Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Confirm that the target has been spotted,” Etho’s voice wobbled from the walkie talkie Grian was holding up to his ear. 

“Confirmed,” he replied, talking into the mouthpiece, “Target is unsuspecting,”

“Good luck G, don’t miss,” Cleo said, and Grian swore he could hear the smile in her voice. 

“Permission to execute?” he asked into his walkie.

“Permission given,” Etho said.

Grian squinted his left eye and shifted his sniper slightly to the left, his finger hovering above the trigger. Through the scope, the unsuspecting man had his back turned to Grian through the window, this would be an easy elimination. Grian hadn’t asked about the identity of this man he was tasked to kill, it would only make the deed worse. This man had a family, had friends, had some people that he cared about and cared about him.

Grian irritably pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He couldn’t let conflicting thoughts like those deter his actions. He had chosen to be part of this organization, there was no going back. This man is not innocent, nor is Grian. In this world, it is kill or be killed. At least, that’s what Grian was taught. 

He trained the sniper directly at the man’s head, and placed his finger on the trigger. But, at the last possible moment, everything went astray. The man turned sharply, and stared directly at where Grian was positioned. He was hidden, right? The man couldn’t have seen him. Grian pulled the trigger right as the man dived to the side. Shit. 

“Target is on the move, I repeat, target is on the move!” Grian shouted into his walkie, abandoning his sniper and running towards the staircase of the abandoned office building he was stationed in. 

“Where is the target heading?” Etho asked, and it sounded like he was running too. 

Grian paused by a paneless window, nearly out of breath, and narrowed his eyes at the entrance of the building which the target had been spotted in, 

“Towards you, Etho,” he finally decided, watching the small figure dart out of the large doors of the building.

“Cleo, stay on standby in case he goes your way,” Etho ordered through the walkie.

“Got it,” Cleo replied. “I’ll be your getaway driver.” Grian envisioned she was giving Etho a major eye roll through the walkie. 

The line fell into a silence as Grian ran the rest of the way down the stairs, ignoring the aching in his legs. 

“Target has been spotted,” Etho said through the walkie. 

“I would wish you luck but that didn’t do Grian any good, so, do your best, I guess,” Cleo said.

“Hey, it’s not my fault!” Grian squawked, “He knew I was there,”

“He won’t stay still,” Etho said, an edge of annoyance evident in his voice, “Grian move in,”

“On my way, where is he?”

A pause, then Etho replied, “Just off of Elkwood street, he’s turning onto Jefferson.”

Grian broke out into a sprint, the chilly November air causing goosebumps to rise on his skin, his tight black assassin’s outfit doing nothing to protect his skin from the cold. He sharply turned onto the street Etho had said and sprinted down it. 

“Target turned into an alley branching off Jefferson. I’m closing in,” Etho said.

Grian saw a flicker of movement in the corner of his vision, and turned his head to the roof of the nearby three story building, a figure clad in all black was leaping between the roofs of the buildings.

“Right below you,” Grian said, then still running, tucked his walkie into his back pocket and pulled his pistol out of its holster. 

“And I’m still the getaway driver,” Cleo said, their voice sounding bored. Grian glanced up at Etho, who had sped up and disappeared. Grian forced his legs to run faster, cursing his short frame.

He stopped before the ally diverted off from the main street, readying his gun, turning off safety and tightening his grip on it. Then he turned, gun raised to take the finishing shot. 

But there wasn’t a reason to. The target was lying dead on the ground, blood leaking from his head where a throwing knife had buried itself to rest in his skull. Etho was crouching by the body, checking the man’s pockets. Disappointment twisted its way into Grian’s stomach and he tried to force it back, why would he feel disappointment at the fact that he wasn’t the one to get the final kill? He internally shook his head, he should be happy that the target was eliminated one way or another. 

Hearing Grian, Etho spun around as quick as lightning, pistol readied in front of him, trained at Grian’s chest. 

“Oh, hi,” was all Etho said before crouching back down to rip his knife from the man’s head, and Grian internally cringed at the disgusting squelching sound it made. 

“Target has been eliminated,” Etho said into his walkie, before attaching it to his belt. He turned to Grian. “Come on, Cleo might die of boredom before we get back to them.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Grian said, hovering for a second, his eyes transfixed on the body, before hurrying to follow his captain. 

“Good job,” Cleo’s voice emitted from the walkie. “Hurry up or else I’m gonna die of boredom.”

Grian smirked, glancing up at Etho, before turning back to his walkie. “Alright, fine, we’re coming back.”

“Grian?” Etho asked, idly twirling the still bloody knife in one hand by his side.

“Yeah?” 

“What did you mean, ‘he noticed you’? How did he know you were there?”

They turned a corner and their car, with a very exasperated get-away driver, was waiting at the end of the street for them.

“I was aiming for him and he just suddenly turned to look at me. I don’t know how he spotted me in the building, maybe the glare from the sniper, but it was weird, y’know?”

Etho stayed silent for a second, but Grian noticed that he had stopped twirling the throwing knife. 

“Yeah, weird.” They both fell silent until they reached the car. Etho branched off to the shotgun seat, and Grian went to the back seats.  

“So,” Cleo asked, twisting to look at both of them, "How'd it go?”

Grian turned towards Cleo, “Fine, I guess.” Then he turned towards Etho. His captain was staring out of the windshield, and Grian noticed how pretty his silver white hair looked accented in the setting sun. 

Immediately Grian mentally slapped himself. The last time his mind had been plagued by these thoughts… Well, Grian had cut ties with Scar a long time ago. Something like that was not going to happen with Etho too. No, Grian did not think his hair was pretty. No, Grian was not transfixed in the way he could masterfully dodge blows and slashes from knives. No, Grian was not in love with the way Etho looked after a long and hard training session, sweat running down the side of his head, but still looking as beautiful as always. No, Grian was not in love. Why would he ever think that? 

Grian realized he was staring, and blushed bright pink, hurriedly looking away at anything else. He heard Cleo snort and start the car engine. 

“What?” he asked indignantly, staring at the back of her seat. 

“Oh, nothing,” Cleo said, and Grian could see them smirking through the rearview mirror.

Grian huffed and resorted to staring out of the window at the ever setting sun, darkness cascading down upon the road which they were taking to get back to their apartment building. 

“Etho, would you please stop twirling the bloody knife in the car,” Cleo’s exasperated voice drifted from the front seat.

“Would you rather I spin a blood-free one?” he asked, but stopped the movement anyway. 

Cleo pulled the car into a parking spot and cut the engine. 

Grian stepped out of the car and swung the door behind him closed. Cleo did the same in front of him, and turned to give him an unreadable look- Understanding maybe?

Grian just stared at them incredulously and she smirked and started walking towards the dorms.

“Come on, unless you want to stand there like an idiot all night.”

Etho fell into step next to her, and Grian sped up to walk by the two. They reached the large automatic motion doors, and as they stepped through them, Grian barely kept a groan from leaving his lips.

“Oh come on,” Cleo muttered under their breath so only Grian and Etho could hear.

Etho remained in his stoic silence but a flash of annoyance seemed to cross his masked face.

Across them, a team who looked like they had just arrived was matching their annoyance. 

Grian’s team stopped in front of the other team. 

“Hello, Gem,” Cleo said icily. 

“Hello Cleo!” Gem responded in a singsong voice with a dangerous edge. “Etho, Grian,” she nodded to the other two. 

“Was it successful?” Grian asked, ignoring the tense aura surrounding the six of them. 

“Yeah, what about you?” Scott asked, his arms crossed. 

“Yep,” Grian said, and with a look from Etho, refrained from telling the other team the target had spotted them. 

“So, who got the kill?” Cleo asked, and Gem nodded towards Impulse, who Grian hadn’t noticed before, but it seemed like his fellow assassin had been somewhat behind Scott, staring at the ground in front of his own feet and clutching his arms. Scott nudged him with his shoulder and Impulse looked up at the sudden attention. 

“Oh- Yeah, I did it.” He tried to force a smile, but it faltered, and he went back to staring at his shoes. 

“Well, who got it out of you guys?” Scott asked, peering at the trio.

“I did,” Etho said, absentmindedly twirling the knife for the third time. 

Gem rolled her eyes. “Figures,” she muttered under her breath. 

“Excuse me?” Cleo said, her eyes lighting up. “Would you care to repeat that?”

Gem glared at her, and Grian decided it was time to cut in. 

“It’s okay, we have to get going anyway, don’t we, Cleo?” 

Cleo gave Gem one more withering look. “Yeah, fine, whatever, come on guys.”

They strode off and Etho sighed, then followed her, Grian falling into step with him. 

Once they had reached their dorm, Grian collapsed onto the couch sideways. 

“Stairs are going to be the death of me,” he groaned, flinging an arm over his face.

“Yeah, okay, you big baby,” Cleo said, walking over to the kitchen. Grian sat up when Etho sat down next to his feet at the end of the couch, and fought the blush that was slowly creeping on his face.

“Good job today,” Grian said, shifting his position so he was sitting next to Etho. 

“Yeah,” Etho sighed, stretching his arms over his head. “You too.”

Grian downturned his gaze, staring into his lap. “But I missed the shot.”

Etho turned to look at him, and something changed in his expression before he turned away. “You didn’t lose your composure, even if you missed the target. I’ve seen many people beat themselves up over something like that, and you didn’t.”

Grian swallowed, and continued to stare down, not looking up at Etho.

Etho lightly punched Grian in the shoulder and Grian finally looked up at him as he said, “Just take the compliment, will you?” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Grian relented, untensing his shoulders and relaxing more into the couch cushion at his back. 

“Dinner’s ready!” Cleo shouted from the kitchen, sounding satisfied. 

Grian groaned as he stood up, his knees popping like an old man, “This assassin job is making me age twice as fast, I swear.”

Etho didn’t reply as the two walked to the table.

Grian’s stomach growled loudly as he walked to Cleo. “Thanks,”

“Ah, don’t thank me yet,” they smirked. “You’re on clean up duty after.”

Grian groaned. “Why can’t Etho do it? He was scheduled to do it today.” Grian pointed at the dry erase board they had set up near the entryway. Today was scheduled for Cleo to cook and for Etho to clean, it was Grian’s day off. 

“Because,” Cleo booped Grian’s nose, “Etho’s had a long day.”

“You’re totally picking favorites,” Grian complained and looked over Cleo’s shoulder to the pot she had just finished stirring, “Mac’n’cheese?” Grian asked. “We had that the last time you cooked!”

“Well maybe some of us can’t cook as well as a five star chef. I didn’t know that came with the whole assassin job!” she retorted. 

“Grian, just shut up,” Etho muttered from the table. 

“See, he’s on my side,” Cleo said triumphantly.

“That’s only because you’re making me clean instead of him!”

Cleo stuck out their tongue at him and grabbed a bowl, handing it to him, saying, “It’s self serve,” then, “Etho, come over here if you’re hungry,”

Grian served himself a bowl and his mouth watered at the sight of the delicious, creamy, texture of the noodles. 

He sat down at the table next to Etho, who had yet to get his dinner. Grian dug his fork into the creamy goodness and took a bite. Immediately his tongue exploded in delicious flavour.

“Cleo, this is so good!” he said through a mouthful of food, digging into the food for another bite. 

“And here I thought you were complaining.”

“You must have been imagining, I would never.”

Cleo smiled, “Sure, we can go with that.”

She sat down across from Grian and Etho, turning her gaze to Etho. “Etho?” they asked. The man in question had his elbow propped up on the table and his forehead resting against the back of his hand. He seemed deep in thought. 

His name seemed to break him out of his stupor. “I need to talk with Gem,” he said suddenly, standing up.

“Woah, don’t you two like hate each other or something?” Grian asked, tugging Etho back down to his seat.

He looked hesitant, looking at his two teammates. “I can’t really tell you guys everything-” He stopped a knock resonating in the room from the wooden door. 

Etho immediately shot up from his seat, Grian suspected he was relieved to not have to explain whatever secret he was hiding to them. Etho walked over to the door and opened it, where Gem stood, a hard look in her eyes.

“Gem,” Etho said, his voice betraying no emotion.

“Etho, I need to talk to you,” she said straightforwardly, Etho sighed and nodded, he turned to the side, allowing her into the dorm.

“Wait, Etho-” Cleo started, glaring daggers at Gem.

“Grian, Cleo, can you two excuse us?” Etho said, glancing at the two of them. 

Before Cleo could say anything else, Grian interrupted, “Yeah, come on, Cleo.” He took their arm and led her into his bedroom with surprisingly minimal complaining coming from her.  Once Grian shut the door she flopped down onto his messy bed, the blankets resembling a nest of some sorts. 

“Why Etho?” Cleo asked.

“Probably because he’s team captain, and Gem’s team captain, they know something for sure.”

“Yeah, but what?” 

Grian pondered, did it have something to do with their target that was expecting to have a hit set out for him?

“Well,” he began slowly, “you know when I said that the target knew I was there?”

“Yeah?” she responded, confusion evident in their voice.

“Well, when I told Etho about it, he seemed to know something but he wouldn’t talk more about it. Maybe it has something to do with that?”

“Maybe.” Cleo fell silent for a second, presumably thinking. “But that doesn’t explain why Gem needs to talk to him. She wasn’t there, and you didn’t tell her about it, right?”

Grian shook his head and sighed, settling into the bed next to Cleo. They would just have to wait until Etho was done talking to Gem, then they would get answers. 

***

Etho sat across the table from Gem, his hands clasped in his lap. Grian’s bowl of noodles was next to him, getting cold. He distantly noted that Grian would have to heat them up.

Etho waited patiently for Gem to gather her thoughts and start, and when she cleared her throat, he snapped back to attention.

“I think we both know why we’re having this conversation, but I’m gonna say it anyway. Is it true that the target noticed Grian when he was sniping him?”

“Yes, Grian told me after the target was eliminated that he turned to look at the sniper, then ran after Grian took the shot.”

“And he missed the shot?” Gem asked, an edge taking to her voice.

Etho narrowed his eyes. “The target was already aware of him, according to him the target dived out of the way, the shot was impossible.”

It seemed a great effort for Gem to restrain herself from rolling her eyes,

“But that’s not what we’re here for, yes?”

Her expression became grim. “Yes, the Watchers told you too, right?”

He sighed, “Yeah, they did.”

“Then you know about Joel, Pearl, Scar, Martyn…”

“Yes,” Etho responded, careful to keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

Gem tilted her head, then smiled. “Oh, right.”

Etho’s glare must have been enough to wipe the smile off her face before she cleared her throat again. “Anyway, the reason your team was tasked to target that man is because he was allied with the group.”

“What’s the organization called?”

“Is that really what you’re worrying about right now?”

Etho scoffed, “You can hardly blame me, we have a name- the Watchers- so what’s theirs?”

“Coincidentally enough, I was never told theirs,” Gem sneered.

“Whatever.” He switched topics. “So, what you’re saying is that we have to be more careful, because they might be aware they are an active target of an assassin organization?”

“Exactly,” Gem responded. “And as much as I hate to admit it-” she sent a disdainful glare towards Grian’s bedroom where Cleo and Grian were, “-our teams are the best the Watchers have. We’re going to have to work together if we want to take them down.”

“Sure, I’m all for cooperation, but I don’t know if they are.” Etho nodded towards the closed door.

“Well, they’re gonna have to be, or else we have no chance.”

“Good luck telling your team, but I really have to get back to my team, dinner’s getting cold.”

Luckily Gem got Etho’s hint that it was time to leave, and she stood up. “Right, well, I won’t look forward to working with you.”

“Same here.”

Gem was at the door when she turned back. “What should we tell our teams?”

Etho shrugged. “I don’t see any reason to keep it confidential, just make sure that everyone’s on the same page.”

And with that, Gem stepped out into the hallway shutting the door behind her. Etho walked up to it, locked it, and turned back. He leaned his back against the wall for a second, staring up at the ceiling. No doubt they all hate him; Joel, Pearl, maybe even Scar. After all, who could forgive him after what he did? He still could never forgive himself. He closed his eyes for a second and heard the door to Grian’s room swing open. He waited a few seconds before turning back to the other two who were looking at him, he pushed himself off of the wall, and walked over to them.

“So, what happened?” Grian asked, sitting down at the table and looking sadly at his cold mac'n'cheese.

“You can always heat that up, you wimp,” Cleo said, looking at Grian’s crestfallen expression, “But actually, what did happen?”

Etho sat down at the table, motioning for Cleo and Grian to do the same. They sat down in the seats that they were initially in when dinner started, and Etho began to talk.

***

“Wait, so you're telling me that Joel, Pearl, Scar, Martyn, and Bdubs are in an organization against the Watchers?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Grian saw Etho flinch when Cleo mentioned Bdubs’s name. He glanced sideways at Etho but Etho refused to return his gaze. Grian let his eyes return to Cleo.

“Yeah,” he said. 

Cleo abruptly stood up, and went back over to the pot of mac’n’cheese and she scooped out a bowl for herself and put it into the microwave.

“Okay,” they said, turning back to the other two still at the table. “First, Etho, I’m making you a bowl if you want it or not, and second, let’s resolve this tension by playing a nice and friendly game of Uno.”

Grian shrugged. “Sure, but I’m not dealing.”

“That’s fine, I can deal,” Cleo smiled, bringing the bowl over.

“Cleo, it’s really late, shouldn’t we sleep? We have training starting at five tomorrow-” Etho started but Cleo cut him off.

“Nope!” And she booped his nose. Leaving a very disgruntled Etho in her wake she took Grian’s bowl over to the microwave and started heating it up.

“Get the deck, would you, Grian?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Grian replied, standing up and walking over to the corner where they kept their games. Most of the games were broken and/or missing pieces but it was fun either way. He chose a battered box of Uno, and walked over to the other two. Cleo had gotten dinner ready, and Etho was sitting looking disdainfully down at the bowl in front of him. This was going to be a fun game.

***

“What?” Grian squawked. “Draw thirty two!? That’s it, this game is rigged.”

“It’s okay to be bad,” Cleo assured him, patting him on the arm. 

“Uno,” Etho said, smirking.

“What?” Grian shouted again. “How do you have one card and I have thirty six?!”

Etho shrugged and placed his last card down, a plus four.

“Now that is just salt in the wound,” Cleo said while laughing at the scandalized look Grian was giving Etho. 

Etho glanced up at the stove, and Grian followed his gaze. The clock read 12:00.

“Cleo, if we fail tomorrow in training I’m blaming you,” Etho said, standing up and organizing his cards in a neat stack. He passed the stack to Grian. “I’m going to sleep, good night, and I advise you two should as well.”

“Good night!” Grian shouted after him as his door shut behind him.

“Oh, I hate him!” Cleo exclaimed behind Grian. Grian turned around to look at Cleo staring at Etho’s uneaten bowl of mac’n’cheese. “What does he have against mac’n’cheese?”

“Well, Bdubs used to make it a lot,” Grian said, shrugging.

Cleo’s eyes widened, “Oh, right. Shit! I totally forgot about that!”

“It’s fine,” Grian said, glancing at Etho’s closed door. “I doubt he thought you meant any ill intention.”

Cleo nodded, and, still looking thoroughly guilty, stood up. “I gotta head off to bed now, G, good night.”

“Yeah, me too,” Grian agreed, yawning. 

“Not yet, silly. You still have cleanup duty!” Cleo said, a glint in their eyes. “Good night!” Grian was left standing in that spot for a few seconds more before forcing his body to clean up the dishes and walk to bed. He barely had the energy to change out of his work clothes and into pajamas before crashing into his comfortable comforter and before long, bundled in his blankets, sleep overtook him and he fell into darkness.

Chapter Text

Etho breathed out heavily through his mask, he could feel the uncomfortable feeling of sweat trickling down his neck and back. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and turned the other way to take a swig of his water bottle. Next to him, Grian and Cleo were also in a similar state, gulping down water and breathing heavily. 

“Alright, break time’s over, come on,” their instructor yelled. "We're sparring now!”

“Great,” Cleo said, standing up and holding a hand out to Etho. He accepted it and let her pull him up. “If I’m against Gem I’m dead,”

“Don’t worry,” Grian assured her. “Instructor will probably pair Gem with Etho,”

“Thanks for the assurance,” Etho grumbled, crossing his arms when they got to the right location. 

“No problem,” Grian said, smiling.

Sure enough, written on the board was the three matches, Etho vs Gem was first, then Grian vs Scott, then finally, Cleo vs Impulse, 

“Yes!” Grian shouted. “I was trying to find a reason to beat Scott up!” 

“Don’t be so sure about that,” the blue haired man in question said, standing off to the side, observing the board. “But one thing I am sure about is that Etho is dead-” he sighed, “-and probably Impulse,”

“Wow, thanks, my wonderful supporting teammate,” Impulse said, walking up to Scott to observe the teams again. The smile that Cleo flashed Scott didn’t go unnoticed in Etho’s eyes, and the fact that the other man returned it confused him further.

“First, Etho and Gem, come on,” the instructor ushered the two up. Etho exhaled a deep breath and rolled his shoulders out. 

Grian put a hand on Etho’s shoulder. “You got this, just remember, she’s fast and deceiving. Good luck.”

Etho half smiled under his mask before making his way to the mat and taking the wooden training sword that the instructor was holding out to him. He faced Gem, the sword gripped tightly in his hold, and they started to circle each other. 

“Don’t be too disappointed when you lose,” she sweetly smiled at him, her expression in quite extreme contrast to her words.

Etho didn’t respond, instead, readying his sword.

“The only way for the match to end is if one of the players in incapacitated, or they forfeit. Ready? Three, two, one, fight!”

The instructor cut his arm through the tense space between Gem and Etho and the fight began.

Immediately, Gem dove in with her sword, slicing through the space between them, Etho dodged to the side, parrying the attack with his own weapon. 

She swung again at his neck and he leaned back, dodging it by an inch and ducked behind her, hitting the back of her knee, but she spun with inhuman speed slashing with her sword again, aiming for his head. He parried but was knocked backwards at the sheer strength in her swing. 

Etho grit his teeth and ducked as she slashed again, but instead of striking where he expected her, she angled it downwards at the last possible moment and hit him clean on the shoulder. Pain exploded on his collar bone, and he backed up, silently cursing himself. She had hit the shoulder of his sword arm, and already, the pain was spreading from his collar bone down his arm, there was definitely going to be a bruise after this match. He ran back at her, and ignoring the pain, raised his sword. She met it and their swords were left in a lock. Etho grit his teeth, pushing against her blade. He was winning, but the strain it put on his shoulder was painful. He had tried his best to hide it, but the pain must have been showing ever so slightly in his face because something in Gem’s expression changed. 

“I bet it hurts,” she said in a low voice so that only Etho could hear her. “You should forfeit, just give me the win,”

Despite everything, Etho smiled. “Gem, I’m insulted, Do you even know me at all?”

He pushed harder against the sword and for a second, panic flashed in her eyes. That was when she decided to switch tactics.

Gem kicked Etho firmly in the chest with both of her legs, both of them falling to the ground as a result. All the air was knocked out of him the second he hit the ground. He rolled over to one elbow but a flash of movement in the corner of his eye thought otherwise. 

Gem struck out with her sword, and Etho didn’t have enough time to roll out of the way as her sword came into contact with his right temple, he dropped back down to the ground, feeling something warm trickling down his face. His head was buzzing and his ears were ringing, there was no way he was winning this fight. But he refused to forfeit.

Gem crouched next to him, “Give up?” she asked, and underneath his mask, he smiled.

“You wish,” and he blindly struck out with his sword. It hit her in her upper arm and sent her stumbling backwards as he rolled over, and tried to stand despite the fact that his head was full of cotton from the blow. He tried to stabilize himself by putting a hand to the ground, but Gem was there first. And she was angry. She kneed him from where he was on the floor and he fell back down. She stepped on the wrist that was holding his sword forcing him to let go, and she grasped at his collar bringing up upwards to face her. 

She smiled, “I bet you wish you forfeited.”

Etho coughed inside of his mask. “No, I don’t regret anything.”

She sighed. “Figures, good match?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

She delivered a punch to his head, causing everything to go black. 

***

The second that Etho stepped onto the mat, Grian knew he was doomed. Grian had seen Etho fight before, and he was good, better than Grian or Cleo, but definitely not at Gem’s level. Grian had started to get hopeful when the two reached a sword lock, but when Etho had fallen, and Gem had delivered the powerful blow to the head with her sword, fear spiked through Grian. He knew Etho wouldn’t die here, the instructor wouldn’t permit it, and quite frankly, Grian thought that Gem wouldn't have been able to kill him, he was a valuable asset to the organization after all.

When Gem knocked Etho to the ground the second time, Grian knew it was over. Dread filled him, but it was what it was. After Etho had fallen the first time, Grian had been muttering under his breath, begging Etho to forfeit, but of course, Etho would never succumb to such a thing. If he was doing something, it was going to follow it all the way through, much to Grian’s displeasure. The muttering had only stopped when Cleo grabbed his hand and clutched it tight, obviously as nervous as Grian was about Etho. 

“He’s not gonna make it,” Cleo said quietly to Grian.

“Yeah,” Grian said, resigned.

“Why won’t he just forfeit?” she muttered angrily as Etho fell the second time. 

Grian groaned, “He’s done now,” and, sure enough, Gem punched him in the head one more time and Etho went limp.

Gem smiled, bright and happy, and Scott and Impulse cheered to the side, but the only thing Grian was concerned with was Etho. 

The second the instructor blew his whistle, Grian and Cleo were darting towards Etho’s prone body on the ground. 

“He’s bleeding,” Grian said, moving Etho’s silver hair out of the way where a steady stream of blood had already found its way down his face and into his mask. 

“Yeah, help me carry him,” Cleo said, taking his legs. Grian took his arms and the two of them hoisted Etho over to the side by the training mat and gently laid him on the ground.

Grian crouched by him and lifted the hair where the blood was coming from. A gash leaking blood decorated the pale skin across his temple, and Grian stared at it for a second. Apparently wooden swords could cut if hit hard enough. Grian would have to note that.

“Next fight, Grian and Scott, please step up onto the mat,”

Grian cast one more look at Etho, and even with blood running down his face, he was the most beautiful person Grian had ever seen in his life. Then he looked at Cleo. “Can you take care of him?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

They nodded. “Just hurry, and don’t lose, because then I’m gonna feel bad if I beat Impulse.”

Grian turned away, and rushed back onto the mat. Scott was already on it, holding the sword on the hilt and handle, then looked up to take in Grian. A smirk was already set on his lips, as he let the sword drop down to his side.

“Well, let’s dance, shall we?” Scott smiled, and backed up to his respective spot. Grian clenched his jaw, tightly gripping his own sword in his dominant hand. 

“The only way for the match to end is if one of the players in incapacitated, or they forfeit.” 

Grian bounced on the balls of his feet, could he win?

“Three!” 

It was against Scott, who was historically better than him.

“Two!”

But Grian still had a chance, right?

“One!”

He would have to try.

“Fight!” Just like Etho’s match, the instructor cut the air with his hand, and the fighters' tango began.

Grian lashed out at Scott, but the blue haired man masterfully dodged the attack with the grace of a dove. He twirled, sword in hand, almost like one would do in a dance, and sliced out towards Grian’s knee. Grian dodged to the side and tried to knee Scott in the head like Gem had done with Etho, but Scott twisted to the side. 

There was a smile on Scott’s lips as he elegantly dodged another one of Grian’s attacks and moved behind him. He rapped the back of Grian’s head with the butt of his sword, causing Grian to stumble forward, and attempted a swipe at his back. Grian spun back around and parried his blade with his own, then Grian aimed for Scott’s head with his sword but put his real attention toward Scott’s leg. When Scott raised his arm to parry Grian’s attack, Grian ducked behind him and kicked the inside of Scott’s knee as hard as he could. The leg that Grian had attacked crumpled under the other man and he dropped to one knee, but before Grian could inflict any more damage, Scott spun around and elbowed Grian’s nose, still on one knee. Before Grian could stumble backwards Scott grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled Grian closer, then, using the leg that wasn’t on the ground, he swept Grian’s legs out from under him. 

Grian fell to the ground with a pained grunt, and Scott was immediately on top of him, discarding his sword to the side and raising his fist. 

“Want to forfeit?” Scott asked, fully prepared to beat the forfeit out of Grian. 

Shame burnt Grian from the inside out, but what hurt him more was the still flowing blood leaking from his nose where Scott had elbowed him, and the impending pain that was to come if he didn’t forfeit then. 

So, squeezing his eyes shut, he yelled, “I forfeit!” 

The sharp sound of his loss in the form of a whistle cut through his ears, and Scott stood up, holding his hand out to Grian. With reluctance, Grian took it and let Scott help him up.

“That was a nice dance, wasn’t it?” Scott asked.

“Yeah, whatever,” Grian huffed, letting go of Scott’s hand and walking away. He could sense the eyes of the man still on him even when Grian had reached his own team. He turned around sharply but Scott was gone, conversing his victory to his teammates.

 Grian turned back to Cleo and a disgruntled Etho. Grian breathed out a sigh of relief that Etho was sitting up, and looking up at him through concerned eyes. 

“You’re bleeding,” was the first thing Etho said when Grian returned to the two. 

“Yeah, I know,” Grian said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, only for it to come back stained red.

“The final match is Cleo versus Impulse, please come onto the mat,”

Cleo sighed, “That’s my cue,

“Did you lose?” Etho asked, his voice seemed quieter than usual. 

Grian pursed his lips and nodded. He sat down heavily next to his masked companion, reaching for his own water bottle. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked, tentatively moving Etho’s hair to look at the bandage that Cleo had put on it. 

Etho shrugged off Grian’s touch. “Not really, it’s fine, but you’re still actively bleeding,”

Etho handed Grian one of the unused tissues that Cleo had gotten to clean up the blood from Etho’s face.

Grian took it and plugged his nose with it, they sat in silence, watching Cleo’s match. She was winning by a lot, so Grian took his eyes off them. Instead, turning back to Etho. 

“Etho..”

“Hm?” Etho asked, turning his head to face Grian. 

“Why didn’t you forfeit?”

Etho fell silent, turning back to Cleo’s match, just when Grian thought he wasn’t going to respond, Etho replied, 

“I guess it’s because I don’t want to disappoint if I can do anything about it.” He kept his eyes carefully trained on Cleo, and not looking at Grian. “Forfeiting is a cowardly move, no offense, but for me personally, I’d rather lose the hard way than avoid the risks.”

Grian turned back away from him just as Impulse forfeited. Cleo ran up to the group, a little out of breath, but no injuries.

“Come on, let’s get back to the dorm, the instructor said training’s over, the rest of the day’s free.”

“What does he mean rest of the day?” Grian complained as he stood up with a groan. “It’s practically night!”

Cleo held a hand out to Etho, and he accepted it, but when he stood up he wavered on the spot. Grian rushed to grab his shoulder, but at the hiss of pain, Grian realized it was his bad shoulder. 

“Come on,” Cleo said, reaching for his good shoulder, but he backed out of her reach.

“It’s ok, really,” he said, and after living and killing with Etho for over a year, Grian could notice when his voice was tight with pain. This was one of those times. 

“Etho-” 

“No, Grian,” Cleo said, her voice resigned but hard.

“But-”

“Grian, just drop it,” Etho said,

Grian didn’t want to just drop it. He wanted Etho to be okay. But he didn’t have a choice as Etho and Cleo started forward toward the exit, so Grian was forced to follow them. 

Once they exited the building, Etho stumbled and Cleo caught him. “Alright, nope, you’re not faking anymore,” she said, throwing his arm over her shoulders.

“Cleo-” Etho protested, but Cleo threw him a look that Grian didn’t catch, but if it was enough to make Etho give up, Grian was glad he wasn’t the target of the gaze.

Grian groaned. “We shouldn’t have walked here, we should have taken the car,”

“Wasn’t that your idea?” Cleo said. “Oh, wouldn’t it be an amazing idea to walk to training instead of driving?” She looked at Grian icily. “We didn’t even take the motorcycles!”

“Stop yelling,” Etho muttered. “It’s right in my ear.”

Cleo stopped yelling but she threw a look to Grian. A flash of red caught Grian’s gaze, and he realized another trickle of blood was falling down Etho’s face.

“Etho-”

“I know, let’s just get home before it gets super dark, the sun’s already down,”

“Yeah, okay,” Grian said.

Around halfway through the walk back, Etho stopped.

“Etho?” Cleo asked.

“Wait,” he responded, unhooking his arm from around her shoulders to shakily stand on his own. He turned back to the alleyway that the trio had just passed and used the wall for support, staring into it. 

“I swear I just saw him,”

“Etho?” Grian asked timidly, coming up to his side. “What did you see?”

“Joel. I saw Joel Smallishbeans.”``

Chapter Text

Cleo stared at Etho. “What do you mean you saw Joel?”

“He was right there.” Etho stumbled further into the alleyway, clutching the wall for support.

Cleo gently took his hand and led him out of the alley, his wide eyes completely foreign to her. 

“Etho, are you okay?” Grian asked tentatively from behind Cleo.

“Yeah, yeah, we need to get back,” Etho said distractedly. “I need to talk to the Watchers, we’re gonna need to team up with Gem’s team,”

“Wait, what do you mean team up with them?” Grian asked, a sharp edge taking to his voice. “Gem literally beat the heck out of you today, why would you want to team with her?”

“Because this goes further than training and petty rivalries,” Etho replied, still staring into the alleyway. “If there are people who know about this organization, it is in danger, especially if old members who even aren’t supposed to be alive are after it- Wait, Cleo,”

Cleo paused looking back at Etho. “There’s something in there.” He gestured to the alleyway.

Cleo helped Etho to the paper, where Grian crouched down and read it silently, his eyes flitting across the note.

“Uh, Etho?” 

Etho turned towards Grian, reaching out for the paper, Grian reluctantly placed the paper in Etho’s hand. Etho positioned it so that both he and Cleo could read what it said on it, 

Written in messily scrawled letters, it read, Etho, meet me back here at 12:00 tonight if you want answers.

Cleo let her eyes flick to the bottom of the page where it was signed, Joel.

Etho sighed, letting his hand holding the paper drop down to his side. “We should get back, it’s getting dark.”

“Yeah, okay,” Cleo said, and with Grian in tow, the two started making their way back to the dorm.

***

“Etho, you don’t have to do this,” Grian said, desperation clinging to his voice.

“I know.” Etho glanced up at his teammate, careful to keep his expression blank. “But I want to.”

“The note never said that he had to come alone,” Cleo mused. Etho glanced over at her as their eyes scanned the paper.

“I think that was implied,” Grian said, running a hand through his blonde hair, glancing from Etho to Cleo, then back to Etho. “Etho, please, you don’t know what he wants!”

Cleo glanced at Etho, “Weren’t you and Joel close?” 

Etho swallowed, forcing back the memories of the many years he had spent with Joel, and… and Bdubds. 

“Nope, not really,” Etho responded, careful to maintain the facade of calm, when in reality he was panicking. This was a situation where Etho didn’t have the upper hand, and that was very unnerving for him. 

He spared a glance at the clock on the stove. 11:40 pm.

“Okay, fine, you guys tail me, and if he is planning something bad, you’ll know, and report back to base, okay?”

Grian still looked irritated but huffed out a breath. “Yeah, fine,”

Cleo smiled tightly at him. “Okay, you better get going. We’ll follow on the roofs,” 

Etho smiled, picking up his handgun and tucking it into his belt. He then shrugged on his forest green coat with a concealed knife hidden inside, pulling the fluffy hood over his head.

“Good luck,” Cleo said, as Etho walked out the door and down the corridor to the elevator. 

Etho entered the elevator, and leaned against a wall with his hands in his pockets. His head was still painfully throbbing, but it was bearable enough if he was forced to fight. He didn’t doubt that Joel would reach that point, since from the long time Etho knew the man, he recalled that he was very trigger happy. 

Right as the elevator doors were shutting, someone stuck their foot in the way, forcing the doors back open. Gem.

“Why, hello, Etho!” Gem said, a false cheerfulness resonating in her tone.

“Hey, Gem,” Etho replied, letting his eyes drift off of her and back to the wall in front of him.

“You doing good? Last time I saw you...” Gem trailed off, failing to keep the smugness out of her voice. 

“Are you just here to gloat, or?” Etho asked, already annoyed.

“No, never, just worried about my fellow assassin, y’know?” Gem smiled at him and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, okay, I’m fine,” he said, trying to shut down the conversation, but apparently Gem was still keen to talk to him.

“So, where are you going at this late hour?” she asked, not trying very hard to conceal the suspicion in her cheery tone. 

“I should ask the same to you,” Etho said, deflecting her question. 

“Well, y’know, curiosity kills the cat, am I right? I was just wondering why you were up at this time.” 

“Why would what I do matter to you?” Etho asked, still not looking at her. 

Gem lost the sweetness in her voice immediately. “They told me to tail you.”

“Who?”

“The Watchers.”

Etho huffed out a breath through his mask. “Obviously.”

“Hey, I don’t know why, they didn’t give me the reason, but I was wondering if you could tell me why I’m following you,” Gem replied, rolling her eyes.

“Guess you’ll have to watch and figure it out.” Etho shrugged her question off, and pushed off the wall when the elevator dinged. 

Etho brushed by her, his hands still in his pockets, and strode towards the large entrance doors. 

Etho slowed to a stop a few yards away from the alleyway that he had initially found the note and saw Joel. He exhaled, closing his eyes for a second then opening them again. Then, casually, knowing that there were three other assassins following him, walked into the alley.

He cast a long glance around the alleway, nobody was in sight. He walked a few steps further into the alley, his hands still in his pockets, and stopped suddenly, sensing a small shift in movement above him on the roof. Then he heard air wishing, and somebody dropping to the ground behind him. He smiled, before slowly turning around to the sight of none other than Joel Smallishbeans. 

“Why hello, Joel,” Etho said casually, as if nothing had ever happened between them. “Quite theatrical, don’t you think?”

Joel smiled, but his eyes burned with hatred. Etho could practically feel the hate resonating off of the man. 

“Maybe, but now I’ve blocked your only exit.”

“Oh no, whatever will I do.” Etho rolled his eyes. “Not like I could scale a wall or anything, no, we were never taught that.”

“Enough with the sarcasm, you came for a reason, why?”

“Why?” Etho asked. “Isn’t wanting to see my old buddy enough reason?”

Joel gave him one of his famous deadpan looks, almost causing Etho to laugh. Almost. 

“Okay, well, what’s with the weird-ass note? What answers could I possibly want?”

“Oh, I just wanted to get you here, and I knew how curious you are, so...” he trailed off, trusting that Etho understood the rest.

“Okay, is it just you, then?” Etho asked, untensing his body and forcing himself to take on a relaxed position. 

“For now.” Joel said. “But they’re growing impatient. It seems everyone has a grudge against you; wonder why’d that be.” Anger flickered across his face before it settled back into a neutral expression. Joel started to close the distance between them until they were within an arm's reach of each other. Etho stiffened, his hand subtly going to the gun in his belt. 

“We don’t need any of that,” Joel smiled, and walked forward until he was standing right next to Etho, facing the other way. “We wouldn't want another Bdubs, would we?” Etho’s eyes widened and he felt like he had been petrified into stone, the cunning gaze of Medusa trained on him. But Medusa was a victim, and Joel was not. 

“See you later, Etho,” Joel said, turning and walking out of the alleyway. Etho stood there for a few seconds, a slight buzzing in his ears. He finally forced his legs to move, and broke free from his trance. That’s what Joel had been trying to do, break down his mentality. And the man had succeeded.

By the time Etho had reached the dorm building, he was still unfocused and disgruntled, he walked through the automatic doors and into the elevator. Once he had reached his dorm he collapsed into a chair, his foot tapping the ground, waiting for Grian and Cleo to return. 

After what felt like hours, the door swung open, and his teammates entered the door, their cheeks rosy and their hair windswept.

Etho immediately stood up and walked over to them.

“Sorry, Gem made us check if you were followed, you weren’t,” Cleo said, exasperated.

“What did he say to you, Etho? We could only catch a few words,” Grian asked, his eyes flitting over Etho’s face for any sign of emotion. 

Etho fought his emotions back down and shook his head, “Nothing, only empty threats, and that kind of stuff, nothing too drastic.”

Grian narrowed his eyes, seemingly to not believe Etho, but didn’t say anything. 

“Anyway, it’s late, and we have a target tomorrow,” Cleo abruptly said. “We should be getting to bed, right?”

Etho nodded, secretly relieved at the chance to lay down after everything that had happened that day.

“Good night,” Cleo yawned, and trudged to their respective room. Etho made a move to go to his awaiting bed, but Grian grabbed his arm.

“Can I have a word with you please, Etho?” 

Under his mask, Etho pursed his lips. He really wanted to get to sleep, but apparently he had a soft spot for the pleading look Grian was giving him. 

“Alright, fine,” Etho said with much reluctance, and allowed Grian to lead him to the couch where they sat down next to each other, bodies shifted slightly to face the other.

”Etho, Joel said something, something important, what did he say?”

Etho looked Grian dead in the eyes, since when were Grian’s eyes so pretty? “He just brought up bad old memories, nothing else.”

“Does… it have something to do with Bdu-”

“Good night, Grian,” Etho said curtly, standing up, and turning away from him. 

The second Etho let the door shut behind him he fell against it with a light thud to the floor. His whole body trembled, but his hands the most, he held his gloved hands out in front of him. The fingerless gloves were doing little to conceal the violent shaking. He looked at his palms, one second they were clean, the other they were drenched in blood, a dripping knife in his hand-

“Etho!” He jumped, and stood up quickly, his head slightly spinning from the sudden movement. 

Someone was pounding at his door, and with still shaking hands, he tried to twist the knob but it was locked, when had he done that? He unlocked it and opened it to see Grian in front of his door. 

“What-”

“Something’s up,” Grian said, crossing his arms. “Your usual wakeup time is an hour earlier, before either Cleo or I.”

“Yeah, so? Wait, what time is it?”

“Five in the morning,” Grian answered, skepticism creeping into his voice. “But you would usually know that…what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Etho lied, “Now go away, I need to get dressed,”

“You still have on your clothes from yesterday-”

Etho cut him off by shutting the door on his face. He walked over to his dresser and tried to remember the previous day, he remembered training, getting beaten by Gem, then the missing piece of the puzzle fit. Joel. Etho staggered slightly at the memory, did he even sleep that night? He rubbed his eyes, which were stinging, and prayed that there weren’t noticeable bags under his eyes. 

Pushing everything to a secluded back corner of his mind, he chose his respective outfit for the day. Casual clothes, consisting of sturdy boots, sweat pants, a black shirt, his green zip up over it, and of course his plan black mask. For this hit, they would have to go undercover.

He turned the doorknob of his door and walked out into the hallway that consisted of his, Cleo, and Grian’s rooms. He stopped by the bathroom to fix his hair to look more respectable with a brush, then mentally prepared himself to greet Grian and Cleo, the former already having suspicions about him. 

He walked out to the dining room area and Grian quickly swiveled his head around to stare at him. Etho quickly averted his gaze and felt Grian’s eyes linger on him for a few seconds longer, then turned back to where he was talking animatedly with Cleo about something. 

Cleo turned to glance at Etho entering the kitchen and she smiled, “Well, guess who’s finally awake.” But upon observing Cleo a little more carefully, they seemed slightly concerned, Grian probably told them about his own worries. 

Etho just rolled his eyes in response, and sat at the table next to her, across from Grian. 

“This is who we’re going after,” Cleo said in response to Etho sitting down. She pushed a paper with a picture of a crowd printed on it. Etho narrowed his eyes to the man whose face was circled in a bold red ink. 

“Six foot, one hundred sixty one pounds, and knows several different types of fighting techniques,” Etho said, recounting what the Watchers had informed him. 

“This is gonna be a tough one,” Grian said, leaning forward to get a good look at the man. “He looks like he can take a punch or two and not go down,”

Etho sighed, “Yep, that’s why we’re teaming up with Gem’s team to complete this hit.”

“Excuse me?” Cleo looked at him indignantly, “I am not teaming up with her, she is crazy. And I don’t have anything against Impulse, but he’s kind of useless.”

“What about Scott?” Grian asked, raising an eyebrow.

Before Cleo could say anything, Etho answered for her, “They’re friends.”

“Wait, what?” Grian asked, looking from Etho to Cleo. “You’re friends with the enemy?”

“Grian,” Etho sighed. “I thought we’ve already been through this, Scott’s not the enemy. Neither is Gem, nor Impulse.”

“Yeah, but- hey! How did you know about this and I didn’t?”

“Don’t look at me,” Cleo shrugged. “I didn’t tell him.”

Etho glanced at Grian, allowing a smug look to filter into his eyes, “Just a theory.”

“We have to get going anyway,” Cleo said, standing up and neatly folding the paper, then they handed it to Etho. “I trust you the most out of everyone here not to lose this, here you go.”

“Wow, I’m honoured,” Etho said, tucking the paper into his pocket. 

“You should be, now come on.” Cleo marched towards the door, and Etho turned back to Grian.

“You coming?” he asked, slightly amused by the expression that was on Grian’s face.

“Since when was she friends with him?” Grian asked distantly, still trying to put two and two together. “He literally beat me up!”

Etho sighed and tossed Grian’s gun to him, “Come on,”

Reluctantly Grian stood up and walked with Etho to the door. 

“Hey, you never told me what was wrong,” Grian said, while opening the door.

“I don’t recall you ever asking me that question,” Etho brushed him off as they approached a very impatient Cleo.

“Come on,” she said. “I want to get there before Gem does.”

Etho cast a glance to where the other team’s door was, adjacent to their own. Knowing how punctual Scott and Gem were, they would have already been down to the lobby, but Etho kept that to himself. 

Once they reached the lobby Etho could feel the tension in the air. This was going to be a fun hit. 

***

“Will you two shut up already?” Scott yelled from the backseat. 

“It wasn’t my choice for Gem to ride shotgun,” Cleo shouted back to Scott, who, knowing Scott, probably rolled his eyes or something like that. 

“And it wasn’t my fault that Cleo elected themself as driver!” Gem cut in, venom practically dripping off her words. 

“It’s okay being bad at driving,” Cleo said with an obvious false facade of sweetness. 

“What makes you even better than me?” Gem asked, glaring.

“Just ask Etho,” Cleo said simply, smiling back at her.

“Don’t drag me into this,” Etho grumbled from the middle seat.

“Then ask Grian,” Cleo improvised.

“Not me either,” Grian protested next to Etho. 

Gem turned to give her an even more icy glare, but before she could say anything, Cleo cut her off.

“Whoops, looks like we’re here!” 

“You-”

Cleo pulled into a parking spot and turned the car off with a flourish of the keys, then stepped out of the vehicle. Morning November air hit her face and the wind blew hair into her mouth. They spit the red hair out of their mouth, and turned to glance at the others, who were exiting the car too. 

Grian blinked the sun out of his eyes and squinted behind Cleo. “I hate clubs.”

“Well personally,” Scott said, getting out behind Grian, “I love them, though I prefer proper dances void of the drunk and high people doing whatever they think is a dance.”

“Wow, you put a lot of thought into that sentence didn’t you, I didn’t think you had it in you,” Grian said, glancing back at Scott with what Cleo would call fake admiration.

Scott gave Grian a withering look before walking up to Cleo’s side, “Shall we go?”

Cleo smiled, “Yeah, come on Grian.”

The three of them circled around the car to the other half of their group, then the six of them headed towards the club. 

“It looks shabby,” Gem said, wrinkling her nose. “Why would someone like Samuel Smith be here?”

“Who?” Grian asked.

“Our target you idiot!”

“Oh.”

They reached the doors and opened it. Immediately, the blaring sound of music hit Cleo’s ears and they pressed a hand over an ear.

“Why is it so fucking loud?” Impulse yelled over the music. 

“Because it’s a club, have you ever been to one?” Gem yelled back. Impulse shook his head and Gem looked exasperated. 

The six of them headed towards a large man wearing a cap over his head, pulled low so his eyes were lost in shadows.

“ID’s?” He grunted, and each person produced a forged ID from the Watchers. 

The group entered the club, but the man stopped Etho by putting a hand in front of his chest.

“You’re going to have to take the mask off so I can check the ID’s yours.”

Cleo looked back, her eyes widening at the flash of panic crossing Etho’s eyes.

“It’s okay,” Grian said, ducking past the man’s arm. “We can wait outside, yeah?”

He met Cleo’s gaze and they had a silent argument. In the end, Grian won, and, taking Etho’s arm, led them both outside of the club. 

“Well, we just lost our second best fighter, great,” Gem muttered. “I would say to split up, but Smith looks like he could pack a punch, so let’s go in groups of two. I’ll go with Impulse, you two can go together.”

Cleo nodded, and her and Scott branched off from Gem and Impulse. 

Cleo’s head was pounding to the rhythm of the song that was currently blasting her eardrums out. 

“Ugh,” she groaned. “Where is this guy? And why did he have to choose a club out of all things to go to?”

“I second that, this is getting very annoying,” Scott said, sighing. Then he stopped cold.

