time they were done with the living room, Bubby had gone through and created a list on Gordon’s computer of therapist options he’d deemed viable.

“What is this band?” Bubby asked in disgust as he closed Gordon’s laptop.

“It’s Linkin Park.” Gordon replied with a smile. “They’re good!”

“No, this is horrible.” Bubby said with a grimace.

“Don’t insult them, he’s just gonna—” Benry tried to warn him, but was brutally interrupted by Gordon.

“Craaawwwling iiiin my skiiiiin!” Gordon sang along, practically at the top of his lungs.

“Ugh, stop!” Bubby shouted over him. “I’m starting to regret helping you!”

“Hey, you’re the one who knows all the words to Iron Man by Black Sabbath.”

“That’s because it’s a good song!” Bubby said defensively.

Gordon laughed playfully. “Yeah, whatever, man.”

Bubby set Gordon’s laptop aside, agreeing to help him get the rest of the house in order and help finally unpack the rest of Gordon’s things. He wouldn’t want to admit it to their faces, but it wasn’t too bad once they got in the groove of things. The three of them talked as they worked, listening to more of Gordon’s horrible music; it was a weird taste of genuine domesticity out in the real world Bubby hadn’t quite gotten used to—not to mention, it was a relief to not have Gordon immediately attempt to kill Benry any time he even breathed too loudly. The curiosity about what had quelled such an intense grudge overnight was really starting to eat at Bubby—not that he’d admit to that, either.

Benry wasn’t necessarily too much help, but with Bubby picking up his slack, they were clear to move on to unpacking relatively quickly. Bubby knelt in front of one of the boxes in Gordon’s bedroom, rifling through it to set items out for Gordon to look over. He paused, however, when he found a photograph tossed loosely inside, slightly crumpled after being squished between an old cassette player and a busted-looking camera. He looked it over closely. It took a moment for Bubby to recognize him, but given the context of the photo, he was able to determine it must have been Gordon before T, knelt down on the floor with a baby Joshua. His hair was cut much shorter, he had no facial hair, and he looked exhausted—but happy. Not intensely traumatized by a horrible event that nearly killed him several times over. Or an event that had cost him his arm. Guilt washed over Bubby at having found a pre-T photo of Gordon without realizing, but something stopped him from putting it down. Behind Gordon was one of those full-length closet mirrors, and in the reflection, Bubby could see the lower half of the photographer. There wasn’t anything particularly distinctive about them—all he could see was a plain pair of sweatpants and socks.

“Oh, hey, you found another baby picture.” Gordon commented, suddenly hovering over Bubby’s shoulder.

“Uhh, yeah.” Bubby held it out sheepishly to Gordon for him to look at. “Who’s that taking the picture?”

Gordon stared at the photo for a long time before sighing, combing his fingers through his hair. “Uhhh...I don’t know.”

Bubby quirked an eyebrow curiously at him. “You don’t?”

“Logically, I guess it would probably be Josh’s other parent, but...I don’t...remember anything specific from before the game.” Gordon said as he sat down cross-legged beside Bubby, still staring down at the photo. “I remember vague stuff about like, how society works, what stuff Joshua likes—that sort of thing. But...I guess since whoever Josh’s other parent is isn’t in my life anymore, I just...don’t remember them.”

Bubby frowned. “Really? Like, you just...woke up in the game?”

Gordon nodded.

Bubby put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. “That sort of makes sense. You’re the player, so...”

“But what the fuck does that mean? ” Gordon questioned suddenly. “I don’t feel like the player. I just—I just feel like...a guy. Am I like, the player, or am I just the player character? Was I being controlled back then? Am I being controlled now?”

Bubby shrugged. “I don’t know, I was just an NPC. That’s something you would have to figure out.”

Gordon buried his face in his hands with a long groan. “None of it makes sense, Bubby.” He mumbled into his hands.

“Uhhh...” Bubby looked awkwardly at Gordon, clearly miserable in front of him, needing some sort of comfort. “I-it...it’ll be okay, Gordon.”

