Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She wasn’t fast enough to catch up on the action. 

When Kristine returned with Ivan, the fight was already over. Den lay flat on the ground, staring into the sky with a sense of… it looked almost like boredom. Christian kneeled next to her, applying pressure on her abdomen, where blood continued to seep out underneath the cloth, despite his efforts. 

“Oh my god!” 

“Oh, my god.” 

At the same time, same words, but different tones. 

Ivan groaned with annoyance, but he didn’t let that slow him. He was by Den’s side, patching her up within seconds. As the doctor got to work, Christian stood and left with only a brief nod shared with Kristine. He headed back towards the campsite, where Curt would aid him as they reported today’s events and acquired information from the headquarters. They’d have to formulate their next step, a much-needed plan to avoid another incident like today. 

Kristine took Christian’s place by Den’s side. There were three long slashes across her stomach, resembling a long scratch. They were surface wounds, ripping the skin apart but did no serious harm to the more vital organs. Kristine noted, a little shaken up by the bloody sight.

She didn’t know why she was so… mesmerized ? No, that can’t be the right word... But, either way, she can’t seem to tear her gaze away from the gash, wincing whenever the alcohol-drenched cotton ball made contact with the exposed pink flesh. 

However, aside from the occasional flinches, Den didn’t seem to react. The only show tell that she was still aware of pain were her lips, pressed so firmly together they were white from a lack of blood circulation. In her left hand, she toyed with one of Ivan’s scalpels, occasionally bringing it up to jab it into Ivan’s arm while he swatted the weakened woman away. 

Is she… used to this? Kristine chewed on the inside of her cheeks. Are they all used to this ? The Recreyo team has been something of a legend, a tale whispered from one to one. She had only started to tag along recently, and from what she’s seen? Perhaps the stories weren’t exaggerating, but understatements. 

“Ever since she left, Recreyo has been a mess.” 

“You all look confused. Ugh. Have you seen them lately? The two alcoholics picked it back up, they got canceled, failed to find the undercover spy, and got themselves buried alive!” 

“Yeah, that’s why you’re here. Perhaps sending strangers to accompany their missions will force them to pull it together. They’ll have to care for your well-being. Can’t have them- Honestly, all I ask of you is to keep them from getting too wasted.” 

There were many guests that came and went. Some stayed for a day longer than others, but Kristine was the longest-running. She was pleasantly surprised to be informed that she’d be staying longer than they originally anticipated. Apparently, they had taken a liking to her. Higher-ups just confirmed to change her work to eventually join the crew. 

Of course, she’d love to. 

She has always envied how closely knitted they were. Even with the gaping hole the departure left them, they remain intact on their own… Haggard ways, like the higher-ups would say. 

Growing up, she moved a lot. She never found any genuine friends, didn’t know how to maintain them, and sometimes she couldn’t even hang around to meet anyone. Getting hired into this was the final barrier between her and the normal world. The biggest rule everyone made sure to emphasize in dimension-hopping: Never get attached. Their only options for life-long partners will have to be among each other, and Kristine would like for her partners to be the Recreyo crew. 

If they’d even take her. 

She wondered if she’d ever find her place amongst them, like how the members each hold their irreplaceable positions. 

Ivan finished up and gestured for Kristine to prop Den up, so he could wrap gauze around her torso. He finally broke the silence. “So, what happened to the ‘Legend Killer Cypher Den’?” 

Den huffed in amusement, “In my defense, she tricked me.” 

“Ugh. What the hell- could she do?” Ivan rolled his eyes, fixing the fabric together. “You're joking.” 

“She told me she had Shady Paws,” Den shrugged. She relaxed onto Kristine, rolling what was left of her torn shirt back down. 

“You believed her?” 

“I did!” 

“Oh my god- Den!” 

Kristine had no idea what they were talking about. 

Legend Killer Cypher Den? Who is Shady Paws? She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She could ask about it, and they’d answer. She knew that. But there was no room for her to interrupt. No openings for her to cut in. 

Huh.

This felt wrong. 

How had she ended up butting her way into fully-constructed, closed-off-to-outsiders relationships again? They clearly did great on their own, and so far she’d proved to be no help. So, why was she here again? 

Kristine glanced down at Den, who lay on her lap. The pressure was almost burning her skin. Kristine hid her shaking hands behind her back, but it wasn’t like any attention was on her anyway. Something trickled up the back of her throat. 

Ivan packed his box before helping Den up. 

Kristine watched them shove their way into the trees before she coughed out what had climbed into her mouth. Scrunching her nose, she stomped on the mixture of flower buds, saliva, and blood. She wiped her mouth and kicked a few branches over to hide the mess. 