“Scott?” Cleo asked, slightly tugging on his arm.

“Come on! I just saw him!” Scott shouted, dragging Cleo with him through the crowd of people. 

Scott stopped when they reached a secluded room in the corner of the club. “I think he went through here.” Scott gave Cleo a sideways glance. “Be careful, I doubt he knows he’s being tracked, but he can fight.”

Scott went first, Cleo close behind him. He twisted the doorknob and flung the door open. Cleo’s heart beat with anticipation, clutching a throwing knife tightly in their hand. 

The room was pitch black, and Scott breathed out heavily. 

“Alright, I’m going in, there’s probably a light switch,” he said, turning back to her. But that seemed to be a mistake. Out of the corner of Cleo’s eye, she saw movement in the dark room.

She didn’t even have time to utter out a warning before Scott was gone, tackled into the darkness by somebody. 

“Scott!” Cleo screamed, running into the room. The door swung shut behind them, casting them into dark.

“Scott?” Cleo asked, cringing at how scared her voice sounded. 

“Cleo!” Scott gasped. “There’s more than one in here!” Then his breath hitched, and he fell silent.

Fear clutched at her heart, entangling her other senses in its sharp, dark claws. She closed their eyes, eyesight would do nothing in this fight, and straining her hearing, they heard something behind her. She dived to the side, just as something heavy flew where they were seconds ago.

Not wanting to give off her location again, she kept her mouth shut. That was until Scott screamed. The sound pierced Cleo’s ears, and fear tightened its hold on her.

“Scott?” No response. “Scott, respond!” Still, no response. Then something heavy hit her square in the chest, and they went back flying into the wall. The air was knocked out of them, as she rolled over on the floor, coughing. She heard someone walking up to them, they stood, bracing the wall before ducking below a heavy punch. She threw a well placed punch right in their attacker’s abdomen, that usually would have caused a normal person to double over. To this person, it had no effect. Like a viper, their attacker ducked behind her then elbowed her in the spine. As they stumbled forward, the person swept her legs out from under her and dropped down on them, elbowing her right in the stomach. She gasped, coughing, unable to inhale any air. 

The attacker deemed her defeated, as they left her to lay on the ground, struggling for breath. Suddenly, the room illuminated in light, momentarily blinding Cleo enough for them to throw an arm over their eyes.

Once she was able to see, their eyes frantically searched the room for a familiar head of blue hair.

She finally saw him, sitting against a wall, his nose dripping blood. He was cradling his left arm, which was staining his shirt and pants in maroon. He was glaring at the other side of the room.

Cleo followed his gaze, and it rested on no other than their own intended target. Samuel Smith.

Chapter Text

Grian toed a rock with his shoe, the concrete wall uncomfortable against his back. He glanced at his teammate sitting next to him, Etho was staring into who knows where beyond the cars in the parking lot. 

“So,” Grian started, stealing another look at Etho and the pretty way his eyes reflected the sun- “We should talk.” 

“What is there to talk about?” Etho asked, still gazing into the horizon. 

“About earlier.”

“The mask? Because you know this already, Grian.”

“Not the mask,” Grian paused. “About this morning and last night.”

“You know what, why don’t we talk about something else?” Etho suggested half heartedly. 

Grian raised an eyebrow and Etho sighed, “I’ll give you three- no, make it two questions.”

A smile crept its way onto Grian’s lips, “Ok, sure, and you have to be truthful to my questions.”

“Depends on the question,” Etho said.

“Whatever.” Grian had a million questions he wanted to ask Etho, and he had to limit it down to two.

“Why didn’t you wake up this morning on time?”

“I didn’t sleep.”

Grian froze, “What? What do you mean you didn’t sleep?”

Etho smiled, “That’s your second question,”

“Wait-”

Etho glanced over at him, finally parting his gaze from the horizon, “Stick to your word G.”

Grian huffed, crossing his arms, “Whatever.”

They stayed in silence for a few more seconds before Grian couldn't help but break it, “Really though, are you okay?”

Etho nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine, just insomnia kicking in.”

Grian didn’t believe that at all, but he decided to let it slide for the moment, “Anyway, how do you think they’re doing?”

“Our teammates?”

Grian nodded.

“They can handle themselves, I don’t like the other team but I trust them with important matters such as a hit.”

Just then, a voice crackled onto both of their walkie talkies. “Something’s wrong, neither Cleo, nor Scott are answering their walkies,” the voice of Gem said hurriedly. “We’re gonna need you two to come in, security guard or not, figure out a way!” Silence fell over the pair as they stared at each other.

“Something happened,” Grian said slowly, still processing Gem’s words.

“Yeah, come on,” Etho replied, standing up. “We need to find another way in, or you could just go in.”

“I’m not leaving you, so let’s find another way,” Grian said, standing up. 

Grian poked his head into the entrance, coincidentally enough, the guard was gone.

“Come on,” Grian whispered, gesturing for Etho to follow him. The two crept into the club, Grian casting Etho a very confused look when they passed the empty guard’s station, only noticing the lack of music when the initial confusion deteriorated.

“Where’d the music go?” Grian asked, looking up at Etho. Etho shook his head and peered around the very empty club. Their own footsteps echoed off of the concrete floor and Grian’s worry increased with every step taken.

“Gem?” Etho hissed into his walkie. “Impulse? Is anyone there?” There was no reply.

Grian untucked his pistol from its holster and flicked off safety. 

“Maybe the club ended earlier than we thought it would?” Grian suggested weakly.

“Or maybe something happened to Gem and Impulse too,” Etho replied darkly.

“Oh, come on, we don’t know something happened to Cleo and Scott, they probably just couldn’t hear the walkies over the music,” Grian tried to reason hopefully.

“Yeah, but why aren’t they responding now? All the noise is gone.”

They crept further into the club, still getting no answers to their questions.

“Wait, Etho, that door’s ajar,” Grian said, motioning to a room with a bright light spilling out of the crack between the door and the wall.

“Come on,” Etho said, walking towards the door, as quiet as a shadow.

Grian followed him, and peered over his shoulder to look into the room.

There were two dead men on the floor, and four other people close to each other. Grian pushed the door open, and he and Etho entered the room. 

“Oh, hey guys!” Cleo called from where she was standing next to Gem who was rifling through both of the dead men’s pockets. On the wall to the right Impulse was crouched next to Scott, cleaning up what looked to be blood leaking profusely from a long wound on his arm.

“What happened?” Grian asked, walking further into the room.

“Scott and I got ambushed in here, Gem had to save us,” Cleo answered, waving them over.

“I helped too,” Impulse grumbled from where he was tending to Scott’s arm.

“He did,” Cleo answered. “He kicked the guy in the head, letting Gem finish him off.”

“I’m assuming that that’s our target?” Etho guessed, observing one of the dead men’s face.

“Yep!” Gem replied cheerfully. “Watch out for the puddle of blood by the way,” she added to Grian, who had almost stepped in it.

“Anyway, we should get going now, report back to headquarters that it was a mission success,” Cleo said, casting a look at the corpses.

“Say, why was everybody gone?” Grian asked.

“Oh, I pulled the fire alarm,” Impulse answered, standing up.

“They all went out the back way, apparently this club is illegal or something and all the drunks thought it was the police sirens.”

“Huh. Interesting,” Grian said.

“I did not enjoy this nearly as much as I thought I would,” Scott groaned, standing up, “That man was a sadistic fu-”

“Alright,” Gem interrupted him, clapping her hands together. “Job well done!” She walked out of the room with a jovial swing to her arms, Grian staring incredulously after her.

“Y’know, sometimes I just don’t understand her,” Grian said distantly.

“You’ll get used to it,” Impulse said, clapping him on the shoulder, then walking past him to accompany Gem.

Once they were back in their dorm, Grian sighed and plopped down in a chair.

“I just wish we could have been there for the action,” he complained, looking at Etho.

“Trust me, you’re glad you weren’t,” Cleo responded. “Those guys came out of nowhere in pitch dark, it was not a very fun fight.”

“I take back my words, then,” Grian replied.

“Anyway, we got the target and that’s what matters, right?” Cleo said, smiling. “Next time you’ll be there for the action, I promise.”

“Yeah, okay,” Grian grumbled, still not fully convinced. “Who’s on dinner tonight, by the way?”

“I am,” Etho said, looking up from where he was fiddling with something on the couch. “You hungry?”

“I’m famished,” Grian responded, dramatically putting the back of his hand over his forehead. 

“Alright,” Etho said, standing up. “I’ll go make it.” He walked past Grian to the kitchen, out of sight. Grian watched his back retreat in a sort of trance, until he heard giggling.

“What?” He asked, turning to Cleo who had a hand over her mouth to try to conceal their laughs, it evidently was not working very well.

She stopped from her fit to look at Grian. “You know what,” she responded slyly.

“What? No I don’t!” Grian exclaimed rather defensively.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” Cleo gave him a knowing look. “Best to make your move sooner rather than later, you can’t miss your chance.” Then they promptly walked off to go bother Etho or something, leaving a very confused Grian in her wake.

Did they know about his- what would he call it- crush? No, he decided. Surely, she wouldn’t know because Grian had never told them. Still, a gnawing in the back of Grian’s brain told him otherwise. He groaned to himself, why did love have to be so difficult?

“Dinner’s ready,” Etho called to Grian, who was still sitting mystified in the armchair next to the couch.

Grian stood up, stretching his limbs, and walked over to the table where a plate of leftovers was laid out for him. Grian scrunched his nose.

“Leftovers? After everything that happened today, I thought you were gonna make us something good.”

Etho looked at him pointedly, “You loved these the last time I made them!”

“Yeah, because they were fresh, not microwaved.” 

“Just shut up and eat your dinner,” Cleo said, exasperatedly sitting down next to Grian with her own plate. 

Grian gave the food one more distasteful look before diving his fork into it and eating a piece. He was not expecting it to taste as good, and out of spite, kept his surprise to himself.

“What do we have tomorrow?” Grian asked, forking another bite into his mouth.

Etho sighed. “Another hit, but this one should be fairly easy, not nearly as difficult as the last one,” he cast a look at Cleo.

They sighed in response, looking down at their food.

“Hey,” Grian responded, reaching over to pat her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, any of us would have been taken out by a surprise attack,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Although, how did Scott sustain those injuries, and you didn’t, put up a good fight, didn’t you?”

“Will you lay off Scott for one second,” Cleo said, her exasperated demeanor back, and quite frankly Grian was glad to see it.

“What? I mean, he obviously didn’t put up as much a fight as you-”

“His attacker had a knife, mine didn’t,” Cleo responded, a hard look in her eyes. “And he intentionally went after Scott first, he was in front of me when we entered the room.”

“Oh,” Grian said in a small voice.

“It’s okay, you didn’t know,” Cleo assured him, although the look in her eyes told Grian that it wasn’t entirely okay.

“We should get to bed if we have another hit tomorrow,” Cleo continued, pushing their now empty plate away.

“Yep,” Grian said quickly, standing up.

“Not so fast,” Etho said to him, standing up as well. “You’re on cleanup duty.”

“What?” Grian asked, scandalized. “But it’s Cleo’s turn!”

“Cleo’s had a long day, I’m sure you can cover it, just this once, right?” Etho asked, and if it was anyone else asking, Grian would have promptly refused, but staring into those beautiful heterochromic eyes-

“Sure, whatever,” he said, turning away to hide his blush.

“Very well, good night to both of you,” Cleo said, and almost rushed to her room.

Grian’s gaze followed her down the hallway.

“Something happened in that room, something that really shook them,” Grian finally decided, turning to look at Etho again.

He nodded in confirmation that he had the same thoughts. “Yeah, probably something to do with Scott, but I wouldn’t go asking, sometimes people want to keep things like that private.”

Grian internally flinched when his voice grew louder at the end. “Right, sorry about that, by the way.”

Etho just sighed, looking at the opposite wall, “It’s okay, I mean, I get that you’re worried, but trust me, you have no reason to be. It's just like I told you earlier, Joel brought up some memories that I would really like not to remember about our group.”

Grian pursed his lips and nodded.

“Alright then, good night,” Etho headed to his own room, and Grian watched him go. So interrogation wasn’t the right tactic, Grian would have to think of more ways to get Etho to open up. 

***

  Cleo’s team was invited to hang out with the other two top teams. At the time, there were three, yet the other two had a strange connection that Cleo couldn’t place. Most of the time the six people merged as if they were one big team. Cleo and Scott had almost had to drag Pearl out to socialize with the other two teams.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Cleo had said, tugging on Pearl’s arm.

Pearl rolled her eyes. “Ok fine, but only this once, got it?” she asked, looking pointedly at Cleo and Scott. Cleo nodded fanatically, smiling.

“I knew you would come around eventually,” Scott said, opening the door. “Come on.”

Once the three had reached the other dorm, they had been greeted by smiles and waves, and Cleo had felt immediately at home.

“Hey!” Joel had called to the three, waving them over from the couch. Cleo glanced over at her comrades before shrugging, and the three of them walked over to the couch where two other people besides Joel were sitting, a smiling man with a chipped tooth and a red bandana in his hair, and a man who had a long scar across his face. Bdubs and Scar.

“Why hello there!” Scar said, reaching over Joel to shake each of their hands in turn. “I’m Scar, this is Bdubs,” he said, pointing behind him to the man with the bandana. “And Joel,” he pointed to Joel, who waved.

“And over there,” Scar continued, pointing to the dining table where a very intense game of Uno seemed to be happening, “is Grian, Etho, and Martyn.” 

“Mario Kart?” Bdubs asked, holding a controller up to Cleo, who was in the front, she glanced at Pearl and Scott, the former looked like she would have done anything to avoid this socialization, and Scott looked to be enjoying himself. 

Scott shrugged, half smiling at Cleo, and walked over to the Uno table with Pearl closely in tow.

“Sure,” Cleo said, turning back to Bdubs, and taking the controller he was holding out to them.

They walked over to the far side of the couch, and sat next to Bdubs. 

A few games of Mario Kart flashed by, Cleo not remembering who won which ones, but judging by the scoff next to her, Bdubs had been unsuccessful.

“How!” Bdubs exclaimed, more humorous than angrily. “This game’s rigged!”

“Tell me about it,” Joel said, but Cleo caught a flash of a smile.

“Let’s do another one, I’m sure I’ll win this next one!” Bdubs said, sitting up from his slouched position on the couch, attentively staring at the screen.

It turned out that Bdubs did not win the next round of Mario Kart, or the one after that, or after that. 

“I’m done,” he said, throwing down his controller. “I’m gonna go make dinner.”

“What are you making?” Cleo asked, curiously.

Before Bdubs could respond, Joel beat him to it. “Mac’n’cheese,” he said, exasperated.

“You know it!” Bdubs said, before marching over to the Uno table. “Come on, Etho, you’re helping me!”

The masked man, Etho, put down his cards and stood up, following Bdubs to the kitchen without question, but Cleo saw a barely discernible eye roll.

“Guys, I’m gonna pull the fire alarm, I'm so bored,” Bdubs crackled over the walkie.

“Don’t,” Etho’s exasperated voice responded. “Just wait a few more minutes, she’s in the building.”

Cleo’s team had been paired with Bdubs, Joel, and Etho for a hit in a very busy shopping mall.

“Yeah, but maybe pulling the alarm will cause people to leave the building, so when everyone runs past me, I’ll see her,” Bdubs mused, and Cleo was worried that he was actually considering it.

“You do know that there are more than one fire escape doors, right?” Scott asked over the walkie.

Bdubs took a moment to respond, “Oh, right, I didn’t think about that.”

“I see the target,” Joel’s voice crackled. 

“Where?” Pearl asked.

“Wait, she's gone now, what the bloody hell?” Joel exclaimed.

“Where did you last see her?” Etho asked.

“In a giant crowd of people heading Bdubs and Cleo’s way,”

“Really?” Bdubs asked, any trace of boredom evaporating from his voice.

“How can someone with bright pink hair be that hard to lose,” Scott commented, and Cleo could practically hear the eyeroll in his voice.

“Well, pardon me, but I don’t see you doing anything helpful right now,” Joel replied angrily.

“Guys shut up, I see her,” Cleo finally said, tired of hearing their bickering. And it was true; a young woman around Cleo’s age was exiting a store. She looked rather skittish with her quick movements and her eyes constantly darting around. There was one of those crappy plastic masks set firmly on her face, shielding her nose and mouth from public view. Her bright pink hair stood out among the brunettes and blondes around her as she weaved through the crowd.

“Where is she?” Bdubs asked.

“Near the entrance,” Cleo replied, leaning off the wall to start tailing the woman. 

“I see her,” Joel said. “What’s with the mask?

“Maybe people just have their preferences,” Etho responded.

“Alright, geez,” Joel said, and Cleo could hear the scoff in his voice.

“Ok, Cleo and Joel, tail her closely, inform us of any changes in behavior, or if she gets suspicious.” Pearl said.

“Got it,” Cleo said into her walkie, careful to stay a good distance behind the woman.

Eventually Cleo and Joel fell into step wordlessly, still following the woman. Instead of getting in a car, the woman branched off into a more secluded road, and Joel picked up his pace, Cleo close behind him. 

Casting on more look around them, ensuring that they were alone, Cleo nodded to Joel, and he quietly unsheathed a throwing knife from inside his zip up, aiming to throw, when the woman froze. The sudden abrupt change caused Joel and Cleo to stop as well, giving enough time for the woman to turn around, a taser clutched in hand.

But she froze, and to Cleo’s surprise, so did Joel.

“Joel?” The woman asked, hooking a finger around her mask, and tugging it off.

“Lizzie,” Joel breathed, letting the arm holding the knife drop down to his side, the weapon in question clattering to the ground.

“What- what’s going on?” The woman- Lizzie- asked, taking a step forward, tears brimming her eyes.

“We’re supposed to murder you,” Cleo replied bluntly.

They pretended to ignore the venomous look Joel flashed at her.

“You- what?” Lizzie asked, stopping in her tracks, looking at Joel for an explanation.

“Lizzie,” Joel said, stepping towards her. “Lizzie, I’m sorry, I wish I could explain it right now, but I can’t.”

“Joel-” Lizzie said, but the crackling voice emitting from Cleo and Joel’s walkies cut her off.

“Has the target been eliminated?” Scott asked.

Joel looked frantically to Cleo, then back to Lizzie, his eyes wide.

Cleo pursed their lips, looking down at her walkie. Lying to Scott was never a good idea, yet, looking back at Joel and Lizzie, their heart broke a little bit. Joel and Lizzie didn’t deserve this, they deserved to be happy. 

“No, got away. She had a taser, took out both of us with a surprise attack.”

Pearl’s sigh was barely audible through the walkie, “ It’s fine, are you both okay to come back?”

“Yeah,” Cleo responded, then, as an afterthought. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Bdubs answered. “Happens to the best of us!”

Cleo looked up at Joel, his eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, and Cleo knew it was sincere. Then, he turned to Lizzie. “I’ll come back for you, I promise.” He said, looking her in the eyes, his own gaze full of sadness. 

Lizzie met his eyes, her own gaze held regret and sorrow, almost exactly mirroring his, and then, Joel was racing toward her. She met him halfway and Cleo watched as they embraced in a warm hug.

“I’m sorry,” Joel said, his voice muffled in Lizzie’s hair. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Lizzie replied, tears streaming down her face. Cleo watched the bittersweet reunion with an almost sour taste in her mouth. They knew that this moment wouldn’t last forever, it would never last. Joel’s promise was empty, just as the magazine in Cleo’s pistol was after taking down a target. Deep down in Cleo’s heart, she knew it would have been better to have killed Lizzie before she recognized Joel. It would have saved him the heartbreak from knowing there was something to return to out of the whole assassin business. Yet, there was no return once committed to the job, right? They wouldn’t let someone leave, even someone as high ranking as Joel. Unease built in Cleo’s stomach, she knew Joel, she knew how determined he was. But what they didn’t know was how far he was going to take it to see his wife again.

“Joel told me a proposition,” Bdubs said, his voice deadly serious, unlike the usual joking manner that usually came with every word he spoke.

Cleo nodded grimly, “Yeah, I expected him to tell you, it’s about escaping this place, right?”

“Yeah,” Bdubs confirmed, glancing around the crowded dorm room. “We’ve talked to Scar, Grian, and Martyn.” His voice faltered, and Cleo furrowed their eyebrows. “I…I don’t trust Grian.” 

“Go on,” Cleo urged, glancing behind her back where Grian was chatting animatedly to Etho.

“Well, the thing with G, he’s really careful, he doesn’t want us to get hurt. And, he loves his friends but I think that… that he’d try really hard to stop us.”

“What did he say when you told him?” Cleo asked, confused.

“He didn’t say anything, Scar and Martyn were excited about it, Martyn said that he had been wanting to escape this place since forever, but Grian just stood there silently.”

“He doesn’t want to escape,” Cleo realized.

Bdubs nodded, then tilted his head. “Do you want to escape?”

Cleo hesitated, biting down her response of no, no I really don’t. “Yeah,” she lied, and flashed a smile. Bdubs smiled back at her, obviously happy. 

“That’s good, now we just need to ask Etho, Scott, and Pearl!”

“What would you do if Grian refuses?” Cleo asked.

“Drug his food,” Bdubs said darkly. “Make sure he can’t get in the way.”

Cleo laughed, but then stopped when Bdubs didn’t return the smile.

“Wait, you’re actually being serious about that? Come on, that’s a little far.”

“Cleo, if we get caught, they’re going to kill us. This is a life or death situation, and- and I’d rather die than keep killing innocent people.”

Cleo bit her top lip, thinking. “But, the people we go after, they’re not innocent.”

“Everyone’s innocent when you think about it,” Bdubs answered immediately. “At least, nobody deserves to die.”

“Not even murderers?”

“Well, that would mean we would deserve to die, wouldn’t it?” Bdubs mused.

“Do we?”

They both sat in silence, thinking.

“No,” Bdubs decided. “Because we’re going to do something about it, we’re gonna escape, change, actually make a positive impact in this world,” Then he yawned, stretching out his arms. “What time is it?”

Cleo checked their watch, “Ten.”

“Ten?! That’s way too late! I should have been asleep an hour ago!” He stood up, bidding Cleo goodnight, and walked over to where Etho was talking to Grian. 

Cleo couldn’t hear the conversation, but after a few moments Etho said something to Grian, the other nodded, and Bdubs took Etho’s arm and they walked off and out of sight.

Cleo felt herself smirking at the pair, and forced their face to be neutral when he wandered over.

“Hey,” Grian said, sitting down next to Cleo, turning to face them.

“Hey,” they responded, glancing at Grian, then turning to him fully.

“I’m gonna need for you to be honest with me,” Grian said in a low voice.

Cleo nodded, they were pretty sure she knew what this conversation was about.

“Do you want to leave this place?”

Cleo stared him directly in the eyes, and told the truth. “No.”

Grian sighed happily. “Ok, that’s good, very good. Etho doesn’t want to either, and I don’t think Scott does, but I’m not sure.”

“What about Pearl?”

Grian pursed his lips, looking down. “She wants to.”

Cleo took a deep breath, “It’s okay.”

Grian looked back up at them. ”What?”

“Pearl is her own person. She can choose what she wants to do,” Cleo responded, careful to keep her voice steady and neutral.

“Ok, just promise me, you’ll do everything you can to stop them from leaving. We don’t want them to get caught and- and die.” Grian said, his face hardening.

“Will you try to convince Scar?” Cleo asked.

Grian turned away from her, “I tried, I really did- but we had a pretty big argument and we’re not exactly on speaking terms right now.”

Cleo nodded. “Oh, and Grian?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful with your food, Bdubs said he would probably poison it.”

“That doesn’t sound like Bdubs at all,” Grian said, his nose scrunched.

Cleo sighed, “In his words ‘this is a life or death situation’, I think he would go pretty far to escape this place.”

Grian worried his lip. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Night, Grian,” Cleo said, standing up.

“Night,” Grian replied.

That night, Cleo lay in their bed for hours, thinking. She didn’t want the group to split up, she knew that much. But there was practically no way to dissolve this without any conflict or argument. Cleo sighed, turning over in bed, there had to be a way. And she would find it.

Chapter Text

The silence that had fallen over the three was broken by Cleo groaning loudly.

“Can I help you?” Etho asked, glancing over to her.

“Yes,” they responded. “Save me from my boredom, what are we even doing? Just watching the street waiting for any signs of movement? That’s dumb.”

“It was either us or the other team, apparently they like the other team better,” Grian shrugged.

“Or maybe it’s because they don’t trust Scott,” Cleo muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” Etho asked, turning to her.

They sighed. “The Watchers probably gave us this job because they trust us more than the other team.”

Grian looked at Cleo quizzically, “Why would they trust us anymore than them? And what was that about Scott? Why would they not trust him? If you’re referencing before, he refused too, didn’t he?”

Cleo hesitated under the gazes of her teammates. “Well, not entirely, I guess.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Etho asked, tilting his head.

Cleo thought back to that awful day, the one they so vividly remembered, but had tried to block it out the same. 

“Well, he was going to leave, but I convinced him not to. It kind of made Pearl mad. He basically chose me over her.”

“Ouch,” Grian said, not sounding very sympathetic. Cleo glared at him, and he shrugged. “Don’t expect me to be nice to the guy, he hates me too!”

Cleo just rolled their eyes, “That’s why the Watchers separated him and I from the same team, so that something like that wouldn’t happen again. Which is why I’m wondering…”

“What?” Grian asked, sounding perplexed. 

“Is that why they would put you two on the same team? I mean, you were obviously close, even if not direct teammates. So, why you two?”
Etho shrugged. “I dunno, but they probably have a reason for everything. Why are we on watch? Why now? I don’t know, but I wouldn’t look into their reasoning too hard, it all gets twisted and confusing in the end.”

A silence fell over the three, Cleo’s mind relapsing into boredom. Just then, two people at the end of the road came out of seemingly nowhere, walking quickly back to a car parked on the side of the street. Two very familiar people. Martyn and Joel.

***

“Wait,” Cleo said, squinting down the road. “Is that fucking Joel and Martyn?”

“Is it?” Grian asked, watching a familiar blonde step into a car. 

“Get in the car,” Etho ordered. “If it is them, we can catch up to them.”

Cleo ran to the driver’s street, while Etho went to the passenger’s. Grian took the backseat.

“Step on it!” Grian yelled when Cleo slammed her door shut. They pressed down on the gas pedal, speeding forward to where the other car had begun to drive away.

“They’re onto us!” Cleo yelled when the other car accelerated.

“Just go!” Grian shouted back, and Cleo pressed further onto the pedal. Etho grabbed his handgun from its holster, and cocked it, making sure he had a round of bullets ready.

“Pull up next to them!” Grian yelled.

 Cleo swerved through the nearly empty road, pulling next to the other car. Etho rolled down his window, inwardly cursing the tinted glass of the enemy car. He aimed the gun, and fired, shattering the driver’s window. 

“Did you hit anyone?” Grian asked from the backseat, leaning forward.

“Grian! Put your buckle on!” Cleo shouted, eyes on the road in front of them. 

“Pull in front of them!” Etho shouted, taking another shot through the glass. 

Suddenly, the other car swerved right into theirs, and glass from the broken window flew through Etho’s open window. 

“Shit! Be a little more careful, Cleo!” Grian yelled, obviously upset that he wasn’t able to do anything about the situation. 

“It’s a little hard, Grian!” Cleo yelled. “You try driving while trying to assassinate someone in the car next to you!” They paused. “Never mind, I forgot you couldn’t drive.”

“Guys, shut up for a second!” Etho yelled when a bullet zipped past him and Cleo from the other car.

The other car took a sharp turn into an off road, and Cleo was barely able to keep up. They spurred the engine as Etho aimed a shot at the back of the car. 

Grian yelled something that Etho couldn’t decipher, and then something was crashing into their car, slamming hard into the driver's side. Hard enough to shatter the glass and send it flying everywhere, crushing the backseat, where, thankfully, Grian was on Etho’s side. They were sent flipping onto the side of the car, and balancing precariously in that position.

Etho had squeezed his eyes shut when the car had started to flip. He reopened them, his head pounding and dizzy from the crash. He could feel a cut across the bridge of his nose, probably from the glass previously flying everywhere. 

“Is everyone okay?” Etho called, cringing at how hoarse his voice sounded.

“Yep,” Grian said from the backseat. “Cleo?”

“Define okay,” she replied, her voice tight with pain.

“Cleo-” Etho was cut off by the car tilting to the side from its precarious position. The seatbelt dug painfully into Etho’s shoulder as the car fell onto the hood, then everything went still. He was hanging upside down, all of the blood rushing to his head, painfully aware of the dead silent car.

Etho quickly went to unbuckling the seatbelt that was still digging into his shoulder. He found the button and pressed it, sending him falling in a heap on the roof of the car. He picked himself up, ignoring the stinging in his arms from the various cuts presumably results of the shattered window.

He kicked the door hard, but it wouldn’t budge, shockwaves dancing through his leg and up his body from the force. He tried again, and again. On the fourth time, the door abruptly flung open, Grian crouched on the outside. He pulled Etho out and helped him to his feet. 

“Cleo,” Grian said immediately, rushing over to the other side. Etho followed in suit, kneeling next to where Grian was trying to force the driver’s door open.

“Cleo?” he called, trying to peer through the glass. 

A grunt came from inside the car, and the door slightly cracked ajar. Grian rushed forward, yanking it open the rest of the way. 

“Cleo?” Etho asked, scanning the inside of the car. His eyes fell on a head of curly, long, red hair. Cleo’s face was screwed up in a grimace of pain, eyes squeezed shut and jaw set firm.

“My leg’s stuck under something,” they managed, pain evident in their words. “Otherwise, I’m fine.”

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out, narrowly missing Etho by an inch. It struck the metal side of the car, leaving a small yet deep indent in the material. 

“Fuck, it’s a sniper.” Etho said, turning towards where the shot seemed to have come from. He squinted, trying to make out a figure on the roof of a nearby building, or in a window, or anything. He finally gave up, and turned to Grian, handing him his hand gun.

“You’re going to have to cover me,” Etho said, keeping his voice quiet. “Cleo’s in a bad state, I need to get her out of the collapsed vehicle before it explodes or something.”

Grian’s face was grim, but he nodded, taking the gun before brandishing his own, holding both. 

Trusting Grian, Etho turned back to Cleo and crouched next to the ruined car. 

“Do you think it’s broken?” Etho asked, eyeing the place where Cleo’s leg was stuck under a collapsed seat.

“Probably,” she said. “Hurts like hell.”

Etho risked a glance behind him, where Grian was standing, guns ready.

“We’re going to have to make this as quick as possible, there’s someone taking shots at us, and they might have backup,” Etho said, turning back to Cleo.

“Alright, just do what you need to do,” Cleo grimaced.

Etho walked around to the passenger’s side of the car, and entered, crouching at the limited space. His eyes flickered across the wreck of the vehicle until they landed on the collapsed seat that Cleo’s leg was pinned under. His hands hovered over the wreckage, his mind spinning on with different ideas of how to hurt Cleo the least but still efficiently moving the rubble.

His heart leapt when another booming shot rang out in the otherwise silence.

“Grian?” he called, panic blossoming in his chest when he didn’t receive an immediate answer.

“Here!” Grian finally called back. “But please hurry up!”

Etho mentally shook himself, how long had he been sitting there, letting his brain go over multiple possibilities endlessly. 

Etho started to shift the different fractured parts from the car off of the pile, earning an occasional grunt of pain from Cleo on the other side.

Etho removed the last part of the seat, carefully discarding it to the side of the pile which had already grown quite large.

He rushed out of the car and back around to Cleo’s side, glancing at their leg.

“How’s it feeling?” he asked.

“Better than ever,” Cleo answered sarcastically. Etho was secretly relieved that she had enough energy to muster sarcasm amongst all of the events happening, they were ok, at least for now.

“Oh shit!” Grian yelled from behind Etho, Etho spun around, staring at Grian.

“What?” He asked when Grian shoved his gun back into his hands.

“I just saw Joel and Martyn over there,” he pointed to where the road branched off around a corner. “I think they split up, one going each way.” 

“We have to call Gem’s team,” Etho decided, reaching for his walkie. He brought it out of his pocket, twisting it to enable the power, but it wasn’t turning on.

“Damn,” he muttered. “It’s dead.”

“What?” Grian asked, his eyes darting around the street.

“Try yours,” Etho responded, aiming his gun, narrowing his eyes against the harsh sun threatening to blind them.

“It works!” Grian yelled, then he turned it on.

“Gem? Scott? Impulse? Someone get over here! We’re kind of surrounded right now!” He shouted into the walkie.

“You don’t have to make us sound so defenseless,” Etho scoffed. 

“What? It’s true, we’re sitting ducks here!”

“Then let’s move and not become sitting ducks?” Etho suggested, glancing at the roofs.

“How are we going to move Cleo?” Grian asked, agitation along with panic entering his voice. “We’ll be too slow! They’d get us before we even made it across the street. By the way, where could we go?”

“I don’t know, a nearby shop, maybe?” Etho suggested half heartedly.

“I doubt that would work,” Grian said.

“You can just leave me,” Cleo suggested from the car.

“No!,” Grian and Etho yelled in unison. 

Suddenly, a voice crackled onto Grian’s walkie. Grian held it up, Etho listening close to the words.

“Where are you guys stationed?” Gem asked, her voice sounding annoyingly calm. 

“Marionette Drive,” Grian answered.

“What’s the situation?” Gem prompted, and Etho was surprised he couldn’t detect any manner of mock. 

“Car crash, Cleo’s injured, we’re getting shot at. It’s Joel and Martyn, we don’t know who else,” Etho said, leaning towards the walkie, trying to keep his summary as brief as possible.

“Okay,” Gem answered, she sounded like she was contemplating something. “I’ll send Impulse in with the car to pick up Cleo, Scott and I will join you in fighting. The company’s really after them nowadays, this could be big.”

“Gem, they have a sniper,” Grian tried to reason, but Gem cut him off. 

“We’ll go by the roofs, I just need you to keep their attention.”

“So you want us to be a distraction for your scheme?” Etho asked, feigning calmness.

“Exactly.” Etho could hear the sinister smile in Gem’s voice, he would definitely not want to be on the receiving end of that look ever.

Distantly, Etho heard something, something that started as only a noise to discard in the back of his brian, but then something to peak his interest.

“Just come quick, Gem, Joel’s finally arrived for the show.” Despite the situation, Etho smiled, a gesture that only went noticed by those whose sides he had been with for years. Someone like Joel.

***

“Joel’s here?” Grian hissed, tucking his walkie away, and brandishing his gun.

Etho nodded without looking at him, “Joel and Martyn, they’re both trying to sneak up on us. 

Then, Etho was shoving Grian to the side just as a shot hit the car in between them.

“You go for Martyn,” Etho said, before turning, and sprinting in the direction the bullet had come from.

Grian gulped, and ran the other way, trying to ignore the lingering dread that had permanently etched itself in the back of his brain. 

He rounded the corner, gun held aloft, and was sent reeling back at a sharp blow to his jaw. He stumbled, but turned right in time so as to not get shot. He narrowed his eyes at the blonde in front of him. Martyn. Martyn had not changed as much as Joel had, he still had the familiar choppy blond hair that reached just above his shoulders, the same mischievous smile that had even made trainers become nervous. The only difference was subtle, but Grian noticed it immediately. The man’s eyes, which used to shine with comradeship and familiarity, burns with hatred and resentment, searing straight into Grian’s skin. 

He leveled his gun and fired, Martyn dodged. Martyn fired, Grian slipped out of the way. They continued like that, trading shots, yet never getting close enough to actually engage in physical combat.

“Is that all you got?” Martyn asked, sidestepping one of Grian’s less wellaimed bullets.

“You wish,” Grian replied, forcing a facade of confidence over his actual fear and panic. Martyn was always a good shot, always better than Grian at close combat. Traps was Grian’s forte, not this. 

Grian barely dodged a well placed shot, hissing at where it grazed his upper arm. 

He saw Martyn smile, growing confident. Grian glared at him, jumping out of the way of another bullet. Oh how Grian really wanted to wipe that smirk straight off Martyn’s face with a bullet to the head.

Grian was never the best at formulating plans. It was one of his fatal flaws, and he knew that. But alone, facing off a former teammate with a skill level in combat above his, things were looking little more than bleak. But that didn’t stop Grian from trying.

“You know, this wouldn’t be happening if you just went with us,” Martyn called, aiming his gun.

“Yeah? Well, you didn’t give me much of a choice, did you?” Grian said, ducking behind a nearby dumpster a millisecond before the shot rang out where he had just been.

“You made your decision, it wasn’t our fault that you chose to stay,” Martyn said darkly, an odd look creeping into his eyes.

“You literally drugged my food!” Grian exclaimed.

Martyn froze for a second, staring at Grian, “What?”

Grian took this momentary hesitation as leverage, shooting before thinking. Soon enough, Martyn was on the ground, clutching a bleeding gunshot wound right above his knee, glaring up at Grian.

Grian stared down at him, his mask of calm slowly crumbling at seeing his former teammate bleeding and on the ground.

Guilt started to find its way to his stomach, and he decided to put an end to it before it began to corrupt his very being, sinking its teeth into his emotions, toying with them until satisfied. Yet, the feeling of guilt was never satisfied. It kept eating Grian up like termites and a corpse, slowly gnawing away at him until the only thing left was raw and unshielded emotions.

Grian aimed the gun, put his finger on the trigger, and took a deep breath. Then, he heard a click behind him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, dude.”

Grian froze, lowering his gun. He didn’t recognize the accent, but it sounded dead serious, even with the added ‘dude’ on the end.

“Ren, I have a sniper trained on you right now,” a voice from Grian’s walkie wavered out. Scott. “Let my guy go, I’ll let Martyn walk out of here alive. One wrong move, and you’re both dead.”

His voice sounded calm, almost too calm. 

The man, Ren, exhaled through his nose, and, still keeping a gun trained at Grian, walked over slowly to where Martyn was still holding his wound still leaking blood, staining the concrete ground red.

Ren then started rushing, putting his gun back in his holster, and draping Martyn’s arm over his own shoulder, apparently indifferent to the groan of pain Martyn gave. Yet, Grian could see otherwise, he could see the worry twisting Ren’s face, the concern glittering in his eyes, his mouth slightly turned downwards.

Ren and Martyn limped off, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. Grian watched the two until they were out of eyeshot, then turned to his walkie.

“How did you know Ren’s name?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“How do you not? He’s the leader of the whole organization against the Watchers,” Scott’s annoyed voice answered. “I’m still waiting for my thank you, by the way.”

“Fine, thank you,” Grian said begrudgingly, then he added. “I thought Joel was the leader.”

“You would think that, but, no, I’m guessing this has been going on longer than when Joel left the Watchers. So it wouldn’t be possible for him to be leader, unless the former leader had died, which we could only guess.”

“Huh,” Grian replied, starting to walk forward, putting the pool of blood behind him. 

Suddenly, a yell and a large booming sound reached his ears. Panic rushed through Grian’s heart as he sped up, then started running towards the sound of the explosion. He rounded the corner, gun aimed ahead of him, but to only lower it at the unexpected scene in front of him. Joel was gone, and Etho was picking himself up from the ground. Grian ran to him.

“What happened?” Grian asked, his eyes flitting over Etho for any sign of injury. “You’re bleeding,” he moved his hand up to hover in front of the cut right under Etho’s eye, but Etho brushed his hand away. His teammate looked more irritated than hurt, but he sighed all the same. “He set off an explosion, got away.”

Grian furrowed his eyebrows, suddenly detecting another look in Etho’s face, one that Grian couldn’t quite place a label on.

“Are you sure that’s all that happened?” Grian asked. “Did he say any-”

“Yes,” Etho cut him off, an unfamiliar dangerous edge to his voice. “That’s all that happened.”

Before Grian could question him further, Gem was walking up to the two. 

“Come on, we should leave before more arrive,” she said, announcing her arrival.

“Where’s Scott?” Grian asked, turning his gaze to the rooftops.

“There were people taking more shots at Impulse and Cleo, he went to deal with them.” Something in Gem’s eyes told Grian that she wasn’t revealing the whole truth. What was it with people lying to him that day?

“Didn’t you want this to happen?” Etho asked. “Why are you suddenly surrendering now?”

“I didn’t know they would have Pearl here, ok? Same goes for Ren.” Gem’s voice sounded annoyed, like even she was mad at herself for deciding to retreat.

“Pearl’s here?” Grian asked, his eyes widening. He remembered how skilled Pearl had been at one on one combat, a talent to challenge even Gem’s.

“Yes,” Gem answered. “Now we have to go, come on, Impulse should be bringing back another car right now.”

It was later, the sun dipping below the buildings, the red-orange light streaming through the window of Grian’s dorm. Cleo was still in the medical unit, much to her obvious distaste evident by the complaining, so it left just Grian and Etho back in the dorms. 

“You know, we really need a medic on our team,” Grian said offhandedly to Etho, who was staring out of the window. He gave a hum to show he was listening, but then offered no other response, so Grian continued.

“I mean, they have Impulse, and Scott.”

“Then why don’t you learn a decent first aid?” Etho suggested, and Grian glanced to the right, tilting his head at the man sitting next to him on the couch.

“I’m just saying, it’s not practical.” He tried.

“Would you rather have Scott on the team than Cleo or I?”

“Yeah, ok, good point.”  

They stayed in silence for a while, until Etho stood up, “You hungry?”

Grian shrugged, “Yeah, I could eat.”

Etho walked over to the kitchen, and Grian was left alone on the couch.

Soon afterwards, Etho called Grian over to eat, Grian walked over to the other man, looking over his shoulder at the pizza he had unfrozen.

“It looks burnt,” Grian complained, scrunching his nose.

“Are you going to complain every time I cook? Just eat it, it probably tastes better than it looks. Probably.”

Grian shot the pizza one more distasteful look before picking up two pieces and putting them on a paper plate. Then, he walked over to the table and sat down with his food. Etho followed him shortly, sitting next to him. 

Grian picked up the pizza and took a tentative bite of it, it wasn’t as bad as Grian had expected, a common recurrence with Etho’s cooking.

Etho smirked at the look on Grian’s face, “Wasn’t what you were expecting, huh?” he asked, his eyes crinkling.

Grian tried to force his face to blank, but to no avail.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he muttered, accepting defeat. He glanced over at Etho, who had taken his mask off to eat his own food. Grian couldn’t help but stare at the long scar reaching from his eye down to the edge of his top lip, bright against his pale skin. Grian knew Etho was ashamed of it, for a reason Grian didn’t yet understand. If anything, Grian thought it was beautiful, but, of course, he kept those thoughts to himself. 

Etho caught him staring, and looked over at him curiously. Grian looked away, blushing furiously. 

“I want to talk,” Grian said, fidgeting under the table with the sleeves of his favorite red sweater.

“Talk?” Etho asked, his gaze returning to his dinner. “I don’t recall any more questions being part of our agreement.”

Grian thought back to the day at the club, sitting against the wall with Etho by his side. 

“Etho,” Grian started.

Then, Etho looked him full in the face. Grian stared wordlessly into those beautiful heterochromic eyes looking at him. He was mesmerized by the way Etho managed to capture Grian’s gaze just by giving Grian attention. It made him giddy, just knowing that Etho was looking at him. He forced a blush down, then Etho laughed. It was a small laugh, his nose slightly scrunched, his lips twisting into a smile. Grian was suddenly aware of how hot his ears were, they must be lighting up bright red.

“Grian, is there something you want to tell me?” Etho asked, his expression turning into a playful smirk.

“Uh, no, this conversation is getting very derailed,” Grian said very quickly, his words tumbling over each other in a race to get off his tongue.

“Okay,” Etho answered, still smiling. “I’ll let you ask this one time, what are you worrying about?”

Grian took a deep breath, not wanting to upset the mood, but it was inevitable. “What happened today with Joel, and what happened last time with Joel as well, what has he been telling you?”

Etho’s smile faltered, his lips dipping, and breaking the eye contact that Grian had cherished so deeply.

“It’s nothing,” he answered, yet Grian wasn’t letting him off this easily.

“Please, Etho, I only want to help. What’s on your mind?”

Etho looked back into his eyes, “Okay. He told me about Bdubs.”

“What about Bdubs? Is he working with Joel? Is it something bad?”

Etho hesitated, and Grian could see something resembling sadness in his eyes. 

“Something like that,” Etho said, never breaking eye contact, but looking like he very wished too.

“Was he there today?” Grian questioned, his mind flooding with possible scenarios that could have happened.

“No,” Etho answered, and Grian noticed he was wringing his hands. “No, he wasn’t there.”

“Is that what happened the first time too?” 

Etho just nodded as a response. 

Grian held Etho’s hands in his own, the other offering no resistance to the sudden contact.

“Etho, I’m sorry. I really am-”

“I don’t need your sympathy,” Etho said curtly, then sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s just, I would rather not talk about it.”

“Then let’s not talk at all,” Grian said, a sudden irrational thought taking over his mind. Etho looked at him questioningly, and Grian stared back, his eyes tracing Etho’s features, entranced.

“Grian?” Etho asked, slightly tilting his head and furrowing his eyebrows in a confused way that Grian considered very cute.

Grian didn’t say anything, just stared into his captain’s eyes. Then, his restraint broke, he leaned forward, and much to his and Etho’s surprise, briefly kissed Etho’s lips, his eyes closed. And, to his shock, Etho didn’t lean away, he leaned forward, mouth slightly agape.

Grian pulled away, his brain still processing what he just did. Then, it hit him, and he gasped. He immediately started to spout apologies, until Etho shut him up with another kiss.

Grian melted into the kiss, if only brief, then they pulled away from each other.

“Wow,” Grian said, slightly breathless.

“Wow indeed,” Etho agreed, a small blush creeping up his face.

“I am so sorry,” Grian apologized, recovering from the second shock.

“What’s there to be sorry about?” Etho asked, his mouth curving into a smile. “I quite enjoyed that.”

“I just- wow- yeah, that was something.”

“Good night now, Grian,” Etho said, standing up. “Clean up these dishes if you will, it was supposed to be Cleo’s night to, but,” he shrugged. 

“Yeah, yeah ok,” Grian replied, still slightly in shock. “Good night!” He called after the shutting door.

Grian didn’t know how long he sat at that table, reveling in the newly found warmth that was spreading across his body from head to toe. This felt like the best day of his life.

Chapter Text

It had been six weeks. Six weeks since Etho had last seen Joel. Six weeks since the man in question had made his harrowing escape. Six weeks since Etho had kissed Grian. The night of, Etho had laid in bed, hands folded on his stomach, staring straight up at the ceiling. He hadn’t been able to sleep that night, not with what had just happened. His lips still tingled with Grian’s kiss, something that he felt extreme guilt over, the emotion flipping in his stomach all night, sending an uncomfortable feeling to his chest. Why had he felt guilty about this? He was single, so it wasn’t like he had cheated. 

You never broke up with Bdubs, a nagging voice in the back of his mind had told him. 

But that was under different circumstances, he argued back. That would have been like rubbing salt in the wound.

Oh, it was a big wound wasn’t it?

That’s when he stood up, anger and guilt flooding him. 

“Stop it,” he muttered to himself. “Just stop.”

If there was one thing Etho prided himself on, it was his mentality. So, of course, his brain wouldn’t give up so easily.

He didn’t want to fight you.

“Stop.”

He tried to get you to stop, to put down the knife.

“Stop.”

I thought you loved him?

“Stop!” He yelled. He didn’t realize he had shouted, until Grian was pounding on the door and shouting his name.

“Etho?” he called, his voice slightly anxious. “Etho? Are you ok?”

Etho realized he was crouched, with his hands over his ears.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he answered, his voice shaky. 

“You sure?” Grian asked, his voice hesitant, but Etho noted the grogginess in which he spoke. 

“Yeah, sorry I woke you up.”

A beat.

“Ok,” Grian yawned. “It’s fine, good night.”

“Night,” Etho said, listening to Grian’s retreating footsteps.

He breathed out, walking back to his bed, and burying himself under the covers in a measly attempt to silence the voice. It didn’t work, but eventually the words became white noise and Etho drifted to nothingness.

“Cleo?” Etho asked, getting the other’s attention. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit this one out? It’s gonna be a big hit, probably a lot of walking.”

She lightly punched him in the arm, “I’ll be fine, I’ve been dying from boredom for the last six weeks, just sitting around not doing anything. It’ll be fun to get back in the action.”

“Okay, well, get Grian, this is going to take a little bit to explain.”

“Nice!” Cleo yelled, holding the suit up in front of them. “We get suits!”

Grian didn’t look nearly as excited about this prospect, he looked at the outfit fitted for him with extremely evident dislike.

Etho raised an eyebrow at him, and Grian just shrugged.

“The last time I wore a suit, it was with Scar. Just getting some sour memories.”

Etho nodded, meeting Grian’s gaze. “You’re gonna be ok?”

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing, then putting the suit back down. “Tell us about the hit.”

