Chapter Text
Catra would be damned before she let Angels into the castle. This was her home. She’d been defending this place for three years. Kept everyone fed and clothed and safe from the terrors that reigned the skies. The last time she’d agreed to a meeting with a group of Angels, she’d lost—well, it had felt like she’d lost everything.
But all she’d really lost was her old naivete, her dependence on other people. And that? That was no loss. No one survived long in this ravaged world thinking other people would save them. Ever since that dragon burned her family when she was six, Catra should have known: she was alone.
So. Things were different now. Catra liked the castle. After all, she had invested time and energy into it. But she didn’t need this place. She would survive without it. She just didn’t want to leave it yet.
Which was why she was currently screaming at Scorpia for bringing in an emissary from the group of Angels camped outside.
“They just want to talk, Wildcat.” Scorpia raised her pincers, smiling with a kind of grimace at the pink-haired woman next to her. The woman was wearing those stupid jumpsuits all the Angels wore.
“Hi,” the woman said, with a smile much too cheery for her grimy face and uniform, or the castle itself, or, in fact, this entire gray, sad world. When Catra had used to dream of changing this world for the better, she had dreamed of sunlight. But that dream had died alongside her childhood foolishness. The skies would be dark forever, a legacy of the dragons’ fury, their unquenchable hunger for ash.
Catra considered the smiling pink-haired woman. Her grin was too wide. Her little sparkly hair clip was too bright, even in the dim candlelight. They were gathered in the meeting/ fire-suit storage room. And now welcome committee room. Every room in this castle was already used for at least two things, why not another? Catra thought. The Angels always brought out the worst in Catra.
The woman was talking again, Catra realized—something about needing a place to rest for a few days, a wounded comrade (well of course they were wounded, Catra thought, Angels spent their short lives wounded), they would trade labor and supplies for the hospitality—but Catra was barely paying attention.
“Scorpia,” Catra said, “you need to repair that one, on the left.” Catra pointed to a fire-suit hanging above the pink lady’s head. “It has scorch marks on the shoulder, you see?”
“Are you serious?” the pink-haired woman said, fuming. “You haven’t listened to a thing I’ve said, have you?”
“Maybe we should listen to them,” Scorpia said to Catra gently. “I know we have—kind of a history with Angels, ever since Ado—”
“We don’t need them!” Catra screamed at Scorpia, tail bristling behind her, shoulders hunched up to her ears, which were, she knew, lying flat on her skull. Catra took a few deep breaths in the silence that came after this. “We already don’t have enough food,” she said in a more level voice. “We can’t feed you too.”
“Well if you had been listening,” the pink-haired lady said, “you would know that we already talked about that. We actually were able to harvest quite a bit of food for you already from your fields in the valley.”
“You did what?” Catra said, approaching the woman with claws out. Scorpia held her back with one giant, gleaming claw.
“Catra,” Scorpia said, “they saw that that the fruit was falling off the branches. They knew it needed to be harvested, guessed that we just haven’t had sky-clearance to take a team out yet with our… well, less military resources. They didn’t steal it, they brought it to us. They did us a favor.”
Catra focused on Scorpia’s kind eyes, her reasonable voice. She didn’t want to be mad at Scorpia, at least. She squirmed. “Get off me then,” she said, pushing back from her pincer. “I’m not gunna claw Pink-Hair’s eyes out, okay?” She glared at the woman again. “At least not yet.”
“My name is Glimmer,” the woman said with utmost dignity and without a shred of self-awareness.
Catra cackled. “Your name—your actual name is Glitter?” She laughed some more, tears actually forming in her eyes. She had to give it to this lady, she’d made her laugh more than Catra had laughed in—months? Years?
“Glimmer,” the woman reiterated slowly, looking angry again, her thick eyebrows pulling together in fury.
Catra snickered.
“She really doesn’t mean any offense,” Scorpia was saying to the woman. “Catra is the best, most loyal friend—”
“Oh, I really do mean offense,” Catra said, sobering quickly. “So, we’ll take the crops. Thanks, or whatever, now, buh-bye, Sparkles.” Catra waved her hand in a shooing motion.