She saw the size of the flowers.

They were fine . She was fine.

At least her condition hasn’t worsened… that much.

Chapter Text

It was for love, 

The Captain grinned. 

She took off her tricone, 

Got rid of her cutlass, 

Ans bid her mates on a misty dawn. 

She was contented,

Forgot her past. 

She trekked the land,

Alongside the one she love, 

Pushing the water far beyond her mind.

It would be years, 

Before they anchor. 

The water remains unchanged, 

When they return to the start, 

Where the woman left her ship. 

The storm raged and wrecked, 

The night she returned. 

While they rest under roofs, 

Wrapped thick with blankets, 

Laughter ablaze.

Another misty dawn, 

The lovers walked. 

Weathers like such, 

Often swept ashore treasures, 

From bones to trinkets alike. 

Wood drift stranded, 

Gold glimmering through. 

She kicked aside rotten wood, 

It was their figurehead, 

Ruined and indented. 

This was no coincidence, 

A taunt from the ocean.

It shined brighter than before,

She knew what it would mean, 

And she laughed in its face. 

She sailed out to sea, 

Her lover left behind.

May they weep or gloat, 

Her heart was set in stone

But the Captain was well past her prime. 

The concept of time, 

Is nothing but a fraud.

She grinned to herself, 

The state she’s in mattered none, 

For she sought a deal with Death.

Chapter Text

“Go ahead,” Christian whispered, “I can handle them.”

A quick retort snapped back at him. “All of them?”

Sure, there were a lot. Too much for anyone to just handle. But, what else could he say?

“Yeah.”

The logical part of his brain made itself crystal clear, but… He could afford to think responsibly.

Christian kept his eyes glued to the ground while his mind screamed, hoping and begging for one of them, any of them, to tell him off. To say that it’s a stupid idea. That, it wouldn’t work against any odds. And then, he’d be able to look at them, and smile. Then, he could remind them of the circumstances they’re in, to feel like he has control of the situation.

But, the room lacked human speech. Only the never-increasing sound of their doom rumbled outside.

He curled his hand into a fist inside his pocket as he struggled to still his shaking leg. Which was not working so well. He finally turned to stare at the crew. He knew they’d have to take his offer. There were no other options, the luxury of evaluating their choices had crashed downhill with their mistake.

“Well?” He snickered.

Curt returned his stare, his eyes sparkled under the moonlit window. It wasn’t easy to tell, but Christian thought he shook his head.

Was it disappointment? Annoyance? Sorrow?

He signed and turned to face the door. He didn’t need to know.

Chapter Text

Nowadays, she thinks she understands Den more. Though, perhaps not for such similar reasons. 

She knows who she is- It was Chilly Panda.. Yes . She still remembers, that’s a comfort. But what she is.. She is not so sure anymore. 

She feels more like a consciousness, less than what she expected from the modern concept of ghosts. She had no body- no natural one, anyway. Over time, she learned to control the phantom matter that made up her and morph them into what she could recall looking like. It was a lot better, having limbs, and eyes, and ears. Instead of navigating in an awkward, inhuman way, relying solely on sensations. 

She liked to pretend she was still human. If that wasn’t obvious enough. She made herself a more human form, and therefore she must be capable of human emotions. And not something she makes up to supply her with a purpose for existing.

It’s not all delusional, she believes. The anger that bubbles within her when she catches sight of her murderer feels true. 

She throws fits quite often too. She’d bang on the tables and throw phantom glass to the ground. Crash her body into the wall, scream obscenities. Sometimes, he would look back as if he could hear her. 

Regardless of it all, the betrayal was real. 

She wasn’t entirely sure who was to blame, maybe all of them. If Curt hadn’t booked the cabin, if Den didn’t want to play that stupid trusting game, if Christian wasn't acting so suspicious. 

She could still feel the glass shards piercing through her. Coarse pain and the cold glass, flesh ripping apart with an excruciating burning sensation. Starting into the dark shades that failed to mask the maniacal expression he bore. She was filled with so many emotions then. A small twang of glee, that she was proven correct… Ivan did turn out to be the murderer, one way or another. Shock, at the suddenness of it all. Maybe a bit of guilt for not believing Christian. But most of all… Terror, at her fate. She didn’t want to die, after all, she'd be the last one to ask for that.

So, in turn, hatred.

Maybe that’s what kept her going, to one day puncture the same number of wounds into his torso. To put so, so many blades through his chest. Make him experience exactly what she was inflicted with.

But then again. Maybe if she wasn’t so stupid. Maybe if she was more trusting. Maybe, if she didn’t attack first, or assume so quickly, or-

Still, what’s done is done. There was nothing to do now but wilt in guilt.