Etho had to get Cleo’s attention, who was still admiring the suit.

“Ok, we’re going to be joined with Gem’s team for this. Two of us are going to be 

‘bodyguards’.” He gestured at Grian, then himself. “Me and Grian will be guarding one of the main executives. Then, Cleo will be a businessman, with Impulse and Gem being her ‘bodyguards’.”

“What about Scott?” Grian asked, puzzled.

“He’s coming with us,” Etho said, pursing his lips.

Grian still looked quizzical, “Yeah, but, what’s his job?”

“He…has to seduce the man into bringing him to his room.”

Cleo looked taken aback, a shock look written on her face.

“Trust me, when Gem and I learned the roles, Gem didn’t like it either.”

Cleo started to say something, but Etho cut them off.

“Just, let me explain Scott’s job. There are two executives, right? But, that’s not the only thing that we’re after. The one that Grian, Scott, and I are going after, has something in his room, behind a vault somewhere. Scott’s job is just to get the man drunk enough to bring him up to his room, and tell him where the vault is, and what the pin is.”

“Why though? Why are Gem, Cleo, and Impulse’s roles significantly different from ours and Scott’s?” Grian asked, his face scrunched up in a cute way it did when he was thinking hard about something.

“Right, I forgot. We’re going to a banquet. Cleo’s going to a casino.”

“Wait, we’re going to different places?” Grian squawked, looking from Etho to Cleo.

Cleo just shrugged, but it was obvious that she wasn’t in favor of the plan either.

“Look,” Etho said, glancing between the other two. “I’m pretty sure this is some type of test. The Watchers didn’t seem too happy with our performance six weeks ago when we let Martyn, Ren, Pearl, Joel, and however many others escape.”

“So, it’s a punishment of sorts?”

Etho shook his head, “No, not exactly. But-” He cut himself off, glancing around the room, his mind running through ideas. There were cameras, they were hidden, of course, but they were there. Surely, they had microphones. If Etho spoke ill about the Watchers under their surveillance-

Etho reached across the table to grab a pad of paper, and a ballpoint pen. Then he scribbled a note onto it, turning it so Grian and Cleo could read it. He knew all of the locations of the secret cameras from his time living in the dorm, he made sure his hand was angled at the right place to make sure that the words scrawled onto the paper were unintelligible. 

“That’s the map of the casino, Cleo.” Etho said smoothly, willing her to comply with his eyes. Cleo looked back at him, nodding slightly. 

“Yep,” they answered, then pointed to a random part of the paper. “That’s the entrance, right? And we’ll be meeting him there.”

Grian nodded along with the lie, casting nervous glances around the room.

Etho reached over, and grabbed the paper with the ever-so-secret words on them. 

“Put on your suits, grab your weapons, then we’ll be ready to go,” Etho told them.

The others nodded and walked off. Etho followed them and stopped at his own room. He turned the knob of his door, pushing it open. He sat down on the edge of his bed, and destroyed the note.

The words, I think it’s a trap, they’re angry with us. Punishment, were crumpled and then were torn up, carelessly thrown into the trash. 

***

Scott crossed his arms in front of the mirror, glaring at his reflection with distaste. Scott greatly prided himself on his taste of fashion and cosmetics. This outfit was too good. It fit him perfectly, his top matching his blue vibrant hair perfectly, with flowy sleeves stitched with a fabric where his arms were slightly visible beneath the blue. The shirt was tucked into his bright ripped jeans, with fancy black boots to finish the outfit. His hands adorned rings that he had personally added to the outfit, two golden ones on his ring and middle finger on his right hand, then one silver one on his ring finger on his left hand. He refused to take all three of them off. The ones on the right hand were from Cleo… and Pearl. The one on his left hand- a wedding ring. He didn’t like to think about who it was from. 

His hair was styled in a way where it very easily got in his face. A spark of annoyance lit in him every time he had to blow it out of his eyes. He had added pink eyeshadow above his eyes, and minimal makeup around his face. 

“What are you scowling at?” Gem asked, walking into the background, wearing her suit. 

Scott’s face darkened even further. “What do you think, Gem?”

She put her hands up placatingly, “Hey, I didn’t choose your outfit, or quite frankly your role.”

“But you could have convinced them otherwise, yeah?” Scott asked, internally cringing at how salty his voice sounded coming out of his mouth.

Gem sighed, “No, I couldn’t have. I know you know the amount of power I have, it’s not much different from how much you have.”

“Tell that to the Watchers,” Scott muttered, blowing hair out of his face.

“What do you mean?” Gem asked, and through the mirror, her face looked genuinely puzzled.

Scott scoffed, “They hate me, Gem. They always have, even before everyone left, they had their favorites, and their least favorites.”

“Who were their favorites?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Grian… Pearl, Martyn.” He paused. “Scar.”

Gem looked away, biting her lip, clearly sensing the shift in the air.

“You guys ready?” Impulse asked, sticking his head in the room. “Woah, who dropped a bomb?” he asked, sensing the tension.

Scott just shook his head. “Nothing, I’m ready. Gem?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

Impulse smiled, a weak attempt at easing the mood. “Well, come on then, we have to meet the other team in the lobby!”

They met the other three in the lobby, all of them in suits identical to Gem and Impulse’s, save for Cleo’s who seemed fancier.

“You ready?” Impulse asked, looking at Cleo. 

She nodded, before throwing a sour look over at Gem. 

Scott walked up to Grian and Etho. Grian raised an eyebrow at him and Scott returned it with a quizzical look, “What?”

“Are you okay with this?” Grian asked, eyes flitting over Scott’s outfit.

“It’s not like I can refuse, is it?” Scott replied, then sighed. “Let’s go, I want to get this over with quickly.”

Etho glanced sideways at Grian, before the two turned and started walking to the doors, following in the other three’s wake. Scott walked slightly behind them, not really in the mood for the idle chatter that they were exchanging. 

Something akin to joy flooded into Scott’s stomach, before he stomped it out quickly. He loved dances, balls, banquets, name it. The white marble building was grand from the outside, he only marveled at what it would look like on the inside. 

“Hey, you got your walkie?” Etho asked, as they neared the building. 

Scott nodded, taking out the device and showing it to him.

“Remember, when we get in there, stay on guard, okay?” Grian said, glancing over Etho and Scott.

“Oh, right, Scott, we haven’t told you yet, but we have an idea on why this hit is so peculiar,” Etho said, his words quiet.

“Yes?” Scott asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

Etho hesitated before speaking. “We think they’re angry with us, it’s some sort of punishment. We don't know how, or what, but that’s our best guess. Did you do something recently to anger them? A drastic mistake, possibly involving your morals?”

Scott thought back to all he had done in the past month.

“No not really… Oh.”

“What?” Grian asked, staring at him. Etho was also looking at him, the sudden attention was starting to make Scott uncomfortable.

Scott moistened his lips, his gaze flickering from Etho to Grian. “Well, our last encounter with Joel, Martyn, did Gem tell you why I wasn’t with you when you guys left?”

“Yeah, because you were taking care of some snipers, right?” Grian said, confusion evident in his words.

Scott sighed, “I knew that sniper.” He paused before letting the information drop. “It was my husband.”

Etho and Grian both remained silent for a count of three beats, and they were almost at the large glass doors marked as the entrance to the building.

“Timmy?” Grian asked, his words hesitant. 

Scott sent him a halfhearted scowl. “Yes, Jimmy. I nearly killed him. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t want something like Joel and Lizzie to happen all over again, I just…let him go. God, it’s the exact same thing isn’t it?”

“No,” Etho said firmly. “You didn’t promise to return to him, right? You’re not planning a so-called jail break, are you?”

Scott shook his head, doubt still worming its way into the back of his mind. 

“You’ll be fine then,” Grian said, bumping his shoulder with Scott’s.

Scott was confused at this, Grian was acting like a friend. He never acted like a friend. Before Scott had the chance to ask Grian about this particular behavior, they reached the large doors. They pushed the doors open, and stepped inside the building. It was truly magnificent. A deep red carpet lined with gold, trailed its way from the entrance down a crossroads of halls. A grand staircase stood in front of him, also with carpet endorned steps. 

Scott raised his head to look at the silver chandelier hanging from the ceiling that seemed at least five stories above his head. 

A man stopped the three, looking them up and down, taking in Scott’s outfit, and Etho and Grian’s suits.

“What is your business here?” the man asked, narrowing his eyes. 

Scott mentally prepared himself, putting up internal shields that only he could feel, but it comforted him all the same.

“I don’t know them, “ he flashed a charming smile at the man. “I’m here for the banquet, if that’s okay.”

The man brought out an iPad, scrolling up, his eyes scanning the names.

“Should be the name Scott Major.” 

The man looked from the I.D. on the device, to Scott, and back. “You’re good to go, enjoy your time.”

Scott gave him a sweet smile, “Thank you!”

He walked past the man, forcing his strides to be confident. Then, he glanced back at the other two. Etho was talking, showing the man an I.D., and gesturing at the iPad.

The man nodded, directing the two to the stairs. They nodded, and walked up side by side. Scott took a breath before turning away from them. A party awaited him.

***

Grian cast a nervous glance over to Etho, who didn’t return the gaze. He was staring straight forward at the opposite wall. Grian took his silence for professionalism, and chose to follow suit. 

Grian kept fidgeting with his suit, tugging at the collar of his shirt that seemed to be suffocating at some points, pulling down his sleeves, then readjusting them, then doing the whole procedure all over again. 

Eventually, he couldn’t take the silence anymore, and, after a careful glance down both sides of the hallway, Grian turned his gaze to Etho.

“What are we supposed to be doing?” Grian hissed, his eyes squinted in confusion.

“Guarding,” Etho responded simply, not looking at Grian.

Grian rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I know. The question is, why are we guarding the outside of a locked door? It makes no sense!”

Etho shot him a pointed look. “That’s what he wanted. I don’t know, just go with it. People need their privacy.”

“Etho, we’re gonna be killing this man in a few hours.” 

Suddenly, the door between the two swung open with a flourish, and Grian twisted before remembering himself. He hurriedly corrected his posture, attempting to look as professional as possible, while straining his eyes to see into the room, but to no avail. 

The man walked between Grian and Etho, and then turned to face them. He was good looking, Grian would admit. He had a slight scruff of a beard along his chin that was cleanly shaved and cut. Perfectly styled black hair sat in place on his head, and he looked between his two assassins with a slight crooked smile on his face.

“I take it you’re my bodyguards,” he guessed, the upturn of his lips still prominently visible.

Etho nodded curtly, and Grian followed. He was barely able to bite back a retort of ‘we’ve told you this five times before you left us standing outside of the door’, but it died in his throat when the man shifted, and a flash of silver caught Grian’s eye. A knife. Grian’s eyes darted to Etho, then back to the man, who was still smiling.

“Come, we have a dance to attend!” And with that, the man set off at a long stride, Etho immediately followed him, Grian rushing to catch up with the two.

They made their way down the stairs, back to the entrance. The guard nodded at the three, then they went down the hallway that Scott had followed, and were met with a door. There was orchestral music and chatter coming from underneath the door, and Grian steeled himself for what was to come.

The man turned, gazing at Grian, then Etho, who Grian saw automatically stiffen when the man turned. He knew about the weapon too, then.

“You, stay,” he said, looking at Etho. Etho furrowed his eyebrows but said nothing in objection. Grian pursed his lips, and tried to rip the unease from his mind. The man was splitting them up, and if this hit really was a trap like Etho had thought, this was bad.

“Come on, then.” The man turned, and pushed the door open. Grian cast one last glance at Etho, who shrugged helplessly. Grian breathed in, before facing the banquet and walking into what could very well be his death.

Turns out there were no psycho killers waiting for him to trigger some sort of trap once he set foot into the room. Huh. Grian was almost disappointed by the fact. He looked around the room, looking for Scott. The area itself was large and spacious, with a roof as tall as the main entrance. A large chandelier roughly the same size as the other was hanging from the marble ceiling, cascading dim yet very visible light down onto the people at the banquet. There were a variety of different outfits worn. Some were like Scott’s, casual yet elegant. Others were styled in a more flashing way, sparkling dresses and bowties immediately drawing Grian’s attention. 

Then there were the business people. They were the ones adorned in suits with fancy briefcases; drinking, negotiating, some even dancing to the slow music gliding from the small ensemble of musicians on a stage of sorts in the front of the room. 

Grian’s eyes widened as he realized his observations of the room had deterred him from his real goal. He frantically looked around for the target that he was supposed to be guarding, and relief flooded his lungs when he saw Scott talking to him, sitting at the bar to the right of Grian.

Grian took a deep breath, and started to make his way to the two, adjusting his suit along the way. As he navigated through the different people, his mind wandered. What was Etho doing right now? Was something happening outside of the room? If this really was a trap, why had the Watchers not just killed them to get it over with? 

Grian reached the target and Scott. He swallowed, positioning his hands behind his back, and walking up to them. He stood stiffly next to where the target was engaged in a conversation with Scott, who was obviously flirting with the man, adding things here and there to hint at the main point of the conversation.

Grian cast another gaze around the room, nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be happening. He guessed he would just have to play the waiting game, and wait for Scott to work his magic.

***

The second Scott saw Grian walk into the banquet without Etho, he knew something was wrong. Splitting up, what with the concerns that the other two had about a trap, it was unpractical. Almost dumb. Scott knew how well Etho’s battle strategies are, he had seen them with how long he had been working with him. He wouldn’t purposefully become separated from Grian. But Scott had a job to do, split up or not. He watched as the man wandered into the room, roaming over to the bar. Scott put on a hopefully charismatic smile, and made his way over to the man who had taken a seat, and was currently talking to the bartender. Scott doubted this would be very fun.

***

“Oh, come on!” Cleo said, smiling widely. “You know you want to!”

Scott just rolled his eyes, yet, keeping his gaze on the man. “No, I don't. You’re just crazy.”

Pearl gave him a dubious look, “Really? You’ve been eyeing him for the past hour!”

“Yeah,” Scott said unconvincingly. “He’s probably already taken, anyway, he’s too fine to not be.”

“Aha! So you are into him!” Cleo shouted, standing up, and a few heads turned in their direction.

“Shut up!” Scott hissed, pulling them back down while Pearl just laughed. 

“Announce it to the whole world, will you?” Pearl asked, still giggling.

Cleo smirked as a response, and stuck their tongue out at Scott. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? You really should make your move soon, he looks about ready to leave.”

Scott cast a glance around the diner. He couldn’t see much from the booth that Cleo, Pearl, and himself were sharing, but from what he could see, he wasn’t complaining. The man Cleo had gone shouting about was sitting at a table to their left, scrolling on his phone, his feet propped up on a seat.

Scott admired his blonde hair, sharp jawline, and beautiful brown eyes. He was perfect. 

“Just ask him for his number.” Pearl urged, glancing at the man too. 

Scott  paused, and the other two looked at him expectantly. 

“Okay,” he finally said, to much joy from Cleo. 

“Yes!” they said. “Now go!”

Scott hesitantly stood up, picking up his phone, and sidestepped out of the booth. Pearl and Cleo gave him thumbs ups, and he returned them with a weak smile. 

Scott mentally steeled himself, he closed his eyes, breathing in, and out. Then he turned and walked up to the man.

Scott reached the man, and he looked up from his phone to him. He was beautiful, even more amazing than his side profile gave away. 

The man gave Scott a confused look, slightly tilting his head. “Do you need something?” he asked in a very prominent British accent, and Scott heavily considered turning tail and running back to his booth. 

He breathed in, and held out his phone to the man.

“Can I get your number?” he asked, holding his breath to gauge the other’s reaction.

The man froze for a second, staring at the phone Scott was holding out to him. 

Dread flooded into Scott’s stomach at the lack of a reaction. He was almost about to start spilling apologies, when something finally changed. 

“Yeah,” the man said, looking up at him, and, to Scott’s surprise, a blush was creeping its way up the man’s face.

Scott could feel his own face burning, but he decided to ignore it.

The man took his phone, and typed in a number, then handed it back to Scott.

“What should I set your contact as?” Scott asked, taking his phone back.

The man smiled, “Jimmy.”

“Alright, Jimmy, I’m Scott.”

***

Scott slid into the seat next to the man, not looking at him. The man paid him no attention besides a curious glance, then returned his gaze to the glass in front of him.

Scott ordered himself a drink that he was not intending to have, for the show of it, and turned a little towards the man, still facing forward.

“So,” Scott said, and the man glanced at him.

“So?” the man prompted, and Scott was taken aback by the elegant way in which he spoke, the word seeming to roll off his tongue in what Scott could only describe as a luxurious way.

“You got somebody waiting for you?” Scott asked, a smile on his lips.

“No,” the man responded in his rich accent. “Only myself. What about you?”

Scott forced his hands to unclench and accepted the drink from the bartender with a word of thanks.

“No,” he finally answered, observing the target’s reaction. Something flooded his eyes, something akin to excitement. Huh. He was probably still sober, and Scott hadn’t fully made a move yet, why would he be this excited? Scott decided to shrug his unease away, he couldn’t afford to be feeling unwanted emotions right in the middle of a hit. 

“Why, then. What a coincidence.” The man smiled, something that surprisingly unnerved Scott, given the softness in his words.

For the show of it, Scott took a sip from his glass. The wine wasn’t bad, yet he had never been one to drink. He set down the glass, forcing the smile to remain on his face.

The man looked at him, something flashed in his eyes, before it quickly morphed back into a sweet kind of softness, but Scott knew. He knew it was there. 

“Are you one for pastries?”

Scott was taken aback, but quickly fixed his face into looking like a polite mild confusion.

“What?” he asked, slightly tilting his head.

“We should get some after, there’s a bakery close by.”

Scott smiled, looking at the man for a second, “I would love that.” 

The man smiled back, yet there still was no warmth in his expression.

“Care to join me for a dance?” Scott asked, holding out his hand to the man.

“Of course,” he replied, and Scott resisted the urge to genuinely smile widely. This was too easy. Scott stood up and led the man to the main floor where couples all over were performing slow waltzes. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Grian waiting a little impatiently somewhat near the bar, watching him. 

Scott returned his gaze to the man, who was looking expectantly at Scott. Scott took his hand, and they began their dance. 

They stepped in surprising unison, Scott letting himself get twirled, the man never breaking step once. 

Once a few songs had passed from the orchestra, Scott asked the question that the whole hit was riding on. 

“This has been fun,” he said, looking into the man’s deep brown eyes. 

“Leaving so soon?” he asked, his voice questioning.

“Never,” Scott replied, leaning a little closer. “I was thinking somewhere more… private.”

The man gave him a smile that made Scott’s insides twist. “Of course, where were you thinking?”

“You live around here?”

“Why, yes, this very building.”

“Perfect.”

The man led Scott away from the dance floor, and Grian followed the two. Scott risked a glance behind him at Grian, who nodded back at him. The man pushed the door open, and strode out, Scott’s hand in his own. Etho glanced up from where he was leaning against the wall, immediately coming to attention. The man glanced at him, and Grian, then at Scott.

“You two can stay here at the banquet,” he finally decided, motioning to his two bodyguards.

“I would have to object, sir,” Etho said, glancing at Grian, then back to the man. “We are here for your protection, us being without you is useless.”

“What I say is final,” the man said firmly, an edge to his voice, almost like anger. “Anyway, we need somewhere more private, don’t we?” He turned to Scott.

Scott fluttered his eyelashes at the man, “Of course we do.”

The man walked away, pulling Scott with him.

They walked up the elaborately carpeted stairs and down the twisting hallways. Finally, the man stopped at a door labeled 312, and pulled a keycard from his pocket. The door beeped, and swung open, revealing a large room with marble floors and white walls. 

The man gestures for Scott to go inside, and shut the door behind him, locking it. The telltale sound of the lock clicking together rang in Scott’s ears. He narrowed his eyes, yet not turning around. This room was perfect, almost too perfect.

Scott walked a few more steps in the room, his eyes flitting around the walls, shelves, tables, the large king size bed in a room adjacent to the main space.

The word trap kept echoing around his mind. He opened his mouth to say something, to rid the room of the silence that had helped his thoughts to fester, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he froze, a shiver running through his body.

He didn’t turn to look at the man, then he realized it. He realized what had been wrong with this whole hit.

He turned, less than six inches away from the man, taking in his appearance, his perfect hair, his straight nose, his eyes that were alight with excitement.

Scott shook his head, shrugging the man’s hand off of his shoulder, taking a step back. “You’re not the target,” he said, his eyes wide, the familiar feeling of fear lurking over his shoulder. His breaths increased in speed, and he reached for his hidden gun. “What did you do?”

If it was possible, the man’s smile widened even further. “Aw, it was just starting to get fun.” Then he lunged.

Chapter Text

Scott barely had time to think before the man came rushing at him. He narrowly dodged the knife that he sent slicing through the air where his neck had just been, and hissed, feeling it connect with his cheek, sending blood streaming down his face below his eye. He ducked as the man attacked again, and again. Scott yanked his gun from his holster, but before he was able to use it, it was knocked out of his hands, skidding to the floor some ten feet away. Scott snarled, taking out his own knife, and tried to switch to the offensive side of the fight. But the man wouldn’t let go of his lead that easily. They dodged blows, sidestepping each other much like the waltz they had shared earlier. Eventually, they fell into step, that’s when Scott broke the dance. He spun and ducked, slashing at the man’s knees. He scored one, and the man yelled, bending to clutch at the now blood soaked pants, momentarily vulnerable. Scott took this to his advantage, and raised his knife, about to take the killing blow. 

Right as Scott sent his knife careening into the man’s bowed head, he rolled to the side, lashing out with his foot, kicking Scott’s knife out his hand. It was sent flying towards the bed, where it disappeared from sight. 

Scott pulled another knife from his belt, albeit smaller and less fatal, and faced the man. He was gone. Scott blinked, turning in a full circle, but the man wasn’t in sight. Then, a flash of silver in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he ducked at the last possible second. The knife swiped above his head, skimming his hair, but the man was prepared for the dodge, he kicked out with his foot, hitting Scott square in the stomach. 

Scott gasped in pain and surprise, involuntarily doubling over. The man took that as leverage, and jumped forward, painfully yanking a handful of Scott’s hair, and slamming his head down onto the table. Scott collapsed to the ground, pain exploding across his forehead, soon wrapping its way around his skull. Stars popped into his vision, which was rapidly darkening at the edges. 

The man stopped his attack to catch his breath, seeming pleased with the state which Scott was in. 

Scott gasped, trying to roll over onto his stomach, the movement sending a jagged pain striking through his head. He fumbled for the knife that was surprisingly still clutched tightly in his fingers, and, from his position on the ground, threw the knife towards the man. It hit him in the ankle, sinking into the flesh, causing his leg to crumple and for him to drop to his knees.

Scott smiled despite the blood pooling below his head, which was now resting on the ground, at the man’s momentarily weakness.

“Oh you bitch, you’re going to pay for that!” 

The man staggered back to his feet, fury written all over those elegant features. Scott’s eyes darted around him until they landed on the pistol lying an arms reach away from him. He reached for the weapon, his hand closing around the handle, but then he felt something flip him over, and there the man was, his eyes practically glowing in anger. 

He jumped on Scott, pinning him to the ground, and, without hesitation, plunged a knife right towards Scott’s chest.

Scott did the only thing he could think of. He caught the knife. The palm of his left hand exploded in pain as blood quickly pooled from the deep wounds that the knife was conflicting. At least he caught the thing instead of letting it stab him. The man pushed with the knife, and a new wave of pain found its way into Scott’s palm.

The man smiled, probably enjoying Scott’s pain. The pressure on the knife became stronger, and Scott’s grip was becoming harder to maintain, the knife getting slick with his blood.

Then, Scott remembered the iron hard grip he still had on the pistol in his right hand. Scott brought up the gun, but the man had yet to notice the barrel aiming straight for the side of his head.

“Any last words?” Scott smiled, looking into those sick and twisted eyes. Confusion flitted them for a second, and the man’s pressure on the knife faltered for a second. A second was all Scott needed. He fired.

Luckily, most of the blood splattered away from his body, wouldn’t want his pristine clothes to get dirty, would he now? Scott lay blankly for a second, detaching the gun from his grip, before coming back to his senses by the pain in his hand and cheek. 

He pushed the limp body off of him with his good hand, scrunching his nose in disgust at the metallic odor of blood now filling the room. 

“Why is he so heavy,” Scott muttered, finally getting the body off of him with a thud and a flail of limbs to the ground. 

He sat up, clutching his head, his vision going black for a good five seconds. That probably wasn’t good. Wait, he was the medic. He should know why that isn’t good. Concussion? Maybe, but his thoughts weren’t muddled at all. Were they? What could he remember…that man, the dance, Jimmy.

Scott physically flinched at the thought of Jimmy. No. He wasn’t going there. He stood up with the help of the previously offensive table, and steadied himself as his vision cleared. The Watchers said that there was something here, something that Scott needed to find. What was it?

Scott glanced down at the body. No other place better to start than going through a dead man’s pockets.

Scott crouched by the man, then realized that there was blood dripping onto the target’s shirt just under Scott’s face. On instinct, he turned upwards, but there was nothing on the ceiling. Then, the distant stinging on his cheek, returned full blast, and he groaned. Stupid adrenaline. 

Careful of his injured hand, he rifled through the man’s pockets, finally finding a red stained note. Scott carefully unfolded it, and narrowed his eyes at the words written in neat handwriting. 

They’re coming for me, Kai, I know it. They want the safe. I stole it. I heard the password, but briefly, and in code. It’s- The day the ships sailed, or something like that. Tell me you have good news

• Aren

Scott stared at the note, deep in thought. The day the ships sailed. What does that mean? Obviously, if Scott was sent after this man, that meant that he stole it from the Watchers. But what Scott didn’t know is what the hell was in the safe, and, more importantly, the stupid code that he had to decipher. 

Scott sat back on his heels, then regretted it, remembering his and the man’s blood combined on the ground into a puddle (mostly the target’s), and he opted to sit on the edge of the sofa. 

The day the ships sailed. What ships? Physical ships? Or did it have some other symbolic and metaphorical meaning? 

Ships, as in relationships? Sailing, as in what, leaving? The day relationships left. Oh. Scott glared down at the paper. So this is how it was.

He glanced around the room, taking in every detail. Where would a man hide a safe? In his closet? Probably not. Under the bed? Definitely not. Scott roamed the room, careful to steer clear of the blood puddles and the body in the room. 

Had the man said anything to Scott to hint at where the safe was? He racked his brain through every word the man said. After a few minutes of thinking, he found the answer. Pastries. The man had asked him about pastries seemingly out of nowhere, was it possibly a hint or clue?

Scott walked to the kitchen, glancing around the surprisingly modest space. There was a metallic colored fridge, an island with a marble countertop, and white cabinets attached to the walls around the room. Where would someone keep pastries? Do baked goods even need to be refrigerated? Probably not, he thought. The fridge was likely to be a no go. The pantry was his next best guess.

Scott approached the pantry, swinging the white door open to…nothing. He took a step into the pantry, and did a full three-sixty. There was absolutely nothing. This wasn’t right, there had to be something, right? 

As he turned to leave, his hand brushed against something. He turned to the left wall, and narrowed his eyes. There, blending in with the plain white, was a spark of texture. 

Scott lightly ran his fingers over the odd spot out, glancing around the rest of the pantry. His finger collided with something sharp along the wall, and he pulled back his hand, blood beading on a small cut on his index finger. 

He examined the spot on the wall closer where he had cut his finger, there was the texture again, although it was different this time. There were miniscule ridges etched into the plastered walls, and Scott tugged on it, and, to his surprise, a miniature square shaped door swung open, revealing a small opening in the wall with a metallic safe dominating the majority of the space.

A smile crept up Scott’s mouth as he reached for the safe. He managed to tuck it out of the small space, and carried it over to the table, where he set it down carefully.

“Well,” Scott said, his eyes roaming over the numbers on the keypad. “Let’s hope I get this right.”

Scott typed in the date, 4/24/10, and for a horrible second, the safe did nothing. The numbers just stared back at Scott, and Scott stared at them in turn. Then, finally, the lock clicked, and the safe swung open, revealing a single piece of paper. Scott reached in, picked it up, and turned it over, cringing at the blood stained fingerprints he was leaving on the note. 

“What?” Scott said aloud, staring at the paper, his mind trying to wrap around its contents. There was only one word written on the paper, one word which failed to comprehend in his mind, for he was not what it said, nor was any of the others. 

He closed the safe, leaving it out on the table, yet tucking the paper in his pocket to ignore and discuss later. 

The one word which he had tried to ignore, which brought back painful memories of that day.

Traitor.

***

Etho glanced at the other two to his left, then at Scott across from him.

“Why are we talking here, and not back at the dorms?” He asked, the question obviously a hot topic amongst most of the people at the table. 

Scott cast a look at his teammates, then at Grian and Cleo, then finally looked back to Etho.

“It’s not safe,” he said, his eyes uncharacteristically wide. 

“What do you mean by that?” Gem asked curiously. “Why wouldn’t our dorms be safe?”

“They can hear and see everything, Gem,” Grian answered for Scott. 

Etho nodded in confirmation when Gem turned to him. 

“We’re not planning a rebellion though,” she said, her tone uneasy.

Scott rolled his eyes, “No, I just figured a loud cafe would be a good place to talk about life and death situations.”

Impulse slapped him gently in the arm and Scott rolled his eyes again.

“If we’re not planning anything that we don’t want the Watchers to hear, then why are we here?” Cleo asked, narrowing her eyes.

Scott hesitated, as if nervous to spill the information that he had obviously been gatekeeping up until this point. 

“For the hit,” he began, slowly looking at each member at the table in turn. “I found the safe in his apartment.”

Gem smiled, putting her elbows up on the table. “That’s great news, though! You did kill him though, right?”

Etho looked at Scott curiously, when first seeing him after Scott had come back down the stairs, Etho immediately noticed the bandage plastered on his face and his hand wrapped up in more bandages. He also noticed the blood taining the white fabric from Scott’s hand.

Etho had just figured that Scott had had more trouble than they anticipated with the kill, but injuries like those were to be expected when in this line of work. But Etho had been mildly suspicious why Scott had avoided their questions like the plague, why he had wanted to leave as quickly as possible. Now he would be receiving his answer.

“The target knew I was after him,” Scott said, not looking at anyone in particular anymore. “He led me up to his room to kill me, but, uh, I guess he wasn’t fast enough.” 

Etho noticed Scott fidgeting with his bandages on his hand. 

“Is that what that’s from?” Impulse asked, his hand brushing the bandage on Scott’s face. The former nodded, and Impulse’s face looked grim.

“We thought it was a trap. Me, Etho, and Cleo,” Grian said, looking at Gem and Impulse. 

Gem looked dubious, while Impulse looked slightly scared.

“Why a trap?” Gem asked, her eyebrows furrowed. “Why would the Watchers want to trap their top teams? And why Scott out of all people?”

“Aw, you jealous that they hate me the most?” Scott asked, and Gem flashed a middle finger his way, although Etho noticed no real hostile intent was meant in the gesture. 

“We think they’re mad-” Etho began but Scott cut him off.

“I know why.”

And Etho fell silent, his irritation of being cut off quickly evaporating to curiosity.

“Why?” Cleo was the first to respond after Scott’s statement, albeit looking just as confused as the rest of them.

“There was a note in the target’s pocket,” Scott confided, pulling a blood stained note out of his pocket and setting it on the table. Etho read what was written on it, keeping his face blank as his conflicted emotions swirled beneath the surface.

“The day the ships sailed,” Impulse said aloud, frowning slightly. “What the heck does that mean?” and it dawned on Etho. Funny, Watchers. Real funny.

Joel and Etho had made an inside joke about their relationship being a literal ship. Joel had even drawn it, and even though his drawing skills compared to a five year olds, Etho still had the picture to this day. It was a large ship with white flags and brown wood, windows were protruding from the hull, yet Joel didn’t draw the interior.

“There we go!” He had said, proudly holding out his finished piece for Etho to see. “Isn’t it amazing? I’m calling it the Relation. Get it? Relation…ship!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it Joel,” Etho said, sighing, although he was also smiling. 

“I thought you would!” 

Joel had been happy. He had been so happy. Etho thought back to Joel in that alleyway that night. It seemed like all the joy and light had been sucked out of Joel, leaving a hollow shell of anger and hatred. Etho really hated this new version of his fellow -what Joel had called them-  “Boat Boy”.

“What does it mean?” Grian asked, stirring Etho out of his thoughts.

“It means the day they left,” Etho answered as Scott opened his mouth to reply, then Etho turned to him. “Right?”
Scott nodded, glancing down at the paper, before taking another from his pocket, although not laying it out like he had with the previous one.

“I found the safe because of what the target had hinted earlier during the banquet, and this was the only thing in it.”

Etho looked at the folded paper held tightly in Scott’s hand, it didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary, why was it in a guarded safe?

“Well,” Gem prompted, looking from Scott to the note in his hand. “What does it say?”

Wordlessly, Scott put the paper on the table for them all to read. One word was written upon the note. Traitor. 

Etho saw Impulse stiffen out of the corner of his eye. He glanced up at him, failing to keep the curious look out of his eyes. Impulse just shrugged at him, although the slight red heating up his neck gave him away. Impulse was nervous about what the paper said. Etho shrugged the thought off. Everyone was nervous when it came to a thing of lies, greed, and traitors. 

“So,” Cleo asked, glancing around the group. “Who’s the traitor?”

Gem rolled her eyes. “No one here’s a traitor,”

“I beg to differ,” Grian said, narrowing his eyes and Etho followed his gaze to Scott. Scott put his hands up placatingly.

“What did I do?”

“You saw Jimmy,” Grian said, an edge to his voice.

“Way to announce it to the whole crowd,” Scott muttered, venom poisoning his words.

“Wait, what?” Cleo asked, their eyes wide, looking at Scott and Grian. “You saw Jimmy?”

“Who’s Jimmy?” Impulse asked, confused.

“A friend,” Scott lied, and Etho glanced at him. Wouldn’t Impulse already know who Jimmy is? Or had Etho gauged incorrectly about how close Scott and Impulse were?

“A frien-” Cleo began but Etho cut them off, for a reason that he couldn’t explain to himself. 

“He said a friend, Cleo,” Etho said, looking pointedly at her. 

Cleo opened their mouth to argue, probably that Jimmy was more than a friend to Scott, but it was Gem’s turn to cut her off,

“Wait, so what happened when you saw Jimmy?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

“I let him go,” Scott said without hesitation, surprisingly looking Gem straight in the eyes. “He was one of the snipers that I stayed behind to go after.”

“You let him go?” Gem repeated his words, her voice tinted with anger. 

“It’s just like Joel all over again,” Cleo said, pinching the bridge of her nose, and Etho didn’t miss the glare Scott sent at them.

“I’m not going to betray the organization,” he scoffed, but there was a tint of hesitance in his voice.

Etho tilted his head, studying Scott. “If you’re not making any plans to leave, then why send you walking straight into a trap?”

“Guess they don’t want to take any precautions,” Impulse said darkly, and a heavy silence fell over the six.

“What if they try it again?” Grian asked nervously. “And it’s not a trap, like, they just send someone to kill one of us?”

“I doubt they would just abruptly do it like that,” Gem said, rolling her eyes.

“Really?” Etho challenged, glaring across the table at her. “Because it seemed like they were pretty bent on offing Scott just then, why not come after another one of us next? Maybe whoever’s suspicious? Maybe,” he said, emphasizing the maybe, “someone on Scott’s team? Who he could have possibly confided his thoughts of betrayal to?”

Gem stared at him indignantly, “What are you implying, Etho ?”

“I’m merely implying that the chances of them targeting either you or Impulse is high right now, seeing the attempt at the last hit.”

“Guys- guys, shut up,” Cleo said as Gem opened her mouth to argue back to Etho. She turned to Cleo, glaring, but her expression faltered seeing Cleo’s face. It was pale, their eyes wide and fearful, darting around the room.

Etho followed her gaze, and Grian voiced his question. “What’s wrong, Cleo?”

“There’s someone here,” she said, quickly standing up, reaching for their knife.

“If someone is here, try to act inconspicuous so they don’t think we’re up to anything, right?” Etho asked, his voice low. 

Grian nodded, pulling Cleo back down to her seat, but her eyes were still wide.

“Who’s here?” Impulse asked quietly, leaning in towards Cleo.

Their eyes roamed around the shop one last time, before looking at Impulse. “Someone from the company. I recognized them from Headquarters.”

“We have to go, then,” Gem realized, her too, looking around.

“Don’t bring out your weapons,” Etho said, glancing at Scott, whose gun was already in his hand.

He reluctantly put it back in its holster, and looked at Etho, the others did too.

“What do we do, then?” Gem hissed, her fingers drumming nervously on the table.

“Act natural, don’t be in a hurry, just walk out casually,” Etho told the rest, keeping his voice barely above a whisper the whole time.

Grian nodded albeit still looking a little unsure, everyone else followed in suit. 

Cleo stood up, and stepped out of the booth, then Grian, then Etho. Etho and Gem took the lead, walking next to each other, and out of the corner of his eye, Etho noticed Gem’s hand hovering over where her gun holster was hidden.

Etho nudged her with his shoulder, and she sent him a scathing look, but let her hand fall limp by her side anyways.

The two assassin teams reached the doors, and walked out into the cold December air, Etho immediately glad for picking up his coat earlier in the car on the way to the cafe. The wooly green fabric kept him mainly warm, yet the chill eventually began to seep through his sleeves, sending goosebumps up his arms.

They reached the cars without incident, and Etho slid into the passenger’s seat of his, Grian, and Scott’s car. 

Grian went to the back row, and Scott took the driver's seat.

“Why do you think-” Grian began, but Scott cut him off loudly. 

“Why do I think that the guy was such a good dancer? I don’t know, he might have had classes.” 

Etho turned to shoot a look at Grian, and Grian’s eyes grew wide, his mouth forming a silent, oh. 

Etho turned back around as Scott revved the engine. He stared forward, squinting his eyes against the setting sun. This was wrong. This was all wrong. It seemed as if history was repeating itself, and if that was true, then Etho would have to do something unthinkable, yet, it was thinkable. Because he remembered it. Vividly. He had tried to forget but the blood ever staining his hands had never left, the metallic odor of the red substance never leaving his nose. 

Yet, history shouldn’t be repeating itself. Last time, Scott had refused to leave. He had chosen to stay with Cleo, rather than leave with Pearl. Why would the Watchers doubt him after a decision like that?

Etho glanced over at Scott, who had an iron grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. His makeup was smudged, presumably by sweat and/or blood that he had wiped off. Etho wondered what the full story of what went down in the apartment really was. Was Scott hiding anything important that could decide life or death? Or perhaps was Etho just being his paranoid self?

He decided not to dwell on the issue at hand. But if it was one thing that his brain did best, it was dwell.

The six of them, Etho, Cleo, Grian, Impulse, Gem, and Scott were the best the Watchers had. Why would it make sense to eliminate any six of them? What was the severity of the action that Scott had caused to prompt an attempted trap? 

Before Etho was aware, the car had stopped, and Scott was twisting the keys, killing the engine.

Grian was unbuckling his seatbelt, and opening the car door, when he reached forward and slightly nudged Etho. “You coming?”

Etho turned, it was as if Grian had pulled him from his thoughts, reality suddenly returned to Etho, and he blinked, momentarily confused. 

“Right,” he finally said, looking into the uncharacteristically patient eyes of Grian. Since when had that look ever adorned his eyes? Only when looking at you, the same annoying voice as last night told him. Better not lose him this time around. 

Etho ignored the voice, turning away from Grian, and stepping out of the car, standing up straight.

Grian walked up from behind him as Etho shut his door, Scott had long since walked away to the building. Etho watched him disappear, the sliding doors swallowing him into the dorm building.

“Something on your mind?” Grian asked as they walked towards the building.

Etho gave him a deadpan look, and Grian stifled a laugh.

“It’s just a lot of information,” Etho said, sighing.

“True that,” Grian agreed, his arms crossed, slightly shivering in the cold. “I mean, why would-”

“Not here,” Etho said, yet he was aware of the resigned tone in his own voice.

“Yeah,” Grian said grimly. “Not here. That was the mistake last time, wasn’t it?”

Etho sent him a glare, and Grian seemed to realize what he just said.

“I’m sorry,” he said, slapping a hand over his mouth. “I don’t know why I said that!”

Etho rolled his eyes, “Ever heard of a filter?”

“Hey!” Grian huffed indignantly, yet his rage was halfhearted. “Ever heard of manners?”

Etho couldn’t suppress a small laugh as Grian playfully pushed him, and the two reached the doors, still laughing. Yet, under that facade of easygoingness, was a tangled web of suspicion, betrayal, and trickery; woven into an intricate tapestry of their lives after that one fateful day.

Chapter Text

“I have an idea!” Cleo shouted, causing Grian and Etho to turn to her from where they had been conversing about who knows what on the couch.

Even from where she was, Cleo could see the prominent blush on Grian’s cheeks and the way Etho looked at him. She was so tired of their obliviousness to their love. Grian had even confessed to her, after a much needed interrogation, that he and Etho had had a ‘moment’ while Cleo was in sickbay because of the car accident. The whole time, he had been a blubbering and red mess, and Cleo had loved every moment of it.

“So, you and Etho had a, what, ‘moment’?” Cleo had asked, a smirk on their face.

“Yeah,” Grian answered, eyes darting from them to the door. “Just a moment.”

“Uh-huh, and, what happened in this moment?”

“Nothing!” Grian said a little too quickly. “Nothing happened! It was just the general stress from all that had happened that day…”

“Oh?” Cleo asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, um…”

Cleo waited patiently, watching Grian’s internal gears turning. 

“We sorta, um, kissed,” Grian’s face immediately resembled a tomato, and a wide smile crept its way up Cleo’s lips.

“How was it?”

Grian looked shocked. “That’s what you’re asking?” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “Not like why we did it? Or what the circumstances were?”

“That too,” Cleo smiled. “But did you enjoy it?”

“Um, well, yeah.”

“Yeah what?” Cleo asked, still grinning widely.

“Don’t make me say it,” Grian whined pleadingly.

“Yeah what?” Cleo repeated.

“Yeah I enjoyed it!” Grian shouted, then clamped a hand over his mouth.

“See, that wasn’t too hard, was it?” Cleo asked sweetly to the glare Grian was sending them. “Has anything happened since then, anything…exciting?”

Grian obviously noticed the edge to her voice, and his eyes widened. “No!” he yelled. “Nothing like that! We actually haven’t talked about it since, it was kind of a spur of the moment thing.”

“Huh,” Cleo responded wisely.

“Yeah,” Grian replied, picking at the sleeves of his red sweater.

“Okay,” Cleo said, turning to leave the room.

“Okay what?” Grian asked, following her.

“I have all the information I need,” they said, not turning back to Grian. “Tomorrow's our day off, right?”

“Yeah…” Grian said slowly.

“Well, I have what we’re going to do!”

That was how Cleo ended up telling Grian and Etho about her fantastic plan the very next day.

The very next day, a conversation ensued.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Etho said dubiously.

“I think it could be fun,” Grian said quickly, glancing at Cleo. “I mean, a break would be good, right?”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t we spend our like one day off relaxing and not walking around the whole day?”

“Oh, come on Etho,” Cleo clapped him on the shoulder. “Stop being a party pooper!”

Etho sighed, and glanced at Grian. Cleo smirked upon seeing the pleading look on Grian’s face.

“Alright, fine,” Etho relented, turning back to Cleo.

Cleo didn’t stop smirking the whole car ride.

***

“Really?” Etho said, “An amusement park?”

Grian glanced over at him. A hand was shielding his face from the glaring sun shining brightly down on the three, his eyes squinted. Grian thought he looked quite pretty.

“Yeah,” Cleo answered. “An amusement park. Come on! It’ll be fun!”

Cleo marched forward without any other words, and Etho still stood still, staring at the park in front of them.

Grian gently took Etho’s hand, tugging it slightly, before following Cleo. For a second, Grian doubted that Etho was following him, but then he heard the steady, yet reluctant, steps behind him, and knew his chance for love wasn’t staying behind.

Cleo was waiting impatiently at the ticket booth, their arms crossed and foot tapping on the ground.

“Come on!” She exclaimed, grabbing Grian’s hand and pulling him forward. 

Grian followed her at their heels, Etho a little bit behind him. Cold crept its way up Grian’s arms and legs, and he shivered slightly.

“Did we really have to come here now?” he whispered to Cleo, glancing at Etho. “I mean like, why couldn’t we wait and go to a coffee place instead or something?”

“Because amusement parks are romantic,” Cleo replied, something dreamy in her voice.

“Romantic?” Grian said. “What’s romantic about yelling and people puking in trash cans?”

Cleo nudged him with their shoulder, “Just feel the magic of the park, alright? Go where your heart takes you.”

Grian gave her a dubious look, “That sounds really corny.”

They laughed, “I guess it does.” They paused. “But, seriously, don’t miss your chance. Etho can be a bit…well…hesitant with new things after what happened. But don't be too pushy either! Just go with the flow like you did that one night, y’know?”

“Yeah, okay,” Grian said as they stopped at the ticket booth.

A man looked down at them, glasses perched on the edge of his nose. 

“Three tickets please,” Cleo said, smiling at the man.

The man nodded, putting a paper bracelet around their right wrists in turn, before Cleo handed over twenty four dollars.

The three entered the park, and Cleo pulled the other two to the side. 

“Yes?” Etho asked, seemingly confused.

“Well, so, I invited the other team,” Cleo said, her words quick.

“You what?” Grian asked, his voice nearly at a yell.

Etho side glanced at him and Grian almost blushed. Almost. He totally didn’t feel his face growing warm at Etho’s attention.

“Sorry,” he apologized, sheepishly smiling at Cleo. “But why did you invite them?”

Cleo sighed, “I thought that last week was kind of rough. For all of us. And a distraction would be good!”

“Since when are you caring about the other team?” Etho asked, skeptical.

“Well-”

“Besides Scott,” Etho clarified.

“I think we all deserve to have some fun,” Cleo said defensively. “This job is hard work! And with what happened last hit…”

Grian grimaced. Even a week later, his mind was still turning over until it felt like it had worked itself to mush, yet it kept ripping itself apart, picking out different memories, and pushing separate possibilities upon him. Possibilities that he could die tomorrow at the Watcher’s hands. Even worse, possibilities that Etho, or Cleo, or even the other team could suddenly disappear one day.

“Okay then,” Grian said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Should we wait?”

“No need to,” Impulse said, and he, Gem, and Scott walked up to the three.

“Why did you invite us?” Gem asked, and she seemed as genuinely confused as Etho was. “Like, I thought that we didn’t like each other, was that just one sided, or…?”

“I thought,” Cleo said, preparing to give the same statement that they had given to Grian and Etho. “That we could all use a break. And especially with what the Watchers are supposedly planning, we need to take our minds off shit, so, amusement park!”

“Huh,” Scott said, turning to take in the park. “It’s a little cold for that, don’t you think?”

“Nah,” Impulse said, waving a hand dismissively. “It seems fun.”

“See!” Cleo said, relieved. “Somebody else agrees!”

“Something could go wrong,” Gem said skeptically. “Shouldn’t we be resting on our day off?”

“That’s what I said,” Etho muttered, and Grian saw Cleo shoot Etho a look out of the corner of his eye. 

“Come on!” Grian said, trying to lighten the mood. “It could be fun, like Cleo and Impulse said.”

“Yep!” Impulse replied, hooking his arm in Scott’s. “I wanna see what spinny rides they have here!”

“And I, personally, want to beat Gem at the games!” Cleo announced, glancing at Gem.

A competitive smile crept on Gem’s face, “Oh, you’re on!” she shouted, racing ahead of Scott and Impulse towards a booth. Cleo glanced back at Grian and Etho, winking at Grian, and then ran off after Gem.

“What do you want to do?” Grian asked. Etho shrugged, his hands in his pockets.

“Just walk around, I guess. I dunno.”

Grian smiled, “Sure! We’ll see what there is!”

Etho nodded, and soon the two were walking side by side down the surprisingly crowded park.

People milled around them, glancing curiously at the pair, probably because of Etho’s peculiar appearance with his mask, scar, and silver-white hair, but Grian didn’t mind the attention. Most of the people didn’t give them more than one or two glances before moving on to the next exciting thing. 

They passed by a pretzel booth, a game with a water gun and targets, and a lemonade shake stand. But the thing that really caught Grian’s eye was the large ferris wheel dominating a good portion of the park. When Grian pointed it out, Etho was hesitant.

“I dunno,” he said, eyeing the ride. “We’re pretty exposed like this.”

Grian rolled his eyes. “Will you stop thinking about the job for one second and relax?”

“No,” Etho replied simply, causing Grian to sigh. 

“Please? Just this once? For me?”

Etho sighed and looked over at Grian. Grian did his best to give him puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” Etho said, crossing his arms. “But if this turns into some sort of sappy romantic shit where we get stuck on the ferris wheel, you’re taking over dinner tonight.”