“That’s the thing, boss.” Scorpia lifted a pincer to the back of her head to scratch it. “I kind of already—said they could bring in their wounded friend? Entrapta’s preparing the clinic right now, and they’re on their way up to—”
“You did what?” Catra yelped. Catra pushed past Scorpia and Glimmer, passed the pile of laundry in the entry way, threw up the heavy, wooden bar holding the main doors closed, and pushed the tall castle doors open.
There, parading up the hill to the entrance of the castle, was a battalion of Angels. At least twenty-five people, or a third of the number currently residing in the castle. At the front of the line were several people carrying a stretcher with, Catra guessed, the wounded Angel. “You’re not welcome here! Get the fuck away from my castle!” she screamed, pulled the heavy doors shut behind her, and barred the entrance.
She twirled around to Glimmer, Scorpia trailing behind her. “That is an army, Scorpia!” Catra yelled wildly.
“We’re not here to hurt you,” Glimmer said.
“Their friend needs help, Catra,” Scorpia said, eyes wide and terrified-looking.
Catra realized dimly that behind Scorpia, gathering in the wide entryway, were a group of kids and their parents, murmuring and shooting Catra panicked glances. Normally, the presence of kids would make Catra tone down her voice, at least, but there were Angels at her door, and everyone should be afraid.
“Who cares if they’re hurt?” Catra said. “They’re Angels. They’re all dead already. And they’ll drag all of us down with them!”
Catra felt all of the fear and anger in full force, the fear and anger she’d had with her, inside of her, every day for the last three years since the Angels first destroyed her little world. She leaped at Glimmer, securing her into a headlock with one arm and threatening her jugular with the claws of the other. She dragged Glimmer into the meeting room, and yelled at Scorpia, “Keep that door barred and tell them out there if they try anything their Sparkle friend meets the pointy end of my claws. And we,” Catra snarled to Glimmer, “are going to talk about what you’re really here for.”
Catra pushed the woman through the entryway. It was hard work. She was stronger than she looked, and kicked and screamed the entire way. Catra thought she might have lost her grip if she weren’t so energized by adrenaline and fury. She pushed Glimmer into the wall in front of the rack of fire suits, using the big straps used to keep the suits upright to tie Glimmer onto the rack, which was bolted in the wall. The woman kept squirming and fighting her, and actually got in a bite into Catra’s forearm when she braced it too close to the woman’s mouth.
Catra flinched back, looking at the bite mark on her arm in disgust. Glimmer hadn’t actually broken skin, but it was the principle of the thing.
“Euck, what is wrong with you?” Catra demanded. She finished tying the woman up, making the restraint a little tighter on her left arm than strictly necessary. Catra wiped her forearm on her dirty, tattered shirt.
“Am I diseased now?” Catra said. “Should I get shots?” Catra shook her head. “Right. You’re gunna tell me exactly what your plan is here, and why you showed up. Because Scorpia may have bought your precious little story about a wounded friend, but I know Angels, and I know they’d never bother to help a fallen comrade. I mean, come on, isn’t that what you all do anyway?” Catra made a vicious gesture toward the ground. “Fall?”
Catra sat on the edge of the big meeting table. She crossed her legs, then her arms, and looked at Glimmer in disdain.
Glimmer said nothing. She was still struggling against the restraints.
“So what is it you’re really after?” Catra tried again. “Here to take more of my people? Recruit some kids into your death cult?”
A voice came from the entryway, one Catra didn’t recognize. Or, scratch that, one Catra recognized too well, one that couldn’t possibly be—
“Glimmer?” came the impossible voice. “Is that you I heard? I thought I heard—I thought—”
The voice broke off abruptly, and Catra watched Glimmer’s eyes look up at the newcomer.
Catra whipped around, already yelling at Scorpia. “I told you to keep the door—”
Catra’s words were swallowed up by the sight of her. A blonde, tall figure, clad in that same ridiculous jumpsuit. Her hair’s wrong, Catra thought illogically, at the sight of her golden hair falling just beneath her jawline. She used to wear it long, when Catra knew her, tied up in a ponytail. Her eyes were the same, though, even if she did have a new scar on her cheek, running from her eyebrow nearly to the corner of her mouth.