Gordon peered up at Bubby, not looking at all convinced, but slowly lowering his hands to rest in his lap.

“Hey, can we be done? I wanna eat.” Benry chimed in from Gordon’s bed.

Bubby glanced at the unpacking they had left to do. It might take them a little while, he determined, so a break to eat might be acceptable.

“Alright. I’ll order food.” Bubby sighed, trying to feign more annoyance in his tone than he was feeling.

They ordered Chinese food from a restaurant nearby—Bubby ordering Harold’s usual choice as well to set aside for him—and they all sat down at Gordon’s table, Bubby listening to Gordon and Benry argue about some video game as they ate. Bubby tuned them out, resting his head in his hand as he thought about what Gordon had said. He didn’t remember anything pre-game, and he didn’t know what it meant to be the player. Bubby had gotten vague ideas of what the game was supposed to be like just through being an NPC—or, more accurately, what it wasn’t supposed to be like. They weren’t meant to be self aware, they weren’t meant to follow Gordon through the entirety of Black Mesa like that, Gordon wasn’t meant to get his arm cut off, and Benry most certainly wasn’t meant to be the final boss. Also, Bubby had the sneaking suspicion that Tommy probably wasn’t supposed to be that guy’s son, and Chuck E. Cheese wasn’t in the original plan.

So, they had sway over the game while they were in it, but to what extent? Bubby wondered. Benry had a lot, clearly; but he wondered how much Gordon would have been able to influence things as the player. Did he have some subtle sway, just without realizing? Or was the player someone actively and knowingly pulling the strings, without Gordon’s knowledge? That would be unnerving, to say the least, Bubby thought.

“No! I’m not gonna let you talk shit about Kane and Lynch!” Gordon shouted suddenly. “I bet you haven’t even played it.”

“No, ‘cuz it looks like shit.” Benry replied.

“You spent three hours last night trying to tell me that some fucking—god, what was it? That shitty Playstation game?”

“Croc.”

“You were trying to tell me that Croc was a good fucking game, and then I looked it up, and that looked like shit!” Gordon argued. “You—”

Benry cut Gordon off, making obnoxious mocking noises as he tried to talk.

“You’re literally the most annoying person on the fucking planet.” Gordon said through amused laughter. “If Croc is so good, then—”

“Power critically low. Ten minutes remain. Please charge immediately.” A familiar mechanical voice interrupted. Bubby recognized it instantly—it was the voice used in the HEV suit. It came from Gordon’s prosthetic, rested comfortably on the table as he ate with his left hand.

Bubby hadn’t quite noticed that before—was Gordon really doing everything with his left hand now? That must have been a hell of a learning curve, he thought guiltily.

“Ah, fuck.” Gordon muttered. “I didn’t end up charging it last night.”

Bubby frowned uncomfortably as a few things came together in his head. First off, whatever sway he had in the game, he’d ultimately used it to hurt Gordon. Getting taken by soldiers was a scripted event, he was sure—but there was something about it, something about their presence that had caused him to suffer lifelong consequences. Second off, as proven by the other night, Gordon was still pissed about it.

He had every right to be, of course, Bubby thought as Gordon took his prosthetic off and headed upstairs. In the game, it was easier to set all that aside in order to get through to the final boss—but now, they had all the time in the world to really meditate on their mistakes. And the ways they were wronged. Bubby dropped his fork and sank down in his chair a little as Gordon returned without the prosthetic, sitting back down with a sigh. Bubby was tense all over, something negative stirring so harshly in his stomach, he almost could’ve thrown up right then and there. Gordon glanced up at Bubby.

“Hey, Bubby, you alright?” He asked.

That mysterious negative emotion spiked at Gordon’s attention on him. “I’m fine.” Bubby replied through gritted teeth.

“Whoa. You sure?” Gordon pressed, setting his fork aside and reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Bubby tensed and brushed his hand away. “I said I’m fine. I don’t need you to coddle me.”

Gordon put his hand up defensively. “Okay, okay! I was just checking.”