“Deal,” Grian smiled, then, taking Etho’s hand, rushed over to the ferris wheel. 

They got in line, and Grian noticed Etho staring up at the ride, his eyes wide.

“Something wrong?” Grian asked, concerned.

Etho shook his head, turning his gaze to Grian. “No, it’s just…tall.”

Grian laughed, “Yeah, that’s what a ferris wheel’s supposed to be.”

Before they could talk anymore, they reached the front of the line. They were directed to a cart and Grian went first on the inside, shortly followed by Etho. The worker shut the door and the wheel started to spin, their cart going up. 

Grian was thoroughly enjoying himself. He couldn’t rid his face of the wide smile that curved his lips, the sights below him were just way too perfect. He leaned over the edge slightly to get a better view. He could see the tops of buildings surrounding the park, and so much more. He could see people reduced to mere pinpricks roaming about on the streets, walking in and out of shops, getting into cars, conversing idly on the sidewalks. He could see cars driving along the road on their respective side, much like ants crawling across black asphalt. 

Then he glanced over to Etho, and his heart plummeted. Grian enjoyed being up high, where the words from the ground couldn’t reach his deaf ears and the only thing he could hear was the calm white noise of birdsong and the wind. Yet, apparently, that opinion differed greatly for Etho.

Etho’s eyes were wide and his pupils were dilated, and he was clutching the side of the cart like a lifeline, his knuckles growing white under the strain. His breathing was uneven and uncoordinated, it sounded like borderline hyperventilation. His eyes were fixed on the ground below the two of them as the ferris wheel continued to spin and they hit their highest peak.

“Etho?” Grian asked, trying to break Etho out of his trance. If Etho had heard him, he made no move to respond, his eyes still glued to the ground.

“Etho?” Grian tried again, his voice a little firmer. “Etho? Etho look at me!” Etho looked over to Grian, and Grian immediately felt guilt wrap its claws around his heart at Etho’s expression. He looked scared. Grian had rarely seen this expression present itself on Etho’s face, and anytime it did, it worried Grian. 

“Etho…are you afraid of heights?” Grian asked tentatively, looking deep into Etho’s eyes. Etho gave him a quick wordless nod, his eyes still wide. 

Grian took his hand, and held it tightly, willing Etho to keep his gaze on him.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t know-”

“It’s okay, really, it’s not your fault, I should have told you,” Etho said, his voice shaky, and Grian realized he was trembling. 

“Okay, just focus on me, don’t think about anything else.” Grian told him, unsure if his advice would work.

Etho nodded, yet he didn’t stop shaking.

“Let’s talk about something,” Grian finally decided as they went downward. 

“Sure,” Etho said distantly.

“What’s your favorite food?” Grian asked.

Etho laughed, and Grian took that as a good sign. 

“My favorite food? You’re really asking that question right now?”

“Well,” Grian shrugged. “What else is there?”

Grian saw Etho smile, and he had stopped shaking.

“Just humor me,” Grian smiled back.

“Okay, fine,” he thought for a second, then Grian saw his eyes crinkle in a fond kind of way. “I think… donuts, maybe.”

“Donuts?” Grian asked. “I never thought you one for a sweet tooth!”

Etho shrugged, then smiled, “Appearances are deceiving I guess, what about you?”

Grian thought back to the foods he often ate, he really liked hamburgers, waffles, pizza. Pizza. A rainy day, Grian and Scar had decided to go to the pizza shop around the corner. They had been served a fresh and hot plain cheese pizza. Grian remembered the way Grian had had to reach over the table to wipe the cheese from the corner of Scar’s lip, the way Scar’s eyes sparkled whenever he looked at Grian, the bubbly feeling Grian had felt when he looked at Scar, like butterflies were fluttering around in his stomach-

“Waffles,” he said.

“Waffles?” Etho asked, smirking slightly. “Does that even count?”

Grian opened his mouth, jokingly defensive. “Of course they count! If waffles don’t count then donuts don’t count.” And he said it with such finality that it made them both laugh.

“Okay, next question,” Grian said, subconsciously rubbing circles with his thumb on the back of Etho’s hand. “Favorite band?”

Etho thought for a second, then responded, “Singing Wind,”

Grian knew his face must have looked incredulous, “Wait what? You’re joking.”

Etho tilted his head slightly, “What? Is something wrong?”

“No,” Grian said, a laugh bubbling in his throat. “They’re my favorite band too.”

“Actually?” Etho asked, his voice sounded excited. “What’s your favorite-”

The ferris wheel suddenly reached a halt, surprising the both of them. Grian glanced over the edge, where he realized they were at the highest point.

“Etho, don’t look over the edge,” Grian said, turning back to Etho. It was too late. Etho’s eyes were wide and dilated again, his breathing picking back up in speed.

Grian put both hands on each side of Etho’s face, and gently turned him towards Grian.

“It’s okay,” Grian assured him, and, quite frankly, himself. He tried to force his panic down, and to make his voice as calm and soothing as possible. 

“It’s not-”

“Etho,” Grian said. “Just look at me. This problem will get solved, but in the meantime, you can’t have a panic attack up here, okay?”

Etho didn’t say anything in reply, but Grian tightened his grip on his hand. 

“It’ll be fine. It’ll be okay,” he murmured, not only to reassure Etho, but himself as well.

“Grian?” Etho asked, his voice timid.

“Yeah?” Grian asked, immediately giving Etho his full attention.

“Can we keep talking?” Etho asked. He was trembling again.

“Yeah,” Grian said quickly, racking his brain for a topic. “Yeah, um, favorite color?”

“Green,” Etho said. 

“That makes sense,” Grian said, motioning to Etho’s forest green coat. “Mine’s red.”

Etho let out a shaky chuckle, “Yeah, yours makes sense too.”

Grian picked at the fabric of his red sweater, tearing a small thread from it, twisting it in his fingers.

“When we get down from here, you’re making dinner,” Etho said.

Grian was confused for a second, then burst out into a laugh, “I can’t believe you predicted this! Yeah, I’ll make dinner, what do you think about breakfast foods?”

“Breakfast for dinner?” Etho asked skeptically.

“Yeah! You haven’t had it before? It’s amazing!” Grian chirped, already forming a plan in his mind. “I can make eggs, bacon-”

“Waffles?” Etho asked, smiling.

“Waffles,” Grian agreed. They sat there for a second in a comfortable silence. Take your chance before it’s too late, Cleo had said. Grian guessed this was his chance.

He leaned in, hooking his finger around Etho’s mask and pulling it down. Etho did not object, but he seemed strangely hesitant.

Grian tilted his head for the kiss, but at the last second Etho turned away.

Grian pulled back, confused, and quite frankly, a little hurt.

“What’s wrong?” Grian asked. Etho wouldn’t meet his gaze, but Grian could see a blankness in his eyes. Almost like a reserved look. A look that had never certainly crossed paths with Grian before.

“Etho?” Grian tried again, almost wanting to wave a hand in front of the other’s face.

“I can’t,” Etho finally said, turning his head to look at Grian. 

“What?” Grian asked, cursing the waver in his voice.

Etho’s gaze was still painfully devoid of emotion, and the blank gaze felt like a thousand miniscule needles stabbing their way into Grian’s heart.

“I can’t,” Etho repeated, not bothering to explain himself.

A flash of annoyance spiked up in Grian’s stomach, accompanying his cracked and fractured heart.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Grian said a little too loudly for his liking. “What was that last time, then? Just a sporadic gesture of love?”

Etho merely shrugged, and his piercing gaze seemed to look through Grian into his very soul, picking apart his brain and examining it without need of a microscope. 

That’s what Etho’s gaze was to people he was not familiar with. Grian had experienced it, when they were first introduced. It had made him feel slightly uncomfortable, on edge. The look now toyed with the emotions blooming in his chest. It no longer made him feel the urge to flee, but it wasn’t the gaze he was used to. This was completely foreign to Grian. Had he done something wrong? Had he said something to ruin his one shot to finally ease the feeling in his stomach whenever he looked at Etho?

Grian bit his lip to keep it from trembling as they sat in silence, never breaking eye contact. His own gaze was soon blurred by unshed tears, which he refused to let fall under the observant eye of Etho.

“I’m sorry,” Etho said, with no real sincerity in his voice. 

Grian thought he saw a flash of emotion pass through Etho’s eyes, a million unspoken words, affirmations that their love was still there, floating away soon to be out of reach, but still there. 

“No need to be,” Grian said sharply, breaking eye contact. He realized the air felt suffocating around him, and he tried to inhale oxygen, but only half the amount he had taken registered in his lungs. 

“Grian-” 

Grian scoffed, “Please, I would love to know why you’re suddenly deciding now that you don’t want to do this? That you’ve been leading me on for four weeks? I mean-”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you,” Etho said, cutting Grian off from his rant. 

Grian scoffed again, but the annoyance was lost in translation. “What do you mean hurt me? We’re on the same side here, are we not?”

Etho hesitated, his eyes doubtful. Ha! So he was capable of emotions. 

“It’ll be easier if you don’t see me more as a comrade, rather than a friend, or further.”

“But, Etho, you are my friend! And- and I would like to take this further! You’re not going to hurt me-”

“You don’t know that!” Etho exclaimed, then immediately looked embarrassed at the rise in his voice. “I mean, you don’t know what I’m capable of-”

“What you did that day was inevitable, it was your job,” Grian said firmly, reaching to take Etho’s hand again. Etho pulled away, but then hesitated, and let Grian take his hand.

“I’m not gonna get hurt, so don’t worry about me.” Grian said, looking deep into Etho’s eyes. 

“Yeah but-”

 Suddenly, Grian realized that they had reached the ground. A worker was opening the door to the cart, and Etho stepped out shakily, and Grian followed him. They didn’t speak a word to each other until they were out of earshot of the large crowds, choosing to sit down at a table. 

“Can we make this work?” Grian asked, glancing at Etho, who sighed.

“I just don’t know, Grian.” 

Grian worried his top lip, staring at the people walking by. He swallowed, then glanced at Etho.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, pursing his lips.

Etho looked at him, puzzled. “Why are you sorry?”

“I should have asked.”

“You basically did,” Etho looked down. “You didn’t need to, anyway. Cleo said the same thing to me too, y'know.”

“Wait what?” Grian asked, earning a quiet chuckle from Etho.

“I figured that they told you too. Did you really confess what happened when she wasn’t in the dorm?”

“Yeah,” Grian said sheepishly. 

Etho merely sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do, Grian. If it was any other situation, I wouldn’t have refused. But, things are happening right now. The Watchers are growing restless, and I really don’t want to pick sides again.”

Grian nodded, tearing at the strings on his sleeve again. “Me neither, but I doubt they would come after either of us.”

Etho gave him a look, “You don’t know anything for sure.”

Grian had to agree to that. They didn’t know what the Watchers had in store for them. They didn’t know who else the Watchers intended to target, or if it was just Scott. No, they didn’t know anything. The only thing they did know is that it was not safe to remain.

“Do you think that this is what they felt?” Grian mumbled, not fully intending Etho to hear him.

Etho shrugged, “I think the Watchers are pushing us to make a choice. Either follow in their footsteps and die, or stay in the organization and die. Personally, I don’t want to die, but I don’t know how to avoid that.”

“Well, we can try our best, and go back to that decision when the time comes.” Grian said with a finality to his voice. “Now why don’t we go try to get our minds off everything with a few rigged games?”

***

Scott wrinkled his nose. “They only have that crappy park food.”

“Oh, come on,” Impulse pleaded. “It smells so good!”

“It smells like diabetes on a silver platter.”

“No need to be rude to it,” Impulse said defensively. “Honestly, you just need to lighten up! That’s why we came here in the first place, right? To get our minds off things?”

“I guess,” shrugged Scott. “Fine, we can get you your chocolate covered banana, then I wanna see what rides they have.”

Impulse smiled widely at him, and Scott fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“So,” Impulse said, idly picking at the plastic table. “You doing good?”

Scott looked over dubiously at him, “We’re in a crowded and loud amusement park in the dead of winter with the assassin agency we work for after us. Yeah, I’m doing amazing, what about you?”

Impulse sighed, and a silence fell over the two. Scott let his eyes wander around his surroundings randomly, before his gaze settled back on Impulse. His eyes were darting from Scott to something behind him. Scott narrowed his eyes. Impulse looked almost…nervous.

“What are you looking at?” Scott asked, his tone almost sharp. Impulse’s eyes stopped flitting between Scott and the unknown subject, and landed back on Scott.

“What do you mean?” he laughed nervously. “Just the people around us! How about we go on a ride? What types do you like-”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying?” Scott asked, stopping Impulse’s desperate excuses. Impulse’s words died, and he stared at Scott. “When you talk, you start talking really quickly and panicked, like you have something to hide. You know that, right?”

Impulse made one last ditch attempt, “Really, Scott, there’s nothing there-”

“Okay,” Scott said, then he turned. 

Scott was barely able to contain the shock of surprise from appearing on his face. There, amongst the crowd, was Jimmy Solidarity. 

“Jimmy?” Scott whispered, staring at him. Yet, he wasn’t alone. Accompanying him on either side, were two other men. The one on Jimmy’s left, furthest from Scott was a man with bright blonde hair that stuck up and tinted red glasses perched on his nose. The other on Jimmy’s right had short black hair and a friendly look on his face.

Scott’s eyes never left Jimmy, but his words were directed to Impulse. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Impulse paused, hesitating. Scott turned to him for a second, and Impulse gulped. Scott realized he had forgotten to mask the hard glare that he had just turned on Impulse. 

“I didn’t want you to worry!” Impulse exclaimed. “The sight of Jimmy would have panicked you, and I just wanted to have a fun day without conflict!” 

Scott whipped around back to Jimmy, but he had disappeared. 

“Shit, where’d he go?” Scott hissed, standing up, and taking off into the crowd, not caring if Impulse was behind him or not.

“Scott, I don’t really think-”

“Shut up for a second, Impulse.”

Impulse fell silent.

Then, Scott spotted him. He was with the people from earlier, and they were turning to the exit of the park.

“Impulse,” Scott said, his voice a forced calm. “Go get the others.”

Impulse argued for a second, but Scott ran off towards Jimmy. He and the others were exiting the park, almost out of sight. Scott cursed under his breath, and forced his way through the disgruntled people he was shoving through.

Jimmy turned into the parking lot, but instead of the three getting into a car, they continued walking down the pavement, and turned the corner at the sidewalk. Scott ran after them, slowing his pace once he came to the corner. 

He turned the corner, and to his relief, the three targets were walking down the sidewalk, yet it seemed their pace was hurried. Scott trailed behind them, hands in his pockets, trying to look as casual as possible. He ignored the knife hidden in his jean jacket which seemed to grow heavier with every step that brought him closer to Jimmy. 

Jimmy and the others suddenly started running, and Scott took off after them. His jacket whipped behind him, and the cold bit at his hands and face, but he kept running against the wind. His feet thundered against the pavement, as he picked up speed, ignoring the occasional curious glance from the stray person outside on this chilly day. 

The chase kept on for a few minutes, both of the parties running as fast as they could. Scott was gaining on them, he was barely conscious of where they were running, all that mattered to Scott was catching them. To get to Jimmy. They turned another corner into a more desolate street, then another. They kept running, Scott was so close, if he wanted he could probably throw his knife and hit one of them. He reached for his weapon, before tightening his hand into a fist, and letting it fall back down by his side. He could hit Jimmy. But he’s not on your side, the more truthful side of him argued. Why would it matter?

It mattered. It mattered because Scott still loved him.

The three made an abrupt turn, and Scott sprinted after them, leading him to a one way alley. They stood at the wall side by side, facing Scott. They were all breathing heavily, and dripping with sweat.

Scott stood still, regarding the other three. Suspicion crept up his spine. Jimmy wasn’t the brightest, but he wouldn’t lead himself and two others to their certain doom in a one way alley. That only meant one thing. A trap. Hearing movement behind him, Scott lunged for the three, tackling the blonde with the red glasses to the ground, bringing out his knife and holding it at his throat. 

The man stilled below him, but Scott didn’t relent.

He kept the blade trained on the man, but turned, and saw none other than Joel at the entrance right behind where Scott had just been standing, a knife gripped in his hand. 

“I’m not getting fucking trapped twice in two days,” Scott spat, standing up, bringing the blonde man with him, the knife still at his throat.

Joel looked absolutely enraged. His teeth were grit and pure hatred sparked in his eyes. The expression brought a smile to Scott’s lips.

Scott refused to look at Jimmy, he absolutely refused. Instead, he glanced at the man next to Jimmy, his eyes wide with fear.

“Why were you there?” Scott demanded, looking between Joel and the dark haired man.

When they didn’t answer, Scott tightened his grip on his hostage of sorts, pushing the knife in harder, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to install fear in everyone in the alley.

“Why do you have to ruin everything, Scott!” Joel finally exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “We were there to trap one of you!”

“How did you know we were there?” Scott snarled.

“We can’t really tell-” the dark haired man started.

“Shut up, Skizz.” Joel said, his voice low. 

Skizz stopped talking, panic flooding his face, his eyes glued on the man in Scott’s grip.

“We saw the cars. We were waiting for an opportunity!” Jimmy said, looking Scott straight in the face, defiance etched in his words. Scott finally brought himself to meet Jimmy’s eyes. They were full of anger, not the type of playful anger that he always had when Scott and him had their usual banter, no, it was the type of anger that was unforgivable. The type of anger that was directed at him, and him only. The look almost made him drop the knife. He inwardly cursed the guilt and remorse that was swirling in his gut. The conflicting emotions brought back memories. Memories of before. Memories of Jimmy.

“We have eyes on Impulse,” Joel said. That made Scott freeze. 

“If you do anything, I swear-”

“We won’t give the command to execute if you let Tango go.” 

They were at a stalemate. “How do I know you won’t shoot me the second I let him go?”

Joel’s smile was bitter. “You have my word.”

“You know words don’t mean shit in this world.”

“Or I could just kill Impulse right now.”

Scott glared at Joel, but he laxed the knife at Tango’s throat. Tango exhaled deeply, but his body was still tense. 

“Scott, please, just wait a second.”

If it was anyone else, Scott would have ignored them. But it was Jimmy.

Scott looked at Jimmy, and to his surprise, his eyes were wet with tears glistening in them.

“Scott, you can come to our side,” Jimmy said, taking a step towards Scott. 

Scott shook his head, pushing Tango away towards Jimmy, who stumbled until Jimmy caught him. 

Scott passed Joel, who looked like he was itching to break his deal. 

“Scott!” Jimmy shouted, desperation filling his voice. “Please, come back to me!” Scott stopped, against his better judgment, and turned to take in the sight of Jimmy one more time. 

“I love you,” Jimmy all but sobbed. “Don’t leave.”

“Don’t show yourself again, Jimmy.” Scott said, and turned, ignoring the tears threatening to pool in his eyes. 

Jimmy was gone. He was too far to reach, even if Scott had tried. Scott refused to acknowledge the yearning feeling almost pulling him back like a puppet on a string. He would not yield that easily. He would not yield in the face of love.

Chapter Text

“Will you two give it a rest!” Cleo shouted from the kitchen. Etho glanced over at her curiously, then followed her gaze to the two in front of them. 

“He started it!” Joel exclaimed, crossing his arms in front of his chest in a manner that reminded Etho of a pouty child.

Scott raised an eyebrow at him, “Weren’t you the one that insulted my sniping skills?”

“Yeah!” Joel shouted, waving his arms in the air. “They suck!”

“Do not! Not anymore than your medical knowledge, hell, I doubt you could even bandage a knife wound.”

“I definitely could!”

“Wanna try it out?” Scott eyed the knife set to his left.

“Enough of that,” Etho intervened, stepping between the two. “We don’t want any knife violence between assassins, right?”

Scott just rolled his eyes, and drifted over to where Pearl was leaning against a wall. 

Joel sent a glare after Scott’s retreating back, then perked up as if a sudden thought had hit him. He turned to Etho with a strange look on his face. 

“I need to talk to you for a minute,” he said a little distractedly.

Etho tilted his head curiously. “Alright, about what?”

“Who’s side are you on here?”

Etho looked at him quizzically, “What do you mean? If I had to choose, I guess, I don’t really know Scott-”

“Not that!” Joel hissed, and he dragged Etho by the arm away from the others. 

“Then what?” Etho asked, ignoring the fact that he already knew what the conversation was about.

Joel glared at him wordlessly, and Etho put up his hands in a placating gesture. “I don’t know what you want from me, man.”

“What I want,” Joel started, sounding strangely accusatory, “is for you to make up your goddamn mind!”

“Okay, I’ve made it up. No.”

“Etho!” Joel complained. “This is serious! If you refuse, then you're going to die!”

“And if they catch us?” Etho asked. “What would happen to us then?”

Joel didn’t respond, instead he cast a glance around the room. 

“Joel?” Etho prompted.

“We need to hold a meeting,” Joel muttered, more to himself than Etho.

“A meeting?” Etho asked, perplexed. “Why?”

“To see who’s on our side or not you blummin’ idiot!”

Joel stepped away from Etho, and walked to the dining table, clearing his voice loudly, drawing attention to him, causing all other side conversations trailing off to silence.

“I think we need to have a meeting,” he announced, his eyes sweeping over the occupants of the dorm.

Etho crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall at his back. He let his gaze flit around the room, not at the people, but at the walls. Something shiny caught his attention, he narrowed his eyes at it. A camera. 

Surprise washed over his face, but he quickly masked it with a facade of calm. If the camera had a microphone, all of his friends were dead. Well, most of them, maybe not Grian, Cleo, or Scott. 

He realized that Joel was still talking, and mostly everyone was gathering at the table. Conflicting thoughts clashed in Etho’s mind. On one hand, if he didn’t warn the others of the cameras, they would go through with the plan and die. But if he did… They wouldn’t relent on escaping, and it would only paint him as part of their plan. A target. 

He looked at Bdubs. Could he really put his own selfishness in front of others, and sacrifice four of his friends for his own personal benefit? Could he really set his best friend, his boyfriend, up for death?

He wanted to say no, but a stray voice in his mind argued against his own morals. It seeped into his brain like poison, spreading, corrupting his thought process. Yes, it told him. Yes, you can betray them. Betray them all. You get to live.

Is a life where you kill others for your own benefit a life worth living?

The voice paused, contemplating this thought. Etho only realized it had fallen silent, when Bdubs was calling him over. Etho glanced up at Bdubs’s voice, the voice he knew so well, the voice he was in love with. The voice he was about to sacrifice like a pig put up for slaughter.

He uncrossed his arms, and walked over to the group at the table. He sat down between Bdubs and Grian, Bdubs giving him a reassuring look, where Grian’s eyes were elsewhere. He seemed nervous, picking at his sleeves, a habit that Etho had noticed Grian had started to develop as the air surrounding the nine grew more tense as the days passed. 

“I think we all know why we’re having this meeting,” Joel started, sitting between Cleo and Martyn. 

“Yeah!” Bdubs said, glancing around the group, and silently meeting Etho’s hand under the table. “We need to know who’s with us or not.”

Everyone was silent. Nobody spoke, no one moved, everything was still. 

“So?” Joel asked, and Etho detected a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Who’s with us?”

“Me,” Martyn said, glancing at Joel and Budbs.

“I am,” Pearl spoke next, then, when nobody else spoke, Pearl nudged Scott with her shoulder.

Scott shrugged, “Okay, I’m in.”

Cleo made a noise of protest, and all eyes turned to them. 

“What?” They asked indignantly, though a hint of panic resided in her voice. 

“You know what,” Joel stated, and Etho was surprised to see a barely noticeable glare present itself on his face. 

Cleo turned on him, “Why can’t a person have their own opinions, Joel? I didn’t know this was a monarchy!”

“There aren’t any type of political statuses here, Cleo-” Martyn started, but Cleo cut him off.

“Really? Because it sure seems that way! I think we could all very much die doing this plan, and you won’t take the opinions of anyone against you!”

“Okay, let’s hear you out then,” Joel huffed, crossing his arms and sinking in his seat, almost as if the anger was deflating out of him.

Cleo hesitated, then started. “If we escape now, we will certainly die if we get caught, right?”

There were a few murmurs of agreement, shortly followed by curious looks from around the table.

“All I’m saying is that this is basically a suicide mission,” Cleo said. “I don’t want anyone here to die, and if we try to execute this plan, there is a very large chance that we all will!”

“What will happen to us if we don’t?”

Bdubs’s voice was almost quiet enough to miss. Etho turned to him, his hand still gripped tightly in his own, and Bdubs’s face looked almost regretful, his eyes uncharacteristically hollow and empty.

“We would keep killing, and act like this never happened,” Etho answered for Cleo, looking deep into Bdubs’s eyes.

Bdubs’s lip trembled, “I don’t wanna keep killing.”

Etho felt an arrow strike through his heart embroidered in sympathy. “I’m sorry-”

“No, Etho, I don’t want to keep living if- if we keep taking innocent lives.”

Etho ignored the other’s words, his focus was entirely for Bdubs. “Okay,” he said, merely more than a broken whisper. “Okay, we can go.”

Bdubs’s eyes lit up, and Etho just then realized that they were sparkling with unshed tears.

“Really?” he asked, his voice full of hopefulness.

Etho nodded, and Bdubs launched himself at Etho, wrapping him in a tight hug. Etho returned the embrace, if not a little less enthusiastic, and looked at Cleo over Bdubs’s shoulder. She looked hurt, almost betrayed, and Etho felt his heart getting torn in half. The back of his shirt was getting damp from Bdubs’s silent tears, and Etho only hugged him tighter in response. Bdubs clung to him like a lifeline, a lifeline that would eventually let him down. 

Cleo met Etho’s eyes, and her expression morphed seeing Etho’s wide and uncharacteristically scared eyes. She knew what Etho really wanted. Etho could only depend on them so that they wouldn’t confide that information to anyone else.

Joel cleared his throat, tearing Etho’s attention back to him and the real reason for this meeting.

Etho carefully detached himself from Bdubs, but held him close, as if he could fade away into nothingness if he let him go.

“Scar?” Joel asked inquiringly. 

“I’m in,” Scar replied, pointedly not looking at Grian. 

A silence fell over the group when Joel looked at Grian. “Grian?” he asked, his voice hard.

Grian bit his lip, his leg bouncing up and down under the table, his hands picking at his sleeves more ferocious than ever.

“Well,” Grian said, his wide eyes darting around the group. “I’m with Cleo.”

Joel raised his chin, then glanced at Etho to Grian’s left. Etho quickly schooled his face to something more akin to a neutral expression. He held eye contact with Joel until Joel looked away.

“Fine,” he said, standing up, Etho’s eyes following him curiously. “Fine, the seven of us can go, and Grian and Cleo will stay. Any objections?”

“Yes I have a fucking objection!” Scott exclaimed, standing up too to be at eye level to Joel. “If we leave them here they’re gonna just get killed because of their association with us!”

Etho had an inkling of a thought that Scott wasn’t really arguing with Grian in mind.

“Then what do you expect us to do, Scott?” Joel snapped, his eyes lighting with fire.

“If not all of us go, none of us go.” Scott gave Joel one last withering glare before marching away, the front door shutting with a surprisingly soft click behind him.

Pearl pursed her lips, then stood up with a soft scrape of her chair. “I should go too…” She trailed off, glancing at Cleo. Cleo wordlessly walked to her side, and the two left.

All eyes turned back to Grian. He stood up defensively, and Scar went to stand by him.

Grian turned harshly to Scar, tears brimming in his own eyes. 

“What?” he spat out albeit his wobbly voice betraying his emotion. “Do you want to belittle me? Do you want to say how dumb I am for staying? Just fucking say it, Scar! I want to hear it!”

Scar didn’t say any of those things, he just wordlessly pulled Grian in a hug. Etho felt a little like an intruder watching that interaction, something that he felt shouldn’t be watched by prying eyes. He turned away, looking back at Joel. Then he stood up, leaving Bdubs seated in the chair.

“So?” Etho asked, and he couldn’t help the untrusting edge that accompanied his tone. “What now? We’re just going to leave them for dead? What about a plan to get out? The Watchers could know about this for all we-”

Etho’s voice faltered, and he fell silent, suddenly feeling sick. 

“Etho?” Martyn asked, moving closer to him. 

Etho took a step back, his breath involuntarily picking up.

Bdubs looked up at him, then stood up, his hands hovering in front of Etho, unsure of what to do. “Etho, what happened?” he asked, and Etho could see nothing but concern in those large, round eyes.

“Nothing,” he lied quickly, barely avoiding the word catching in his throat. “It’s fine, I just… have to go.”

Without another word, Etho abruptly turned and walked to his room, swinging the door shut behind him, then sitting down heavily on his bed. 

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. The world was spinning, and his mask was suffocating. He ripped it off, flinging it to the corner of his bed, and heaved in air. It barely worked, only inflating his lungs halfway.

He coughed, then quickly covered his mouth with his hand, muffling himself. He needn’t worry Bdubs after everything that happened that night, especially with the lies that had rolled off of Etho’s tongue naturally. Almost too naturally. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, and leaned over to rest his elbows on his thighs, pushing his hands against his eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Etho was supposed to convince the others that the plan was one of a fool, one that could easily be seen and revealed. But he had failed, he failed and Bdubs, Joel, Martyn, Scar, and Pearl were going to die. They were going to die, and it was all Etho’s fault.

***

Etho stared at the picture in the frame, it stared back at him. As well as a picture of a messily drawn boat could, that is. He knew he wouldn’t have any time for sleep when he spared a glance over at his alarm clock, it read 3:30 am in straight illuminated letters. Etho looked back at the scribbled boat, then sighed, picking himself up and tearing his gaze away from reminders of Joel. He shrugged on his casual clothes and trademark green coat. 

Etho walked to the door and twisted the doorknob, stepping out into the hall, then made his way to the bathroom to fix his hair. A sudden noise made him freeze, his hand automatically reaching for the knife that was always tucked inside his coat, but it was gone. Panic filled him at the missing item from his arsenal, and he tensed his body, slowly walking towards the kitchen where the sound had come from. 

He stopped by the corner, took a deep breath, and turned. Grian yelped as he dropped the box of crackers he had been trying to silently take from the pantry. The box made an even louder sound against the tiled floor, and Grian hissed an apology as he bent down to pick it up. 

Etho just stood there, confused, watching Grian pick the box back up and set it on the counter.

“Why are you up?” Etho finally asked in a hushed voice so as to not disturb Cleo’s sleep.

“I could ask the same to you,” Grian replied, eyeing Etho suspiciously.

“I asked first,” Etho said.

“Yeah, but I asked second, and two is more than one.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Grian opened the top of the box, and picked a roll of crackers and winced at the crackling of the plastic.

“Seriously though, I usually wake up in thirty minutes, so it’s not that big of a deal, but why are you up?” Etho asked, walking into the room, and taking the cracker out of Grian’s hand. Grian pouted at him for a second before relenting.

“I just can’t sleep knowing that the Watchers are looming over us.”

Etho froze, careful not to look towards the cameras. “Yeah? What brand of crackers are those, they look good.”

Grian’s eyes widened as he presumably realized his mistake, and his voice picked up in speed.

“Um, yeah, I love these crackers, very good, yes.”

“Just go back to bed, Grian, you can take the crackers with you,” Etho said, rolling his eyes in a hope that the Watchers would dismiss Grian’s words as the usual nerves that come with the job that they have.

“No, I’m not tired,” Grian whined, and Etho was shook by how much it reminded him of Bdubs when he was tired.

Etho gave him a pointed look, then shrugged, “Okay, but if you fall asleep on the job today, don’t blame me.”

Grian smiled, something that filled Etho with unexpected joy at the small gesture.

“So, what do you usually do in the mornings?” Grian asked, grabbing a cracker from the box and munching on it.

“Read.”

“Wait actually?” Grian looked dumbstruck.

Etho felt mildly offended. “Yeah,” he said slightly indignantly. “What’s wrong with reading?”

“I just thought you would do something interesting,” Grian said.

Etho crossed his arms despite the slight smile tugging at his lips. “Reading is interesting.”

“Nerd.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s do something interesting, yeah?” Grian said quickly, his eyes scanning the room. 

“Something interesting? Like reading.”

“No,” Grian groaned. “Not reading! That’s so boring. Something like…aha! Let’s play Super Smash Bros!”

“Y’know, that’s not really all that productive,” Etho said, although he followed Grian to the couch anyway.

“It doesn’t have to be!” Grian said, handing Etho a controller. “I’m not supposed to be awake, and reading is boring, so why don’t we do something fun!”

“Like reading.”

“You’re putting me to sleep already with all that reading talk!”

“Good, go to sleep.”

Grian pouted at him again, and Etho couldn’t find it in himself to refuse anymore. “Fine, only a couple rounds though, then you need to get ready.” Etho eyed Grian’s messy hair.

“Yeah, yeah,” Grian waved him off, then turned to the screen. “Are you ready to get beat?”

Etho smiled despite himself, “Game on.”

The game went on for far more than a couple rounds. Etho partially blamed himself for that, it had been long since he had felt the competitive urge to win, and he thrived in the mindset. 

“No fair!” Grian whined as Etho beat him yet again. “Your character is overpowered!” 

Etho raised his eyebrows, “I’ve switched three times already, though. I’m at, like, the lowest level.”

“Maybe it’s your controller that’s rigged, here, let’s switch!”

Grian handed Etho his controller, and took Etho’s out of his hands.

“Sure,” Etho shrugged. “But I really don’t think it’s the controllers.”

A few rounds went by, and albeit Etho’s insisting that it wasn’t the controller’s fault, Grian did win a few rounds.

“Ha!” Grian yelled, holding up his controller victoriously like some sort of prize. “Get smashed!’

Etho stared at him for a second, then raised an eyebrow. 

“I mean, I would, but now’s really not the time.”

Grian stilled for a second, processing, then his face flooded bright red. “I didn’t mean it that way!” he squawked, covering his mouth. 

“Sure you didn’t,” Etho responded, smirking.

“I am very sure I didn’t!” Grian yelled.

“Who’s getting smashed?” Cleo asked sleepily, trudging into the room.

“For the last time-” Grian started.

“Grian said apparently I was,” Etho shrugged.

“Oh! I see you’ve made your move, Grian,” Cleo asked, a smile flitting across her face.

“No!” Grian yelled. “I didn’t mean it like that! We’re playing Super Smash Bros!”

“Isn’t that quite counterproductive?” Cleo asked, glancing at Etho.

“That’s what I said,” Etho responded.

Grian gave them both a halfhearted glare, “I hate both of you.”

“But we love you so much!” Cleo said, then yawned deeply, stretching out their arms. “Go get dressed, Grian, you look like you were up all night.”

Etho stood up. “I think it’s because he was.”

Cleo’s eyebrows furrowed, “Actually?”

“I just couldn’t sleep, I dunno,” Grian said, eyeing the cameras. 

“Right,” Cleo responded, following Grian’s gaze. “Well, get ready.”

Once Grian had gotten dressed, and Etho had fixed his hair, the three were sat at their kitchen table like usual every morning. There was a sense of foreboding that filled the air, thick enough to cut with a knife, yet transparent enough to only see if the eye was looking for it.

“We’re just spying today, no killing,” Etho told the other two, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “We need to stay inconspicuous, and it is vital that they don’t know we’re there.”

“Who are we spying on?” Cleo asked, a tone of nervousness in her voice.

Etho felt his face go grim, “Joel, Pearl, and Scar.”

“How does HQ know where they are?” Grian asked, his voice uncharacteristically void of emotion.

“They have eyes on them, and they think they’re planning something. Our job is to see if they’re right.”

“So, how are we going to do this?” Cleo asked, furrowing their eyebrows. “Will we be together, on the roofs, in casual clothes…?”
“We’re going to be split up, one for each person,” Etho said, a bitter taste rising up his throat and spilling out into his words.

Grain raised his eyebrows, “I’m gonna guess the Watchers are being salty again and assigned us to the people we have connections with?”

Etho reluctantly nodded, inwardly sighing.

Cleo ran a hand through her hair, “I really don’t want to spy on Pearl, like, she actually scares me.”

Etho grimaced, “Good luck with that.”

“Ah, you forget, luck is unlucky here,” Grian said, the corner of his lip twitching upwards.

Etho looked at him confused for a second, then the memory of the first signs of Joel unfogged in his brain and he felt a smile of his own finding its way on his face. Grian’s missed shot, and Cleo’s normal quick retort.

“That was one side comment!” Cleo exclaimed, yet the bite was lost from their voice.

Grian put a mock hand over his chest, “Yet I still took it to heart.”

Etho’s smile faltered into a grimace, remembering more about that day… and the one that followed it.

“What’s the other team doing?” Cleo asked, thankfully ignoring the sudden change in the atmosphere surrounding the table.

Etho gave a wordless noncommittal shrug met with a skeptical look cast from Grian.

“Don’t they tell you?” Grian asked, crossing his arms.

“Not always,” Etho replied, eyeing Grian’s expression with mild curiosity. “Sometimes they enjoy leaving us in the dark.”

Cleo pursed their lips, “Well, we should get going, right? We’re on a tight schedule.”

Etho nodded, then glanced between the other two. “Apparently I can’t say good luck, but, don’t let them see you. That could ruin everything.”

***

Grian didn’t know what to think when he saw Scar for the first time in over a year. He remembered the bad times, sure. The arguments, the tears, the immense feeling of guilt eating away at his very being. But when he laid eyes on his past lover, the memories of far happier events crowded his mind. Ordering pizza, Scar excitedly ranting about his day to Grian who patiently listened with a small smile playing on his lips, those nights where Martyn was asleep and it was just Grian and Scar, the way Scar’s eyes would sparkle when landing on Grian, and the fuzzy and warm feeling Grian felt whenever he looked at the man. 

Despite everything, Grian had an inkling of a thought- which he crushed under his metaphorical shoe immediately -that he could just take his sunglasses and hood off, and meet those pretty bright green eyes. Begging them to let him back into his heart, embrace him in his arms once more. But that was over. That fantasy that Grian had lived for what seemed like so long ago had died like Grian’s love for the scarred man. 

Grian breathed through the mask he was given to conceal his face, and turned his gaze on Scar one more. He was conversing with a man whom Grian didn’t recognize, he had a large dark mustache, and despite the casual coffee shop, he was adorned in a fancy and well kept suit.

Grian had learned that the man’s name was ‘Mumbo Jumbo’, and he went by Mumbo. Immediately, Grian had found himself taking an interest in the man. He himself could not explain why Mumbo had peaked his interest. Something about the guy, maybe the fancy suit he was wearing, or the way he held himself with a confidence that wasn’t entirely true but was still palpable to the untrained eye.

Either way, Grian was keeping a close eye on the two. He was close enough that he could vaguely hear their conversation, albeit only small snippets. One word found its way to Grian’s ears. Tracker. 

Grian turned this word over in his head. Tracker? What was that about a tracker? 

Grian leaned a little bit closer to the duo, straining his hearing to pick up on their singular conversation amongst the various hubbub crowding his ears.

Finally, when Grian got sick of trying to listen into their conversation at the point of gaining himself a headache, he grabbed the empty plastic foam cup and casually walked over to the drink machine, his head held down with his hood over his hair and the glasses and mask concealing his face. He stopped at the machine, back turned to Scar and Mumbo, listening intently to their words.

“-should be back by now,” Scar was saying, and Grian heard him move behind his back, presumably moving to check his watch or something along those lines.

“Yeah,” Mumbo replied, and Grian was pleasantly surprised that the rich British accent matched what Grian had envisioned for him to have.

Scar said something quieter that Grian couldn’t decipher, then he heard Mumbo perk up,

“Aha!” he exclaimed, and Grian heard the bells ringing on the front entryway door. Grian glanced up ever so slightly and was met with the sight of Joel Smallishbeans.

Joel’s eyes cast a wary look around the room, before striding over to Scar and Mumbo’s table and Grian heard the telltale scraping of a chair being pulled out.

“So?” Joel asked, but Grian didn’t dare turn around. “What’s the verdict?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Grian saw someone else enter the shop. Grian sent one nod towards Etho, who returned it, and made his way over to Grian who was still under the pretense of filling up his cup, which he had yet to do.

Etho stopped next to him, his back similarly turned to the trio behind them, and set a slip of paper on the counter right next to Grian’s hand, before walking off to the counter.

Grian closed his hand around the paper, and, resisting the urge to take one last glance at Scar, walked back to his table, with his now full cup of soda.

Grian sat down, trying his best to look as casual as possible, and unfurled the paper.

Planning something. Etho’s neat handwriting read. Pearl will be coming shortly.

Grian cast a look at Etho, who didn’t return the gaze, instead in favor of keeping his attention on Scar, Joel, and Mumbo.

Sure enough, a few moments later, Pearl waltzed into the cafe and made a beeline towards the ever growing table of enemies. 

Cleo walked in shortly after, hands in their pockets and head slightly bent. They looked at Etho, then Grian, then went to sit at a table, her gaze now fixed on Scar, Mumbo, Joel, and Pearl.

The three assassins sat in silence observing their intended targets with the addition of Mumbo. They were planning something, something big, and the fact that Grian didn’t know itched at the back of his brain, begging to be let free from a loose tongue.

Grian ignored the itch, instead distracting his mind by looking at Scar. Bad idea. Instead, his gaze drifted to Pearl, who he hadn’t actually seen after she had left. To say she changed would be an understatement.

Pearl used to be sarcastic and sharp minded, always having a retort ready and prepared for any situation. Grian doubted she lacked those things now, but there was just something…different about the way she held herself.

Pearl’s usual navy hoodie was gone, replaced by a bright red colored one with the hood pulled over her long brunette hair which spilled out from under the hood in cascades of brown. 

Her expression seemed guarded, even around the people she presumably trusted, and Grian found it odd. Eventually, Pearl had opened up with the other two groups, and she had been trusting and kind towards them. Now, even in the presence of Joel and Scar, she seemed wary and skeptical. 

Was it because of what happened? Did everyone change like that? Grian wondered this question most nights as he tossed and turned until sleep eventually came to him. He knew he had changed, for the better or the worst. Yet, he had no idea how it had affected others. Well, he knew of some. Etho had become more guarded and quiet after the incident. Cleo had grown a lot more pessimistic and sarcastic, yet the support was never lost from her. Grian hadn’t observed many changes in Scott, just the occasional far away look in his eyes, or the looks he and Cleo gave to each other. 

In turn, Grian knew how much the incident had changed himself. He remembered the time where he was bubbly and optimistic, wearing his trademark smirk at every successful prank he had played on his teammates. 

He knew he had become distant, yet he avoided actually encountering the possibility that the ‘jailbreak’ of sorts had changed him. 

He remembered the time he had smiled up at Scar and said, “Denial is a river in Egypt.” And Scar would burst out laughing every time, no matter how many times Grian reused the same joke. Because that was who Scar was. Others might have perceived him as someone who only benefits off of his own profit, seeing how he vastly enjoyed the prospects of monopolies and what he proclaimed, “The art of scamming.”

Yet Grian knew that wasn’t who he truly was. Scar was kind. He cared about others, and wanted to make them happy. In a way, Grian was like that too. He remembered someone saying once that it seemed like his mood reflected off of the mood of the people around him. 

Grian narrowed his eyes as Scar’s chair scraping on the ground tore him out of his thoughts. The four were standing up, then made their way to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Grian saw Cleo make a move to stand up, but saw Etho shake his head. Grian’s eyes intently followed Scar as he turned to tell Joel something, who straightened, and Grian saw his eyes examine the cafe. Grian bowed his head, staring at his undrunken cup of soda. 

Grian hesitantly looked up, and he barely glimpsed Scar disappearing out the doorway, Joel by his side. 

The emotion that swirled in his gut was not regret, Grian knew that much. But why did he feel so guilty about it all the sudden? 

Grian swallowed, then, when he was sure Scar, Joel, Pearl, and Mumbo were out of sight, he walked over to Etho, Cleo following him.

“So, do we go after them?” Grian asked the second he came within distance of his teammate.

Etho shook his head, glancing at the door which had swung shut. “HQ told us to come back,” he said, still looking at the door. “Report the information of what we heard.”

“Brilliant,” Cleo said sarcastically. “Pearl didn’t say shit.”

Grian pursed his lips, then followed Etho’s gaze to the door.

“Why did they send us? And not one of their spies?”

Etho shrugged, still not turning to look at him. “Whatever it is, I wouldn’t question it, they have their reasons I guess.”

“Yeah,” Cleo sighed, joining the other two in gazing at the door. “They always do.”

Chapter Text

“Etho, do you want to get hypothermia?” Grian asked, slightly exasperated.

“What? It’s not even that cold.” Etho rolled his eyes, weighing a knife in his hand.

“It’s literally snowing outside,” Grian pointed out. “You’re gonna get sick.”

“Fine,” Etho finally relented, shrugging on his forest green coat.

Grain smiled, satisfied, then turned to Cleo, raising an eyebrow at their coat.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” she said, tugging on her own coat.

“Let’s go, then,” Grian said, opening the door and striding out of it.

“Someone’s in a good mood today,” Cleo noted while following him.

“Just restless,” he shrugged. “We haven’t had much in the past few days, and today’s the training course day!”

“Hey!” Cleo called, waving Gem and Scott over. “Why isn’t Impulse with you guys?”

“He said he was feeling sick,” Scott replied. “Said his head was pounding, he’s not going to be here today.”

“Huh,” Grian said absentmindedly, taking off his coat and laying it on the bench next to the training course.

“Oh, Cleo, can I have a word?” Gem asked. Grian furrowed his eyebrows, but Cleo didn’t question the request.

“Sure!” she said brightly. “Top of the course?”

“Race you there,” Gem smiled- actually smiled- and took off. 

“Oh, you’re on!” Cleo yelled, racing after her.

“Huh,” Scott said, looking after the two. “I guess they’re friends now.”

“Yeah,” Grian said, then turned to Scott. “After seeing that demonstration of the impossible, I wanted to apologize-”

“Enough of that sappy stuff,” Scott cut him off. “Come on, let’s train.” He clapped Grian on the shoulder, then guided him to the beginning of the course that already had the other three people in their present group of five.

***

The first thing Etho noticed was the absences of Cleo and Gem from the top of the course. The second thing was the lack of Grian and Scott below him. He turned, holding onto a pole so as to not lose his balance, music blaring loudly in his ears from his earbuds, drowning out any other sound occupying the room.

The other four members were on the ground, their mouths open. Were they saying something? Etho took one earbud out, and something Grian was screaming reached his ears.

“-tho, get out of there! Explosion!”

He scrunched his eyebrows into confusion, turning to look at the glass window at his back. Just as he turned, the glass exploded.

Etho’s eyes widened as the window burst outward, fire licking the walls and ceiling, an explosion of glass shards and flames heading straight to him. The force of the burst blasted him backwards, forcing his grip on the pole to break. He momentarily flew back across the course, before coming to his senses. He tried to turn midair, but a jagged pain in his side halted him from doing so. Instead, rather irrationally, he hooked his leg around another pole jutting out from the ground. 

This turned out to be a mistake, he heard something in his ankle crack, and a blinding pain flared through his leg, leaving him seeing stars. He fell to the ground limply, gasping in air that had been lost from his lungs.

“Etho!” Grian yelled, sprinting over to where Etho had fallen.

Cleo was close behind him, sending a worried look over Etho to Grian who returned it.

“Where does it hurt?” Cleo asked, panic flaring in her voice.

“I think I sprained my ankle,” he bit down the bile threatening to rise. “Otherwise I’m fine.”

He was not otherwise fine, his side felt as if it was on fire, liquid pain seeping as easily as blood from the wound. Hopefully the black material of his shirt helped conceal it. He would have to worry about it when everyone else was out of immediate danger.

“Come on!” Scott yelled, rushing past them with Gem close on his heels. “The whole building’s going to explode soon!”

Cleo and Grian helped Etho up. Immediately, his ankle flared in pain upon putting pressure on it, and he couldn’t stop a hiss of pain from leaving his lips.

Grian wrapped Etho’s arm around his shoulders as a makeshift crutch, and Etho ignored the pain in his abdomen from the movement, apparently his opposite shoulder had also been hurt, burned by the feel of it. He and Grian hobbled to where Gem and Scott were anxiously waiting by the large window through which a dark snowy landscape was outlined against the fiery glow from the room. 

“The hallway’s been blocked off,” Gem explained. “We’re gonna have to go through the window, but how, there isn’t a latch or door-”

Gem was cut off by Cleo abruptly walking away, then returning with a chair. Without hesitation, Cleo hefted the chair and threw it forcefully at the window. The chair smashed through the glass, and a very dangerous doorway was created.

“Wait a second!” Grian yelled, unhooked Etho’s arm around his shoulders, leaving him to shakily balance on one leg, and dashed off.

“Where’s he going now?” Scott asked impatiently, eyes darting to the window and back to the direction where Grian ran.

Grian returned, slightly out of breath from sprinting, with three coats tucked under his arm.

“These are the only one’s I could find,” Grian said, handing Etho’s coat to him, Gem’s to her, and Cleo’s to them.