Catra tumbled down off the table, her back to her own hostage, distantly realizing she had made some noise in the back of her throat. Catra lifted her own hand to her eyebrow, tracing a line down her own face, a mirror of the one in front of her.
It’s not, Catra thought. It can’t be.
But it was.
“Catra,” the woman said in a sob. Her eyes were already red, tears streaming down her face. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, blinked, refocused.
“Catra,” she said again, “it’s—is it you?” Her voice had gone impossibly soft and small, sounding like she had as a child.
Catra couldn’t speak. She felt her tail flick side-to-side behind her.
As if her tail’s movement was some kind of signal, the blonde rushed into movement all at once, taking the whole of the room in a handful of long, hurried strides, and embraced Catra with such strength that she pushed them both into the table behind them.
She smelled like gasoline, and soil. She pulled away just a little to take Catra’s face in between her hands. “It’s you, isn’t it? Catra, how—you’re really here, aren’t you?” Her voice had turned into a demand, clearly expecting an answer Catra couldn’t give. But she didn’t stop cradling Catra’s face in her hands, moving her fingertips to her hairline, to the tips of her ears—no one has touched my ears in three years, Catra thought. It was as if the woman didn’t trust her sense of sight and needed another sense to confirm Catra’s existence.
She took one of Catra’s hands in both of her own. She squeezed Catra’s fingers, utterly oblivious—or indifferent to—the danger of Catra’s sharp claws. And that was when Catra knew for sure, without a doubt, that this wasn’t some trick. This was no hallucination, no dream. It was really her.
She was sobbing openly now, still saying Catra’s name, still asking if it’s really her, until she grew agitated by Catra’s silence and pulled back to take Catra by the shoulders. “Catra, answer me. It’s me. It’s Adora.”
The last place Adora had wanted to go was the castle. Adora resisted any plan that included meeting new people, as new people were both a risk and an irritation. Adora preferred to be in the chopper, or in the sky. Feeling the air whip her face, a weapon in her hands, her enemy finally within reach. People, in general, were a nuisance. When they weren’t outright criminals, grifters trying to steal what little the Angels had, they were begging for their protection. They should have known that Adora was the last person in the world who could protect them.
The only people who Adora actually liked, in fact, were Glimmer and Bow. The first and only friends Adora had made after her entire world was taken from her three years ago. Adora would have died, then, if they hadn’t taken pity on her and watched over her. They forced her to eat, forced her to talk, forced her to keep living. They gave her a purpose, and Adora learned that even though she had already lost everything, there was some grim satisfaction from exacting revenge on the monsters that had taken her.
But Bow had gotten wounded after the last kill. And it was Adora’s fault. Visibility was so bad that Mermista, from the pilot seat, had advised them against the jump, but Adora had gone anyway. And then, because Bow and Glimmer were too loyal, too sweet, and much too good for her, they had jumped after Adora, too. Adora had gotten the first net around the dragon, but it wasn’t enough. This one was big, its wingspan better measured in building lengths than in feet, and it had struggled just enough under the netting that its giant pointed wing had clipped Bow in the abdomen. Glimmer had just barely reached him to pull both his and her own parachutes in time. Adora had handled the dragon herself, blasting it down as the two of them were still falling through the sky, Adora and another of her endless enemy.
So Adora had no choice. Bow needed medical attention immediately. They would go to the castle.
It was Glimmer’s idea to harvest their crops for them as a show of good faith. Adora helped of course, grumbling all the time.
“What’s wrong with these people?” she said to Glimmer sourly. “Were they just waiting for someone to come do this for them?”
“They’re scared,” Glimmer said reasonably. “They probably don’t know how to fight them.”
“Cowards,” Adora said, ripping an apple from the tree so fiercely the whole branch shook. Glimmer sent her a reproachful look.
“Sorry,” Adora said. “I just—” She shook her head, feeling the sting in her eyes. She brought her hand up to clasp the little broken toy sword hanging from her neck. “Don’t understand. Don’t they see they can’t hide from them?” She looked up at the sky. “They’ll always find us. Always. As long as their Prime is alive, we can never be safe.”