They fell into a tense silence as Bubby started to contemplate just leaving. He wasn’t unfamiliar with this pattern in his behavior; he'd experienced this countless times over his years living in Black Mesa. He was feeling something extreme building up in him, threatening to blow up before he got the chance to regulate himself. Before he could gather his things up, though, Gordon spoke up again.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked, furrowing his brow.

“I mean—you’re the one angry with me!” Bubby blurted out, indicating at his arm. “What are you checking in with me for? Why do you care?”

Gordon’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well...yeah, I guess I am still mad about that. But I mean—”

“Yeah, so what am I even here for?” Bubby demanded, standing up and gathering his boxes of food.

“I never said you had to be here! You came here without me prompting.” Gordon argued. “Dude, I appreciate everything you did today and how you helped me out, but...I mean—listen, I feel like you’re jumping to conclusions or something, man. Maybe I’m mad, sure, but we’re still friends!”

“Why?” Bubby questioned venomously. “Because I have to be your friend, right? Because of the game? How we’re all NPCs, and you’re the player, so we just drop everything for you, no questions asked?”

Clearly, Bubby had hit him where it hurt—he looked confused and mortified, staring back up at Bubby for a long, quiet moment.

“Dude, what?” Gordon finally asked. “I—...I never said any of that. You came with me, you fought Benry with me, you helped me clean my whole house today! I never told you you had to do any of that, I...I assumed you did it because you cared.”

“What, so you’re free to have shit you’re pissed at me about without talking to me, and I have to bend over backwards for you?” Bubby accused.

“Well—okay, yeah, we did need to talk about the arm thing. Maybe it wasn’t best for me to bottle it up and then blow up at you, so...I’m sorry.” Gordon admitted. “But dude, to be fucking fair, I’ve kind of been processing so much lately, I just—we should talk about it, but I don’t even know what to say right now. And it shouldn’t be up to me to initiate that conversation for you! You could have fucking apologized on your own without me sitting you down and coaxing it out of you! And like, you don’t have to be bending over backwards for me! Again, like I said, I literally never asked for you to do any of this! You’ve been initiating all on your own! What do you fucking want from me?”

Bubby opened his mouth, then closed it, pausing for a long, tense moment. He had no idea what he could tell him he wanted. He’d already crossed so many lines and overblown things he’d only been vaguely concerned about, just for the sake of, what? Making Gordon feel bad? Why? Why was he saying all of this? He thought, glancing down at his food. Without anything to say that made any semblance of sense, he was starting to feel backed into a corner—Gordon was right, of course he was right, but what could Bubby do now? He’d already fucked up. He fucked up ages ago, in the game, when he’d called with Benry for the military to take Gordon. There was nowhere for Bubby to go but down. He was certain of that.

“I’m not going to devote my fucking life to you just because you’re the player.” Bubby finally growled. “I did it all because that was what was expected of me. But you know what? I’m going home. Harold can come here and coddle you all day long, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Gordon frowned deeply at Bubby, looking somewhere between confused, furious, and heartbroken. “I-...I’m not the player.” He said quietly.

“What difference does it make?” Bubby demanded, turning towards the door. “Player, player character—it makes no difference to me. You are what you are. And if my life doesn’t have to revolve around you anymore, that’s fine by me.”

“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Benry questioned from the table.

Bubby paused mid-step, glancing back at Benry for only a second before huffing and continuing towards the door. He struggled to get his shoes on and open the door with all the boxes of food in his arms, only to drop his own box all over the floor as soon as he got the door open. He hissed in frustration, leaving it behind and slamming the door shut behind him.

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empyreanturtle · 6 years

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Brothers at Arms (A Final Fantasy XV one-shot story)

A/N: A story in which I try to explain some of Gladio’s and Ravus’s bizarre in-game reactions as best I could. Also, I always felt that Ravus made a much better foil to Gladio than to Noctis (both older brothers, both aggressively protective), and I thought it would be interesting to have them interact when they're both feeling like they failed in their roles. I actually started this scene AGES ago (just after Ep Gladio), and with Episode Ignis seemingly filling in this same time gap, I wanted to finish and post it before Square Enix does their own take on what happened. Spoilers abound!