“Let’s go, then!” Scott said, and he ran out of the smashed window.

Gem shortly followed him, then Cleo. Grian helped Etho through the window, and just as Grian and Etho stepped unevenly through the doorway, the whole building lit up behind them, and exploded with a powerful force that knocked everyone forward and sent them sprawling on the ground. 

Etho bit down a noise of pain as he clutched his side, where he could feel it growing damp, and when he brought his hand back up to see, it was stained with red. He rolled over, and hurriedly put on his coat, hopefully concealing the blood for the time being. 

“Is everyone okay?” Grian asked, standing up, and wiping blood from a cut across his face, probably from the glass.

“Yeah,” Cleo answered, standing up as well.

“Oh shit,” Gem murmured, looking in the direction that Etho was already staring. Fire- bright red, orange, and yellow flames burst out through the windows, and the bricks on the exterior next to any window or door of the building was blackened and cracking.

“It’s… gone,” Cleo said quietly, disbelief in her voice. “Headquarters is gone.”

“What’s gonna happen now?” Grian asked, fear evident in his words.

“How did anyone know where we were…” Scott trailed off, suddenly staring at Etho still on the ground.

“What?” he asked, unsteadily getting to his feet, balancing primarily on his uninjured leg.

Scott wordlessly walked over to Etho, and grabbed his arm, tugging something off of the sleeve of his coat, then staring at it, disbelief and anger creeping into his eyes.

“Scott-” Grian started, but then Scott cut him off.

“This is a tracker,” he said, looking back up at Etho, his voice trembling with rage. “You- there was a tracker on your coat.”

A heavy silence settled over the group, only interrupted by the crackling of fire behind them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Etho saw Grian walking over to him and Scott.

“That’s not right…” He trailed off, then froze, turning back to Etho. “Do you think..?”

Etho paused, racking his mind. Then he finally got to the conclusion. Joel. The night when he saw Joel in that alleyway, Joel had walked so close to him, Etho hadn’t even stopped him.

“Joel,” Etho said, looking Grian dead in the eyes.

“Joel?” Scott asked incredulously. “Wait, you saw Joel?”

Cleo and Gem joined the group, a look of fear in Cleo’s eyes, and rage practically emitting off of Gem.

“You let him get too close,” Gem said, no hint of anything other than pure anger in her tone. “You let him get too close and this happened.”

“Wait, you knew about this?” Scott asked. “Was I the only one who didn’t?”

“Impulse,” Gem said without taking her glare off of Etho. “He didn’t know, like it would matter anyway.”

“Etho,” Cleo said slowly. “The dorms.” 

Etho’s eyes widened. “My coat, that’s where it usually was…”

“We have to get Impulse!” Scott realized, looking frantically to Gem.

But Gem made no indication that she was going to move. “Think about it, Etho’s coat would have only been in his dorm. And if we’re painted as the villains, then they’re the heroes, they wouldn’t kill innocent bystanders just to kill a few assassins, would they?”

“I guess not,” Scott said, looking unconvinced. “But they just blew up a huge organization, we can’t be sure what they’d do to get leverage over us.”

Gem turned her fury back onto Etho. “Right. What are we going to do now? It’s your fault this all happened, it’s your fault for getting too close to Joel, what did he say that was so impactful that you didn’t stop him, huh? What did he say that was so important that you didn’t leave?” Her voice was dangerously quiet.

Etho looked her dead in the eye. “He talked about Bdubs.”

“Who?” Gem asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

When Etho didn’t answer, Grian answered for him. “He used to work with our groups before you or Impulse joined. When there was a massive jailbreak of sorts Bdubs went with them, and left the organization.

“So? That is no excuse-”

“He’s dead,” Etho interrupted her. The other three froze, but Gem was determined.

“Yeah, people die all the time, I thought you’d get used to it by now-”

“Because I killed him.”

Gem fell silent. Grian, Cleo, and Scott all turned to him, disbelief etched into their faces.

“All this time?” Scott asked, his laugh devoid of humour. “After all this time, now is when you decide to tell us you killed Bdubs?” 

“Come on, Gem,” Scott continued, taking Gem’s arm. “Let’s go get Impulse, then we’ll figure out what to do.”

Gem followed him, but not without sending a disdainful look towards Etho.

Once they were out of sight, Cleo turned on Etho.

“You killed Bdubs.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

Etho swallowed, “Yes.”

Cleo laughed, a single tear falling down their face. “You really killed your own boyfriend? For what, for the Watchers? Well, you go find them to do more of their bidding, I’m leaving.” She smiled, more tears falling down her face. “You coming, Grian?”

Etho looked at Grian, and Etho could feel desperateness clinging to him like a vice. Grian didn’t meet his eyes, and stood there for a moment, tears flooding his eyes. Then he turned and followed Cleo, leaving Etho alone. Etho stared after them for a moment, watching them disappear from sight. His eyes burned with unshed tears, and for the first time since he had killed Bdubs, he dropped to his knees, ignoring the screaming agony from his ankle, and let the feeling of loss overcome him like a heavy blanket. Then, he let himself cry.

***

Cleo angrily kicked a rock out of her way, then immediately regretted it at the pain in her toe. 

“This is so dumb!” she said, fuming. “I mean, it’s just one blow after the other, isn’t it? First, the whole building fucking explodes, then, we figure out that Etho killed my best friend!”

They turned on Grian who seemed to physically shrink. “Did you know about it?”

Grian shook his head, and Cleo’s gaze softened. “Of course. He knew what would happen if we figured out.”

“We should get back to the dorms,” Grian said in a small voice, and Cleo sighed, rubbing her eyes.

“Yeah, get supplies, food. We’re gonna need a way to contact the Watchers.” They sighed again. “But I need a break, can we sit down for a little bit?”

Grian nodded, and led the two of them to a picnic bench. They sat at the bench, snow starting to fall around them, getting heavier the longer they sat there. Cleo then noticed Grian, who was violently shaking, his teeth clattering.

Cleo wordlessly took off their coat, and held it out to Grian. Grian looked longingly at the coat for a second, then shook his head, pushing it back.

“You need it,” he said. 

Cleo rolled her eyes, and held it out again. “We can take turns until we get back. I doubt Joel’s gone and bombed our room, that would cause too many civilian casualties.”

Grian hesitated for a second, before gratefully accepting the coat and wrapped it around himself. 

“We should get going,” Cleo said, eyeing the ever denser snowfall.

Grian nodded, and, zipping the coat, stood up.

Cleo irritability wiped the snow off of their now freezing skin, and the two of them ventured further into the snow.

“Well, what do we have here?” Cleo asked, glaring.

“Drop it, Cleo. I live here too,” Etho sighed albeit scooting a little closer to the edge of the elevator.

“So, when were you going to tell us about Bdubs?” Cleo asked, certainly not dropping it. They wanted answers, so they would do anything to get those answers.

“I wasn’t,” Etho replied. “Because I knew this exact situation would happen.”

“Then why did you?”

Etho didn’t respond, and Cleo glanced over at him. His eyes were squeezed shut in a grimace of pain. Cleo had totally forgotten about his ankle, and other possible injuries he had sustained. A flash of guilt lit in her before she snuffed it immediately. No, she shouldn’t feel bad for him after what he did. He noticed them staring, and turned his head to the side, so she couldn’t read his facial features. The elevator dinged, and Etho was the first out of it. He limped, holding the wall for support, to their door. Cleo and Grian followed him.

Cleo glanced sideways at Grian, the guilt was evident on his face. He looked at her and shook his head, and she looked away.

“So, are you going to open it?” Cleo asked, feeling accomplished at the amount of anger her voice still held.

“They wouldn’t have bombed it, but what if they trapped it?” Etho asked, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

“Well, that’s our only source of supplies, but if there’s a trap I wouldn’t mind if you went first.”

Etho didn’t look at them, but to her surprise, he twisted the doorknob, and cracked it open.

“Yep, there’s a trap.” he said, peering into the room.

“Well?” Cleo prompted. “What is it?”

“Looks like a pressure activated trap, if you step on the trigger it’ll activate it,” Etho said, opening the door slightly wider, and slipping into the room, despite his ankle. 

Cleo hurried to the door and peered in. Etho was crouched next to a wire right in the direct path of the door. 

“If we trigger this,” he said, then gazed upward. “That would come down from the ceiling and smash your head in.”

Cleo followed his gaze to a very heavy looking metal microwave hanging from the ceiling, connected by a system of pulleys activated by the tripwire.

“Even if you manage to avoid that, there’s another pressure activated trap right after it,” he pointed to a large box in the middle of the pathway. “If you move that, even if you nudge it, you’ll activate those.” Etho gestured to the rope connected the box to two kitchen knives strung up on the ceiling.

Etho looked down at the tripwire, and brandished a knife from his coat. He cut through the wire in one fluid movement, causing the microwave to drop a little in front of him. He stood up, using the wall for support, and gestured for Cleo to enter the room.

“I activated one, you do the other.” 

Cleo shot him a venomous glare, but glancing back at the ever bleeding cut on Grian’s cheek, they resolved herself, and stepped forward onto the microwave.

“So, if I touch this, it’ll activate that,” they pointed to both of the knives. Cleo glanced back at Etho, and saw Grian finally lift his head and look up. His eyes scanned the trap, before his eyes widened. Cleo chose to take that as him just realizing that there was immediate danger in front him. What she didn’t know is that this would be a choice she would regret.

***

Guilt ate Grian up from the inside. His chest burned as the feeling sank its sharp fangs into his heart, holding on tight, and refusing to let go. Why had he just left Etho? Why did he pick Cleo over Etho? Because Etho killed someone that Grian wasn’t even that close to? But Cleo was, an annoying voice in his head taunted. Cleo was close to Bdubs, and so was Etho. What does that say about Etho? Cleo didn’t kill him. Grian tried to push the nagging voice to the back of his brain, but his subconscious thought otherwise.

When, finally, after getting tired of his own mind, he looked up at the problem in front him. Traps were supposed to be his thing, why wasn’t he helping? Was he selfish? Is that why he left- is that why he wasn’t helping? Because he didn’t want to get hurt? To die? 

Grian let his eyes trace the designs of the first trap. It had obviously already been activated, considering the oddly placed microwave on the floor, and the cut tripwire. Then, he looked at the trap that Cleo was currently trying to deactivate. 

His eyes followed the ropes attached to the two knives. One rope was slacker than the other, and the angle that it was at…

Then, Grian’s eye caught another well rope, it was tied to the initial rope, just barely out of sight. Another knife was attached to it. Grian’s eyes widened, and Cleo turned to activate the trap. He opened his mouth to voice a warning, when Cleo nudged the box slightly to the side, Cleo moved back and Grian threw all caution out of the window, he ran forward and wrapped his arms around Cleo’s middle, pulling her down with him. She cried out as a knife embedded itself into her shoulder, where her stomach just was. Another knife, swishing through the air where her head had been.

Grian laid on the ground on his back, his arms still wrapped around them. Then he realized blood was dripping down onto his shoulder. He gasped at the knife still embedded in Cleo’s arm, he slid out from under her, and helped her sit up, propped against the box that had nearly been her demise.

“What just happened?” they asked, their voice tight with pain, clutching their bleeding shoulder.

“There was a third knife, it was really well hidden, I didn’t see it quick enough, but I managed to pull you out the way right in time before it hit your stomach.”

“Oh.” Cleo said, breathing heavily. “Thanks, like actually, thank you, Grian. You saved my life.”

“You’re welcome, I’ll go look for some bandages before you bleed out.” Grian surveyed the room, Etho was crouched by the cabinet holding their medical supplies, rifling through it. Then, he stood with obvious difficulty that he tried to hide, limped over to Grian, handing him alcohol and bandages. Grian accepted the supplies, trying to meet his eyes, but Etho avoided his gaze. Etho walked back to the cabinet to put some of the supplies in a backpack, then went to his room, twisted the doorknob with uncharacteristically shaky hands and entered. 

Grian turned his attention back to Cleo, back to the knife in her arm. 

“Okay,” Grian said, taking a deep breath. “Are you ready?”
“No, but I don’t really have much of a choice do I?” Cleo responded, their eyes squeezed shut.

“No, you really don’t.” Grian replied, then wrapped his hand around the hilt of the knife embedded in Cleo’s arm.

“On three, your count” Grian said, his voice shaking.

“Sure,” Cleo agreed. “Three, two-”

Grian yanked out the knife, and Cleo failed to stifle a scream. 

“Why did you go early?” Cleo yelled, their voice pained.

“I- I’m sorry, I just wanted to get it over with!” Grian exclaimed, hurriedly covering the profusely bleeding wound with cloth, the fabric quickly getting soaked in blood, dying the material red.

“Okay, Cleo, this is gonna hurt like hell, but I’m gonna pour alcohol on it, are you ready?”

Cleo just nodded, her eyes still squeezed close. Grian unscrewed the bottle, staining the lid with red, and poured the alcohol on the wound. Grian held Cleo’s arm steady to stop it from trashing out, as she tried to conceal another scream by biting her opposite wrist.

“Oh, shit, Cleo, are you ok?”

“Yeah, just dandy, how are you?” Cleo responded, their teeth grit.

“Yeah stupid question, sorry.” Grian muttered, wrapping Cleo’s arm tightly with bandages. “That should do it for now,” Grian said, cutting off the edge of the wrappings to finish. 

“Yeah? Is that your diagnosis, doctor Grian?” Cleo asked. “That I won’t die from the hole of death in my arm?”

“Yep.” Grian answered.

“Wonderful.”

Grian stood up, walking over to where his backpack was hanging on the wall. He unhooked it, and walked over to the medical cabinet. He shoveled whatever was left into his bag, and stood up. He turned as Etho brushed by him, heading back towards the door.

“Thanks for the help!” Cleo yelled at him from the floor.

“No problem,” he answered smoothly, grabbing something from the counter. Grian narrowed his eyes at it, a company credit card.

“Well-” Cleo spluttered. “You’re not allowed back here!”

“You’re staying?” Etho asked, seemingly surprised.

“Well, yeah, it’s cold outside, and here is nice.” Grian said, furrowing his eyebrows at the look on Etho’s face, he couldn’t quite place the look, it seemed to be almost hesitant.

“They know where we live,” Etho said, glancing between the two. “They could trap it again, or just blow it up.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Cleo asked, anger flooding her words.

“Mine,” Etho responded, his face blank.

Cleo paused, and Grian took his chance to cut in. “You think they’ll trap it again?”

Etho nodded, “Definitely.”

Grian pursued his lips, as the three stood there in an awkward silence, Cleo and Grian just staring at Etho in the doorway.

“Well, bye,” Etho finally said, breaking the silence, and limping out the door to the left down the hall.

Grian’s mind had a quick one second internal battle. He won. “Etho!” he called, running after him. “Wait!” 

Grian rushed into the hallway, just as Etho was about to step onto the elevator. He glanced back, his eyes cold, before warming ever so slightly as the sight of Grian.

They stood there for a second, taking in the sight of each other.

“Don’t die,” Grian finally said, hoping to keep the desperation out of his voice. Stay. Ignore what Cleo said. Stay with us. Please.

Etho regarded him for a second, “I’ll try not to.” And he walked into the elevator, the doors slid shut, and Grian’s love was gone. That was the moment Grian realized he had never said one simple phrase to Etho.

I love you.

“Cleo?” Grian called from his room.

“Yeah?” he heard her respond from the couch in the living room. They had been livid when Grian didn’t let them help pack, he tried to reason it was for the sake of her shoulder, but she quickly dismissed their own priorities for the stupid small cut on Grian’s cheek. In the end, they had begrudgingly agreed to stay on the couch, but Grian guessed it was only because Cleo was in more pain than what she was letting on. 

“What do you need from your room?” Grian asked.

“Let me stand up for goodness sakes and I’ll get it myself!” The sentence hit Grian with a flash of loss that he couldn’t quite place. Then he realized. Bdubs liked to use ‘goodness sakes’ when he was being overdramatic. Why was Grian remembering this now? He could ask himself that very question. Maybe it was because gazing around the apartment, it was exactly identical to the one he had been in with Bdubs for all those years. Or maybe it was the fact that Grian’s room was right next to Etho’s. Grian pushed a knife into his backpack, and zipped it shut before taking a step out the room. Suddenly, a flash of gold caught his eye. He turned to a picture frame that had certainly not been there the last time Grian had been in his own room. He picked it up, flipping on his light so he could see the contents of the photo which was placed inside of the glass. His heart clenched painfully at the sight. Six people. Scar, Martyn, Joel, Bdubs, Etho, and himself. 

He stared at the picture. A tear slid down the bridge of his nose and fell onto the glass, splattering the part where Scar’s head was. Standing right next to Grian, hand in hand-

Grian unzipped his backpack and shoved the picture in, before zipping it shut again. He breathed out, willing the tears to stop flowing, and for himself to calm down.

That was over. There was no team of six anymore. Or, quite frankly, a team of three. It was just him and Cleo. Him and Cleo against the world. Brilliant. 

He walked out of his room, his backpack slung across his back, when again, something out of the corner of his eye made him stop. But it wasn’t gold this time. It was blood. On the doorknob to Etho’s room was a smeared bloody handprint. Grian stared at it, his mind blank. He hadn’t seen any injuries on Etho besides his ankle. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have hid any…

Grian rushed into the living room, dropping his bag, and picking up Cleo’s. 

“We need to find Etho,” He said, staring Cleo dead in the eyes.

She paused, before looking up at him incredulously. “Why? He literally confessed to murdering Bdubs? Why would you want to talk to him?”

Grian groaned, frustrated. “I don’t want to talk to him! He’s hurt! I found blood on his door, and I’m willing to bet there’s some on the doorknob on the outside of the dorm too!”

Grian rushed to the door and ran to the other side. Sure enough, it was smeared with red.

Grian walked back into the room, sitting on the couch opposite Cleo. 

“I know you don’t like him right now-”

“What do you mean I don’t like him?” Cleo cried, anger flickering in her eyes. “He fucking killing Bbdubs!”

Grian pursed his lips, “Did you like him any better when you didn’t know what he did?”

“Well, yeah!” Cleo said, though their voice was faltering a little.

“Did he change since he told us?”

“I guess not,” Cleo said, but then her tone took on a more defensive stance. “But our perspectives of him changed! He’s not the same person he was before today!”

Grian furrowed his eyebrows, “I’m pretty sure he’s the same person.”

“You get what I mean!” Cleo yelled, raking a hand through their curly red hair. 

“Do I?” Grian asked, hoping to keep his voice neutral.

Cleo glared at him, “Fine. Let me reiterate. Up until this point, our perspective of Etho has been that he is our friend.”

“Is he not-”

“Let me finish,” Cleo said, and Grian was surprised to hear the dark edge to her voice. “Up until this point, we haven’t known about Etho killing my best friend, and his boyfriend. Right?”

“Yeah…” Grian answered, unable to keep the uncertainty from creeping into his voice.

“That changes things. Doesn’t it? He would have never told us if it wasn’t in the heat of the moment. He would have carried that information to the grave.”

“Joel knew,” Grian mumbled, yet it seemed that in the otherwise silent room, Cleo could hear him perfectly.

“What?” she exclaimed, standing up, obviously ignoring the pain in her shoulder. 

Grian nodded, worrying his bottom lip. “I heard him. When Etho saw Joel in the alley. Joel said, ‘We wouldn’t want another Bdubs’ or something like that. I guessed that something happened to Bdubs, but- but I didn’t know that he was dead!” Grian’s voice grew more defensive towards the end and Cleo sighed.

“It’s okay, Grian. What Etho did was seriously fucked up, and I don’t know how Joel knew about it, but it’s not your fault that you didn’t tell me or Gem what you heard. Okay?”

Grian nodded, biting his tongue. 

“I still don’t want to see him, though,” Cleo finally acknowledged why they were having the conversation in the first place. “I’m sorry, but I can’t forgive what he did.”

Grian nodded, his stomach plummeting. 

“You can… leave me, if you want.” Cleo said, their voice resigned.

“What?” Grian said incredulously. “I’m not leaving you! One way or another!”

Cleo smiled. “Thanks. I won’t leave you either. Now, please help me stand up because I think we really need to get out of here before Joel or somebody comes back to finish what the trap couldn’t do.” 

Chapter Text

It had been relatively easy to find a decent hotel room. To Etho’s relief, the company credit card worked with its usual infinite money source from who knows where, and the lady at the desk hadn’t asked too many questions about his obvious limp. Once he reached his room, and locked the door, he ripped off his mask to breathe. Loss found its way to his brain, it rooted itself there and rotted him from the inside out. His body felt empty, devoid of its usual personality and emotions. He didn’t bother to take off his shoes as he practically fell onto the bed, the mattress springing up as if angry with him.

Good, he thought. Everyone else is, makes sense if it is too. 

Now he was considering the mattress as an alive being. Lovely. 

He dropped his bag on the ground next to him. It landed with a heavy thud, and he suddenly was aware of the fact that the white blanket on the bed was slowly becoming red. Right. 

Etho staggered to the bathroom with his backpack, sitting down heavily on the closed toilet lid.

He decided to check the most attention-seeking, and painful, injury first. He unzipped his coat, dropping the bloodstained green jacket on the floor next to his feet, and lifted up his shirt where the majority of the blood seemed to be coming from. A gash across his side met his eyes, ugly and red, blood still pooling sluggishly from the wound, pain making him wince as the cold air came in contact with the raw skin. 

“Okay…” he muttered to himself. “This is fixable. Totally.”

He grabbed one of the sterilized cloths that he had taken from the medical cabinet, and pressed it against the wound, hissing through his teeth when the fabric came in contact with the gash. The usually silky substance felt prickly and painful against the exposed wound.

He then chose another cloth, and poured a small amount of alcohol on it, holding it up to his side. He took a deep breath, and pressed the cloth against the gash. Immediately, liquid fire seeped through his side and up his body as he fought to keep tears of pain out of his eyes. He held the cloth there, taking deep, shuddering breaths, fighting the urge to scream down. 

What was next in treating a still-bleeding wound? Right, ointment. Did Etho even have any?

Etho looked doubtfully down at the cloth he was still holding to his side, entertaining the prospect of standing up. 

He decided it couldn’t hurt, right?

It hurt.

The second Etho pushed off the counter, his ankle crumpled under him, and he fell to the ground, black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

“Come on,” he muttered to himself, reaching up to grab the edge of the counter to pull himself back up, ignoring his body’s loud protests. 

He finally was able to pull himself off the cold tile ground, his teeth grit and hands clenched on the marble vanity to the point of his knuckles being a pale white.

He leaned heavily against the counter, using it to support the majority of his weight, and finally managed to stumble to the medical cabinet, where luckily there was an antibiotic ointment waiting for him.

He managed a smile through cracked lips, and went back to the toilet seat to finally sit back down, and uncapped the jar.

Etho spread a light layer of the lotion-like material across the gash, which seemed to be glaring angrily at him, the bright red a stark contrast against his pale skin. It felt cool against the burning feeling slowly creeping its way across Etho’s torso.

Etho reached in his backpack, and produced a roll of white sterilized bandages. He unrolled them, and wrapped them around his midsection, hissing through his teeth as he secured it tight to keep the blood contained.

Immediately, the bandage became spotted with red, but that was a problem for future Etho. Present Etho was too tired to deal with anything else at the moment. 

He begrudgingly turned to his next injury, his ankle. 

After wrapping it and hoping for the best (Etho was no medic), he chose to stumble to his bed, ignoring the angry burn on his shoulder in favor of much needed sleep.

Etho practically fell into the bed, not bothering to turn off the lights or find out where he had thrown his mask, and sleep came for him the second he hit the sheets.

He was thankful for the distraction, but the nightmares that came that night could have rivaled the events of that day in Etho’s tier list of horrible times.

Etho found himself surrounded by snow, holding his arms close to his chest, and shivering violently from the cold, quickly overtaking and numbing his senses.

Etho blinked, or at least he thought he did, and suddenly Bdubs was there, yet something was wrong. He was covered in blood, the scarlet liquid dripping on to the pristine white snow that fell around the two.

“Bdubs?” Etho’s voice sounded muffled like he was underwater.

“Etho?” Bdubs asked, his voice clear as day and sounding thoroughly terrified. “Help!”

Etho ran forward towards Bdubs’s shaking figure, but his legs stopped working. They froze on the snow, and panic filled Etho as Bdubs continued to plead for help.

“Bdubs!” Etho yelled, his voice full of desperation.

Bdubs’s whole demeanor suddenly changed in a second. The tears faded, and a stone cold glare to compare with the frozen snow falling around them presented itself on his face.

“It’s your fault,” he said, the look never leaving Etho.

“No, I’m sorry!” Etho shouted, the snow between them growing more dense, and he was quickly losing sight of his lover. He desperately tried to unroot his legs from where they seemed to be cemented into the snow.

“We wouldn’t want another Bdubs, would we?” Joel’s voice cut through the air, ringing in Etho’s ears.

Etho tried to turn, but he was paralyzed, stuck staring at Bdubs.

“You killed me,” Bdubs declared, staring at Etho. Bdubs’s hands moved to his stomach, where Etho suddenly noticed the scarlet blood was the darkest, still blossoming on his gray shirt.

“Bdubs-”

“And you don’t regret it.”

Etho woke with a jolt, gasping at the pain in his abdomen, and falling back down onto the soft pillows cushioning his head.
“Bdubs,” he muttered, his voice croaky and his throat dry and cracked.

His gaze shifted to the sunlight streaming in through a crack in the curtains hiding his room from the rest of the world. He wanted to get up and close the curtains, blocking off the world entirely, he wanted to, he really did. But he couldn’t.

His mind screamed at him to get up, to close the curtains, but his body failed to obey the command. He remained still, staring at the bright light, a dot forming in the middle of his vision where the sun met his eyes. He stared until he couldn’t anymore, and looked away from the window, and closed his eyes.

It wasn’t the fact that he was too injured. His ankle was no longer throbbing, and if he moved cautiously the glass wound ignored the movement. 

Yet, his limbs were led against his feeble attempts. He turned over, away from the light, and drifted back to sleep.

Etho wasn’t sure how long he laid there in that hotel bed, switching between sleeping and staring aimlessly up at the gray textured ceiling. Long enough for the light to go dark, and for him to be left in inky blackness, his eyes eventually becoming adjusted to the dark and seeing the faint outlines of the furniture and his bag next to the bed.

It was pointless, wasn’t it? Moving, escaping. It was pointless when Bdu- Grian and Cleo weren’t there by his side, when he was hated all around, when he had no home to return to, no friends, no one to call in a time of need.

It was funny how quick people could leave. Etho had figured this out over the years of his life. Friends come and go, lovers only stay for a while, but family was supposed to be forever. 

He remembered white walls, and that coloring book. He had filled every single page with scribbles and doodles of red and orange, flowers of purple and pink, his young and untrained hand-eye coordination severely lacking but his eight-year-old mind not caring. He had waited, waited hours for them to return. They never did. 

Etho remembered sitting at the kitchen table, gripping the crayon tightly enough to snap the wax in half, hoping, dreaming, that his parents would open the front door like they had promised.

He had watched the minutes tick by, his eyes entranced with the silver clock hanging up above the mantel over the fireplace. Then he drew for a few minutes, then looked back at the door.

He had done that for twelve hours straight. The icecream cupcake on the paper plate in the center of the table had melted, the one his parents had told him to wait to eat until they got back home to prevent choking hazards. The large red eight candle lay prone on its side next to what used to resemble ‘Happy Birthday Etho!’ in bright happy letters on the cupcake.

But it had melted. It was gone, like his parents. 

It had been many days later, but Etho had accepted that they were gone when the first eviction letter came in. Etho had left the tear soaked parcel sitting on the kitchen table, while he had trudged up the stairs and forced himself to pack his suitcase with clothes and his favorite teddy bear. 

He had left the house behind with one more blurry eyed glance behind him, and walked out the door, quietly shutting it behind him, leaving the memories of his parents and what it felt to be happy behind.

Etho had dealt with the feeling of loss multiple times in his life. The first when his cat Archimedes had died. It had been his first so-called ‘traumatic event’. He had been the one to witness the animal running into the street, the large white truck speeding towards his beloved pet, and had watched as blood splattered against the dark pavement. 

The next was when his parents had left, and the third was when his foster mother had had a heart attack, and by the time 911 arrived, it was too late.

Etho liked to refer to himself as a bad luck charm. He knew every single person around him got hurt, or died. Perhaps it was better the way it was, with Cleo and Grian gone, he had no chance of hurting them, right?

But you have no chance to save them either, the awfully familiar voice echoed back at him. 

He wanted to deny it, and for the time being he did. But in the very corners of his brain he had the dark feeling of foreboding clouding his better judgement. The worry that came with annoyed him to no end, because deep down he knew he still cared.

But what mattered was that they didn’t. They didn’t care and it was over. So realistically Etho should forget about them and move on? Right?

But Etho was selfish. He didn’t want to leave them, he knew this in his heart, but it was for their greater good. He would only hurt them, only hurt them like he hurt Bdubs. 

God, Etho missed Bdubs. He missed his bright and wide smile with his cracked tooth. He missed his trademark mossy hoodie and the way he would carry the thing around like a child that he had spawned. He missed the way Bdubs would look to him with those impossibly big and wonderful eyes, always with a look of love or admiration reflecting back at him. 

Etho let the feeling of loss engulf him in a familiar embrace, and fell against the emotion, ignoring the hollowing caving of his heart. 

Bdubs was gone. Bdubs was gone forever, and it was Etho’s fault. Etho allowed the guilt to hit him full blast without forcing it back down to hide forever. 

It washed over him in a powerful tsunami of emotion, almost overwhelming, and he wrapped the blankets tighter around himself in an attempt to block out the intruding feelings, but it didn’t work. Nothing ever worked.

His body felt tingly, his limbs were floating above the comforter, and his head fuzzy.

Very suddenly, he shot up to a sitting position, then nearly fell back over at the stars momentarily forcing his vision to go dark. Surprisingly, the pain in his side wasn’t as bad as he guessed it could have been from his sudden movement. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and tentatively applied pressure to his ankle. It gave him some annoying resistance, but after walking a few steps on it, the limp was small and barely noticeable.

He wondered how much time had passed since HQ exploded. Etho glanced at the window that he had neglected to block out. It was night, yet it was lightening into a rather pretty shade of blue that reminded Etho of Grian’s eyes. Etho immediately blocked that thought from his mind and turned away from the window.

He walked to the bathroom, flicking on the light, and squinting against the brightness suddenly engulfing his vision.

He hadn’t really wanted to look at his reflection, but he hadn’t seen it since the day of the Accident (which he had decided was the day the HQ had exploded). He hesitantly lifted his eyes to his reflection, and widened his eyes at his own appearance. His hair was disheveled and greasy from laying in bed for how many days. There were dark bags under his eyes despite him having slept the majority of the time (he thought he had at least), and his cheeks were hollow from what Etho guessed was food deprivation. It suddenly hit him that he had not eaten anything since the night before the Accident, and only dranken a small amount of water on the actual day.

He left the bathroom and limped to the kitchen, grabbing the styrofoam cup out of the plastic next to the coffee machine. He moved to the sink, filled up the cup, and drank the water all in one gulp. He filled it up again, and then for a third time.

He then searched the kitchen for any sign of food, yet to his not entire surprise, there was nothing edible lying waiting for him in the cabinets. He sighed, then ignored the pressing issue of food in favor of a much needed shower and change of clothes, only to outwardly groan seeing as he only had his bloodstained clothes to put back on. He really needed to go clothes shopping.

Etho took his shower, then begrudgingly put the dirty clothes back on, eyeing his coat skeptically before slipping it on. Scott had taken the tracker off of it, so there was no harm in wearing the garment, right?

His eyes scanned the room before falling back onto his mask. He picked it up and stared at it for a second, before positioning it around his face and securing it right above his nose.

He then rummaged in his backpack until his fingers brushed the cold company card, and straightened up, mentally preparing himself for being back in the world where there were people. 

Etho knew he had to find food somewhere. He didn’t know why he had automatically walked to the cafe where he and the other five assassins had discussed thoughts of a trap.

He opened the door with the ring of a bell that sounded sharp to his high alert ears and walked through the entryway, going up to the counter to order a coffee and a croissant.

He picked a table and sank down in the booth, propping an elbow on the table and resting his face on his hand.

His eyes flitted over the rest of the cafe, an employee was taking orders at the counter, and behind it coffee machines were running, sending a not actually that terrible smell of coffee beans wafting throughout the small cafe.

The bell at the door rang, and Etho glanced at whoever entered, before letting his eyes drift away in uninterest.

The man had dark hair tied back into a low pony-tail and sunglasses perched on his nose, shielding his eyes from view. He had entered with two other people, one of them with dark curly hair and brown eyes, the other was…

Etho’s eyes shot back to the three. Martyn. Martyn and the two others had just entered the cafe and were beelining for Etho’s table. Etho shot up, instantly regretted it, his side screaming, but they were blocking his way out. He was halfway through protruding the hidden knife he always kept on himself, before they had reached him.

“Why hello my good sir!” The man in sunglasses greeted with a smile in a distinct accent.

Etho looked from him, to the curly haired man, then back to Martyn.

“What do you want?” he spat, his eyes flickering through all means of escape. 

“Just a little chat!” Martyn said, but the angry undertone in his voice said otherwise.

“Why don’t we sit down?” the curly haired man said, gesturing to the table. 

Etho sent a scathing glare towards Martyn, who raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

“Yeah, why don’t we?” the man with the glasses said, and there was some sort of menace in his voice that said he wasn’t going to ask twice.

“Fine,” Etho relented, then slid back into the booth.

“Wonderful!” Martyn clapped his hands together, and let the man with sunglasses go into the booth across from Etho before moving in next to him. The other man slid in next to Etho, but gave him plenty of space.

“Why don’t we start with introductions?” the man with glasses started, then gestured at himself. “I’m Ren, the leader of all this. Then that’s BigB,” he pointed to the man next to Etho. “And as you know, this is Martyn.”

Etho didn’t say anything, just narrowed his eyes at Ren. So this was who was orchestrating every move the other side made. To be honest with himself, Etho didn’t know who he was expecting. Grian had mentioned that he had met Ren once when fighting Martyn, but he didn’t make him out to be all that grand. Even then, looking at him, Ren seemed like your average pleasant person you would encounter on the streets.

Ren continued speaking without waiting for a response from Etho after the introductions. 

“We would like to offer you a chance. A chance of surrender.”

“No way,” Etho spat, itching to grab the knife in his coat.

“Let him finish,” barked Martyn, and Ren shot the other a look.

“What I was saying-”

“No,” Etho repeated, glaring at the man across from him. “No matter the conditions, there is no surrender in this ongoing battle we have here. You’ve exploded our headquarters, trapped our home, and you expect us to negotiate with you? I thought you were smart, honestly.”

Ren seemed taken aback by Etho’s lack of cooperation, but anger quickly seeped into his face, Etho couldn't see his eyes because of the dark sunglasses obscuring them but he was pretty sure that they were lit up in hatred.

“Okay, fine. I’m done playing nice. I have a gun aimed at you right now, you don’t really have a choice.”

“You’re really going to shoot me in a crowded cafe and become fugitives for killing an innocent man?”

“You’re far from innocent,” Martyn hissed.

“That’s mighty hypocritical coming from you,” Etho turned his cold gaze towards Martyn. “How many people have you killed, hm? It was your choice to join the Watchers, therefore your choice to kill all those targets. A sudden change of heart does nothing to make theirs beat again.”

Martyn’s jaw worked, clenching his teeth together, and glaring daggers at Etho.

“Either way, you didn’t think I would come here defenceless, right? I have a knife ready to sever a major artery for BigB here.”

 Ren’s lip curled, and Etho knew he had achieved in putting the four of them in a stalemate.

“You’re going to regret this,” Ren spat, and Etho heard pure anger resonating in his words.

“More than I would regret dying? No thank you.”

“Oh, you’re going to wish you would’ve accepted our deal here and now. There are great consequences coming, my friend. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this, but we need leverage, after all.”

Etho furrowed his eyebrows, but allowed BigB to slide out of the booth without damaging any arteries, and watched the three walk out of the cafe, the bell ringing to announce their departure.

Etho took a deep breath, closing his eyes and collecting his scrambled thoughts.

Ren had said there would be consequences. Either, he was merely bluffing and making empty threats because he himself had felt threatened, which was a very real possibility, or he was telling the truth.

Something caught his eye. A… playing card.

Etho slid it across the table to examine the card.

It was a wildcard.

This left Etho even more confused. He checked over the card once, twice, three times for any tracker or anything suspicious, but it seemed clean. He pocketed the card, and, forgetting about the food he had ordered, left the cafe, his mind a storm of emotions that screamed at him to be let loose.

Etho went back to his hotel room, and flopped down into his bed, unusually exhausted.

He held the wildcard up above him, still utterly confused about what the card meant or symbolized.

He pieced together a few fragments of information from the day.

Firstly, the card had been in the spot that Martyn had been sat at. Secondly, it had to symbolize something. There was no reason why Martyn just randomly had an Uno wildcard on hand, and just happened to forget it after Ren had promised a threat.

Etho shut his eyes, setting the Uno card down on the nightstand, and let sleep envelop him in darkness. He would figure it out the next day, but for then, the call of sleep was too loud to resist.

***

“Is it ready?” Scar asked through the walkie, his voice sounding partly bored and partly excited.

Grian audibly groaned, making sure Scar heard his annoyance.

“For the tenth time, Scar, not yet.”

“Come on! I’m getting ants in my pants!” Scar complained, but Grian could hear a twinge of amusement in his voice.

Grian smiled to himself, and turned his attention back to the tedious trap in front of him.

He tied the rope into a secure knot at the base of the fire escape, tied the other end into a loop, then obscured it by placing trash and leaves over the rope.

Grian wiped the sweat off of his brow with the back of his hand, and felt the glaring sun bearing down on the back of his neck, his all black assassins’s attire not helping with the overbearing heat.

“Now?” Scar’s voice crackled, and Grian sighed to himself.

“Almost,” he said, connecting a knife to a conjoining rope to the previous one and carefully setting it up in a nook in the bricks, his eyes making mental calculations of the arc that the blade would swing at.

If the trap was successful, it would be quick, easy, and relatively painless.

Although a knife to the head was never too painless, was it?

“Done,” Grian said, holding up his walkie to his mouth, and casually strolled out of the alley, clipping his walkie to his belt.

Scar’s jovial response that Grian had been waiting for never came. Grian waited for his voice to crackle over the walkie and berate him in a playful manner for taking so long, and how he was so bored to death, but the line stayed dead and painfully quiet.

“Scar?” Grian tried, his voice quiet and unsure.

No response.

“Scar?” Grian repeated, his tone more frantic then.

“Grian, Scar’s fallen. He’s hurt,” Martyn’s voice answered Grian, and Grian felt a pang of disappointment at Martyn’s voice instead of Scar’s, before he fully digested the words, and realization set in. His legs subconsciously broke out into a full out sprint, his panic fueling his energy.

“Where is he?” Grian practically yelled into his walkie, not caring about the confused looks he received.

“Just off of Pinemerry, I’m calling the other team, it’s pretty bad.”

“Shit!” Grian cursed, and took a left, tearing down one street, then another.

The street sign that read Pinemerry in white bold letters came into view, and Grian ignored his limbs feeling like they were on fire in favor of getting to his love quicker.

“Scar!” Grian yelled, reaching the street sign, and his eyes immediately pinpointed on Martyn’s figure crouched over someone on the ground just off of the street, where, luckily, it was away from prying eyes.

Grian sprinted over to his other two teammates, breathing heavily with panic and exertion, and immediately dropped to his knees next to Scar, whose breaths came short and labored, and was clutching his ankle with his face screwed up tight with pain.

“Scar?” Grian asked, his hands hovering above Scar, not sure what to do to help.

“They’re on their way,” Martyn said, then turned his attention back to his injured teammate.

Grian followed his captain’s gaze towards Scar’s ankle, and…

Grian turned away to retch into the corners of the alley.

Scar’s ankle was twisted at a sickening ninety degree angle, with clear bone showing through where his tight pants stopped and his boots began.

Grian resisted the urge to throw up again, and sent a desperate look towards Martyn, who appeared to be doing his best to stay calm, but his face was full of panic that he was incapable of hiding.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Grian found himself saying in a calm, quiet voice, running his hands soothingly through Scar’s hair, doing his best to calm Scar’s whimpers of pain and shallow gasps of air.

“G-G?” Scar said, his voice raspy and barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” Grian asked, his heart beating violently in his chest.

“I fell.”

Grian managed a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I noticed, but you’re gonna be okay. Help is on its way, and you’ll get patched up right away.”

Grian’s voice shook, and his hands trembled, but he kept kneading them through Scar’s hair, whispering assurances, as Martyn stood on watchout for backup.

“They’re here!” Martyn called to Grian, who, not wanting to leave Scar alone in his pain, looked up to Martyn who sprinted to the car which pulled in as close as it could, and parked right outside of the alley.

Etho rushed out of the passenger’s seat, Joel out of the drivers, and Bdubs darted out from the back, opening the door as wide as it could get and following his teammates to where Grian and Scar were waiting.

Bdubs knelt down next to Scar, examining his injury.

“It’s pretty bad,” Bdubs confirmed what Grian already knew, and Grian wanted to take Bdubs by the shoulders and shake him.

“I know it’s pretty bad!” Grian shouted, then took a deep breath. He continued, his voice quieter, “We just need to get him back to HQ, right? Then he’ll be fine!”

Bdubs seemed hesitant, but then there was somebody putting a hand on Grian’s shoulder, and nodding.

“Right,” Etho said, throwing Bdubs a look with raised eyebrows. “He’ll be fine.”

Joel crouched next to Scar, eyes pointedly avoiding his ankle.

“How should we carry him without doing anymore damage?” he asked Bdubs, not taking his gaze away from Scar, whose eyes were squeezed shut in pain and jaw was clenched.

Grian’s hearing was muddled as Bdubs gave instructions to Martyn and Joel on how to carry Scar, and his legs were frozen to the spot, watching as his boyfriend’s prone form was lifted and carefully brought to the awaiting doors of the SUV.

That was, until he felt a slight pressure on his shoulder, and glanced up. Etho was looking back at him, his eyes not giving away any emotion, but Grian could barely pick up sympathy flashing through his gray irises.

“Come on,” Etho said, dropping his hand from Grian’s shoulder, and nodding his head towards the car. “Scar’ll be fine, I wasn’t lying. He will recover, and it’ll be like this never happened.”

Grian nodded, not entirely convinced, but appreciative of the kind words in any sense.

“Thanks,” Grian couldn’t muster a smile to form on his face, but Etho appeared to understand his gratefulness all the same.

Etho nodded wordlessly, then turned to the car, Grian a few steps behind him.

Scar would be fine.

He would be fine, and laughing about this whole incident in a few weeks time.

Grian just knew it.

Four days had passed, and Scar had yet to leave the medical unit, his ankle still in need of attention.

Grian visited him as often as possible, but it was difficult with his busy schedule. He could only fit in twice in the four days, and every night that Scar hadn’t returned back to the dorms, Grian had only gotten a few hours of sleep without his boyfriend’s comforting arms placed around him.

On the fourth day, Grian had found an opportunity to visit Scar, who, to Grian’s disappointment, had his eyes shut and was breathing deeply.

Either way, Grian found comfort in the proximity, and he pulled up a chair, and sat down in it at Scar’s side, resting his head in his elbows at the edge of the bed, careful to not disturb Scar.

“I love you,” Grian murmured after a few minutes into the still silence, not expecting a reply from the man in front of him. 

“I love you too, G,” Scar whispered, his voice slightly slurred from the painkillers he had been given, and his eyes fell shut again into an even deeper sleep.

Chapter Text

Scott didn’t know how he ended up on the roof. He really didn’t. One second, the two who he had learned the name of at the amusement park, Skizz, and Tango (were they inseparable?) had been in pursuit of him. Scar was taking occasional shots from behind, slowed down by his cane, causing a great annoyance when one shot missed Scott’s face by mere millimeters, leaving a thin trail of blood accented greatly due to his pale skin.

The second him, Impulse, and Gem had found a place to settle, and gone out to shop for groceries, the ‘Mounders Foundation’ had striked, ambushing them and successfully separating the three. Scott’s legs burned from running, but he couldn’t risk turning around or stopping with three people hot on his heels.

Skizz, Tango, and Scar chased him into a dead end, forcing him to jump up to the fire exit and sprint up the stairs to the roof.

The fact that he was able to get up there… surprised Scott to say the least. 

He knew for a fact that Scar was a good shot, and the amount of missed bullets that passed by Scott even while he was scaling the fire escape sent suspicion flooding his mind. Were they perhaps leading him to something? Or was Scar just so wrapped up in the moment, or the pain in sprinting as fast as he was with his everlasting limp, that he was truly not meaning for his shots to go amiss?

Scott didn’t have time to dwell on the situation, as another bullet missed him by inches, and he cleared the fire escape, clambering onto the roof and sending a glance back down the stairs, where his three pursuers had stopped in their chase.

There was a sinking suspicion lurking in the back of Scott’s mind that he had just walked into a trap, but after sending a glance around the otherwise empty rooftop, he shrugged the thought off and pulled out his walkie.

“Gem?” Scott shouted into his walkie, internally cringing at how desperate his call sounded. “Gem? Can you hear me?”

“Oh, she can’t. But I can,”

Scott stopped dead. Gripping the walkie talkie tightly in his hand as for his knuckles to turn white, he looked up at the figure of the woman in front of him. Of course Pearl was here. 

“I thought you’d be sitting this fight out,” Scott said, forcing a smirk on his face. 

It was obvious Pearl could see through his facade, evident by her lips twisting into a smile that made Scott’s stomach twist uncomfortably. 

“You’re nervous, aren’t you,” she taunted, taking a step forward, her hands casually in the pockets of her bright red hoodie. “You’re scared at how strong I’ve become,”

Scott took a step back, and swallowed hard. “No. Any moment now, Gem’ll be arriving, you can’t even come close to taking two at once!” 

“Sure, I doubt she even received your message, much less able to track your location. Funny thing what screwdrivers can do, huh,”

“What-” Scott flipped his walkie over in his hand, and sure enough, the back was popped open where wires were slightly protruding from it. 

He heard Pearl walking closer to him, but he was occupied by staring at the wires sticking out of his walkie talkie. He had just been using this with Impulse, right? Speaking of Impulse, where was a teammate when you needed one? 

Scott reached to his belt to unsheath the dagger attached there as he glared up at the oncoming threat. A threat. Is that what he thought Pearl was now? Just something else to be fought, the memories discarded forever? He internally shook himself, now was not the time to be having these second thoughts. He had made a choice, and he was sticking to it. Pearl stopped when she was a little more than an arms length away from him.

“You know, I never thought it would come down to this, a life or death match,” she said, gripping a wicked looking machete, staring intently into his eyes, “but we always knew who would win this.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, “it would be me.” Then he launched himself at his former best friend. 

Scott really needed to have better taste in the melee weapon industry. As he swung towards Pearl, he silently cursed himself for bringing just a dagger and gun with him while shopping. He had given his pistol to Impulse a while back, before they had been split up by the pursuit of Martyn screaming something at Impulse and Scott ducking out of the way of a stray shot.

His knife swished in the air where Pearl had been moments ago, but she was inhumanly quick on her feet. She ducked under Scott’s attack, and jutted her machete up. Scott could barely dodge to the side before he was under attack again. She really was relentless. Stab after stab, parry after parry. Scott hissed as she sliced at his knee, and the blade made contact. He staggered for a second, but it was a second too long, she slashed again and it was all Scott could do to ensure she didn’t slice his head clean off. He turned to the side where she struck a deep wound in the side of his bicep, where dark blood immediately began spurting and dripping down his arm to pool at his hand. 

Clutching his arm, he staggered back a few steps, but when she went to swing again, he ducked and sliced open a shallow cut right below her elbow. He then ducked behind her for a split second, and… he hesitated. Her back was open for a fatal blow, and he just stopped. His knife hovered in the air as she spun around and kicked it out of his hands. The blade skidded to a stop at the edge of the building roof. Scott backed away, both hands held up in a fighting stance, glaring at her. 

She just smiled back, a manic smile, while wiping blood from a cut that Scott had made on her cheek with the back of her hand. 

“Is this too much for you?” she mocked, gripping the machete stained with his blood. 

Even though his predicament was proving to be close to fatal, he smiled. “You wish!” 

This time, it was Pearl who initiated the attack, she dove at him like a crow for a carcass and he barely had time to roll to the side before she was swinging the machete at him again. He picked himself up and sprinted for the knife that she had kicked away, and multiple things happened at once. A sharp pain burned in his side, the feeling of something wet slid right below his ribs, and his injured arm met the pavement. He failed to stifle a yelp as he hit the ground, pain spiking through his arm, but more importantly, his midsection. He rolled to his back and tried to sit up, but the pain was too great. At the movement, even more blood spurted from his wound and stained his jean jacket and white shirt underneath a sickly shade of maroon. He stifled a pained groan as he pressed a hand to it, and tried to sit up, but Pearl was much quicker. She kneed him in the head, causing him to fall back down, then straddled him, his knife in hand. 