Glimmer laid a hand on Adora’s arm, and then rested her head on Adora’s shoulder. “I know,” she said gently. She lifted her head after a moment and elbowed Adora lightly in the side. “Just, don’t start any fistfights this time, okay?”
Adora grimaced. “Sorry. I won’t.” She put an arm around her friend. “And don’t worry, Glimmer. Bow’s gunna be just fine.” She bit back her next words, the I promise she wanted to punctuate her sentence.
Adora knew better now. This world turned all promises to ash.
Adora wasn’t exactly surprised when the people in the castle were less than friendly. Most people still living in this hellish, terrifying world were cruel. Those who weren’t hadn’t made it this long.
But she was still furious. Bow was hurt. He needed help now. And they had harvested their crops for them, because they were too pitiful to go out and do it themselves. What were they going to do, wait in their castle to starve to death?
Adora was already preparing to burst through the castle doors herself when she heard the yelling. The voice sounded familiar. Familiar in a way that made Adora’s heart clench. She breathed through the feeling. She’s not here, she told herself. You lost her.
But then Adora watched as a figure hefted the castle doors open, yelled down at their small encampment, furious. Adora couldn’t pay attention to the words. She was dazed by the figure—the tail, the pointed ears—the raspy voice. It can’t be. It can’t be.
But she had to know. She told Frosta to watch Bow and sprinted up the stairs to pound on the wooden doors. “Hello? Hello is someone there? I thought I saw—” She shook her head. “Please, I’m not gunna hurt anyone, can you let me—”
The door opened. An amiable, well-muscled woman welcomed her in with the sweep of a red claw.
“Thanks,” Adora said, “My friend Glimmer came in here a minute ago, and then I thought I heard—was there someone—”
A voice from the other room squeaked, and then, furious: “Euck, what is wrong with you?”
Adora knew that voice. She hurried toward it without thought, without hesitation.
But the woman was in her way. “I’m Scorpia,” she said, in a bright voice. “But I really can’t let you just traipse through the castle. Catra’s orders.”
Adora reached up to shake the woman by her shoulders. “What did you say?” she demanded.
Scorpia shrugged her off. “Look, I don’t know normally say this, but I’m getting bad vibes from you and—”
“What name did you say?” Adora demanded.
The woman huffed. “Scorpia.”
“No, no, no!” Adora said, getting in the woman’s face. “You said another name. Who were you talking about?”
The voice echoed down from the hall again.
“Catra?” Scorpia called to it.
Adora needed no further incentive. She ducked underneath Scorpia’s claw and raced through the entryway and into what looked like a meeting room. She nearly tripped on a pile of laundry—was no one organized here?—in her haste.
She saw Glimmer first, tied up on the wall, and then—the back of a woman’s head. The same pointed ears, the same tail. The same figure, so much smaller in reality than she was in Adora’s imagination.
The woman turned as Adora made some kind of sound—and it was her. It was her completely. Her face, her blue and gold eyes, her pointed chin, her long, wild hair.
Adora should have thought she had lost her mind, probably, but she didn’t. She knew all at once that it was really her, that somehow this horrible, relentless world had spared Adora’s best friend, her greatest loss, the first person who had ever wanted Adora.
Catra.
Adora felt her heart break open as she took Catra in her arms, needing to feel her alive. It was nothing like the dream, or a memory. She was warm, and trembling, and her shirt was soft from wear. Adora was crying, big heaving sobs. She wanted to hear Catra’s voice again, wanted to hear confirmation that this was really happening. She realized that she must be babbling too much for Catra to understand her, that she would have to calm down.
Adora pulled back and met Catra’s eyes once again. Adora breathed, in and out. “Catra, answer me. It’s me. It’s Adora.”
Catra shoved away from Adora, sending both of them stumbling away from the other. Catra’s chest was heaving, her expression shocked, panicked even. She stared at Adora for several long seconds, and then she stood up straight, lifted her chin, and smirked with the same fanged smile Adora had loved all her life. “Yeah,” Catra said, “I remember your name.”