Read on AO3

Gladiolus Amicitia paced back and forth along the hallway between Noctis’s and Ignis’s rooms at the First Secretary’s estate. Sitting around for the last three days since Leviathan’s awakening had given Gladiolus plenty of time to replay what happened, trying to find the reason everything had gone so wrong.

The Empire was to blame. Their attack on the Hydraean made a bad situation turn horrible. Gladiolus knew as soon as Leviathan appeared that getting her blessing would be harder than Titan or Ramuh. They hadn’t been easy, but Gladiolus recognized an anger in Leviathan that the other gods had lacked.

The Empire’s involvement only fueled it further. They attacked the Hydraean with the full power of their army. And every time they missed, the rounds impacted with the city below. Despite the “recovery force” they deployed after the battle was done, it was clear to Gladiolus that the Empire had no regard for the people of Altissia.

Gladiolus had done his best to protect the Altissians, helping them move to the higher levels of the city as the water rose. But he hesitated when he saw the Chancellor’s ship flying towards the fight, towards Noct. Trying to decide whether to go to his King, or help Ignis with more of the citizens. And that’s when Gladiolus heard the shell blast below. He rushed to pull Ignis from the water as fast as he could, but the damage had been done.

And now Ignis was blind, Noctis was in some supernatural slumber, and the Oracle was missing. That moment of indecision caused him to fail at protecting all of them.

“A weak shield protects naught,” Gladiolus murmured. He clenched a fist and pounded it against the wall. He hated that Ravus’s words still rang true despite everything he had done to make himself stronger.

The sound of Prompto returning to the estate, whistling his silly chocobo song, gave Gladiolus his chance to get out for a while. He was done with the siege mentality, done with waiting around until they had no choice but to defend themselves. He was ready to take action.

“Heya!” Prompto greeted him cheerfully as they passed. “Where ya goin?”

“For a walk,” Gladiolus replied.

“O-kay, buddy,” he replied slowly, then mumbled something about finding a better mood while he was out. Gladiolus only waved his hand in response, knowing Prompto didn’t deserve any of the words likely to come out of his mouth.

Outside the estate, the people of Altissia gathered along the sidewalks on the highest levels of the city. Over half of the city below had been flooded, and the lowest level was still underwater. He walked south of the city center to the rows and rows of tents that had been set up as makeshift homes for those who had lost theirs. It was only one of four camps set up around the city by the Imperial Army’s recovery unit.

As he entered the southern camp, it didn’t take long for Gladiolus to catch the familiar scent of Mhaago’s wood-smoked fish. It stayed with him as he walked his usual path to a tent at the end of the second row, where he lifted the flap, and walked inside.

“Welcome, lad,” Weskham greeted him with a wave. The restaurant proprietor had been given a larger tent than most, in exchange for his cooking abilities. Inside, two shelves of various drinks and cooking supplies sat behind a table that served as a prep counter. On the opposite side, another long table had benches down each side, and in the back corner was a small wood-burning smoker.

“What brings you here today?” Weskham asked.

“Needed to get out for a while,” Gladiolus responded. He took a seat on one of the benches, and Weskham set a plate of the fish in front of him.

“On the house,” Weskham clarified.

“Surprised people aren’t lined up for this,” Gladiolus said. “I smelled it from the edge of camp.” He took large bites of the meal, glad for the food but eager to get to the point of his visit.

Weskham folded his arms. “Oh, they’ve all had their share already. It’s the least I can do to help with my city’s recovery. And speaking of recovery, how fares the young King?”

“Still asleep. But the docs say he’s fine.” Gladiolus pushed away the empty plate. “Hear any, uh, interesting news lately?”

“Depends on what is interesting to you,” Weskham replied. “Most of the fishing boats were destroyed. The few left have been hired by the First Secretary’s estate to provide rations for the city. The Oracle is still missing, and while some suspect the worst, most people are still hopeful.”