She breathed out a heavy breath, and smiled, looking down at his pathetic and broken form. 

“I always knew I was better,” she said, something akin to a triumphant tone in her voice.

Scott’s sight was becoming blurred and darkened around the edges, but he still held her stare with ferocity burning in his stomach. He clenched his jaw, and refused to reply. 

She sighed, tilting her head, flipping his knife over in her hands, idly turning her attention to stare at it. 

“Did you at least appreciate my knife throwing skills? For a machete, that was pretty insane you have to admit,” the corner of her lips twitched upwards. 

“Yeah, at least it’s better than the dogshit ones that I remember you having. Who taught you to do that anyway? Your boyfriend Joel?”

Scott knew he had struck a nerve when Pearl’s whole body went rigid, then anger filled her gaze. 

“It’s going to be fun killing you,” she smiled, raising his own knife above his chest. “Any last words?”

Scott struggled against her legs pinning his arms under him, but moving only brought more pain and more blood spilling out of his wound, and he fought hard to keep a gasp escaping his lips. 

“I guess not, pity,”

She raised the knife, and brought it down in a harsh downward motion. Scott turned his head, expecting for pain to explode in his chest. What he didn’t expect was the weight of Pearl to be lifted off him in a furious scream. He gasped, his eyes flying open, at the sight of Gem on top of Pearl punching her with a fury that could only be described as insane. 

Then, more shadows flickered at the edges of Scott’s vision, people. 

“Gem,” he said weakly, and Gem appeared to have not heard him, “Gem, we need to go, Gem!”

She abruptly stopped her ongoing berate of punches to Pearl’s face, which she had blocked with her arms, but she was still looking worse for wear. 

“Scott!” Gem shouted, running over to him. “Oh, shit, oh, god, Scott-”

“We need to go!” he shouted, frantic. “There are more on the roof!” Sure enough, more movement caught Scott’s eye and Gem was sure to have seen that too, she glanced hurriedly in the direction of the movement, and bent down to help Scott up. He was still bleeding a substantial amount, and the blood loss was making him dizzy, the world tilting around him. 

“I’ve got you,” Gem said, tucking his arm around her shoulders. “Come on, hurry.” They limped away as fast as they could as the first shadow jumped to the roof, presumably to Pearl’s aid. 

“Scott, what the fuck happened?” Gem sounded more worried than angry, them now on the stairwell, struggling their way down one stair at a time. 

“Fucking Pearl and her knife throwing skills,” he managed, his voice tight with pain. Blood seeped through his fingers and down his shirt as they finally made their way to the bottom level. 

Gem picked up her walkie and called into it, “Impulse? Impulse please tell me you can hear me! Scott’s hurt, bring the car to the corner of Mayhen road!”

Not a second later, Impulse’s panicked voice answered Gem. 

“Okay!” he said, sounding out of breath. “Martyn’s still hot on my tail, how bad is it?”

Scott’s eyes began to slide shut, and it took a few tries from Gem shouting his name for him to blink away the fuzziness that had engulfed his vision.

“Really bad, he’s lost a lot of blood,” Gem answered Impulse’s question, holding Scott tightly against her.

“I lost him,” Impulse said, then a pause, “I’m on my way.”

Gem turned her walkie talkie back off and attached it back to her belt, “Just a little bit longer, Scott, it’s okay.” 

It was certainly not okay. Scott’s feet were starting to drag and Gem had to carry practically all of his weight, given he was not a very heavy person but his dead weight combined with the various weapons on both of them, could not have been easy to carry.

“Gem?” he mumbled, feeling his consciousness slip away.

“Yeah?”

“Kill Pearl for me, I don’t think I can right now,” 

“Okay, Scott.”

He then let the sweet darkness of unconsciousness engulf him, and everything went black.

***

Cleo caught Grian staring out of the hotel window for the fourth time that day, and she sighed through her nose, their lips pursed.

“He might still have his walkie,” Cleo said, sitting down on her bed.

Grian didn’t turn from the window, but nodded in acknowledgment. “Would he answer, though? What if- what if he’s already-”

The words hung in the air, neither of them wanting to vocalize it.

“He’s not gonna be dead, if that’s what you’re saying. It takes a lot more than that to kill Etho,” Cleo was surprised that their voice lacked the usual bitterness that it had adapted when on the subject of her former teammate.

Grian didn’t seem convinced, and he fell silent for a moment.

“What if the Mounders Foundation got to him?”

Despite the grim question, Cleo couldn’t help but snort. Grian finally glanced back at her incredulously, but they shook their head.

“No, it’s just, what kind of stupid name is that?”

The corner of Grian’s lip twitched upwards, and he went back to picking at his sleeves. “Out of all names…”

“Mounders Foundation,” Cleo finished, and she laughed again. Grian was conflicted at first, then his dam broke, and he joined in with her laughter. 

They laughed, and laughed. They laughed at the grim situation that they were trapped in with no foreseeable victory in the near future. They laughed at the death and destruction they had caused in their career. They laughed at the blood that had been spilled because of them, the sticky red substance coating their hands, the smell lingering in their noses.

They laughed at the whole stupid existence of the whole damn city and the whole damn murder and bloodlust that took place in it.

Maybe the two were losing their minds, but they didn’t care.

Eventually, they both flopped down on one of the two beds, their throats hoarse from laughter, and the last giggles remaining trapped in their stomachs.

“That was random,” Grian said, gasping for air.

Cleo merely nodded in response, a wide smile stitched across her face. 

Grian sat up, Cleo’s eyes following his figure. He moved towards the window, but instead of returning to his usual post of watching the outside world through the panes of glass, he shut the curtain, blocking out the dim light of approaching twilight and collapsed into the other bed, facing Cleo.

Cleo turned to her side, so they were facing him too.

“I’m sorry,” Cleo said, her voice regretful, reflecting the guilt swirling in her gut.

Grian just sent a questioning look towards them, inviting them to explain further.

“I said some harsh things, and I really should be apologizing to Etho right now, but, as we have no idea where he is, I can't really do that, so I’m apologizing to you. I’m sorry for lashing out, and I’m sorry for acting indifferent towards him. I’m still furious with him, but I don’t want him to be hurt, or- well, anyway, if you want, I’ll come with you to look for him and I’ll help.”

Cleo held their breath, watching a mix of emotions flash over Grian’s face, before settling on a small smile curving his lips.

“Thanks,” Grian said, his voice soft. “You have every right to be enraged with him. He did a really fucked up thing that should not go unnoticed, but he’s the same person that we loved before, so thank you for saying that.”

Cleo just nodded, overcome with too many emotions to answer, and turned to her back to stare at the ceiling, not willing to meet Grian’s gaze anymore.

“We should get to sleep,” she finally said, breaking the surprisingly not tense silence.

“Is your arm okay?” Grian asked, sending a sideways glance at Cleo’s bicep.

She nodded, subconsciously feeling the bandage that Grian had wrapped around the knife wound. 

“Night, then,” Grian said, turning over, and immediately falling limp without even putting the blankets over himself.

Cleo smiled at his figure, before standing up, and gently tucking him beneath the covers to ensure his warmth and comfort.

Etho would for sure call her a ‘mother hen’ for that.

Cleo internally grimaced at the thought of her other teammate.

She wanted to hate the man. They really did, but the hate would not form. There was rage and fury taking its place, but never hate.

Cleo had had no idea that Bdubs was dead, nor that Etho had been the one to do it, but she had seen the regret in Etho’s eyes, the vulnerable look that filled his face that had rarely showed itself before.

Cleo also knew how much Etho loved Bdubs. 

She turned away from Grian, and walked over to the light switch, flicking it off, then climbing into their own bed, sliding under the covers, careful of her arm, and closed their eyes, willing sleep to come for them.

It took hours of them mulling in their own torturous thoughts before everything decided to fade away, and for a thankfully dreamless sleep to overcome Cleo, causing everything else to dull and for her to slip into the realm of nothingness.

***

Scott woke up with fuzzy vision, and to Impulse asleep in the armchair next to his bed. Scott cast a glance around the room, taking in the hotel room that they had booked, and sunk into the comfy pillow placed below his head.

He tried to sit up, but fiery pain spiked in his stomach, and he barely got a few inches before falling back down to the bed with a gasp and a hiss of pain.

Impulse stirred, and opened his eyes, rubbing them before glancing at Scott.

“Oh, Scott!” Impulse exclaimed, standing up, and walking over to the side of his bed, where Scott noticed bloodied rags and bandages lay discarded on the floor.

“Hi,” Scott said, and was surprised at how raspy his voice sounded. “How long-?”

“A few days. We were scared the first one, it looked like you weren’t gonna make it.” Scott’s teammate’s eyes were filled with genuine concern that caused Scott’s heart to melt a little.

“Thank you,” Scott said, trying to fight off the sleep that clawed at the edges of his attentiveness. Impulse seemed to notice Scott’s eyes growing heavy, and he nodded.

“You can sleep more. You nearly died, you deserve it.”

That was all the assurance Scott needed before slipping off back to dreams of Jimmy and flowers.

***

The next day, Etho found a nearby diner to finally quench his hunger, then went back to his hotel room with one target in mind.

He sat on the edge of his bed, flipping the Uno card over and over and over again in his hands, scouring the very edges of his mind for any indication of what the clue of sorts might mean.

Eventually, a memory came bubbling to the surface.

Before the day the ships had sailed, the three teams of three had constantly played Uno, and why they did, Etho couldn’t explain.

One day, someone like Scar or Bdubs had brought in a deck of Uno cards, and suggested that they play. The game soon turned into one of their most interesting sources of entertainment while they weren’t killing or in training.

Etho had no idea how Martyn was so good at the wretched card game, but he was lucky to a point of unfairness.

“I’m just really strategic,” Martyn had shrugged, after winning yet another round. 

Bdubs sent him a dubious look. “Uh-huh, what about that one time that-”

“Don’t want to hear it!” Martyn interrupted him. “Let’s leave our job out of Uno!”

“I want another game, this is clearly rigged!” Joel exclaimed, slamming his twenty four cards down on the table. 

Etho sent his teammate a not so apologetic look, but silently agreed with him.

“Can you guys stop yelling over there!” Pearl yelled back at them, her eyes never leaving the T.V. where a rather vicious game of Super Smash Bros was happening between her and Scar.

“Says you!” argued Bdubs, crossing his arms.

Etho put his hand on Bdubs’s back, turning him away from his shouting competition. “Let’s just play another game, I’m sure you’ll win this one.”

“Yeah, okay, fine,” Bdubs’s voice sounded moody, but under it was a clear tone of humor shining through. “Martyn doesn’t get to deal anymore, though!”

“Deal,” Martyn said, handing the stack of cards that he had collected to Bdubs.

“How many wins is that for Martyn now?” Grian asked, eyeing the man in question suspiciously. 

Scott rolled his eyes. “All but the first one when Cleo won.”

“By one move!” Martyn cut in, but despite his seemingly angry tone, there was a large smile plastered on his face.

Cleo stuck out her tongue at him, and opened their mouth to say what would have been a witty retort, but Joel cut her off.

“Children stop arguing, my ears are hurting!” 

“Your ears are hurting?” Grian squawked. “My ears are bleeding! From you!”

“Exact- Hey!”

After a few more rounds of Martyn winning despite Bdubs insisting that the game was rigged and dealing himself, the nine of them were all in the living room, watching a particularly boring old timey movie that Scar had insisted that they watch.

Bdubs ended up cuddling close to Etho on the couch under a fuzzy blanket that Bdubs was abnormally protective over, when Joel suddenly spoke up under the monotonous droning of the movie.

“Why don’t we play a game, like… never have I ever?”

“Never have I ever?” Cleo asked from where she was leaning on Scott on the floor against the couch. “Sure.”

“Everyone in agreement?” Bdubs asked, sending a glance around the group.

“Are we involving drinking in this game? That’s how it’s normally played,” Scar asked, sounding a little too excited. 

Grian slapped his arm gently from where they were cuddled up next to each other in a similar state to Etho and Bdubs. “We have hits tomorrow, we’re not drinking on the job.”

“Fine,” Scar rolled his eyes, extending the ‘i’.

“I’ll go first,” Martyn said, a devious smile decorating his lips. “Never have I ever… lost a game of Uno!”

Martyn brought out a Uno wildcard, and held it up like a trophy.

“Hey!” Bdubs shouted. “You lost a game! Give that card to Cleo!”

Martyn threw the card at Bdubs.

“Okay,” Joel said, raising his eyebrows. “Are we going clockwise, or counter clockwise?”

“Clockwise,” Pearl said immediately from where she was perched on the arm of the couch to the right of Martyn. 

“Clockwise it is,” Joel said, then thought for a moment. “Never have I ever been kidnapped.”

“That’s a little dark,” Scott commented, and Joel flashed him a rude gesture.

Grian shrugged. “I dunno, has anyone here been kidnapped?”

“I don’t think so,” Etho said, glancing around the group. “Has anyone?”

Nobody spoke, so Etho took that as a no.

“Who do you think would be the most likely to be kidnapped here?” Martyn asked, and Pearl reached down and flicked the top of his head. “What?” he asked, “it’s a good question!”

“Hmm,” Cleo said, her eyes slightly squinted. “It wouldn’t be Pearl for sure, or Etho, or probably Joel.”

Scott shrugged. “For me, it’s either Bdubs or Grian.”

“Okay,” Bdubs said, his voice unnecessarily loud. “Definitely not me! They wouldn’t know what hit them!”

“So, Grian?” Joel mused, sending a glance at him.

“Hey, I’m probably better than Cleo, why isn’t she getting kidnapped?”

“They’d probably talk their way out of it,” Pearl rolled her eyes.

“Better how?” Cleo exclaimed.

Grian ignored them, and kept arguing. “Besides, I doubt the kidnapper’s gonna be 5’7.”

“What are you implying here?” Bdubs yelled, sitting up, causing the comfortable warmth to leave Etho. “I’m not short!”

“Never said you were,” Grian taunted with a large smile on his face.

“You can’t be talking,” Scar said, then theatrically put his hand above Grian’s head, and measured it to his own.

“You’re really not on my side here?” Grian squawked indignantly. 

“I mean, Bdubs is pretty short,” Joel said, the corner of his lip twitching upward.

“What is all this about my height? We were talking about how Grian is the one most likely to get kidnapped!” 

“Height is a large factor to put in though,” Scott said, seemingly ignoring Bdubs’s argument.

“Hey! I wouldn’t get kidnapped!!” Bdubs shouted even louder. “I’ll have Etho with me!”

Cleo failed to stifle a laugh, and Joel didn’t even make an attempt. 

“What’s so funny?” Bdubs asked incredulously.

“Nothing,” Cleo waved him off, giggles cutting through her word.

“Team tall and short, right?” Etho asked, his lips curved upward.

“Yeah, but I’m the tall one!” Bdubs puffed out his chest.

“We can go with that.”

Etho smiled, hoping the fondness in his eyes was ignored, but he couldn’t keep it from presenting itself, and wished Bdubs would sink back into the couch to replace the warmth that was stolen from Etho. But the shorter man was still arguing with Grian and the others in loud voices about height, so he let it be.

Etho’s eyes drifted to the card Martyn had thrown at Bdubs previously, laying discarded on the blanket now only covering Etho. The wildcard had something written on it. Strange.

Etho reached for it, and narrowed his eyes at the words written upon the card.

The thrill to kill, the fleeting gill.

Etho reread the words once, twice, three times, before looking up at Martyn.

“Martyn?” he asked, his voice quiet yet deadly serious.

To Etho’s surprise, albeit his soft voice, the loud conversation stopped almost immediately, most eyes turning to him.

Martyn looked over, seemingly confused. “Yeah?”

“Did you write this?” Etho stood up, walking to where Martyn was sitting, and handed him the card.

Martyn’s eyes scanned the words, then he looked back up at Etho.

“No,” he finally said, his eyes flitting back down to the words. “Weird, I didn’t really notice them before, what’d they mean?”

Etho shrugged, and took the card back, glancing around the room.

“Did anybody write on this card?”

“What does it say?” Cleo asked, gazing curiously at the wildcard.

Etho handed it to Cleo, studying her face as she read the words written in purple ink. Her features held nothing but the same confusion that crossed Martyn’s face, and she glanced back up at Etho.

“The thrill to kill, the fleeting gill,” they announced, looking around the room. “Anyone?”

Cleo handed the card back to Etho, who accepted it, and stared at it for a second, not sure what to do.

“Well, does anyone want it?” Etho asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nobody spoke, and Etho took their silence as confirmation that the card was mutually disliked.

Etho set it down on the coffee table, then glanced at it one more time before looking away.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed, it’s late. G’night,” he said, before really thinking about what he was saying. His mind was entirely focused on the card.

What was up with the cryptid words? The thrill to kill, a fleeting gill. There had to be some sort of meaning to it.

Etho heard a few murmurs of ‘goodnight’, before he arrived at his room and quietly shut the door behind him, relieved at the silence the door allowed him. 

“The thrill to kill, the fleeting gill,” he muttered to himself, sitting down on his bed. “Now what does that mean?”

Etho never learned what the message meant. It quickly became old news, and forgotten, never quite lingering in the back of his brain like unsolved things tended to do.

Etho just wished he forgot the night.

Etho stood up quickly, the sudden movement leaving him seeing stars, but he ignored them, instead in favor of pinpointing his eyes on the words written in purple letters.

The thrill to kill, the fleeting gill.

The memories came rushing back to him in torrents: the game of Uno, Never Have I Ever, Joel’s question…

Ren had said there would be consequences, didn’t he?

Etho had been expecting for Ren to mean those consequences directed at himself, but…maybe Ren had a different target in mind. 

Maybe he had the one who everybody else had agreed on those months ago.

Maybe he had Grian in mind.

***

Ever since Doomsday, Grian’s dreams had been filled with nothing but Scar. Scar’s final words to him, their last shared kiss. Then it twisted into horrible and gruesome images of Scar dying, getting killed by a faceless cold figure in countless ways.

Every time, Grian woke up shaking and sweating, his breathing labored and frantic.

Every time, Cleo had heard him and climbed into bed with him, holding him close to her and whispering sweet nothings.

This time, none of that happened. Instead, Grian woke, his breaths regular and steady, with little sweat running down his face, but he felt something wet on his face.

He lifted a hand to feel the unknown substance, and he brushed his finger over it.

Oh. 

Tears streamed down his face against his own will. He furiously scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands, but to no avail. The tears kept rushing down his face with some sort of urgency.

He quietly stood up, not wanting to wake Cleo, and padded to the bathroom, filling a plastic cup with water and downing it in less than two seconds.

Then he caught his reflection. 

Teary eyed with bags, splotchy face (thanks, tears), with messy but thankfully clean hair due to the much-needed shower he had taken the night previous.

He combed his fingers through the poofy bangs falling over his forehead, but it made no difference, so instead he opted for Cleo’s hairbrush, which he had been using since he had forgotten his own back at the dorms.

The tears had finally stopped, and he looked back up at his reflection again.

Everything seemed wrong. 

The way Grian’s clothes itched and rubbed against his skin, the suddenly harsh light fixture of the bathroom above the vanity, Grian’s steady breathing, which to his despair, picked up in speed, the fact that he would inevitably have to kill Scar-

Grian turned off the bathroom light feverishly and sprinted back to his bedside table as fast as he could without disturbing the sleeping Cleo in the bed adjacent to his, and grabbed his phone that was sitting next to Cleo’s. They had bought the two electronics with the company’s thankfully limitless credit card, and quite frankly, Grian had forgotten how to use a phone since he had been forced to abandon his when joining the Watchers organization. They hadn’t allowed internet access for their employees, because of the chance of secrets being revealed. 

Grian liked to think of them as very toxic, and dangerous helicopter parents for this reason.

Grian fumbled with the earbuds laying next to his phone, and connected them, immediately switching to spotify and clicking on a song at random.

Miss You, by Singing Winds, began blasting in his ears, and Grian ignored the lyrics, instead basking in the sensation of music thundering through his skill, but he still felt wrong. Something at the edges of his subconscious lingered, cleverly hidden.

Grian sighed, and decided it was time to get some fresh air.

Now, Cleo would have been very… disappointed with Grian if she knew he had snuck out just to breathe in some air that was not suffocating to Grian’s lungs, but they would have understood. Surely.

Grian remained blissfully ignorant of the heavy threat looming over him- the dangers of going outside with no protection besides his knife hidden inside his sweater- instead, focusing on the lyrics soaking into his brain, drowning out every other sound.

Grian left the hotel after practically sprinting down the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator, and slowed down his speed to a casual walk when passing the desk lady. He nodded and threw on a smile, before pushing open the large glass swinging doors, which reminded him so much of the dorm doors it was painful.

He made his way down the sidewalk, not almost getting hit by a car while crossing the street to said sidewalk due to his current lack of hearing, thank you very much, and pushed his hands into his pockets, savoring the cold night air.

He breathed it in, his breath slightly steaming, and he sighed contentedly, his song changing to another that he did not recognize. He glanced down at the device while still walking, and raised an eyebrow at the song playing

Watch Your Back, by Thieves of the Night.

Interesting song choice. Grian shrugged, pausing in his stride to lower his volume one decimal, when something struck him in the back of the head.

Grian collapsed, pain exploding in his skull, and darkness quickly closing in on him. He tried to push himself up, but a heavy weight pressed on the small of his back, keeping him on the ground.

His vision was blurry, and his head felt like it was splitting in two, but he lifted it up slightly, and he was met with a flash of sunglasses before everything went dark, and Grian slumped against the cold asphalt sidewalk, the earbuds falling out of his ears and the pain receding to a small corner of his mind. He welcomed unconsciousness with opened arms.

Chapter Text

When Grian woke, it was silent. His blaring music was gone, and it was pitch black.

He blurrily looked around the seemingly endless room, trying to move his hands to rub at his eyes.

But his hands would not move. Instead, he felt the rough scrape of rope burning against his wrists, and similarly to his ankles. He tried to pick his hands up from where they were tied against the chair arm, but the rope was not budging.

Panic flooded his chest, and he struggled against the bonds tying him to the harsh wooden chair, breathing heavily into the silent expanse of the room. 

“H-help!” he yelled, his voice shrill. “Help!”

“Do you really think screaming’s going to help, my laddie?” a voice that Grian had heard once before asked behind him. Grian froze, his eyes wide, then the room suddenly flooded with light and he squinted almost shut against the sudden harshness of it.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” another voice said, voice full of glee. Joel.

“It was easy, really,” the voice of Martyn drawled, and Grian saw someone out of the corner of his eye slowly walk to the middle of his vision, hands behind his back.

Ren Dog stared at him for a second with narrowed eyes under the shield of dark sunglasses, then a wicked smile split his lips.

“Welcome, Grian!” he exclaimed, meeting Grian’s frantic gaze steadily. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

“How-” Grian started, willing his voice to not sound timid.

“How, you ask? My, my, Grian, I thought you were smarter than this! We’ve had everything orchestrated since the beginning!”

“The beginning…”

“The day my wonderful former assassins broke out, of course! Really, it was your own fault for not doing so as well! If you had, well, we wouldn’t be in this situation now, would we?” Ren’s voice took on a darker tone at the end. “Anyway, yes, we blew up the Watcher’s headquarters, that was quite fun!”

Grian heard the deranged giggle of Joel behind him.

“Afterwards, we expected the six of you to split in half. We were definitely not expecting you and Cleo to be separate from Etho, what happened?”

Grian didn’t respond, his voice not working.

Ren tilted his head, his eyebrows raising. “Anyways, how do you like the room? A bit cold, I do admit…”

“The room?” Grian exclaimed. “That’s what we’re talking about? Not the fact that you fucking kidnapped me?”

“I wouldn’t call it kidnapping,” Ren mused. “More like a practical abduction.”

“So kidnapping.”

“Shut up!” Joel barked from behind Grian.

“What do you want from me?” Grian asked, the spite thankfully remaining ever present in his tone.

“Answers,” Ren gave him a wide smile. “Bait.”

“You’re not fucking using me as bait!” Grian yelled angrily, thrashing against his restraints, almost tipping the chair over in his movement. 

Ren gave a disappointed tsk. “Well, that’s not really your decision to make, is it?”

Grian seethed, glaring daggers at Ren. Ren merely shrugged, then the door opened and two people stepped through it.

“Jimmy!” Joel cried, striding over to the door and slinging an arm over the other man’s shoulders. “Look who’s finally awake!” He motioned to Grian. 

Grian strained his eyesight to see Jimmy’s expression. He didn’t seem nearly as gleeful as Ren, nor as deranged as Joel. The look in his eyes was almost… sad. Regretful.

The other person who entered was none other than Scar Goodtimes.

“Scar!” Ren greeted, waving him over. Scar seemed nervous, though followed Ren’s orders without hesitation. 

Grian stared at Scar, his eyes wide. Scar pointedly kept his gaze away from Grian, his eyes looking anywhere else but him. 

Scar hadn’t changed much since Grian had last seen him when he was following him for the Watchers.

He was tall, with a long scar crossing his face and across the bridge of his nose, his hair still a rich brunette in the same straight style, his eyes still the startling green that Grian remembered so vividly in his nightmares and bittersweet memories alike. He still had a dark wooden cane in hand, leaning against it while casting his gaze around the room, avoiding Grian.

Martyn strode to the door, shutting it, and then walked to Ren’s left side, leaving Scar on the right. Joel and Jimmy watched from the side, Joel’s eyes expectant and smile wide, and Jimmy taking a similar route as Scar and avoiding Grian’s eye contact.

“Now, I want you to know a few things about this room,” Ren began, glancing around the gray walled space. “It’s soundproof.”

Grian sucked in a breath sharply. His eyes flitted around the walls. True to Ren’s word, there were noise canceling pads covering the walls, and upon further inspection, the ceiling as well.

“Now that’s just inhumane!” Grian shouted, cursing the scared tone in his words.

Ren shook his head, a smirk curling his lips. “No more inhumane than killing innocent people for a fucked up organization?” To Grian’s lack of response, his sneer grew. “That’s what I thought. Now, be quiet, and let me explain.”

If looks could kill, he knew everybody in the room would be on the floor dead (probably including him), but Grian held his tongue despite the urge to spit a venomous retort.

“Where are you and Cleo staying?” Ren asked, and Grian breathed out through his nose, keeping his lips pursed tightly.

“I told you this wouldn’t work,” Martyn hissed into Ren’s ear, and the latter sent an annoyed glance at him.

“Alright,” Joel said, walking away from Jimmy and behind Grian before returning with something in hand. Grian craned his neck to see the object, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

“Joel-” Grian started, his breathing picking up in pace.

“What?” Joel asked, a manic smile splitting his lips, hefting the hammer up. “Come on, let’s have some fun! Everytime you don’t answer a question, you get a little whack with the hammer!”

Grian stared at Joel for a second, before turning his gaze to Scar, who looked… not as Grian would be expecting him to look. He didn’t look nervous at the prospect of Grian getting repeatedly hit with a hammer. Had perhaps Scar’s nervousness been a fallacy? Had he truly lost all comradeship for Grian, enough to not bat an eye to Grian’s inevitable doom?

Even Ti- Jimmy didn’t look scared, or even apprehensive.

Had Grian really misjudged how the two still felt about him? Grian and Jimmy had always been close, long before the Watchers. Had that all been for nothing?

Grian turned back to the hammer still raised, and he refused to let the fear that was threatening to break the mental dam that he had created wash over him. 

“Alright then,” Grian finally said, glancing from Joel to Ren. “Ask me again.”

“Where are you and Cleo staying?” Ren asked, and this time there was a hint of irritation in his voice.

“I don’t remember,” Grian said simply, and albeit the situation, a thin smile appeared on his face.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” Joel shouted, storming up to Grian, hammer gripped tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. 

“Joel,” Martyn voiced a warning, “we discussed this.”

“Oh, I know we discussed this, but I’ve been waiting so damn long, Martyn!” Joel yelled, glaring down at Grian.

“Joel!” Ren barked, with a firm finality in his voice that made even Joel hesitate, “back off.”

Joel paused for a second, then glanced at Ren, before retreating back to a slightly nervous Jimmy, who inched away from the angry man with the hammer.

“You talked about this, you did?” Grian asked, turning his gaze to Martyn. “Does that mean Joel doesn’t actually get to hit me with the hammer?”

Ren huffed out a breath. “Okay, fine, no, Joel doesn’t get to hit you with the hammer. It was merely to inspire fear and motivate you to answer the questions truthfully. But apparently that method is not working now. Scar?”

Scar sent a quick look at Ren, before fixing his gaze above Grian’s head. 

“Gri,” he started, then quickly corrected himself. “Grian, please just tell us what you know. We’ll let you go after, and we promise to make your death quick, and your teammates' deaths quick.”

“Speak for yourself,” Joel muttered. 

Scar sent him a glare, before continuing. “Please,” his voice was almost pleading, “Grian, you- you can join us!”

Grian was so shocked he was rendered speechless. His mouth fell agape and he stared up at Scar, not quite believing what the other man had just said.

“Wait-” Martyn said, and at the same time.

“What?” Ren asked, his voice genuinely confused.

“Please,” Scar continued, his ears apparently falling deaf to his teammates next to him. Grian finally looked into his eyes. They were sparkling and desperate. “We’ll spare you, we’ll spare you, and you can live your life like this never happened!”

“Will you spare them ?” Grian hissed, and Scar fell silent, his gaze now at his shoes. “Will you spare Etho? Will you spare Cleo? Will you spare Gem, Scott, or Impulse?”

Scar fell silent, his eyes still shining with unshed tears, and Martyn answered for him.

“Look, we just want information!” Martyn tried. “Fine. You know where you and Cleo are staying, right?”

Grian narrowed his eyes, and kept his mouth firmly shut, glaring daggers at Martyn.

Martyn pursed his lips, taking a deep breath to apparently ward off the frustration that barely reached his eyes, and looked back down at Grian, his face blank and emotionless. 

Like a proper interrogator.

“Do you know where Etho is?” he asked, his voice annoyingly even.

Grian hesitated for a second, then decided to be truthful. “No,” he said eventually. “I haven’t seen him since that day.”

“What about Scott?” Joel asked, his tone dripping with venom, in extreme contradiction to Martyn’s. “I really want to kill him.”

“I don’t know where Gem, Impulse, and Scott are either,” Grian answered, shifting his gaze to glare at Joel instead. “Y’know, quite frankly, I forgot the name of the hotel where Cleo and I are staying.”

“So you’re staying in a hotel, huh?” Ren asked.

Shit.

“Uh- no- what?” Grian valiantly attempted to salvage the fatal mistake of the vital information of which he had just let loose. 

“See here,” Ren said, a smile curving his lips. “We know where we kidnapped you. And we also know that you couldn’t have walked too far from the said hotel that you are staying in. That vastly limits down the possibilities, doesn't it now?”

Grian stared wordlessly and wide eyed up at Ren, whose hands were placed behind his back, a strangely triumphant expression on his face, despite his eyes being completely hidden by the sunglasses.

“If you go after Cleo I swear to god-”

Ren waved a hand, and cut off Grian. “Relax, dude, by now Cleo’s sure to have realized you missing, and fled the hotel. They’re not that dumb.”

Grian clenched his teeth at the implication. “Shut up.”

Ren tilted his head, his smile widening into something that made Grian’s insides boil. He glared up at Ren, whose smile had morphed into a sneer, and for one of the only times in his life, he was overcome with pure hate for the man in front of him. The feeling simmered in his stomach, threatened to be let loose in a string of curses and shouting, but he didn’t dwell in those emotions. He briefly closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, filling his lungs then expelling the oxygen back into the air.

He reopened his eyes, to the sight of Ren still smiling cruelly at him. 

“Fuck. You.”

“Alright,” Joel said, striding over to Grian, hammer still in hand. “I’ve had bloody enough of this idiot just running his mouth. Your fucking tied to a chair, you were captured by your mortal enemies, and you still decide to run that stupid smart mouth of yours?”

Grian couldn’t help himself, he really couldn’t. Joel was just so easy to rial up. “Aw, are you calling me smart?”

This proved to be one of the most painful mistakes in Grian’s career. A livid look filled Joel’s eyes, and the corner of his lip twitched upward and he let out a breathy laugh through his nose.

“Oh, Grian. You really need what’s called a fucking FILTER!” he screamed the last part, gripping the hammer tightly, and raising it over his head, a manic too-wide smile splitting his face. He brought the tool down in a quick arc, and many things happened at once.

As Joel brought the hammer crashing down onto Grian’s hand, someone appeared from the side, tackled Joel to the side, and as a result, a cane flew in the air, but the momentum of the hammer didn’t stop.

The hammer smashed down onto Grian’s pinky finger, and he screamed. His scream was shrill, and desperate. Hot agony shot through his hand, and he swore he heard the bone crunch under the weight of the hammer, and those damned tears were summoned to his eyes and he didn’t have the energy to will them not to fall.

His breath came out in short gasps, and his ears rang, pain still shooting up his arm from his hand. 

His eyes were squeezed shut in agony, his teeth clenched, but the pain wouldn't stop. 

He managed to open his eyes slightly, to see that Scar was the one who had tackled Joel to the ground. 

Grian’s former lover was still on top of Joel, wrestling the hammer out of his grip.

“What will you tell us now, Grian?” Joel was shouting, still smiling. “That wit of yours doesn’t help you now, does it?”

“Joel!” Ren yelled, running to Scar and helping him with keeping the hammer and Joel separate. “Joel, chill the fuck out!”

Grian turned away, breathing through the everlasting pain, but his breaths were much too shallow, and the oxygen wasn’t supplanting his lungs enough. The ringing in his ears increased in intensity, his thoughts muddled, and a haze seemed to settle over everything in the surrounding room, which suddenly seemed too oppressing.

The walls were closing in on him, and he was dizzy. Much too dizzy. 

The world spun, and he felt like he was going to throw up. Just as that thought entered his mind, the darkness that had been lingering at the edges of his vision decided it was time for him to go to sleep.

A laugh bubbled in his throat at the apparently funny thought, but it was cut short by another gasp of pain, which was also hilarious. Delirium took its toll, and his eyes rolled up into his head. He gave one last gasp, before the darkness finally consumed him, and he fell into the sweet arms of unconsciousness.

***

Cleo woke to light shining directly into her eyes. They squinted against the harsh sunlight, rolling to the side and groaning. She turned back around to glare at the offending break in the curtains, before pushing herself to her elbows, to see if Grian was awake.

His bed was empty, and his phone gone from the bedside table.

Cleo was too tired for the realization to sink in, so she threw the blanket off of herself and trudged to the bathroom where she assumed Grian would be.

To her utter confusion, the door was wide open, and the light switched off. Cleo rubbed the sleep from their eyes, and stopped dead in the doorway, their hand inches from the light switch. 

Her eyes widened, panic quickly infiltrating their mind, and they turned around and sprinted back to the nightstand in one fluid movement.

She fumbled with her phone for a second, before unlocking it and pressing on the contact button that was labeled ‘Grian’.

She pressed the call button, and held the device up to their ear, anxiety running its course around their mind, doubt twisting in her stomach.

The line rang once, twice, three times, four, before Cleo quit counting and waited with baited breath for Grian to pick up.

Finally, the line clicked, and Cleo was practically shouting into the phone.

“Grian! Where are you? You had me worried sick!”

She was met with static silence, then a voice broke the silence, a voice that she had never heard before.

“Why, Cleo,” the distinctly not Grian voice replied, with an obvious smile in his tone. “Hello! I was wondering when you’d call!”

Cleo’s eyes widened, and dread settled into her stomach, their breath rate picking up.

“Who…”

“Ah! We actually haven’t been made acquaintances yet. Ren Dog,” the man in possession of Grian’s phone introduced himself. 

Cleo swallowed, then took a deep, calming breath, then another. “What the fuck did you do with Grian?”

“Oh, Grian?” Ren asked idly, sounding infuriatingly bored. “He’s fine… for the most part.”

“What did you do with him?” Cleo shouted, anger fueling their words.

“We’re not torturing him, if that’s what you're insinuating,” Ren said, and Cleo swore they could hear the eyeroll in the man’s words.

“If not, then what are you doing?” 

“Mild interrogation, although Joel can be a little trigger happy.”

“If you hurt him, I swear-”

“Actually that’s along the same lines of what Grian had said earlier. You guys sure are loyal to each other, huh?”

He paused, and Cleo narrowed her eyes. “What do you want with him?”

“We wanted to know where the rest of you were, of course he wouldn’t tell us so we had to resort to other means to get the truth out of him…”

“I thought you said you didn’t hurt him!”

“You’re twisting my words. I said we didn’t hurt him much .” Cleo could hear the smug tone in Ren’s voice, and it made hot anger twist in her stomach.

“You bitch!”

“Anyway, Grian is fine for now, but we need a few things from you.”

Cleo fell silent, waiting.

“If you don’t want to see Grian die, I need you to bring them all here.”

Cleo didn’t need to ask who ‘them all’ were, but confusion twisted in her gut at the last part.

“And where exactly is ‘here’?” Cleo asked, an edge to her voice.

“Old warehouse off of Elkwood, be there with them in twenty four hours at most.”

The line cut short, and Cleo gazed down at the phone, the fury almost overwhelming, and she had to take several deep breaths to calm their mind.

Grian was in the hands of the Mounders Foundation. Grian had been taken- no- kidnapped- by their enemies, and was now at their mercy.

To Cleo’s surprise, frustrated tears sprung in her eyes, and they wiped them away as quickly as they had arrived. 

Cleo had to be brave. They had to be brave for Grian, and for what it might mean for him if she wasn’t.

Cleo stood up, wiping her eyes one more time before changing into more suitable clothes and running their brush through her hair.

Cleo had some assassins to find.

***

Scott was not having a fun time. The gaping wound in his side rendered him absolutely useless to his teammates for the time being, and soon frustration with his helplessness set in, and there was a constant itching in the back of his mind to get up and do something. 

In the next few passing days, Gem and Impulse were in and out of the hotel room, bringing back groceries, spare clothes, and everything in between. 

This only worsened Scott’s feelings about uselessness, and to his dismay, something that he had not had to deal with in a long time crept into his mind, using its sharp and spiny claws against him. 

Self loathing poisoned his mind, and he hated it so much. 

Or did he hate himself for hating it? Or did it hate him? Why was he personifying a stupid emotion? Was he really that much of an idiot to do something so stupid like that-

The bitter feeling coursed through his veins, festering in his current predicament. And he hated himself for allowing the emotion to stay.

Because no matter how much he tried to mentally deny it, it had always been there. Waiting, lurking at the dark edges of his mind, hiding in the more desolate and angry places. 

A long time ago, he had let the feeling thrive. Everyday, he had been cast in the shadow of a particularly dark cloud, a gray veiled world revealed to his eyes, and he had almost given up.

That was until a particular break in the clouds allowed sunlight to stream through and brighten Scott’s world of hate and punishment.

Jimmy was the bright light in Scott’s world. 

Scott remembered those long, rainy nights where his mind had become too much for him to handle. But Jimmy had been there for him, holding Scott’s fragile and trembling form close to his chest, allowing his warmth to seep into Scott’s fractured heart.

But Jimmy was gone. Jimmy was gone, and Scott was back in the gray world. He was alone. Truly alone.

You have Gem and Impulse, you’re not alone. You’re just an attention seeking idiot who’s given up when others could have gotten through this quite fine on their own. Instead, you burdened Jimmy with your own problems, casting darkness onto his bright light. Dimming the happiness and replacing it with your own hate.You brought him into your shadow that even he couldn’t diminish. It’s your fault. 

Scott closed his eyes and let the thoughts consume him. He leaned his head back, and held his breath, listening to the voice berate him over and over again.

And the thing that made him hate himself even more? He accepted the words with open arms. He accepted them, and quite frankly agreed with them.

He was worthless. He had burdened Jimmy with his own problems, without even asking if Jimmy was struggling too.

Would it be better if he was dead?

Scott’s eyes flew open and he sat up taking deep breaths of air, but to his dismay his breaths came quick and rapid. 

He knew what this was. He knew because he remembered the soothing hand of his husband rubbing circles on his back and whispering sweet nothings into his ear as he worked his way through another panic attack.

Scott hated the facade he had to put on.

Scott hated the amount of confidence he was required to carry himself with wherever he went. He hated the trust that others put in him, when he would ultimately fail them and let them down. He hated the feeling of guilt constantly nagging at him, the screaming emotion sometimes louder than the thoughts.

He heard footsteps through the ringing in his ears and his hyperventilation, and dread coiled in his stomach.

God, he really didn’t want any of his teammates to find him like this.

As the footsteps neared, he sucked in a final breath, and held the oxygen in his lungs, waiting for the person to retreat, to go somewhere else.

Impulse rounded the corner, and froze when he saw Scott. The two stared at each other for a second, Scott still not breathing, and Impulse’s eyes slightly panicked.

“Scott?” Impulse asked, his voice unsure. “You okay?”

Scott gazed back at Impulse, and nodded, his lungs burning but he still refused to give in to the panic that would just consume him if he allowed more air into his lungs.

“Scott, you’re not breathing,” Impulse said slowly, taking a cautious step forward, concern painted all over his face.

Scott’s lungs couldn’t take it anymore, they felt like they were going to burst. Scott inhaled breath, then immediately his breath rate picked up again, and the fun game of hyperventilation happened again.

“I-I’m fine,” he managed, but Impulse was already by his side, sitting on the side of the bed. His hands hovered, obviously wanting to do something, but not sure if Scott wanted it.

Scott hesitated.

He didn’t deserve the comfort.

Scott nodded.

Impulse immediately engulfed him in a hug, wrapping Scott’s trembling body in his own, and Scott was reminded by Impulse’s strong arms so much about Jimmy’s kind warmth, and tears spilled over his eyes, with no regard to if he wanted them to or not.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Impulse said, holding Scott close to his chest, and stroking his hair in a soothing motion. 

“I-Impulse,” Scott said through quick breaths. 

“Yeah?” Impulse responded softly, his voice quiet and comforting.

“It’s all my fault, I’m sorry,” Scott murmured, his eyes already feeling heavy, fresh tears cascading down his face.

“No it’s not,” Impulse assured, still holding onto him tightly. “Nothing was ever your fault.”

“I- I don’t deserve this-”

Impulse effectively shushed him by wrapping him in an even tighter hug, pulling the blankets around the two of them, being careful of Scott’s wound.

“It’s not your fault what happened with Pearl. It’s not your fault about what happened to HQ. It’s not your fault that everything has happened.”

Scott squeezed his eyes shut, his head pounding from the tears which had finally stopped waterfalling out of his eyes.

“Can I sleep?”

Worthless, you’ve been sleeping for most of the time while Gem and Impulse have been working.

“Yes, Scott, sleep.”

That was all Scott needed before his eyes fell shut, and he rested his head against Impulse’s chest, and everything went peacefully dark.

***

Grian woke for the second time, panic flooding his chest and adrenaline coursing through his veins, before the pain hit him.

He nearly cried out at the sudden wave of fire curling up from his hand which was still tied to the arm of the wooden chair, but instead he let out a startled gasp, which consequently alerted the attention of his captures.

“Look who’s finally awake,” Martyn said, crossing his arms, but the usual bite was lost from his voice, instead replacing it was exasperation, and… was that relief Grian could hear? It was hidden well, buried beneath layers upon layers of deception and hate, but it was there nonetheless.

Grian didn’t respond, too absorbed in his own thoughts to voice his questions or empty threats.

He sent a look around the room. Ren, Jimmy, and Martyn were still present. Scar and Joel were gone.

Grian breathed out a silent breath of relief at the absence of the latter. Grian didn’t really want to get hit with a hammer again. 

“We told Joel to not get too trigger happy, that wasn’t supposed to happen,” Ren admitted, and to Grian’s surprise his voice sounded genuinely apologetic. 

Grian nodded, eyeing the door that was firmly shut to his left.

Ren sighed, and clasped his hands behind his back. “Back to business, I suppose,” he said, and Grian lifted his chin a little to look Ren directly in the face. Well, as directly as he could with the dark sunglasses hiding Ren’s gaze away from unwanted eyes.

“I’ve called Cleo,” Ren began, the corner of his lip twitching. “They should be on their way with the others in less than twenty four hours from now.”

Grian clenched his teeth, swallowing his venomous retort, instead settling to listen to Ren as he continued to talk.

“They’re going to be at the warehouse not too far from here, and you’re going to be our bait.”

“I’ve already fucking told you!” Grian couldn’t help himself, hot anger washed over him at the prospect of his friend’s demise being based off of his helplessness. “I’m not being fucking bait!”

Ren raised an eyebrow. “And like we’ve told you, that’s not really your decision. Anyway, just think of it as your time to redeem yourself as an apology! Hey, we may even let you go after!”

“After you killed all of them?” Grian asked, frustration and hate seeping into his words.

Ren nodded, and a smug smile found its way to his face. “Why, yes indeed. After we’ve killed each and every one of them.”

As Grian opened his mouth with an angry response at the tip of his tongue, the door banged open, and a blur of scarlet marched through the doorway, her footfalls stopping next to Ren.

Pearl looked at Grian through cool and collected eyes, even though Grian could see hate sparkling in her irises. 

Grian was surprised at the state of her face. There were fading bruises lining her jaw, a bandage stretching across her cheekbone, and a particularly nasty bruise of green and purple painted onto the pale skin next to her left eye. 

She gave Martyn a nod, who returned it, completely ignored Jimmy, and turned to Ren, who had been staring at her, obviously surprised.

“Pearl!” he greeted her with a hesitant smile on his face. “Where were you? You were kind of MIA for a while.”

Pearl rolled her eyes, and Grian saw a spark of frustration twist her features before she secured the mask of collectedness back on her face.

“Tango and Skizz had to patch me up, had a run in with Gem and Scott.”

Ren tilted his head confused. “You were supposed to go after Scott, not Gem.”

“Well, I didn’t really choose for Gem to be there too. I was just about to kill him, when she showed up.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Grian saw a conflicted look pass over Jimmy’s face, then the look twisted into one of concern, then poorly masked by indifference.

“He might be dead,” Pearl continued, biting the inside of her cheek. “I dunno, but he’s not gonna be in action for a little bit.”

Grian heard a quiet sound of surprise and poorly disguised concern coming from Jimmy, but the others ignored him.

Ren nodded. “That’s good, and I’m glad you’re okay as well. You did well.”

Pearl glanced over at Grian, and raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you gotten anything from him yet? Skizz told me about it, told me it wasn’t going-” she cut herself off, her words trailing off to the suddenly tense air.

Martyn shook his head, answering her question. “He’s stubborn, but there’s not really much that he can do about what’s to happen tomorrow, right?”

Pearl’s lips twisted into a sinister smile, and she nodded, tucking her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. “Well, good luck, I need to go have a few words with Joel.”

“I wouldn’t right now,” Jimmy spoke up, and Pearl turned to him, slightly confused. “He got a little mad, then a little hammer happy, and kind of hit Grian with the hammer.”

Pearl rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath. “I’m still gonna talk to him, I don’t care about his anger issues right now.”

With that, Pearl strode out of the room, and sparing one last glance behind her at the four collected people, swung the door shut with a click, and Grian could hear her retreating footsteps behind the thick barrier of the wooden door. 

Ren ran an annoyed hand down his face, seemingly exasperated. “Alright, well, I hope you have a good rest of your stay, ‘cause you’re not going to be there much longer. In about-” Ren checked his watch, “...eighteen hours you’ll be moved to the warehouse, and you’ll get to see your friends again! Yay!”

Grian didn’t respond, only sending a glare up at the other man. 

“Well,” Martyn said, walking past Grian towards the door, Ren on his heels. “Bye.”

The two left, leaving Grian only with Jimmy standing awkwardly to the left.

“Grian-” Jimmy began, but Grian cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear it, Tim.”

Jimmy didn’t fall silent like he usually would, instead he plunged on. “Grian, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my elective choice to get you kidnapped, and if you believe it I argued against it! But, I just want to let you know that I’m sorry.”

Jimmy’s words died out, and Grian could sense the nervous tension in the room, he could see Jimmy biting his fingernails out of the corner of his eye, and Grian sighed.

“Whatever, just leave.”

“One more thing?” Jimmy asked hopefully, but confusion wormed its way into Grian’s mind when hearing the crack in Jimmy’s voice.

“Yeah?” he asked, his tone losing the bitterness it had carried when talking to Ren or Martyn.

“Please make sure Scott’s okay,” and Grian could hear the emotion thick in Jimmy’s voice, he could see the heartbreak and bitter worry in Jimmy’s eyes, he could taste the fear in the air, and Grian decided that once, just once, Grian would do the enemy a favor.