Adora was so happy to hear her voice again, so happy to see her, so happy, that she didn’t process the bitterness in Catra’s tone. Adora grinned and reached for her again.
Catra retreated, and this time Adora saw fear in her eyes. Adora pulled her own arm into her chest.
“Catra?” she said, uncertain.
“Can’t believe you bothered to remember my name,” Catra said. She folded her arms across her chest.
“What?” Adora said, aghast. She laughed, a little, no humor in it. “Yeah, like I would forget your name, Catra.” Adora said her name again just for the pleasure of addressing her.
“I figured you had forgotten everything,” Catra drawled, looking at her hand, fingers splayed in front of her as she considered her claws. She used her other hand to wipe something off her middle finger’s claw, and then looked back up at Adora. “But maybe you just didn’t care.” The words were hard, accusing. Catra’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Didn’t care?” Adora said, pulling her hands into fists at either side to stop herself from reaching out to Catra again. “What are you talking about?”
Catra rubbed her claws on her collarbone, as if polishing them, and then crossed her arms across her chest and leaned against the wall behind her, bending one knee to brace herself. “I mean, I just figured you’d forgotten everything from your boring little life once you left and joined them.” Her eyes flicked over to Glimmer. “I’ll admit, even I thought you’d show up after the Fright Zone was razed, but I should have known better. You’d told me you were done with that place. Should have known a little massacre wouldn’t get in the way of your dreams.” She said the last word with naked disdain.
Adora was speechless. The fact of Catra, Catra alive, Catra whole and breathing and perfect, was already too much. She couldn’t even imagine how they could be together again and Catra could be mad.
“Catra, I’m sorry,” Adora started, the old instinct to comfort returning all at once, “I think you’re confused about something, I—”
“The only thing I’m confused about—” Catra propelled herself away from the wall, stalking toward Adora. “Is how you’d dare show your face here.”
“What?” Adora breathed. “Catra what are you talking about? I’m just so happy to see—”
“You left me there.” Catra pressed a sharp claw into Adora’s chest. “I waited for you. I waited months for you!”
“Leave you?” Adora said. She was so lost she could do little more than repeat Catra’s words. She couldn’t stop running her eyes over Catra in amazement. She wanted to laugh, despite Catra’s anger. She felt like she and Catra were living in separate dimensions, side by side, able to see but not touch. Hear, but not understand. She wanted to take Catra by the shoulders and shake sense into her. Didn’t she know nothing else mattered? She was alive. “I didn’t leave you anywhere,” Adora said.
“Is that right?” Catra’s words were acidic. “Guess I just imagined being stuck in that cave for three months.”
“You were—why were you…?” Adora’s mind was reeling. She hadn’t let herself dwell on that time for so long. Finding the Fright Zone gone, the sword in the ashes, the grief that had taken her, stripped her body down to bone.
“Get out,” Catra said, not meeting Adora’s eyes, her voice rough.
Adora took a step back. She wished Catra would just throw a punch, that they could tussle and fight it out like they used to as kids. Anything but this.
“Take your Angels and leave before you get us all killed.” Catra walked forward, and Adora’s heart leapt, despite everything, but Catra was only getting closer to Adora because she was between Catra and the door. Catra stopped at the doorway. “And don’t look at me like that,” she said, tearing her eyes away from Adora’s. “I don’t know what you were thinking coming here.”
“What I was thinking?” Adora cried. “I thought you were dead.” Her voice broke. Some part of her had realized that Catra didn’t know this fact, as obvious, as present and real as gravity. “I never would have left you. Never. Catra, I’ve missed you. So much. I—Catra.” Adora didn’t know how to explain that Catra’s death broke her heart. Wasn’t it obvious?
Catra stopped. Her tail flicked, back and forth, swatting the door frame. “You’re lying. Get your people out. You’re nothing to me now. You were dead to me a long time ago.” She was snarling now, a menace Adora had never heard directed at her before. She turned to leave, stopped, turned her face halfway to Adora without meeting her eyes. “You better forget my name now,” she hissed. “If I hear you say it again, I’ll kill you myself.”