Gladiolus frowned. It hadn’t been his duty to protect Lady Lunafreya, but he felt like he failed her all the same. “Any news about the Empire?”

“Of course,” Weskham said with a knowing smile. “They have started their relief efforts to help stabilize the city, but the main force is preparing to leave. Only one company will remain to oversee the city’s recovery, under the command of General Ungaro. Of course, the same effort in Insomnia has not gone well, from what I’ve heard. I suspect that’s why they removed the High Commander from his position.”

“Ravus…” Gladiolus clenched a fist beneath the table. Ravus was the one leading the Empire’s attack on Leviathan, and on all the other Astrals. He led the hunt for Noctis, too. The Empire was to blame for their situation, and Ravus had been at the front of it all.

“Now,” Weskham continued, “If I were the High Commander, I wouldn’t stick around to see what consequences come with the demotion. The Imperials rarely give second chances, and never give a third.”

“You know where he is?” Gladiolus asked. He felt fire rushing through his blood at the chance to take out the man responsible for everything. For Noctis, and Iggy. For Altissia. For Jared Hester, and everyone else who had helped them along the way and suffered for it.

Weskham shook his head. “There are only rumors of a man in white armor headed east of the city. In the direction the water is draining.”

Gladiolus saw no reason to delay. Ravus was going to pay for everything he had done. “Thanks, Weskham,” he said as he moved towards the exit.

“Be careful, lad,” Weskham replied. “A son of Tenebrae doesn’t get to be High Commander of the Imperial Army without the strength to enforce it.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Gladiolus found the signs of someone walking swiftly, and heavily, out of the city to the East, just as Weskham said. The person was trying to hide their trail, stepping on rocks and fallen limbs where they could. But the broken branches and occasional armored footprint in the mud led Gladiolus through the forest along the water’s current edge.

The water had receded several feet already, but it was still much higher than normal, and the land was left weakened. The trees creaked and groaned with their weight in the moist soil. Somewhere to his right he heard the clamour of one crashing to the ground after its roots could no longer hold it upright. The ground was littered with wood, glass, and other debris that washed out of the city.

Gladiolus continued to follow the trail until he came to a large tree lying across the ground. Its roots were still dripping mud as they sat exposed. But at the water’s edge, across a small clearing just beyond, he saw the unmistakable white armor of High Commander Ravus Nox Fleuret.

Anger welled up inside of him. He raised his arm to summon his blade, but something gave him pause. Ravus was kneeling over another form on the ground. It was fairly large, and covered in tattered white cloth.

“Luna…” Gladiolus breathed out the Oracle’s name in a whisper. As much as he wanted to drive his sword into Ravus’s chest, he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt. In this moment, Ravus was nothing more than Lunafreya’s brother mourning his loss.

Gladiolus watched in silence, hidden by the fallen tree, as Ravus lifted Luna’s body onto a broken door. He took time to carefully adjust her arms and legs into a peaceful pose, and secured a single sylleblossom beneath her hands. After setting several oak branches around the perimeter, Ravus paused, with his head lowered towards his sister, then pushed the bier into the water.

Gladiolus bowed his head and whispered, “May your soul return to Eos and your light shine eternal.” The last time he spoke those words had been with a roomful of people fifteen years prior as he held his own, newborn sister in his arms. Iris was born weak, and Gladiolus had made a promise to their mother keep her safe.

Despite her being under Cor’s watchful eye now, he still worried about her safety. What if daemons attacked their house at Cape Caem? What if the Empire hunted them down? Would they kill her as quickly as they killed Jared? Or would they hold her captive, as they did Luna, to be used as bait for him or Noctis?

Or, worse yet, would they take her and lure her to their side, as they had done to Ravus? Could Iris be like the cold-hearted traitor before him? Gladiolus shook the thought from his head and focused his attention on the provisional ceremony once again.

The Oracle’s funeral raft drifted beyond sight as the day turned to dusk. The former High Commander turned away from the water at last. With no searching or hesitation, his gaze settled directly on Gladiolus.