“Okay,” Grian said, not looking at Jimmy, but hearing the other’s footsteps come closer. “But how do I exactly-”

Jimmy cut open one of the ropes on Grian’s wrist, freeing his bad hand, then dropped the pocket knife on the chair arm. WIthout another word, Jimmy nearly ran from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Grian was still for a second, the action still processing in his mind, before he glanced down at the pocket knife, and got to work sawing off the ropes that still bound him to the chair. Maybe, just maybe, he would have a fighting chance.

Chapter Text

Etho woke to the sound of a panicked voice. His eyes flew open and he shot up, then immediately regretted it, clutching his side. 

Cleo’s voice drifted from somewhere in Etho’s bag, and Etho stumbled out of bed and to his bag, unzipping it and digging through the items haphazardly. He reached his walkie talkie and grabbed it, his grip tight enough to turn his knuckles white, and listened to Cleo’s words for a few seconds, then sat back down on his bed.

“-please! This is important! Ren has Grian, and they’re gonna kill him! Please, guys, somebody respond.”

Etho dropped the walkie, the device clattering to the ground, as his brain struggled to process the words. Ren had Grian. Ren had Grian. 

Etho shot to his feet, then winced in pain, leaning against the wall for support after the sudden weight pushed onto his ankle, and bent back down to retrieve the walkie. He hesitated, his finger hovering over the button to respond, before setting the walkie back down, and instead grabbing his backpack and bringing it onto his bed. He rummaged through the room, gathering the few things that he had taken out, and shoving them back into the bag.

As he picked up his phone charger, realization hit, and he dropped the charger just as he had done with the walkie not one minute earlier.

Grian was in the clutches of Ren. Grian was at the mercy of the enemy, and it was all Etho’s fault. It was his fault that he had left Grian and Cleo weaker than they would have been with three, instead of two. 

Anger and guilt swarmed his mind, as he stood frozen on the spot, staring at his dropped phone charger. 

It was his fault.

It was all his fault.

If Grian was dead, it was his fault. Bdubs’s death was his fault. Why did everyone’s death have to be his fault?

Etho’s fingernails dug into his palms, leaving crescent shaped indents into the soft skin, but he relished the pain.

After all, it’s the least he deserved after causing so much pain and suffering amongst those whom he had called friends. 

Etho’s hands slightly trembled as he picked up the walkie, which Cleo was still desperately talking into, and as he moved to press the button, another voice cut him off.

“We’re here, Cleo.” Gem. Her voice sounded bitter and regretful, but she had responded nonetheless. 

“Thank god!” Cleo exclaimed, her voice practically dripping with relief. “Is it all three of you?”

Gem hesitated before answering. “Yeah, we’re all here, but we’re gonna have to meet up where we’re staying, I’ll explain more later.”

“Okay,” Etho could hear the unspoken question in Cleo’s voice, but they didn’t vocalize it, so Etho let it be.

There was a pause, before Cleo spoke again. 

“Etho?”

Etho’s finger hovered above the button again, but he was frozen, the sudden realization that he would be speaking to Cleo again after his confession weighing down on him like twenty pounds of bricks. 

“Etho? Are you… are you there?” Cleo tried again, her voice slightly bitter, but what else was that in their tone? Was it… concern?

Etho couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he put down the walkie as Cleo said something, but it fell deaf to his ears.

What if Grian was being tortured right then? If he was, it was all Etho’s fault .

Etho’s breaths were shaky, and he tried to calm his racing heart but the adrenaline refused to fade.

They needed to find Grian. They needed to find him now.

For the third and final time, Etho picked up the walkie, and didn’t hesitate as he pressed the button, and spoke into it.

“I’m here,” his voice sounded unusually detached and quiet to his ears, but he didn’t care.

A horrible silence filled the static, and dread coiled in Etho’s stomach, anticipation eating away at his mind like termites and a rotting corpse.

Finally, Cleo responded. “Etho?” Their voice was tentative, and made to sound indifferent. But buried under the facade was the smallest amount of relief hidden in their tone. “You’re there?”

Etho took a deep breath before answering. “Yeah.”

Gem stayed silent, and it seemed Cleo took a moment to collect her thoughts. 

“We have twenty four hours, twenty three now, to go to the warehouse off of Elkwood. He said everyone has to be there. Gem, where are you, Impulse, and Scott staying?”

“Emerald Inn, room 347, do you want to come over immediately?”

“Yeah,” Cleo agreed, and Etho stayed silent, still awkward about just casually talking to who had hated him mere seconds ago. Maybe they still did. They probably still did.

“Okay, come over ASAP,” and with that, Gem fell silent, as did Cleo. 

Etho set his walkie down and shut his eyes, pushing the palms of his hands into his closed eyelids. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

Etho finished packing, then set his backpack on the bed, pocketing his phone and shrugging on his signature green coat which he had finally managed to rid of the bloodstains.

The cause of the bloodstains though, that was a completely different matter. His wound didn’t seem to be getting better. Pain still tore through it if he did something too quickly, or twisted around a certain way. His ankle wasn’t fairing much better, and the constant obvious limping was driving him insane. How was he supposed to run with the stupid injury? 

At least the burn which he had neglected for days was healing up, still under a layer of clean, white bandages barely peeking through the collar of his shirt if it was loose enough. 

He checked his phone, it read 4:14 AM.

In less than twenty three hours, Grian could be dead. Or they all could be

Etho put on his shoes, and stuffed his hands into his pocket and began the long trek to Emerald Inn.

Etho hesitated outside of the door labeled 347 in bright gold fancy letters, but he forced his hand to knock on the door, his coat zipper zipped all the way up as a mock shield against the world.

The door swung open and Impulse stood there, staring at him for a second, before glancing over his shoulder and stepping aside. 

Inside the room, Cleo and Gem were standing across from each other, deep in conversation. Scott was sitting at the table, looking utterly exhausted, and Impulse gave him a tight smile from the doorway.

Cleo and Gem glanced up from their conversation, and nobody said anything for a long pause, silence falling over the room. 

Etho held his breath, preparing himself for yelling, or anger, or any sort of resentment, but none came. Instead, Cleo’s voice was soft when she spoke.

“You actually came.”

Etho dug his hands deeper into his coat pockets, his heart beating quicker than usual. “Yep.”

After nobody said anything, Etho took a hesitant step into the room, and Impulse swung the door shut behind him. 

“Well, let’s get to business then,” Gem sounded tired, barely sparing Etho a glance before turning to the table. “We don’t have a sufficient map of the warehouse, it was abandoned a long time ago because of a fire, and was deemed too ruined to use. It was actually scheduled to be demolished some time ago, but for whatever reason it’s still standing today.” Gem fell silent, glancing at the surrounding people. “Anybody know anything else?”

Nobody stepped forward, and Gem sighed like she had been expecting that outcome. “Right, well, how are we going to do this?”

“We could try to kidnap one of theirs for leverage,” Scott suggested half-heartedly. Etho was taken aback by how weak his voice sounded, the normal confidence usually radiating off of him lost in his words. 

Etho caught Cleo sending a concerned glance towards Scott, and he knew that they had noticed the change in behavior as well.

“I don’t think that’d work very well,” Impulse admitted, sitting down next to Scott at the table. 

Scott didn’t respond, his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting in his hand, his eyes slightly clouded over.

“We could do a sneak attack,” Gem said, and Etho raised an eyebrow. 

“Didn’t they say that they wanted all of us?” he asked, and Gem sighed. 

“Yeah I guess,” her voice sounded dejected. “But, it can’t really be all of us.”

“What do you mean?” Cleo asked, and the worry in her voice wasn’t lost on Etho.

“I got stabbed,” Scott said bluntly, and silence filled the room once more.

“You WHAT?” Cleo yelled, and to Etho’s bemusement the corner of Scott’s mouth twitched upwards.

“Annoying, I know right.” Scott rolled his eyes. “Apparently, I can’t go with you guys because Gem’s a worried mother hen.” 

Gem sent him a pointed look. “You can barely walk! Much less fight!”

“Who said it's gonna dissolve to fighting?” Scott muttered, but fell silent. 

“They do have the advantage over us,” Impulse admitted. “If we try to fight they might kill Grian.”

Etho bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. “What if we say that another one of us got injured, then they secretly sneak or something.”

Cleo crossed her arms, and leaned against the wall. “That could work, but then they might get suspicious of whether Scott’s really injured or not.”

“It could work if you let me be the one who sneaks in!” Scott argued, annoyance resonating in his words. “Then we’d actually have evidence to base it off of! Pearl probably thinks I’m dead,” then, under his breath, “with that big ego of hers-”

“Wait,” Cleo cut him off, her voice sharp. “What was that about Pearl? Did she do this?”

A flicker of bitterness passed through Scott’s eyes, but he nodded, glancing up at Cleo. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill her, I don’t care anymore.”

“Cleo-” Gem began warningly, but Cleo didn’t stop. “It’s not just her, we need to kill each and every one of them. It doesn’t matter. They just want us dead, and this cycle of violence is never going to stop unless one side loses.”

“Do you think if we surrender they’d kill us?” Impulse asked, his voice quiet, but it echoed throughout the room, causing all heads to turn to him. Impulse suddenly seemed nervous and flustered. “What? I mean, they have Grian, right? What if… what if they kill him if we don’t surrender?”

“That’s why we need a plan,” Gem said firmly. “Grian will be okay.”

“Will he though?” Etho’s voice was even quieter than Impulse’s, and the words slipped out before he could stop them. 

Cleo’s eyes were full of determination, and she looked Etho straight in the eyes, reassurance coming off of them in waves. “Yes, Grian will be fine. Scar wouldn’t let them kill him.”

Etho felt slightly uncomfortable under the oppressive stares of the others. “Scar drugged Grian’s food.” 

“That was to keep him safe,” Scott finally spoke up, glancing up at Etho and Cleo. “Pearl tried to do yours,” he nodded towards Cleo, “but I told you.”

Gem and Impulse were silent, presumably not wanting to intrude on the sensitive topic, but work needed to be done.

“So, what’s our plan?” Impulse asked, looking worried. “We can’t just barge in there and expect them to hand over Grian.”

“We need to get the upper hand somehow,” Gem agreed, then spread out a sheet of paper on the table, pencil in hand. “I searched up some pictures of the warehouse, I could only find one. I was going to take one myself, but I didn’t want to be in close proximity to the place before we were all there. There’s no telling if they could get one of us while we’re alone.”

She flipped around her phone, and everybody not already at the table crowded around it, save for Etho who hung at the back, still awkward about his relationships with his teammates.

“This is the entrance, and there’s a window on the side here, if somebody can somehow get to that on the outside without getting caught…”

“But how? The only way that somebody could be missing was if it was Scott-” Cleo began.

“Exactly!”

“-which isn’t an option.”

Scott pouted.

“Cleo, have you encountered anyone from the Mounders Foundation after the day that HQ exploded?” Gem suddenly asked, a new thought seeming to strike her.

Cleo shook her head, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

Gem seemingly ignored her question, turning to Etho. “Have you?”

Etho hesitated, but nodded, and ignored the wide eyes that Cleo gave him. “I saw Ren, BigB, and Martyn at a coffee shop.”

“Did you guys talk or fight?” Gem asked, tilting her head.

“They-” but then Etho’s words failed him, dying on the tip of his tongue. “They warned me about Grian,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. Then realization hit, and his eyes widened. “They gave me an Uno card.”

Cleo seemed confused, but Scott turned sharply to Etho, then winced at the movement. “Never have I ever? What was it… the thrill to kill, the fleeting gill?!”

Then Cleo’s eyes widened, and Etho heard their breath pick up. 

“Grian would get kidnapped first…”

“Oh fuck,” Scott breathed, glancing back and forth between Etho and Cleo. 

Gem seemed thoroughly confused. “What’s going on?”

Nobody spoke, but finally Cleo broke the silence. “Back before they left, we played a game of Uno, then we played Never Have I ever, and somebody brought up being kidnapped-”

“It was Joel,” Etho remembered, the moment suddenly vivid. “Then we started talking about who would get kidnapped first. It was between-”

Etho’s voice broke, and he fell silent. 

“We decided on Grian,” Cleo finished, her voice soft. “Then Etho spotted an Uno card that had some interesting words written on them.”

Etho realized in his hurry he had pocketed the card. “Well, I actually have it…” he trailed off, bringing the card out, and holding it out. 

Cleo walked over and took it, her hands trembling slightly. “This is it.”

Gem came over and peered over Cleo’s shoulder to read the card. “The thrill to kill the fleeting gill? What does that mean?”

Cleo shrugged. “No idea. But my only question is why Martyn has it.”

“Did he take it after I put it down?” Etho asked, and Cleo shrugged. 

“I don’t remember,” she glanced at Scott, who also shrugged.

“We still need a plan,” Impulse spoke up from where he was sitting with his forearms resting on the edge of the table nervously picking at his fingernails. “I mean, time’s ticking. It’s already been close to two hours.”

“Already?” Gem exclaimed, checking her phone. Etho checked his too. 7:13.

“And with the time it took for everyone to get here, that’s about an hour taken off, give or take,” Impulse continued, counting on his fingers. “We have twenty one hours left to formulate a plan, put it into action, and save Grian.”

“Shit, okay, we need a plan,” Cleo said. “Etho, you said you saw Ren, BigB, and Martyn.”

Etho nodded. 

“Who’s BigB?” Scott asked.

“Another member of the Mounders Foundation,” Etho said. “Curly black hair and dark eyes.”

“Wait, the injured thing actually could work,” Cleo said slowly, looking at Etho, causing nervousness to swirl in his stomach.

“What?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not-”

“Yes you are,” Cleo waved him off, effectively stopping Etho’s words. “Grian saw the blood on the door handle, you might be fine now but they don’t have to know that.”

Etho blinked, taken aback, before Cleo plunged on. “I noticed you’re still limping, did Ren, Martyn, and BigB notice that?”

Etho shrugged, a little embarrassed from being put on the spot. “Maybe, I don’t know how attentive to details they are.”

Cleo bit her bottom lip, thinking. “We might still be able to use it.”

Etho raised an eyebrow. “I doubt they’d believe I wouldn’t be able to make it after they saw me alive at a coffee shop.”

“It’s the only chance we have,” Cleo said, and Etho was once again taken aback at the desperateness in her voice. “Please.”

Etho pursed his lips, but nodded, and Cleo huffed a breath of relief. 

“Alright, here’s what’s gonna happen. Gem, Impulse, and I, will go in there from the entrance, completely ‘unarmed’,” they said ‘unarmed’ with air quotations, “and Etho will go in through the window.”

“What am I supposed to do when I go in through the window?” Etho asked, crossing his arms.

“Hopefully shoot who’s closest to Grian.”

“What if they don’t have Grian out there with them?” Gem asked.

Cleo sighed. “Then we’re doomed, I guess. Anybody have any other ideas?”

Nobody spoke, so Cleo sighed again. “Okay, we all need to get rest. Reconvene in about twelve hours?”

After exchanging phone numbers, and agreeing to meet up again, Cleo and Etho left the hotel room, an awkward silence falling over the two of them the second the door swung shut.

“See you in twelve hours?” Etho asked, still not entirely sure how Cleo would act now that they were alone. 

Cleo stared at him for a second, before doing the opposite of what Etho expected. She pulled him into a hug, and he froze as their arms wrapped around him, tensing in their embrace.

“Cleo?” he asked, needing to know what he did to deserve the affection.

“Please don’t leave again,” Cleo held onto him tighter. “What you did was horrible, but with Grian being gone… I’ve realized what it’s like being alone. And I hate it. And I’m sorry. And- and I don’t want you to ever be alone again. You’re not a different person from who you were before you admitted the truth. I don’t forgive you, but I know you regret it more than anything. I won’t hold it against you.”

Etho was rendered still and silent in shock, feeling rooted to the spot, frozen as Cleo’s warmth seeped into his bones. 

But then he felt something wet on his coat. Apparently, Cleo felt it too, and she let go, taking a few steps back, and gasped, looking down at her own pale blue shirt which was stained with red.

“Etho-” 

Etho pulled his coat tighter around himself, and slightly turned away, just then registering the burning in his side.

“I- thank you, Cleo, but, I- I don’t want to-” Words failed him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. “Cleo, I don't want you to get hurt.”

Cleo opened her mouth, but Etho cut her off. “I’ll go with you to make sure that you’ll be okay, but after we get Grian back, I’m leaving again. And- I’m sorry.”

Etho felt a million knives find their way into his heart, stabbing it with each word of rejection that left his lips, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

Etho would never hurt Cleo like he hurt Grian and Bdubs.

Without any further words, Cleo grabbed Etho’s wrist and pulled him away from the door and down the hallway towards the elevator. She wordlessly waited with him as the elevator made its way down the three stories, then walked with him out of the large doors exiting the lobby and back out into the cold air. 

Still in her stoic silence, Cleo led Etho all the way back to a hotel that Etho didn’t recognize, and made their way up to a room on the second floor. Cleo pushed open the door, and ushered Etho inside.

Once the door was shut, Cleo turned on him. 

“You’re injured,” she pointed an accusatory finger at him, and he shrugged. 

“Well yeah, you already knew. Though, I thought it was getting better.”

Cleo raised an eyebrow, and Etho fell silent. Cleo rolled her eyes, and took out a roll of medical tape, gesturing for Etho to sit on one of the beds in the room.

“Even though we were mad at you, you still need to take care of yourself.”

Etho didn’t respond, but when Cleo took his hand he glanced up at her. 

“Etho,” her eyes were soft, her voice careful. “Forgive yourself.”

Etho couldn’t. Etho could never forgive himself. But maybe just for a few hours, he could try.

***

Scott heard nothing but silence from Gem’s room, so he suspected her to be asleep. He listened closely into Impulse’s, and he heard something unexpected. Talking.

He sat up, then with the support of the wall, stood, and limped to the door separating Impulse and Scott.

“-tho is going to go in through the window to find Grian, and me, Gem, and Cleo are going to be going in through the front. We won’t be entirely unarmed, but we’ll appear so.”

Scott heard the warble of another voice, and narrowed his eyes, listening closer. 

“Yeah, just gotta be prepared for that.” Impulse responded without missing a beat, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

Without knocking, Scott pushed open the door, and Impulse’s voice quickly cut off as the door swung inward. The two stood there for a second, Impulse’s eyes wide and unsure, and Scott’s narrowed and skeptical.

“Scott,” Impulse said, trying for a smile, “you really shouldn’t be up.”

“Who were you talking to?” Scott asked, ignoring Impulse’s concern. 

Impulse hesitated. “Cleo. We were going over the plans again. I was having trouble concentrating when they were explaining it.”

“So If you show me your call history Cleo will be the most recent one there?”

Impulse nodded, but made no move to provide the evidence.

“Right…” Scott said, staring at Impulse’s phone, which the man in question had a vice like grip on. “You sure that was Cleo?”

Impulse seemed a little annoyed. The emotion didn’t really suit his face, Scott subconsciously decided.

“Yeah,” Impulse said, never breaking eye contact. “I think you should go lay down.”

Scott stayed stubbornly rooted to the spot, an unspoken challenge in his gaze. “I think you should show me your phone.”

Impulse raised his chin, an aura of defiance around him. “What if I don’t?”

Scott scoffed. “That would make you hella suspicious, don’t you think?”

Impulse swallowed, then broke eye contact, instead looking somewhere behind Scott.

“Gem!” he said a little too excitedly. 

Scott turned, and Gem waved sleepily, her eyes half shut from sleep. “Is something wrong?” she asked, failing to stifle a yawn.

Scott turned back to Impulse, who had fixed him with a blank stare. Scott sighed, before turning back to Gem. 

“Nope, we’re good.”

Gem nodded, then rubbed her eyes. “What time is it? How many hours do we have left?”

Scott checked his phone and read the illuminated numbers. “Four o’clock,” he said, glancing up at Gem. “The others should be arriving soon.”

Gem nodded, then sighed. “I’m gonna go make myself presentable, you guys should too.”

“Am I not?” Impulse asked, putting a mock hand over his heart. 

Gem swatted at him. “No.”

And with that, she left, walking back to her room and quietly shutting the door behind her, leaving Scott and Impulse alone again.

Scott limped back to his bed, and sat down, then gestured for Impulse to do the same.

He turned to Impulse, then began.

“I’m sorry,” he said, picking at his fingernails. “I’m sorry for being overly suspicious. I’m just really paranoid right now, and you don’t have to show me your phone, I know you were talking to Cleo.”

Impulse gave him a small smile, then sighed. “It’s fine,” he said, the corner of his lip twitching up, “these are trying times, I’m sure everyone here understands.”

Scott nodded, then bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m worried about you guys. What if this doesn’t work and somebody gets hurt, or worse? What if we piss them off somehow and they kill Grian? What if they somehow know about Etho sneaking in and catch him before he can get to Grian? There are just so many things that can go wrong-”

Impulse stopped him with a gentle hand to his shoulder. Scott looked up at his teammate and best friend, hoping the worry swirling in his mind wasn’t shining in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Impulse assured, his voice soft. “We’re gonna be fine, and we’ll all come back. Trust me.”

Scott looked into his gentle eyes for a few seconds, before giving him a small nod, and breaking eye contact. 

“I just don’t want anything to happen to us.”

Impulse scooted a little closer, and Scott was grateful for the protective warmth.

“We’ll be fine,” Impulse said, and his voice was barely above a whisper. “Just trust me.”

“Okay. I trust you.”

Impulse smiled, and dropped his hand, but not moving away. “That’s good. Trust is a hard thing to come by these days.”

The corner of Scott’s lip twitched up, and held up his hand. “Wanna form a pact that we’ll never break?”

Impulse tilted his head, seemingly confused. “Which is…?”

“Pinky promise me that everyone will be safe,” Scott held out his pinkie, raising his eyebrows at Impulse.

Impulse huffed a small laugh, and twisted his finger around Scott’s. “Alright, I promise they’ll be okay.”

Scott looked at him for a moment, staring into his eyes. “Promise that you’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be okay. Pinkie promise.”

Scott let his hand fall, and sighed, reaching into his bag at his feet and pulled out his pistol. He handed it to Impulse, who hesitantly accepted it.

“There’s more rounds in here than in yours. Bring both, and remember don’t hesitate if the situation gets too dire.”

Impulse stared at the weapon for a moment, before nodding, a slight smile curving his lips.

“I will,” he promised, and slid the gun into his holster. “You’ll be safe here?”

Scott waved him off. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine here.”

Impulse pursed his lips, but accepted Scott’s words with a nod of his head. Just then, a knock at the door sounded, and Impulse stood up, ready to greet their guest.

Scott held onto his hand for a second, stopping him, and Impulse turned around, not moving despite Scott’s hand barely ghosting his own.

“Thank you,” Scott said, his voice sincere. 

Impulse smiled, then turned and went to open the door. 

It would be fine. Everything would be fine because Impulse had promised it would be.

Everything was going to be alright.

Chapter Text

The next time somebody entered Grian’s room, he was ready. He was crouched by the door, knife in good hand poised and ready, in a position to strike at the sudden glimpse of movement.

He had been in that position for what felt like a million years. The darkness that fell around him was suffocating and oppressive, paranoia threatening to sink its ugly claws into the base of his skull everytime he thought he heard something move in the dark, but he put up a shield against the unwanted emotion. He knew there was nothing there. And the second the door swung open and almost blinding light was sent cascading into the room from the doorway, Grian’s beliefs were confirmed. 

 Grian jumped at the person who stepped through it, bringing them both to the ground. The man yelled out in surprise, his voice ringing out though the otherwise silent hallway, but Grian immediately put the knife to the man’s neck and he stilled under Grian’s threat.

Grian distantly recalled the name of the man. He remembered Scar talking to a ‘Mumbo’ when he was tasked to spy on Scar all those days ago, and the man below him accurately matched Grian’s memory of him.

Grian pressed the blade harder against Mumbo’s throat, and the latter’s eyes were wide with surprise and fear, his breaths hitching and coming rapidly.

“Get me out of here,” Grian said in a low voice, his threat going unspoken yet heard clearly.

Mumbo nodded, then remembered the knife at his throat and answered.

“Yeah, yeah, I- I will, you need a key-”

Grian felt a sharp feeling in his side, and his limbs constricted and tightened, causing him to fall off of Mumbo, the knife sliding out of his numb hands. 

A swarm of bees seemed to attack him from all sides, peppering pain throughout his body, and his muscles spasmed and tightened.

Pain echoed in his mind from all sides, and he let out a surprised gasp, before feeling his body go limp.

He saw a woman’s face above his, smiling down at him. Pale pink hair curtained her face which fell down in long, wavy sheets around her head. 

She waved cheerily at his prone figure, before stepping over him and helping Mumbo to his feet, pocketing the knife.

She crouched down next to him, and tilted her head, prodding at his arm. 

“Geez, I didn’t really know how much tasers did, huh? Sorry ‘bout that.”

She didn’t look very sorry.

“Thanks, Lizzie,” Mumbo said, still regaining his breath. 

Lizzie smiled at him, flashing him a thumbs up. “No problem! I’m just glad I heard your yells.”

Grian heard other footsteps rushing towards them, but he was helpless to move, his limbs still numb but his eyes blown wide.

“Lizzie! Are you okay?” Joel casually jumped over Grian’s body and framed Lizzie’s face with his hands, checking over her for injuries.

Lizzie slapped his hands away, although there was nothing but fondness in her gaze. “I’m fine, Joel. I tased him!”

Joel turned to Grian, who was glaring up at him. 

“And you, Mumbo?” he asked, glancing at the man in question. 

Mumbo nodded, biting the inside of his cheek and gazing down at Grian. 

“What’s going on here?” Ren came rushing to the scene, at least, Grian thought it was Ren, based off of the distinct accent.

Joel ran a hand through his hair, but a smile was evident on his face. “Lizzie tased him.”

“Nice, Lizzie,” Ren said, and he stepped over Grian to Mumbo. “You have it?” he asked, holding out his hand.

Mumbo nodded, then dug in his pockets before pulling out a syringe that sent spikes of fear coursing through Grian. It was filled with a purplish liquid and sparkled when it caught the light of the hallway. Grian really didn’t want to know what it did.

Ren took the syringe, and crouched besides Grian, holding up the syringe. “This’ll keep you asleep for a few hours, try your best not to fight it.”

Grian clenched his teeth, glaring up at Ren, but not able to do anything about his rage. Ren reached over him, and Grian felt a sharp pain in his neck, then it all went dark.

***

Etho crouched on the roof of a nearby building to the warehouse, adorned in his forest green coat, black pants, and sturdy combat boots, with a knife and empty gun holster hidden behind the jacket.

Earlier, Impulse had taken his pistol.

“You won’t need it,” Impulse reasoned, then a slightly guilty look passed over his face. “I also- uh- kinda lost mine.” He sheepishly smiled at Etho, who hesitated, before handing his gun over. 

“You guys’ll be okay?” Etho asked, turning to Cleo and Gem.

Cleo gave him a confident smile, and the corner of Gem’s lip twitched in the beginning of a smirk.

“We’ll be fine. Just focus on getting Grian out of there. My guess is that they’ll probably have stashed him in a basement of sorts.”

Etho nodded, but couldn’t manage a smile. With a final goodbye from Impulse and Cleo, and a slight wave from Gem, he set off on his own.

Etho waited patiently, the moon casting a ghostly shadow to flicker over his face, accenting his silver hair even further, and giving him further view of the warehouse a few buildings over.

His eyes were constantly switching from the window he was supposed to go through and the entrance to the warehouse, which the car with his teammates still had yet to arrive.

Finally, the car came into view, and Etho stood up, tracing the car with his narrowed gaze. It parked near the entrance of the warehouse, and three people exited it. 

A glint of orange hair caught the moonlight, and as if sensing Etho’s eyes on them, Cleo turned and shot him a smile which he could barely discern due to the distance. Etho didn’t return it, instead jumping across to the next building, then the next.

He swallowed the increasing panic flooding him at the ground thirty feet below him every time he took a step, and pointedly kept his gaze away from the awaiting concrete, instead focusing on the window.

Out of the corner of his eye, Etho saw the others entering the warehouse, and he picked up his pace, before he was at the building neighboring the warehouse. It was the longest jump of all, and Etho could feel cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck, his breath rate picking up and his heart threatening to burst out of his chest.

He stared at the ground below him, before turning back to the window. He backed up, hoping a running start would help, and leaped across the gap.

Everything seemed to be in slow motion. He was in midair in the final peak of his jump, and it looked like he was going to land close to the edge of the warehouse roof. 

Due to his panic, Etho forgot about his injuries.

Etho landed on his bad ankle, causing it to crumple under him, and he lost his footing, falling backwards.

His heart leapt out of his chest, and he barely managed to contain a yell of surprise as the wind rushed past his ears and it seemed like it was all over.

Etho managed to twist in midair, earning a flash of pain from his newly bandaged side, and desperately scrabbled for a hold on the very edge of the roofing.

His hand caught something, and there he hung, holding onto the tile for dear life, dangling thirty feet above the concrete ground.

His breaths were rapid and panicked as his arm strained, and he felt himself slipping. 

In a last ditch effort to keep himself from plummeting to his death, he threw his other hand up just as he slipped, and caught hold of another tile higher up.

He had a more secure grip on this one, and was able to pull himself higher, until he was fully on the roof, his arms aching from the effort, but alive nonetheless.

He tried to slow his racing heart as he caught his breath, but there was no time. He stood up on slightly shaky legs, then almost fell again. Apparently he had reinjured his ankle. Lovely. 

He limped to the window, and gave it a gentle nudge, then a slighter harder push and it gave him, creaking slightly before it swung inward, giving him barely enough space to slip through and land silently on the catwalk below.

Now inside the building, Etho cast a look around.

There was another catwalk across from him, then a spiraling staircase that lead who knows where, and another staircase which seemed to be three times large in size, that lead down to the main floor, where he could see the figures of six people, identifying Cleo, Gem, and Impulse before turning away from them.

He froze, as a flash of movement in the shadows to his right caught his eye, and he tilted his head, listening. 

There was no sound, but Etho knew some people (himself included) could conceal themselves in shadows as if they were one.

Etho slightly turned his head, brandishing his dagger, and pointed it to the corner.

“Come out,” he said, his voice quiet enough to not be heard down below.

Etho saw a glint of light reflecting off of sunglasses, before none other than Ren stepped out from the shadows, a knife much like Etho’s own held in his hand, and a crooked smile placed upon his face.

“Why, hello!” Ren greeted, his voice as quiet as Etho’s. “Fancy meeting you here, ay?”

“How’d you know?” Etho asked, genuinely confused. “You couldn’t have just guessed that someone would be coming in through this certain window in this certain spot from the roof.”

A sneer twisted its way onto Ren’s face, and Etho held his gaze steadily, keeping his own eyes blank.

“Fine. It doesn’t matter to me how you know. But where’s Grian?” Etho’s voice grew dangerous, and Ren’s smirk never disappeared from his lips.

“Somewhere,” he said idly, checking his reflection in the blade of his dagger. “But we wouldn’t tell you that easily, now would we?”

“I’ll just have to force it out of you, then,” Etho said, and to his surprise a small smile of his own appeared on his face.

“Game on.”

And Ren charged.

Etho ducked as Ren slashed his knife at him, and he turned, attempting to elbow Ren in the face. Ren dodged, slashing across Etho’s midsection, but Etho blocked his blade with his own dagger. Etho jumped back, but was slightly put off balance because of his ankle, giving Ren an opportunity to swipe towards Etho.

Etho backed up a step, but Ren’s knife still scored a diagonal long cut across Etho’s face, cutting across the bridge of his nose, barely sparing his eye by an inch.

Etho spun, blanketed by shadow for a second, before darting out under Ren’s outstretched arm and slicing a deep cut across his bicep.

Ren stumbled away, clutching his arm which was dripping blood through his fingers onto the ground, decorating the dark metal of the catwalk with splashes of bright red.

Etho slashed at him again, but Ren sidestepped his attack, and grabbed a bloody hand onto Etho’s wrist holding his knife.

Etho struggled against Ren’s iron grip, and dropped his knife into his free hand, then stabbing at Ren’s exposed midsection.

Ren twisted, and, to Etho’s surprise, dropped his own knife and took hold of Etho’s wrist with both hands.

He slammed Etho against the wall, the loud bang causing an abrupt halt from the flow of carrying conversation down below, and let go of Etho’s wrist retrieving his own knife from the ground. The sudden jolt sent a jarring pain through the recently wrapped wound in his side, but he paid it no mind for the time being, as Ren’s hand was inches away from his weapon.

Etho aimed a kick to Ren’s bowed head as he retrieved his knife, but that left Etho standing on his hurt ankle, which promptly gave up on him and he fell sideways onto the catwalk.

Ren hit the railing with another loud bang, and, clutching his head, staggered back to his feet, knife in hand.

Etho pulled himself up using the wall for support, and then the two were facing each other again, the only problem was Etho’s dropped knife sitting three feet behind Ren, who had a victorious smile placed upon his lips.

“Well,” Ren said, careful to keep his voice low, “seems like we’ve alerted the attention of those down there. Let’s end this quickly, shall we?”
“We shall,” Etho agreed, wiping the blood sluggishly dripping from the cut across his face.

Ren ran at him, knife in hand, and Etho let him, ducking under his arm and running for his own knife. But at the last second, Ren spun, and kicked Etho’s injured ankle with vicious strength. Etho crumpled to the ground, the knife just out of arm's reach.

Etho reached towards his dagger, but then Ren kicked it away. 

Etho made to stand up but Ren’s foot was there on his chest keeping him in place.

“Hm,” Ren said, grinning down at him. “Seems like you really were injured!”

Ren’s foot pressed down harder, and Etho fought to inhale oxygen. “So, what now? You’re just gonna kill me?” Etho asked, his voice venomous.

Ren idly checked his fingernails before answering. “Well, as much as I hate to say it, you’re as good as me in fighting, and I can’t let a threat like that live, can I?”

Etho slipped a small pocket knife out of his coat, and, with one hand, flicked it open, and readjusting his grip on it into a throwing position.

He watched as Ren’s grip on his knife tightened, and his eyes turned steely.

“Well, it’s been a good fight-”

Etho threw the knife.

Etho had never been an amazing aim with throwing knives, especially knives that weren’t made for throwing, and especially especially from where his enemy was above him, but Ren was at point blank range.

The small knife embedded itself in Ren’s arm, and he cried out, staggering backwards towards the railing. Etho stood, quickly grabbing hold of Ren’s collar, and pushing him back against the railing. 

Etho quickly yanked the knife out of Ren’s arm, causing another cry of pain and more blood to spurt out, coating the knife in a sickly shade of bright scarlet.

He held the already bloodstained knife to Ren’s neck, pushing him further against the railing, and Ren stilled, his breathing heavy.

“Where’s Grian,” Etho asked, pressing the knife the tiniest bit harsher against skin, where blood was beginning to beed.

Ren merely glared at him, his eyes stone cold. 

Etho sighed. “Well, I was going to spare you, but, as you won’t tell me anything, that’s a problem,” the ghost of a grin flickered over his face. “Because, as much as I hate to say it, you’re as good as me in fighting, and I can’t let a threat like that live.” Etho pressed the dagger harder against Ren’s neck. “Can I?”

Ren glared at him, but Etho caught the smallest spark of fear in his eyes. 

“Okay fine,” he said, breathing out through his nose. “If you go down those spiral stairs, Grian will be down there.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Just gotta trust me I guess, dude.”

Etho paused, before finally letting the knife drop, and pushing Ren away. “You better hope Grian is down there.” 

Ren bent down, his eyes still on Etho, and picked up the knife that he had dropped. “You might need this,” Ren said, tossing the dagger to Etho.

Etho caught it, and let his eyes last on it for a second before glancing back up at Ren. He was peering back at Etho silently, his sunglasses hiding his gaze from view.

Etho turned, keeping a keen ear out for Ren betraying his word, and forced his footsteps to be even as he walked to the spiraling staircase almost completely hidden by shadow. 

He ignored the fiery pain in his side and the throbbing in his ankle, and looked back at Ren one more time, who was where Etho had left him. The man met his gaze, never wavering, and Etho turned away. Time was of the essence, after all.

Etho stared down into the darkness of the staircase, before beginning to make his descent to whatever was waiting for him at the bottom.

***

For the umpteenth time, Grian awoke to a room blanketed in darkness. This time though, he wasn’t bound. 

Grian shot to his feet, ignoring the throbbing in his head, and swiveled his head this way and that to attempt to get a picture of the room. It didn’t work. Inky darkness surrounded him on all sides, and the sharp claws of paranoia crept up his spine, causing him to twist around more than once when he thought he heard a noise.

Grian swore he heard breathing aside from his own. The steady in and out of breath, the occasional flicker of movement through the dark, the footsteps almost as silent as shadows that occasionally made themselves present in Grian’s mind.

“Hello?” he tried, his voice uncertain and to his great disdain tinged with fear. “Who’s there?”

Nobody responded, much to Grian’s relief and slight disappointment. On one hand, Grian had hoped that he hadn’t been going insane, and there really was someone else in the room. But on the other, Grian really hoped that the noises could just be put up to his own wild imagination feeding off of his fear.

A steady thrum of pain still echoed in his left hand, but he was thankful it was half as bad as the last time he had been conscious. Now he could finally think straight over the constant barrage of pain, pain, pain,

Grian heard footsteps yet again, but these seemed different. They were nearly impossible for Grian to pick up on, but they seemed uneven in a way.

“Grian?” he heard a hesitant voice ask. Etho’s voice.

“Etho?” Grian asked, his voice desperate and the slightest bit hopeful.

“Where are you?” Etho asked, sounding worried yet on guard. “Is anyone else here?”

“I think-”

“Oh, yes, there’s someone else here,” a very familiar voice giggled from Grian’s right, and Grian jumped, his heart beating frantically.

“Joel?” Etho asked, the venom not lost from his tone. 

“Well, hello, Etho!” Joel greeted, his voice full of a sick kind of glee. “Nice seeing you here, isn’t it.”

“No, not really.”

Joel dramatically groaned. “Where’s your sense of humor gone? Anyway, did you like our little tracker? You came quite useful to the whole plan, y’know.”

Etho fell silent, but Grian could practically hear the coldness emanating off of him in waves of ice.      

“Anywho, you managed to beat Ren! Congrats! He’s pretty good, and I’m sure he’s managed to weaken you somehow. It’ll make it much easier for me for sure.”

“Joel,” Grian said, and to his surprise he managed to keep the shakiness out of his voice. “Please-”

“Please?” Joel spat, and Grian heard him take a nearing step. “Please? Please what? Please spare us? Please don’t kill us after all we’ve done?” A shrill laugh echoed throughout the room and Grian could picture the manic smile on Joel’s face. “No, Grian. I’m not going to spare you two. You are all going to die. The three up there, you two, Scott, you’re all going to die.”

“Let’s see if you make good on your promise then,” Grian said, and, like he was taught during his many years with the Watchers, he became one with the shadows, his footsteps as light as clouds.

Etho had long since fallen quiet, probably finding his own way to sneak up on Joel, who, in question, had also stopped speaking.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. The breathing of the three inhabitants was barely registered in Grian’s ears as he crept along the wall, keeping a hand ghosting the cold stone wall in order to not lose himself to the darkness.

A flash of movement was all it took for Grian to duck, and something to thud against the wall where Grian’s head had just been. The object clattered to the ground with a metallic ringing sound. Grian hesitantly reached for the thing, and his hand met a handle, and a wide grin split his lips as he picked it up from the floor, testing the weight of the knife in his hands.

Grian crept along the wall, his new knife in hand, and heard the swish of a knife some ten feet away from him. Then he heard dripping. 

Fear coursed through his veins, battling the adrenaline, and he bit down on his lip from voicing his worst fears.

What if the blood still dripping to the ground had been Etho’s? What if he was hurt- or- or-”

Grian heard footsteps, and he slashed his knife to the side. His blade cut through thin air, and suddenly his feet were getting kicked out from under him and he met the cold stone floor. 

He pushed himself up but a hand on his chest stopped him. He stilled under the cold threat of a blade pressed against his neck.

“Grian?” Etho whispered from above him, still holding the knife to his throat.

Grian squeaked out a response, and immediately, Etho relinquished his grip and helped pull Grian up.

The two shared no more words as silence once more fell over the room. Grian’s hand brushed Etho’s, and he hesitantly moved his hand closer, closing his fingers around Etho’s, who did the same.

Grian immediately tightened his grip, his relief shared through his vice-like grip, and Etho returned the strength.

“Aw, that’s cute,” Joel giggled from Grian’s immediate right, and Etho pulled him to the side just as a knife stabbed at Grian. Etho pulled Grian behind him, and let go of his hand, leaving a sort of emptiness filling Grian’s stomach at the lack of warmth.

Despair filled him once again, and he tightened his grip on his knife, his eyes darting back and forth in the darkness like it would do anything.

Grian heard something- someone- hit the floor with a thud, then a grunt, then the swish of a knife and a cry of pain. 

Joel’s yelp echoed through the room, and, yet again, Grian heard the steady drip, drip, drip, of blood hitting the floor.

Suddenly, someone was there again, taking his hand and darting back towards the staircase which he had come from.

But Etho gave a gasp of pain and fell, his hand barely ghosting Grian’s own before he hit the ground. “Go, Grian!” his voice was desperate, and full of panic, but if Grian was anything, it was stubborn.

Instead of running to freedom, Grian turned and caught a flash of movement in the dark. 

A hand grabbed his wrist, but it was much too rough and harsh to be Etho. That meant…

“Etho?” Grian tentatively asked, hoping against hope.

“Guess again!” Joel cackled, running, Grian’s wrist still in a steel grip, and, using momentum, swung Grian to the ground like a ragdoll. 

For the second time, Grian hit the ground hard. The air was knocked out of him, and he was left gasping for oxygen that would not come, instead he wheezed as he clutched his stomach, simultaneously trying to stand back up. 

But he couldn’t even sit up. His head was muddled and fuzzy, his mind and thoughts sluggish, and he felt something warm trickling down the side of his face.

What was it? A concussion? Ah, that’s what it was called. Right? 

He saw a vaguely outlined figure of a person walking up to him, some sort of… what was that? A dagger? Why would someone have a knife in a place like this?

Grian’s half shut eyes sent a blurry glance around the inky darkness pressing in on him. Where was he again? Right, the warehouse. Why? He had no idea.

Who was that advancing towards him? J… Joe? No, that wasn’t it. Aha! Joel! Why did Joel have a knife? Weren’t Joel and Grian friends? 

No… something had happened and they weren’t anymore. But what so severe had happened that Joel was aiming to actually hurt Grian?

Something was sent flying through the air, but it clattered harmlessly against the ground, missing Joe- no, Joel- by mere inches.

Another knife? What was going on?

Grian blurry gazed through the darkness, and tried to push himself up again. Bad idea.

He immediately collapsed into himself, his arm shaking before falling back to the floor, and he watched helplessly as the figure of another person limped into view, standing in front of Grian in a defensive position.

Grian blinked the darkness quickly closing in on him away. They were already in the dark, after all. 

But it didn’t work. Against his will, Grian’s head lolled against the ground, and his eyes slid shut. He didn’t want to sleep. It wasn’t night. Was it? Grian had no clue the time nor day of the current moment. For some reason, that irritated Grian more than his body randomly shutting down on him for apparently no reason at all.

Through a haze of fog, Grian saw the two figures engaged in a battle that was a blur to Grian’s eyes, and he let the concussion(?) take a toll, and he let much needed sleep overtake his senses, allowing him to slip into the comfortable realm of unconsciousness.

***

A sense of unease washed over Cleo the second they stepped foot into the warehouse. The warehouse itself could have been a big cause of the unwanted feeling. More corners and nooks than not were blanketed in shadow, leaving many hiding places and opportunities for concealed enemies. 

The warehouse itself was huge, with catwalks lining the sides about twenty feet up with metal railings lining each one. A large staircase in the middle lead from the ground level to the catwalks, and Cleo could vaguely see the outline of another staircase in the corner.

She walked alongside Impulse, and Gem as the three neared the middle of the warehouse, where multiple people were waiting, some looking tense, others relaxed.

Martyn stood in the center, his arms crossed and gaze hard. To his left, with his signature cane, Scar stood, his eyes cold but not meeting any of their gazes. To Martyn’s right, Pearl was casually leaning against a large crate, her red hood shadowing her face, but Cleo didn’t miss the manic smile stretching her lips and the fire lighting in her eyes.

There were four other people around the three in the middle. On Scar’s side was Jimmy standing nervously next to a curly haired man with dark eyes who looked indifferent.            

On Pearl’s side stood two men. One with bright blonde hair and tinted red glasses, and to his left was a dark haired man with a collecting of scars running up both his arms. 

“What a delight to see you three here!” Martyn said, clasping his hands together, an obviously fake smile plastered on his face.

Cleo merely glared at him, and Gem decided to be the spokesperson.

“Where’s Grian?” she demanded, her fists balled by her sides.

“Somewhere,” Martyn said vaguely, a smile twisting his lips. “Say, where’s Etho and Scott?”

“Injured,” Impulse said bluntly, avoiding eye contact.

Martyn hummed thoughtfully. “Etho didn’t seem that bad a few days ago.”

Cleo bit the inside of her cheek, but didn’t say anything, not wanting to ruin the facade.

“Oh well,” Martyn shrugged, grinning again. “You want Grian back, you say?”

Gem nodded, her gaze cold. “Where is he?”

“In the warehouse, I can tell you that.”

“So what? You’re just going to send us on a scavenger hunt to find our teammate who you fucking abducted ?” Cleo spat, anger fueling their words. “No, what do you want from us that you don’t already have?”

“Your deaths,” Martyn smiled, and a thud sounded atop one of the catwalks. Cleo’s eyes darted to the catwalk in question. Wasn’t that where Etho’s entrance window was?

Martyn fell silent, also glancing up at the catwalk, but his gaze didn’t seem concerned.

“So, how’re you going to go about that?” Cleo asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, first, I’ll kill you three, then Etho and Grian, which I know Etho’s here by the way. Then I’ll find wherever Scott is, and kill him too!”

Gem took a step forward, her gaze furious. “Wanna bet? Come on, give it your best shot!”

“Gem,” Impulse shot Gem a warning look, his voice low. “Let's try to stall for time.”

“Time to do what?” Gem asked, still glaring towards Martyn. “I’m gonna fucking kill him!”

“Time to- I don’t know- talk about this diplomatically,” Impulse tried, his voice tinged with desperation.

Gem scoffed. “Talk about this diplomatically, Impulse? They freaking kidnapped Grian!”

Pearl raised an eyebrow. “Not exactly kidnapping. More like a… practical abduction!”

“Same thing,” Gem hissed.

Cleo’s eyes darted back and forth between speakers, everytime a new one spoke, the words on the tip of their tongue dying each time.

They just wanted Grian back. She wanted to be back in the dorm with Grian, and Etho, playing Uno and laughing at the other two’s oblivious love. Hell, they’d even settle for Gem, Scott, and Impulse being there too! As long as they were all safe (well, as safe as they could get) back in the dorms.

Cleo was stirred out of her thoughts when Scar tapped his cane on the ground. A hushed and slightly confused silence fell over the group. Then, a single gunshot rang out from one of the catwalks. Cleo turned to look up, and Ren was there, blood running down his face and arm, but a handgun clutched in his hand, and aimed up another shot.

Cleo’s eyes widened as Ren pressed the trigger, and Cleo just pushed Gem out of the way as a bullet struck the spot where she had just been standing.

“We have to get-”

Cleo’s words were cut off by a knife whizzing right by her face, Gem pulling her back just in time to not get impaled by the blade. 

“Thanks,” Cleo breathed, staring at where the knife had embedded itself in a large wooden crate.

“Likewise,” Gem gave Cleo a smile. A smile? Cleo did a double take, but the expression was lost from Gem’s face, instead steely determination taking its place. 

Without any further words, Gem and Cleo split up as another bullet hit the floor next to them, and Cleo dove behind a box, trying to regain their breath.

They brought out the handgun and loaded it with slightly shaky hands. She breathed in through her nose, then out through her mouth, then turned, aiming the gun.

Cleo squinted their left eye shut, and fired. The bullet missed the scarred man by inches, and he jumped back, his eyes wide.

Cleo was lining up another shot, when something appeared at the edge of her vision. She turned just as a cane came out of nowhere and arced towards her head. She ducked, avoiding the wooden stick, and brought out her knife.

Scar had a knife of his own in his hand clutched in a death grip, and the two regarded each other for a moment, before simultaneously charging.

Cleo ducked under Scar’s first attack and swiped at his exposed back. Scar barely twisted out of the way before he swung at Cleo with his cane yet again and it hit her in the stomach.

All the air expelled from their lungs as they doubled over, clutching their stomach, but Scar was still a pressing issue. Cleo tried to gasp air back into her lungs, and sidestepped Scar’s next attack simultaneously, and swiped at him with her dagger.

She scored a thin cut across Scar’s collarbone, but he retaliated with a deeper cut across her knee, then one in her lower arm.