“What do you want?” Ravus demanded.

Gladiolus sucked in a breath and renewed his awareness. How long had Ravus known he was there? He stepped out from behind the tree roots and walked with his head high. “Heard you got demoted. I was worried I wouldn’t get my chance to take you down myself.”

“Have you so quickly forgotten our last encounter?” Ravus asked. He dropped his hand to his hip and drew a sword that was too small for the scabbard he wore. That he didn’t even have King Regis’s blade anymore just made Gladiolus even more mad.

“I’ve been busy,” Gladiolus shouted and summoned his own sword to hand. The glaive had been given to him after he stood against Gilgamesh. Now, Gladiolus let the power it contained mix with his own fervor and channeled it into a single, focused attack against the High Commander.

The two swords rang out as they collided between the two men.

Ravus stood unflinching before his attacker, using the strength of one arm to press his weapon forward. His face showed only a cold, detached determination in his eyes. But despite his outward confidence, Gladiolus could feel the faint give and take of the true effort Ravus needed to counter his attack.

A snarl formed across Gladiolus’s face, and he leaned into his sword. Ravus beat him the last time they were at arms. Since then, Jared Hester had died. Iris and their other friends had gone into hiding. Altissia was in ruins, with so many of its citizens lost. The Oracle was dead. And Noctis was in an unnatural sleep.

The Empire was to blame, and Ravus had been at the front of it all.

Gladiolus let his anger build like a raging fire in his chest. His sword held strong against Ravus’s blade. He slammed his foot into the mud to secure his footing.

How many more cities would fall at his command? How many more people would have to die? The Empire needed to be stopped. Ravus needed to be stopped.

And Gladiolus was going to be the one to do it.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone else!” Gladiolus yelled as he pushed forward, finally breaking the stalemate between their blades. He pressed an attack against Ravus, but each swing struck only the steel of Ravus’s sword. Every step Gladiolus took forward, the next contact made him step back. Every strike from Ravus, he blocked and answered with his own. Ravus was quick and efficient, but his sword did not have the same reach as Gladiolus’s. The two men attacked and counterattacked, advanced and retreated, back and forth around the small clearing.

“You foolishly believe you can safeguard those in your care. Protectors are destined to fail,” Ravus hissed as their fight continued. “All must one day perish, even those who are protected the most.”

“Not on my watch,” Gladiolus growled. He swung his glaive at Ravus once again, but instead of striking steel, it sliced into the High Commander’s right shoulder. Ravus let out a grunt and stumbled away from the blade. Gladiolus pursued him with another attack, and another. As each one landed its mark in the weak spots of the High Commander’s armor, Gladiolus’s anticipation grew.

He was going to stop the danger to Noctis and his friends at the source. He was going to take out Ravus Nox Fleuret once and for all. Gladiolus swung his glaive in a downward arc towards his opponent’s neck.

Ravus halted the attack with his armored left hand, gripping the blade as he stood straight once again. His detached expression gave way to an anger that made Gladiolus mumble a curse. Still holding the blade tightly, Ravus swung his sword at Gladiolus’s side, leaving a stinging cut. Before he could strike again, Gladiolus let his glaive dissipate and stepped back.

“You may have found new strength, but it cannot save all those squandering their lives for the Chosen King,” Ravus said bitterly. He flourished his sword and advanced purposefully on Gladiolus.

“It can take your ass down,” Gladiolus countered, but Ravus’s words had cut into him like their own blade. How many others could he could have saved if it had been different? His father, who had stayed with King Regis as Insomnia fell. Jared, whose life was taken just for knowing the prince’s whereabouts.

They perished in service to the King . Ignis’s voice echoed in Gladiolus’s head as Ravus closed the distance between them and attacked. Gladiolus barely had enough time to recall his sword to block the blow. Ravus persisted, forcing Gladiolus to retreat into the trees, using them for cover when he could.

“They didn’t squander anything,” Gladiolus decided aloud. He dodged behind a tree trunk already leaning heavily to one side. “Besides,” he taunted, “It’s an easy choice when the only alternative is serving the Empire.” He let his sword dissipate and pressed both hands against the bark, pushing with all his might. The tree fell easily, despite Gladiolus’s fatiguing muscles, and forced Ravus to stop his advance.

“And what of those who had no choice?” Ravus yelled from the other side of the obstacle. He slowly but assuredly stalked towards the base of the tree, using the time to recover some of his own strength. “Those who were left to die at the hands of the Imperial Army without a second thought. Those forsaken, and sacrificed, for his destiny!”

Gladiolus frowned as Ravus came around the side of the tree. Noctis had only talked about the Imperial attack on Tenebrae once, about how King Regis had carried him to safety while leaving the Nox Fleuret family behind. The mother had died, but Ravus and Luna survived. And Gladiolus knew the Empire had no reservations finishing an assignment, no matter how valuable the target may be.

“Tell me, Sworn Shield,” Ravus hissed mockingly. “If cooperating with the Empire meant saving the only family you had left, what would you have done?”

Anything , but Gladiolus clenched his teeth shut to hold back the answer he knew Ravus wanted to hear. He let out a growl instead and summoned his sword once again as he charged his foe. Ravus met the blade with his own, and the two began their attacks again.

But Gladiolus felt he was in battle with an entirely different man. Instead of precision attacks and efficient effort, Ravus was recklessly and wildly swinging his sword. It left him open to counter attacks, though he seemed to care even less when Gladiolus’s blade landed its mark. The primal nature of Ravus’s aggression made him dangerous and hard to predict.

The two fought relentlessly as dusk turned into night. In a moment where they paused, each desperately trying to gain back the energy they were expending, the light on Gladiolus’s shirt flickered on. Ravus stood across from him breathing heavily, eyes filled with rage. Gladiolus recognized that hunger, the insatiable need for action to face the world. Before him stood a man broken down by failure. Torn apart by loss. A man whose worst nightmares had come true. Ravus may have been leading the Imperial Army, but he was only doing so to protect Luna. She was gone, and he had failed, and now he had nothing left.

Gladiolus couldn’t let that happen. He needed to take out the Empire, before they could do worse to Noctis. Ravus had been leading the army, which meant he would know how to stop them.

But before Gladiolus could say a word, something heavy collided into his arm, then another into his knees. He let his sword fade to grab one of the small forms and threw it against a tree. Then he felt the slick, oily goo on his hands, and his nose filled with the stench of rotting flesh. Gladiolus yelled out a curse. He summoned his sword again and sliced into one of the daemons as more emerged from the trees. They swarmed him from all sides, rushing in too close for his swords to be effective.

With a yell, Gladiolus let his sword dissipate and ripped off a daemon clawing up his leg with his bare hands, flinging it into the darkness. The next one he grabbed and slammed his fist into it until it felt limp. Another leaped at his head, and Gladiolus backhanded it away. Before they could get close again, Gladiolus reformed his great sword and slammed the blade into the ground.

A shock ran through the mud at his feet, and the daemons were temporarily frozen in place. The tree closest to him swayed, then crashed to the ground. Behind him, he could hear another’s roots lose their grip in the soil and fall, then another. Gladiolus pulled his sword from the ground and swung it at the remaining daemons, and they too fell and dissolved into the mud.

Gladiolus spun his light to see Ravus pinned beneath a fallen tree. More of the small daemons ran towards him along the trunk, eager for a target that could not fight back. Gladiolus also ran towards him, summoning his glaive along the way. Once he got close enough, he swung his sword.

“We’re not finished yet!” he yelled, and his blade sliced through the gathered daemons. He swung again, and again, until they all crumbled to the ground. Ravus squirmed beneath the tree trunk in attempt to free his metal arm. Gladiolus let his sword fade, then reached beneath the trunk.

With a growl that grew into a battle cry, Gladiolus slowly lifted the tree enough for Ravus to slide out from beneath it. The former high commander straightened himself, but he was favoring his right side and his sword was nowhere within sight. He looked Gladiolus squarely in the eyes, like a proud, condemned prisoner awaiting his fate.

“Finish it, then,” Ravus calmly demanded. “Let me join my sister’s fate for the good of your King’s destiny.”

Gladiolus gripped the hilt of his sword and began to gather his anger, as he had always done before. Ravus was the High Commander of the Imperial Army. Under his command, they had attacked Leviathan, and caused Noctis’s slumber. Caused Ignis’s eyes to be injured. Slaughtered so many more Altissians, as thoughtless collateral damage. The Empire was responsible for all of it. For the damage Altissia had taken. For killing Jared Hester. For Iris and Talcott having to hide away in a lighthouse. For the Oracle’s death.

The Empire was to blame.

Gladiolus let out a rush of air from his lungs in a weary sigh, letting his sword fade away. “Noct never wanted any of this,” he said as he dropped onto the trunk of a fallen tree. “Only thing he cared about was Luna’s safety.”

“Then he failed,” Ravus said. He sat down on another trunk not far away. “I lost my sister because of him.”

“All of us have lost people we care about,” Gladiolus replied. “Noct, too. It’s all been because of the Empire. The only way to stop it is for us to take them down, once and for all.”

After a long pause, Ravus asked, “And you believe the King up to the task?”

Gladiolus let out a short laugh. “He sure as hell ain’t going to let them get away with all they’ve done.” The two fell to silence, sitting among the fallen trees. Not even a month ago - hell, not even an hour ago - Gladiolus wanted nothing more than to kill Ravus for all he had done. But it turned out he was just a man, hoping for a life a peace and happiness for his sister. Gladiolus couldn’t blame him for that.

“You know,” Gladiolus broke the silence. “Your help would be pretty useful against the Empire. You should come with us.”

“No,” Ravus said bluntly, drawing Gladiolus’s gaze. “The King of Lucis needs his father’s sword. It was lost during the battle with the Hydraean. I will retrieve it and meet you in Gralea.” Gladiolus nodded his agreement to the idea.

Ravus’s mouth turned up into something resembling a smile. “Ensure he arrives in one piece, Shield. As soon as he is capable.”

“Oh, he will,” Gladiolus promised. “Even if I have to carry him there myself.”

By the time Gladiolus returned to the estate, it was nearly morning. He found Ignis helping Prompto with a King’s Knight game. More accurately, Prompto was giving a play-by-play of the screen, and Ignis was making all the choices. As soon as Gladiolus rounded the corner, Ignis turned his head towards him.

“What’s that I smell?” he asked.

“Weskham’s smoked fish,” Gladiolus responded, setting two boxes on the bedside table. “There’s some eggs and toast in there, too. And this.” Gladiolus set a 12-pack of Ebony on Ignis’s lap.

“Whoa!” Prompto cried. “Where’d you find that much Ebony? It took me forever to find two cans.”

Gladiolus shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.” He left out the part where he bribed, and then threatened, a couple of relief workers just to get it. Seeing Ignis open up a can and savor the taste of it was the important part.

“Hey Prompto,” Gladiolus said next. “You wanna run a couple laps with me? I found the warehouse where they kept all their decorations for that Chocomog festival. Unattended.” Or at least, it would be for another hour or so.

“Oh. My. Gods,” Prompto said as mouth dropped open and his eyes nearly popped out. “Do you even have to ask?! I mean, only if Iggy is okay by himself.” He anxiously looked over at their friend.

“I should like to sit with Noct for a while, if you don’t mind leading me there,” Ignis replied.

“Of course!” Prompto jumped up and was at Ignis’s side in a second. As Prompto guided him out of the room, Ignis paused at the door.

“Thank you, Gladio,” he said.

“Don’t mention it,” Gladiolus replied. “Just want things back to normal as soon as possible.” And that meant wasting no time traveling to Nifleheim, getting the sword from Ravus, and finally taking down the Empire. Just as soon as their King was awake.

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