Scar was a blur of movement, one moment he was to Cleo’s left, then the next he was ducking under her arm and appearing on her right. 

Scar pulled out a handgun and aimed it at Cleo as she was momentarily stunned. But Scar froze. His finger was glued to the trigger, but he didn’t press down, even though Cleo was in point blank range and she knew Scar was a good aim.

“Scar-” she started, but, instead, Scar changed his grip on the gun to vertical, and spun, using his cane for assistance, and ducked behind Cleo. Then, she felt a sharp pain explode on the back of her skull, and she collapsed, stars dancing in front of her eyes.

Scar stepped back out in front of her, and a slightly guilty expression stole away the previous coldness which Cleo realized was a facade. 

Scar aimed the gun towards Cleo’s head, who was still on the ground, and she saw something shining in his eyes. Something like… tears.

“Sorry, Cleo,” Scar said, placing his finger on the trigger once more, this time his eyes held an icy determination.

Before Scar could do anything else, a familiar Scottish voice rang out through the room, and, despite the weak tone, it echoed through the warehouse, causing all other commotion to die down.

“Everybody fucking freeze.”

Chapter Text

Scott watched them leave with dread coiled in his stomach. As the door snapped shut behind Cleo, Scott stared at the wooden surface for a moment, contemplating.

If he followed them, there was a chance that everything would be okay and he could collapse or something on the way. But on the other hand, if they were walking right into an ambush (which they probably were), Scott’s appearance might save their lives.

Scott closed his eyes for a second, attempting to push away the building migraine on his right temple. What if they had been in trouble and Scott had been too cowardly to save them? What if they were all dead, and Scott had no idea? He would just be a sitting duck, waiting for Ren and the Mounters Foundation to be knocking on the apartment door, thinking it was the others.

Scott strengthened his resolve and stood up. Immediately, dark spots that he knew weren’t good clouded his vision, but he stubbornly ignored them and made his way to a nook that he had discovered underneath a bathroom tile his first day in the hotel. He lowered himself to crouch next to the nook, clutching on the edge of the marble vanity, and nudged the edge of the tile with the back of his hand. The tile slightly moved upward, Scott took hold of the material and gently lifted it off of the nook.

Inside lay two things, and two things only. A grin flickered over Scott’s face, one that would present itself on someone not entirely sane.

Inside the nook, was a piece of dynamite, and a lighter.

***

Etho stood between Joel and Grian, leaning heavily on his good foot, but adjusting his stance into one of a fighter. Etho’s eyes had gotten adjusted to the dark, and through the inky void that filled the room, he could see a manic smile splitting Joel’s face. He looked absolutely mad, grinning from ear to ear, with blood running down his face from a deep cut above his eyebrow, and a long slash across his bicep.

Joel had a blood stained dagger held tightly in a bone crushing grip, and he turned his attention from Grian to Etho.

“Is he your replacement for Bdubs?” Joel asked, flicking the blood off of his knife.

Etho’s breath caught, and he stared at Joel for a second, before white hot anger flooded his veins.

“You have no fucking right to talk about Bdubs like that!” Etho shouted, frustration and pure hate for the man standing in front of him fueling his words.

“I don’t?” Joel responded, grinning. “I’m not the one who  killed him! His blood is on your hands, Etho!”

Then Etho was back in that hallway with red light flashing over the walls and floor from an alarm on the wall. Bdubs was standing in front of him, those beautiful eyes of his wide with fear and betrayal. Etho stared back into that hurt gaze, and regret nearly flooded over the mental dam that he had constructed just to keep out those unwanted emotions.

Those eyes that had trusted him so much. Those eyes that had stared back at him, pupils dilated as Etho’s knife plunged into his stomach, red quickly seeping through his shirt and dripping onto the floor. Those eyes that, in Bdubs’s last moments, looked up at Etho, not with the look of hate and anger, but… with something Etho knew he didn’t deserve.

Love and acceptance looked back at him through wide-blown eyes, and Etho stared back, frozen on the spot, blood coating his hand in a sickening scarlet, as Bdubs fell slack in his arms.

Etho blinked, and everything was dark again. Instead of Bdubs, Joel stood in front of him. And Etho heard it again.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

***

Scott managed to limp his way down the intertwining roads, clutching his side, and with what he knew was an obvious grimace of pain twisting his face. He breathed heavily as he forced himself to stop, leaning against a wall, sweat dripping down the side of his face. Scott longed for a soft bed to collapse in, to let the serenity of darkness engulf him. But that wasn’t possible now. He had people to save.

Scott pushed off from the wall and continued his painful trek down the road, where it was, luckily, vacant of anyone else. Even if Scott was spotted, he hoped he could blend in as a drunk, and not someone who was critically injured. 

Finally, the looming image of the old warehouse came into view, and adrenaline coursed through Scott’s veins, his heart rate picking up. Scott stumbled towards the warehouse with double the urgency as before, and finally, he had arrived. 

Scott leaned against the wall of a neighboring building, breathing heavily, still holding his hand tightly to his side in a feeble attempt to stop the fiery pain coursing through every fiber in his body. After a moment he limped to the door, where, just as Scott reached it, someone sprinted out of it, blood speckling their face.

Scott froze, as did Jimmy. The two stared at each other for a moment, taking in the other’s appearance, before Scott spoke.

“Jimmy,” he murmured softly, yet not making a move towards his husband. Ex-husband?

Jimmy didn’t speak, instead just staring at Scott, his jaw slack. Jimmy’s breath was fast, yet even. Scott’s came out in gasps and desperate gulps of air.

Jimmy’s eyes drifted to Scott’s side, where Scott was still clutching it tightly. 

“You’re hurt.” Jimmy’s voice was quiet, but Scott didn’t miss the concern lacing it.

“Since when did you care?” Scott’s voice lacked the venom that he had intended, instead coming out quiet and breathy.

“I’ve always cared.”

Tears threatened to well up in Scott’s eyes, but he pushed them back down with a facade of indifference. 

“Yeah? Then why’d you lure me into that trap at the fair? If I hadn’t known, I would be dead right now. You know Joel’s impulsive with murder.”

Jimmy gazed back at him, a slightly hurt expression crossing his face. “They told me they wouldn’t kill you.”

Scott barked out a laugh, and the tears that were oh-so-threatening finally managed to break his dam. He could feel them forming in his eyes. 

“Oh yeah?” he asked, his voice sounding broken and slightly… Well, he knew he didn’t sound entirely sane. “Who told you that? Joel? Pearl?” He spat Pearl’s name with such force Jimmy’s eyes widened.

“No,” Jimmy said finally, his steady gaze meeting Scott’s watery one. But Scott could see his eyes sparkling. “Martyn.”

“Martyn?”

Jimmy nodded, not saying anything else. Scott fell silent too, thinking. Why would Martyn care about Scott’s well being? Especially after what happened?

Scott’s eyes fell away from Jimmy, the gaze of his (former?) lover becoming too much for him to bare, instead his gaze fell onto his shoes. 

“Why Martyn?” he asked, surprised at how small his voice sounded.

“I don’t know,” Jimmy responded truthfully, fidgeting with the ring on his finger. The ring… on his left hand…

Jimmy kept it.

Jimmy kept the ring.

Scott felt the weight of his own, and he slightly brought his hand up to look at the silver ring. 

“Scott, look at me.”

Scott obliged, and turned his eyes upward to look at the break through the clouds in Scott’s gray veiled world.

Jimmy’s eyes were soft, but a sort of determination was set in his gaze.

“We can run away,” he said, holding out his left hand, the one with his ring. “We can leave now, and forget about all this. We can move to a different state, hell, a different country, and start new again!”

Scott looked longingly at Jimmy’s outstretched hand, and moved his own to hover over Jimmy’s, not quite taking it yet.

“Will they die?” Scott asked, his voice quiet and resigned. 

Jimmy didn’t have to ask who ‘they’ were.

“Yes,” he admitted softly. “And if you go in there, you’ll die too.”

“There’s a chance I won’t,” Scott replied, and, unzipping the backpack that he had settled around his shoulders before he left, he pulled out the single stick of dynamite in one hand. Immediately, Jimmy took a panicked step back, nearly falling over in his urgency to get away from the explosive.

“Scott-”

“No, Jimmy. It’s the only way-”

“So what? You’re just gonna kill youself along with everyone else in there?”

“They’re not going to try anything as long as I have this-”

“They’re going to think that you’re bluffing. Then they’re going to shoot you, along with everyone else.”

Scott looked into Jimmy’s pleading eyes, and sighed. 

He took a step towards Jimmy, and hope reflected from his husbands eyes back into Scott’s.

“Jimmy,” he said, taking a deep breath before he continued. “Don’t go in there. I want you to run as far as you can away from here.”

Jimmy took a sharp intake of breath, his eyes now brimming with tears. A single one traced its way down his cheek.

“Scott,” he said, and the facade of calm cracked and crumbled from his face, leaving him looking more vulnerable than ever. “Please, I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You lost me a long time ago, Jimmy,” Scott said, his own gaze blurry with unshed tears. 

“Scott,” Jimmy cried, taking a step towards him. Scott took his own step back, and more tears made their way down Jimmy’s face. Scott could feel his own cheeks becoming wet.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Jimmy exclaimed, his eyes shining with desperation. “Please! We can go right now!”

“No,” Scott said, and did something he would regret for the rest of his life. He slid the silver ring off of his finger, and held it out. “Jimmy. This is the end. From here on out, if you decide to stay, we’ll be enemies with the intent to kill on sight.”

He dropped the ring into Jimmy’s palm, and took another step back, tears cascading down his face in torrents. Jimmy’s whole body shook with quiet sobs, his hand closing around Scott’s cold, silver ring. 

Scott turned towards the doors, but he felt a grip on his wrist.

“Scott-”

Scott whipped around, pulling out a knife and holding it to Jimmy’s throat, ignoring the fire that ignited in his side. 

The realization of his action hit him, and he let his arm go slack, falling back by his side. But a small beaded line of blood appeared in a thin cut on Jimmy’s neck. Scott had hurt Jimmy.

Scott stumbled backward, staring at the bright red presenting itself almost mockingly on his ex-husband’s neck.

Scott turned, and, looking back one more time at Jimmy’s petrified expression, stopped cold. Jimmy’s eyes were alight with a kind of fear that Scott had only seen in them once before. He had seen them when Jimmy found him on the floor of their shared apartment with deep cuts criss crossed into his skin, blood pooling around him on the ground. 

He remembered the panic on Jimmy’s face as he frantically screamed into his phone, calling 911, and Scott remembered tears dripping down Jimmy’s face as the operator told him that there was a major hold up because of prank calls.

Scott remembered the way Jimmy had carefully scooped up Scott’s frail and nearly lifeless frame in his strong arms and had carried him all the way to the hospital twenty miles away. That’s where it all had gone dark, and Scott had waited for death to come and reclaim him as a soulless corpse to be buried six feet under.

Instead, he had opened his eyes to the dim light of a hospital room, his ears vaguely picking up the steady beat of a heart monitor beside him.

“I’ll come back to you,” the words left Scott’s mouth before he could stop them.

“You swear?” Jimmy asked, tears still waterfalling down his face.

Scott nodded, and turned away from that horrible expression, pushing the large doors to the warehouse open, dynamite in hand.

***

“So?” Joel asked, his voice taunting. “Are we going to fight, or just stand here while your friends are slaughtered up there?”
“What?” Etho asked, dread pooling in his stomach.

Joel scoffed. “You thought we wouldn’t know about your plan? It was pretty easy to figure out.”

“How-?”

A sinister smile flickered over Joel’s face before disappearing back into the darkness surrounding the two of them. “I have my sources.”

Before Etho had the chance to question Joel further, Joel lunged towards him. 

Etho sidestepped him, and ducked under the swinging metallic knife. He stabbed with his own, but Joel jumped back, and attacked again with his.

Etho had always been superior to Joel in hand to hand combat. But with Etho’s injuries, and the constant flashbacks to the man Etho had so willingly betrayed, he was not putting up as much of a fight as he probably should.

Joel spun, and Etho aimed a kick at his feet, sending Joel off balance and toppling to the floor. Etho took this chance to drive his knife down to Joel’s chest, but Joel blocked the knife with his own, his teeth gritted.

“So what?” Joel spat. “You’re just gonna kill another teammate? You’ll be the only one left!”

Etho froze, his pressure on the knife going slack, giving Joel the opportunity to kick at his stomach, sending Etho to his back.

Etho gasped at the sudden pain in his side, and pressed a hand to the coat, where it came back wet. Joel had kicked with his steel toed combat shoes at the exact spot of Etho’s injury. It was freely bleeding again.

Joel ran at him, but Etho rolled, distantly noting the blood staining the ground in his wake. He held his knife tight as he regained his footing, and Joel’s smile faltered for a second, before replacing itself with a wider grin. But, Etho observed, it seemed the smallest bit more forced.

“I thought this was supposed to be a fair fight!” Joel complained, sending a glance to the blood on the ground. “You’re obviously already injured.”

Etho noted Joel still pouted like an angry child. 

“Yeah, give me another slice through my side and maybe we could call it even,” Etho spat, venom lacing his words.

“Fuck you,” Joel bit out through gritted teeth. “You always act like you’re so fucking high and mighty!”

“Do I?” Etho asked.

Joel merely sent him a glare, and Etho shrugged.

“Fine,” Joel exclaimed, anger piercing his words an angry shade of red. “Fine! We’ll have it your way. I don’t care if you’re bloody injured, we’re finishing this here and now!”

Despite himself, Etho felt the corner of his lip twitch upward in a smirk, and he did nothing to stop it.

“Alright,” Etho agreed, his smile widening behind his mask. And he melted back into the darkness.

From the corner of the room, he saw Joel’s eyes widen, and turn, panicked. He the way his breath quickened and he twisted around frantically.

“Hey!” he called, something akin to fear lacing his tone. “That’s not fair!”

Etho didn’t respond. Doing so would only reveal his location. Instead, Etho slipped away towards the opposite side of the room, his footfalls as light as shadows.

Joel fell silent, and Etho narrowed his eyes through the darkness to get a clear look at the other man. The outline of his figure was crouched over something that lay unmoving on the floor. Something that resembled a person.

“Would be a shame if I killed Grian right now, though,” Joel sighed, flipping a knife over in his hand and aiming it over Grian’s heart. “I mean, he’s so defenseless, it almost doesn’t seem fair.”

Etho didn’t think. He just sprinted out of the darkness, not caring about how his footsteps echoed throughout the room. He just needed to get to Grian.

Joel turned, but he was too late. Etho kicked the knife out of Joel’s hand, and took hold of his collar. Etho slammed Joel against the wall, and without hesitation, punched him in his jaw, hard.

Joel keeled to the side, but Etho pulled him back up and held him against the wall again, Joel’s head bouncing off the cold concrete.

Joel’s head lolled to the side, then a bloody smile split his lips, and a laugh gurgled out of his throat.

“So, you’re really going to do it? You’re really going to kill me?” he laughed, blood flecking his lips.

Etho tightened his grip around the knife still at his side, and stared deep into Joel’s eyes. They were unreadable.

“You’re acting like you really want me to,” Etho spat, pressing against Joel’s collar harder.

Joel was breathing heavily with blood running down his face from both Etho and Grian’s attacks, but despite it all, he kept smiling. “You don’t have the guts.”

“Want to bet?” Etho asked, and brought up the knife formerly hanging by his side. 

“Sure,” Joel replied, “I bet that you can’t kill me faster than I can kill Grian.”

Hot anger ran through Etho’s veins from that one statement. A surge of protectiveness over the unconscious body of his friend- no- lover?- filled him, and without thinking, he raised the knife. He stabbed towards Joel’s chest, the knife cutting through the air, breaking the tension and hate fueled atmosphere.

Joel gasped, then scoffed. Etho stopped the blade inches from Joel’s chest, the weapon barely scratching his shirt.

“Coward,” Joel hissed. 

Etho’s arm was frozen, the knife still poised right above Joel’s chest. Why had he stopped? He wanted to kill his enemy- his former teammate- right?

Etho breathed out, and felt his arm go limp, the knife dropping back to his side. He laxed his grip on Joel’s collar, and Joel scoffed again.

“Why?” Joel asked, making no move of escape. 

Etho stared back at him, then spared a brief glance at Grian, before turning back to his fellow Boat Boy.

“Don’t ever threaten Grian again.”

Joel raised his chin, and looked Etho dead in the eye.

“And if I do?”

“Then I’ll have to kill you.” And Etho brought up the knife, but instead flipped it around, and brought the hilt down as hard as he could on Joel’s left temple.

Immediately, Joel’s eyes rolled up and he crumpled, falling to the ground.

Right before Joel’s head hit the hard concrete below, Etho caught it, and laid him out the rest of the way. 

Etho would deny he ever did such a thing.

Then, he turned to Grian, Grian’s eyes were closed, but his pupils moved around under his eyelids, and a barely visible grimace presented itself on his face.

Etho kneeled by his side, then almost fell himself, forgetting his own injuries. He turned to the long staircase up, then back to Grian. He still felt the blood sluggishly soaking the bandage from where Joel scored a direct hit on it, and his ankle was still protesting every time he tried to put the usual amount of pressure on it. 

Etho sighed, and tucked his arms under Grian’s shoulders and beneath his knees, and lifted him up. He was lighter than Etho expected.

Etho took a few steps, but with the heaviness of Grian’s dead weight combined with his own exhaustion and injuries, there was no way Etho would get halfway up the stairs, much less all the way up.

Etho gazed up the long staircase, then back at Joel’s unconscious form on the ground. He made his decision.

He was going to get Grian to safety

Or die trying. 

***

Cleo turned, as did everybody else in the room. There, Scott stood in the doorway, the silver light of the moon outlining his figure. A piece of dynamite was raised in his left hand, his right holding a lighter.

Cleo’s eyes widened, but she made no move to get up from the ground as Scar still had his gun trained on them. 

But it appeared he, too, was distracted with Scott’s sudden appearance.

“Scott,” Gem breathed from somewhere across the room, but it reverberated throughout the otherwise silent warehouse.

“Don’t move,” Scott warned, his eyes flickering throughout all the faces in the room. The lighter in his hand was getting dangerously close to the fuse of the dynamite.

“What happened to Jimmy?” Martyn asked, an accusatory tone filling his voice. “Did you kill him?”

Scott scoffed. “He wasn’t even out there,” he spat, shooting a venomous look towards Martyn. 

Martyn glared back, but Scott held his gaze.

Cleo turned their gaze to the other occupants of the room. Gem was next to Pearl and Martyn, apparently having taken on both of them. Gem was an excellent fighter, yes, but against the two of them, it seemed like a losing battle. She had blood running down her face and dotting her clothes, but a defiant look shone in her eyes despite the unfair advantage.

Near her stood Impulse and the other two which Cleo realized were Skizz and Tango, and it looked like neither side was really that harmed. Huh.

Then, there was Ren, who was still on the catwalk, but his pistol seemed to now be aimed directly at Scott.

“You can shoot me, Ren, but not before I light this and explode this whole place and everybody inside of it,” Scott smiled, obviously seeing the threat from above as well. He flicked open the lighter. The orange flame cast a ghostly shadow onto his face, and from that expression alone and the finality in his words, Cleo knew he was telling the truth.

Scott truly didn’t care anymore. 

“You wouldn't,” Scar scoffed, but a hint of nervousness tinged his usual confident tone. “You would be killing your teammates too!”

Scott brought the flame even closer to the dynamite fuse, the fire almost licking the wire. “Would you like to see for yourself?”

“Okay! Wait!” Ren called, and disappeared into the darkness cascading most of the catwalk into shadow. He reappeared limping down the stairs with his hands held out. “We can make a compromise!”

“I have a compromise for you,” Pearl snarled, then shot towards Gem, and pressed her knife against Gem’s neck. “Drop the explosive or she dies.”

“I have an even better deal,” Scott replied, never wavering. “Put her down and I won't explode all of us here.”

“That’s a pretty good deal, you have to admit,” Cleo heard Tango whisper to Skizz.

Skizz gently slapped his arm. “What side are you on?”

Pearl glared daggers at Scott, and pure hate flooded her eyes, but she slowly relinquished her grip on Gem, who darted away from Pearl as soon as she could.

Cleo could practically see the anger emanating off of Gem in waves from across the warehouse.

“Turn that gun away,” Scott nodded at Scar, glaring at the pistol still trained towards Cleo.

Scar stubbornly stayed put, his eyes fierce. Scott shrugged and moved to light the dynamite.

“Okay! Okay, geez!” Scar yelled, stopping Scott in his tracks, and lowered his gun.

“Drop it,” Scott said, his voice void of emotion.

Scar dropped the gun.

The weapon fell with a clatter to the cement ground, and all was still again.

“Where’s Etho and Grian?” Scott finally spoke up, directing his question towards Ren.

Ren glared at Scott, and, even though Cleo couldn’t see his expression through those dark sunglasses, she could tell he was furious with the situation. 

Ren jutted his head up the catwalk. “There’s a staircase to the basement. That’s where Grian and Etho are.”

“Who else is there?”  Scott inquired, shooting a glare towards the shadowed catwalk like it had personally offended him.

“Joel,” Ren admitted.

Scott narrowed his eyes, then glanced towards Gem. She nodded once, and turned towards the catwalk.

Martyn made a move to stop her, but Scott took a step closer.

“Don’t move.”

Martyn’s eyes were angry and narrowed but he allowed Gem to pass him. Ren didn’t turn as Gem walked past him, but Cleo saw his hand itching for his gun.

“Don’t you dare,” Scott called. “Let her up the catwalk.”

“Whatever,” Ren replied, and let his hand drop back down to his side.

Gem passed Ren, and calmly walked up the stairs, but Cleo could sense an aura of urgency surrounding her.

Gem disappeared into the darkness.

“Alright,” Scar said, sending a final glance towards where Gem allowed the shadows to consume her. “Gem’s gone to get Grian and Etho. Put down the dynamite.”

“I don’t think I should,” Scott smiled, slightly tilting his head. But it wasn’t one of his usual fondly exasperated smiles or smug smirks. No, his eyes were hollow and utterly broken. His grin was merely a mask to hide his own grieving, and Cleo could have guessed it had something to do with Jimmy.

“Scott-”

“No, you listen to me, Martyn,” Scott snarled, anger lacing his words. “You fucking go and explode our headquarters, kidnap somebody, hold him for ransom, and now we’re here. You’ve already destroyed our organization. What else do you want from us?”
“You don’t seem to understand,” Pearl responded, the corner of her mouth twitching up in a twisted smile. “Do you know what our goal is, here?”

“What?” Cleo asked, staring at Pearl genuinely curious. “What’s your goal?”
“To kill each and every one of you, obviously!”
Impulse raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Cleo noted he had been unusually quiet.

“To kill us?” Scott scoffed, “That can’t be your end goal.”
“Or maybe I’m just stalling for time,” Pearl giggled, her laugh echoing throughout the room. “I don’t know.”

Scott didn’t respond, so the room fell into silence once again

Eventually, Gem reemerged with Etho and Grian in tow, completely carrying Grian with Etho limping behind her. 

A tidal wave of relief washed over Cleo and she nearly burst into tears from the sheer amount of emotion flooding them. Grian and Etho were safe. They were safe, and they weren’t dead.

They were fine.

The next few moments were fuzzy. Exhaustion seemed to finally want to take its toll, and Cleo was barely able to blink the fuzziness out of their vision without collapsing into the sweet relief of darkness.

She felt somebody tugging her up, and resisted at first. They looked up, realizing it was Impulse, and allowed themself to be pulled up the rest of the way.

“Come on,” Impulse was saying in a low voice, “before they try anything.”

Cleo followed Impulse out the doors, Scott still holding the dynamite in the doorway. 

Cleo breathed in the crisp cold air once she felt the wind on her face, and for the first time in hours, smiled. They sent a gaze around, and their eyes landed on Etho.

Without hesitation, they flew towards him, and engulfed him in a hug.

“You’re alright,” she whispered, clutching him tightly. “You’re okay.”

“Of course I am,” Etho responded, but despite his reassuring words, Cleo noticed the way his voice wavered in his words, and the weakness he was returning their hug.

“Is Grian?”

Etho nodded, before shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he responded truthfully, and Cleo squeezed her eyes shut, their brain immediately forming the worst possible possibilities from those words.

But Cleo knew he was safe now. As was Etho, and the rest of them. 

They were safe, and everything was okay.

Well, as okay as it could be.

Chapter Text

When Grian came to, it was dark, just like the previous three times. Panic flooded Grian, just as it had before, and he shot up. His head pounded and hand ached, but he ignored the pain. He was back in that room, Joel had beat him, and- and Etho. Where was Etho?

Grian stumbled to his feet, blankets cascading off of him and becoming swallowed by the surrounding darkness. He staggered blindly across the pitch black room, feeling for the door, or a lightswitch, or something. 

If he was back there, then there wouldn’t be a light switch, he realized. 

Grian froze, and took an unsteady step back. He would have to be practical and strategic about this. 

Firstly, acquire a weapon. Grian’s eyes scanned the dark room, and they fell on the silhouette of a lamp outlined by the dim light of moonlight barley shining through tight closed shutters. Perfect. 

Grian ran to the lamp, nearly falling only once, and took hold of the cold metal, examining it closely. He tried to flick it on, but to no avail. Then, he gripped it tightly in both hands, and slammed it down on the dresser it was previously sitting on.

The lightbulb shattered into pieces with a loud bang, and, miraculously, Grian avoided being cut by one of the sharp and jagged edges of the glass. He picked a particularly lethal looking piece and dropped the lamp to the carpeted floor. 

His captors made a huge mistake letting him out of their sight.

Grian crept to the door, and reached out for the knob, and, to his surprise, it twisted. What if this was a trap? They weren’t this sloppy before. What if- what if they were waiting out there for him?

But staying in the room was only becoming a sitting duck, waiting for their jurisdiction. Grian sighed, and twisted the doorknob the rest of the way, and stepped cracked it open. He held his improvised weapon in hand, and peered through the crack in the door.

A wide hallway was lit with an overhead light fixture casting a mellow light down upon the carpeted floor. Grian suspiciously eyed the walls, and the floor, but nothing seemed to be amiss. The end of the hallway branched off into a large room that Grian heard the low murmur of voices coming from. From what he could see, he guessed it was the kitchen/dining area.

Grian crept down the carpet with footsteps as light as feathers, the glass gripped tightly in his uninjured hand. His heart and head pounded to the same rhythm and he was feeling more and more dizzy by the second. Grian had to get out of here quickly.

Grian was almost at the end of the hallway. He rapidly blinked the growing dark spots out of his vision, but doing so momentarily distracted him. He missed the bump in the carpet and tripped, nearly landing face flat on the floor.

The noise alerted his captors, and the low whispers of conversation immediately halted. He heard footsteps nearing him, and scrambled to his feet, clutching the jagged piece of lightbulb.

Somebody turned the corner, and Grian jumped out, tackling them and holding the makeshift weapon to their neck.

Grian pressed down, a bead of blood formed, before the shouting reached his ears. Someone was pulling him off of his captor, and he was kicking and yelling before looking up and freezing. Cleo was staring back at him, with Impulse on the floor, a hand covering the blood on his neck.

Grian turned, and Gem was behind him, her hands still gripping his arms tightly. Her eyes were wide and slightly angry, her eyebrows pinched in. 

“Grian?” Cleo asked, her voice hesitant. “You- you okay?”

Grian couldn’t form words, instead, he merely stared. His gaze flickered from Cleo, to Impulse, to Gem, and back.

“C- Cleo?” Grian asked, and he felt Gem gently release him. “Wh- what’s going on?”
“Grian. You’re safe,” was all Cleo said, before kneeling down next to him.

Impulse’s eyes were scared and shocked, but they shone with understanding, and an emotion that confused Grian even further. Guilt shone in those dark eyes. Before Grian had time to think about it, Cleo was kneeling in front of him, softly calling his name again.

He turned to them, his breath picking up.

“I- I’m safe?” he asked, and it felt like a dam broke, and tears rushed to his eyes. “I- I’m not there anymore? I’m safe?”

“You’re safe,” Cleo repeated, warmth filling her words. 

A single tear traced its way down Grian’s cheek, before he tackled Cleo in a hug.

“C- Cleo- I- Wh- What-”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Cleo comforted him, gently rubbing his back.

Then, a thought struck Grian. “Where’s Etho?” he asked, his mind immediately painting the worst picture of possibility possible.

“Etho’s fine,” Cleo murmured. 

“He won?” Grian asked, and felt more tears welling in his eyes. “We’re safe?”

Cleo held Grian tightly to themself. “We’re so fucking safe, Grian. We’re so safe. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

A watery laugh bubbled in Grian’s throat, and it came out choked with tears, but it was there. 

Darkness still closed in on him, and it felt like the walls were caving in. Just like they did when he was tied to that cold wooden chair.

But he wasn’t tied to a chair this time. Instead, he was being held by his best friend and allowing the feeling of true comfort to wash over him in a tsunami of warmth. He missed her so much. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into her auburn red hair. 

“I never want to go back there ever again,” he murmured, feeling sleep grasp at him through his fluttering eyelids.

“You’re never going to have to.” Cleo whispered back, and Grian heard the soft smile in their words. 

“Promise?” Grian asked, clutching them tighter to himself.

“Promise,” Cleo agreed, and Grian let out a choked sob, then another. 

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Cleo mumbled, and helped Grian to his feet, keeping a protective hand rested on his shoulder. 

Casting a blurry glance around, it seemed Gem and Impulse had left Cleo and Grian to have their moment, and Grian heard the whispers of the two in the adjacent room. But Grian couldn’t care enough to eavesdrop into their conversation. All he wanted was sleep.

Cleo guided him back to his room, then paused at the sight of the shattered lamp on the ground.

“Grian,” she sighed, seemingly exasperated. “What made you think that this was a good idea to do in the dark where you could easily get cut?”
Grian merely shrugged, and fixated his attention on the soft mattress calling out to him. 

“Just don’t go over there, and get in bed. I’ll clean it,” Cleo said, and Grian could hear the fondness in her words. 

Grian obeyed, and trudged over to the bed, where he promptly collapsed into it, nearly falling asleep the second he hit the mattress. He heard Cleo quietly scoff to themself, then he heard nothing, his eyelids drooping shut and a comfortable darkness absorbing him into the realm of sleep.

Three weeks passed without any disruption. The six assassins moved in with each other for protection purposes, and all seemed peaceful for the time being. 

Scott and Etho were recovering quicker than expected, and Grian was slowly overcoming his trauma from the whole kidnapping ordeal.

But it wasn’t always easy.

Some nights, Grian awoke to the dark room and panic surged through him, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He would jump out of bed and sprint for the door, only to remember that he was safe.

That word was something Grian deeply dwelled on.

Safe.

They were safe. Grian was safe, and he wasn’t there in that room anymore. He was safe with Etho and Cleo by his side. 

In Grian’s first day fully conscious and aware, he saw Etho for the first time in what felt like forever.

Etho, as his natural self, was reading a book in his bed when Grian walked in the room. Etho glanced up at him, and both parties froze.

Etho spoke first after a few moments of silence. “Grian?” His voice was uncertain and hesitant but blatantly hopeful.

Grian felt a small smile playing on his lips. “Etho.”

“How are you- shouldn’t you be in bed right now?” Etho asked, sitting up with a wince.

“Are you hurt?” Grian asked immediately, ignoring Etho’s question. He was aware of the concern dripping from his voice.

“No, I’m fine,” Etho shrugged him off with a wave of his hand.

Grian looked at him dubiously, and Etho returned the gaze with a steady one of his own. Etho was just too good at lying, Grian decided.

Grian walked over and sat next to him, his legs dangling off of the edge of the bed.

They stayed like that for a little while, neither saying anything, just merely enjoying the others’ presence.

“I’m sorry,” Etho finally spoke, his words shattering the carefully woven veil of normalcy.

“Why are you apologizing?” Grian asked, genuinely confused.

Etho stared at him for a second, before answering. “Well, I guess, for everything. For leaving, for not being there to help you when- when Ren did that- for not getting there in time in general-”

Grian cut off his apologies by hooking his finger around Etho’s mask and bringing it down. Then, he kissed him.

Etho froze, his eyes wide but he returned the kiss, then slightly pulled back. Their noses were nearly touching.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Grian whispered, and to his surprise, tears sprung in his eyes. 

Etho looked back, and there was something in his eyes that Grian had only seen back before the day the ships sailed. Grian saw pure love and adoration in that soft gaze.

“Me too,” Etho murmured, then pursed his lips and guilt flooded his eyes. “But it’s still my fault about what happened to you.”

Grian pulled Etho into a fierce hug, and held onto him tightly. “No it’s not,” Grian assured him. Grian nearly froze when he felt Etho shaking in the embrace.

“Etho?” Grian asked, pulling away.

Etho blinked, then met Grian’s gaze once more, his eyes seemed glossy, but of course that was a trick of the light! Right?

“Stop feeling guilty,” Grian held Etho’s gloved hands in his own, ignoring the fact that they were ice cold. “It’s not your fault.”

“But it is!” Etho seemed desperate for Grian to understand. “We can’t- we can’t do this, Grian. I killed Bdubs!”

Etho’s words took Grian aback, and the words on the tip of his tongue withered and died. 

“Why don’t you hate me?” Etho shuddered, and pulled away from Grian, his hands slipping from Grian’s now slack grasp. 

“I would never hate you, Etho,” Grian said, imploring him to understand.

“You should,” Etho said, and his voice held a sort of finality that scared Grian to his core. 

“I don’t,” Grian confirmed, but couldn’t help the hesitance from presenting itself in his tone. “I really don’t.”

Etho’s eyes were trained on the sheet of the bed, but still held that horrible guilty expression.

“Why not?” Etho asked, and his voice came out quiet. “Why can’t you just hate me?”

“You can’t keep pushing me away like this!” Grian exclaimed, his words angrier than he anticipated. “I mean, what do I keep doing wrong?”
Etho flinched, and Grian froze. Etho paused, before answering, never meeting Grian’s gaze.

“That’s the problem.” His voice was dead. Something broken shone in his eyes, and his face was painfully blank. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“What?” Grian asked, knitting his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
Etho pulled his mask back up above his nose, and stood up, his first few steps wobbly and uneven but soon he straightened himself out and made towards the door.

“Etho!” Grian called after him, standing up too. Etho paused in the doorway, his hand clutching the wood tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white.

“Do yourself a favor, Grian, and find somebody else.” Etho didn’t turn, but Grian saw a tear hit the carpet, then Etho disappeared out the door.

Grian was frozen in shock. Then, after a few moments, mentally collected himself. He took off after Etho, but the kitchen was empty. He slipped on his shoes, and ran out the door, but Etho wasn’t down the carpeted hallway either. Grian ran to the stairs and flew down them to the lobby, but Etho wasn’t there either. 

Grian asked the employee at the desk if he had seen somebody matching Etho’s description walking past, but the man shook his head.

Etho had once again slipped through Grian’s fingers without a trace, and there was nothing Grian could do about it. 

***

Etho knew he was in the wrong. He watched from the cover of shadows as Grian sprinted down the hallway then threw open the door leading to the stairs. He heard Grian’s panicked voice calling out his name, and it almost- almost- was capable of drawing him from hiding. But it wasn’t enough. Instead, Etho waited until Grian was clear of out sight, before releasing the breath he had been holding.

Guilt swirled in Etho’s gut as he made his way to the elevator and clicked the button, leaning against the side table with his hands in his pockets, keeping minimal pressure on his ankle. 

It had been wrapped and healing, only causing him a minor limp. Meanwhile, the gash in his side was healing- albeit slowly- and still caused him some mild discomfort. But nothing he couldn’t handle.

Etho watched the elevator button blink off, then with a ding the doors slid open and Etho stepped inside of it. Just as the doors shut, Etho heard running footsteps down the hallway.

Etho just needed to get out. It didn’t matter where he was going; he just needed to get away from Grian, away from the others, away from all the sources of his problems. 

Away from the guilt constantly eating him up as a whole, from the lingering feeling of regret and remorse planting into the back of his mind like a parasite. Always festering. Always there.

Because for the second time, he had left Grian for his own selfishness. He had let Grian down. Again. 

And it was all because of what? Because Etho couldn’t look at Grian without thinking of Bdubs’ large, round, beautiful eyes. Without thinking of the blood that dripped from Etho’s knife as he plunged it into his lovers’ stomach.

Etho felt the rush of cold wind against his masked face, and breathed in the late January air. 

Grian didn’t deserve this. Grian didn’t deserve Etho constantly abandoning him for his own stupid experiences and memories.

So why did Grian keep coming back?

Etho never understood it. Etho knew he didn’t deserve Grian. Grian, who was the most beautiful and smart and charismatic and-

Well, Etho knew Grian was ten times the person he was. So, why? Why did Grian keep coming back even though it was useless? Why couldn’t have Grian left with Scar the day the ships sailed and never looked back? Why couldn’t Grian have just avoided all of this unnecessary conflict and hardship?

It wasn’t fair. 

Grian was supposed to hate Etho, but he didn’t. Grian was supposed to loathe Etho’s guts for killing one of his closest friends, but instead Grian looked at Etho with those same eyes that Bdubs’ had in his last moments. 

Why couldn’t Grian just hate him? It was so easy, but Grian continued to be the stubborn amazing person that drew Etho to him. Grian loved Etho, and Etho loved Grian.

But Etho knew if he loved Grian, then Grian would surely get hurt- even more hurt, considering he was already kidnapped- or possibly… he’d die.

Etho would not take that chance. He did not want to hurt Grian any further. So what if Grian hated him now? Everybody should, Cleo will soon enough.

If Etho disappeared would it be better for everyone?

Etho blinked, then brushed the thought out of his mind. Silly, that’s all that was. Sure, there would be people who would miss him, like… who? Exactly?

Gem, Impulse, and Scott were indifferent towards him, Cleo probably was losing feelings, and Grian… well, he would hate Etho eventually. The other side already wanted him dead, wouldn’t it be doing them a favor? Would it really matter?

  Etho’s legs suddenly felt weak, and he nearly collapsed on a nearby bench. 

Would anyone care?

“Etho?” 

Etho’s head whipped up in a panic, his eyes wide. But it was only Impulse. Impulse, who was looking at him with slightly confused eyes.

“You okay?” Impulse asked, his voice concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Etho automatically said, but Impulse raised a quizzical eyebrow, and Etho realized there was no fooling him.

“Really,” Etho said, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be healing right now?” Impulse asked pointedly, crossing his arms. 

Etho internally cringed at the similarity between Impulse’s words and what Etho had said to Grian not ten minutes earlier.

“Yeah, but it’s fine.” Etho avoided Impulse’s eyes. 

Impulse apparently was unswayable, and sat down on the wood bench next to Etho, overlooking the lake that the bench faced.

“Y’know, confrontation can be difficult.”

“What?” Etho asked sharply, “I never said anything about that!” He only realized he sounded way too defensive by the way Impulse raised his eyebrows at him.

“Is it Grian?” Impulse asked offhandedly, his eyes tracing a swan gliding through the dyed blue water.

Etho hesitated, before relenting. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Impulse glanced over to him apologetically, and stayed silent for a few moments longer.

“Did he do anything?”

Etho’s eyes widened. “No!” he exclaimed, fervently shaking his head. “No, Grian’s done nothing wrong. It’s just me that’s the problem.”

Impulse tilted his head, his eyes thoughtful. “So, what happened?”

Etho hesitated, not wanting to confide in somebody who he had never been necessarily super close with. But the urge to vent his emotions and the trusting eyes that Impulse gazed at him with was enough to make the decision.

He picked at his fingernails, feeling uncomfortable with the information that he was sharing, but spoke anyway. 

“I don’t want another Bdubs,” Etho muttered to the concrete ground, but he was sure Impulse heard it by the sympathetic look he shot at Etho.

To be completely honest, the look annoyed Etho. Etho knew he wasn’t the one who deserved that sympathy. No, it was the person who had been bleeding out in Etho’s arms, whose bloodstains had made permanent residence on Etho’s hands no matter how much he scrubbed at the skin.

Etho heard Impulse sigh, and shift his position on the bench.

“Are you worried about hurting him? Grian, I mean,” Impulse asked, his tone soft.

Etho nodded wordlessly, and Impulse fell silent for a moment, apparently deep in thought.

“Do you love him?” Impulse asked, and the question took Etho by such surprise he froze for a second. 

“I didn’t know this would turn into a confessional,” Etho laughed nervously, his usual mask of calm crumbling with the blush slowly settling itself over his cheeks. “I mean, shouldn’t we get back? It’s getting late-”

“It’s 1: 46 P.M.,” Impulse said, his tone deadpan.

“Right,” Etho sighed.

“So?” Impulse pressed, though despite his stubbornness, his voice remained gentle. “Do you?”

Despite himself, Etho wringed his hands and continued to refuse eye contact with Impulse. 

“I- I think,” he answered, his voice quiet again.

“You think?” Impulse asked, his voice ever so soft.

Etho hesitated for a moment, before plunging on. “It’s kind of conflicting for me. On one hand, I really don’t want him to get hurt.” ‘Anymore than he already has been’ floated through the air unspoken.

“But on the other hand, I really do think I… love him, and I think he loves me too.”

“What’s he said or done?” Impulse asked.

“Well- we- uh-” Etho started, his usual steady words tripping over each other. 

Impulse titled his head, confused. 

Etho hesitated, and finally turned to face Impulse.

Impulse’s eyes were shining with curiosity and warmth, his body language strangely comforting and open. 

Etho pursed his lips, before building up the courage. The words fell out of his mouth before he had the chance to stop them.

“We kissed.”

Impulse’s eyes widened, and froze. Etho did too. He felt his face flushing and he turned away again, burying his eyes in the palms of his hands. 

Then, Impulse laughed, and Etho was sent back to a time before. Before everything. Instead of Impulse sitting next to him, it was Joel. Joel who had been with him since the start. Joel who had supported him and protected him ever since childhood. Grian was Bdubs, his toothy smile and the large eyes that always seemed to have one blackened or swollen shining with love back at Etho. 

Joel was laughing, and Bdubs was playfully swatting him, which only made Joel cackle harder.

“I’ve really been getting third wheeled this whole time?” Joel had laughed, tilting his head back and tipping precariously on the back two legs of his chair.

“Keep your voice down,” Etho muttered, but he would never forget the fond look that had painted Joel’s eyes when looking at his two best friends.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Joel smiled, looking at the two. “Congrats.”

Etho blinked, and Joel was gone. Bdubs was gone.

Instead, Impulse was there in front of him, his laughs having died out but a smile still on his lips.

“How’d it go?” Impulse asked, and Etho nearly fell over.

“First Cleo, now you?” Etho groaned, running a hand down his face.

“Cleo knows too? What about the others?” Impulse sounded intrigued, and Etho did not like the devious look on Impulse’s face.

“Keep this confidential for now. It wasn’t my choice to have a therapy session in the middle of a park after I literally ran from Grian.”

The smile never faded from Impulse’s face, but he nodded. “Alright, I’ll keep this between us four. Gem and Scott would only make fun of you, anyway.”

Etho shot him a grateful look. “Thanks-”

“How many times?” Impulse leaned closer. “How long?”

“That’s getting a little personal,” Etho backed up, feeling his face get hot all over again.

Impulse shrugged not very apologetically, and that smile still ghosted his face. 

After a pause, Impulse huffed out another laugh. “Congrats, man, it’s not easy to hook up in these trying times.”

Etho froze, then swatted Impulse’s arm indignantly. “We are not hooking up!”

“Sure… keep telling yourself that.”

And while Impulse laughed more, Etho cracked a smile of his own. And Etho felt at home again. Joking, laughing, playfully teasing; all the things that Etho dearly missed. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as it was out to be. Maybe, just maybe, they could all find happiness in these so called ‘trying times’.

Chapter Text

Grian couldn’t find Etho anywhere. He ran through each floor, his eyes fervently scanning the corners and nooks where Etho could possibly be hiding, but he found nothing. After twenty minutes of searching all over the hotel, he reached his room again. He opened the door with the hope that maybe, just maybe, Etho had changed his mind and came back.

His hope was poorly placed.

Instead, Grian opened the door to an impossibly empty room. Grian fought back tears as he swung the door shut behind him, and weakly called out Etho’s name.

No response.

He tried again.

“Etho? You- you’re here, right? Please say something.”

Silence echoed back at Grian, and the urge to break out in tears grew. The walls leered at him (they had a habit to do that ever since he was taken hostage by Ren) and the quiet pressed down on him like a heavy weight pushing him down to the ground. 

Grian had just gotten Etho back. He had just gotten him back, then Etho’s fear of hurting Grian had snatched that love away and the two were back to square one. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t. 

Grian walked further into the hotel room, and hopelessness weighed down on him along with the silence until every step felt like he was dragging his feet. Just at that moment, the only conclusion possible came to his mind.

Etho was out of the hotel. And he was in danger. He was alone, and even though it was broad daylight, Grian knew how much the former assassins in the Mounders Foundation hated Etho, which made him even more of a target. 

Grian’s eyes widened, and he turned to the door, but just at that moment the door whirred and unlocked.

A flash of panic and hopefulness jolted in Grian’s stomach, and he whipped around to fully face the door. Instead of Etho, though, Cleo walked through, and immediately a stern look appeared on her face.

“Grian, aren’t you supposed to be in bed? Where’s Etho to tell you off?”

Grian’s eyes flooded with tears, and Cleo froze. “Grian, you okay?”

“Why can’t anything go right?” Grian asked, his voice cracking. “It’s not fair.”

Cleo immediately dropped her groceries and didn’t seem to hear them hit the hardwood floor with a bang, the fruit probably spoiling and denting. She ran to him, and cupped his face in their hands, their eyes shining with worry.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen? Where’s Etho?” Cleo’s words came in a flurry of concern and panic, and Grian’s words tripped over each other in their rush to escape his tongue.

“Nothing exactly happened- it was my fault- I don’t know where Etho is- it’s my fault-”

“What happened?” Cleo asked, her words clear and concise. “Is Etho safe?”
“I- I think,” Grian answered, his voice unsure.

“You think ?” Cleo asked, panic flooding her words. “What do you mean you think ?”

“Well- he kind of left?”

“He’s not even supposed to be out of bed! Why did he leave?” 

“I, uh… I kissed him.”

Cleo froze, slowly turning to fully face Grian, her eyes wide. “You… what?”

“I kissed him.”

“After everything that happened? You just decided to kiss him!?” Cleo exclaimed, and her angry tone took Grian back.

“What do you mean?” Grian asked, flinching in on himself. 

Cleo paused, realizing the anger in her voice, and took a deep breath. “Look, you and Etho’s relationship is really complicated. He was a mess when you were taken by the Mounders Foundation. You can’t just spring a kiss on him!”

“He kissed back,” Grian weakly defended, but guilt swirled in his stomach at Cleo’s words. Had he acted too soon? Grian blinked, not realizing tears were still falling down his face.

“I- I’m sorry,” he managed.

Cleo’s eyes filled with fondness and she brought him in for a hug. 

“You two are so stupid when it comes to love. You know that, right?”

Grian merely nodded against her shoulder as he stifled another wave of tears.

Cleo pulled back a little, but kept a reassuring hand on Grian’s knee. Grian hadn’t even realized it, but both of them had sunken into the couch.

“You looked through the whole hotel?” they asked.

Grian sniffled and nodded.

“Have you tried calling him?”

Grian froze. “Why am I so stupid?” he muttered, avoiding Cleo’s gaze.

“Hey, you’re not stupid,” she said, her voice firm. “He probably wouldn’t have picked up anyway if you tried to call him.”

Cleo took her phone out of her pocket, and clicked on Etho’s number. The line rang once, twice, three times, before the call declined and was sent to voicemail. Cleo sighed, and texted something that Grian wasn’t able to read through blurry eyes and clicked the send button.

“He hung up on me, but I sent him a text that he got, so hopefully he’ll respond because he knows it’s me.”

Grian nodded, but kept his gaze focused on the carpeted ground of the living room.

“Grian? Can you look at me please?” Cleo asked, and Grian reluctantly raised his gaze. Cleo sighed, before continuing. “What you did was reckless and without thought.”

Grian’s lip trembled.

“But,” Cleo took both of Grian’s hand in her own. “Etho knows it wasn’t supposed to be intended to be like that. He loves you, Grian. He loves you so fucking much. But he’s scared.”

“He’s scared of hurting me,” Grian said, his voice barely audible, then he fully met Cleo’s gaze. “I don’t want him to feel that way! I don’t want him to feel guilty about- about what happened with Ren, and what happened with the organization, and what happened with everything! It’s not his fault!”

“It’s not,” Cleo agreed, but then her eyes turned sad. “But he doesn’t see it like that.”

“It’s not fair!”

“It’s not.”

“How do I fix it?”

Cleo paused, considering their next words. “I… I don’t know,” they responded truthfully, and Grian’s hope plummeted. 

“I just want him to see himself the way that I see him,” Grian muttered, down turning his gaze again. 

“Me too, G, me too.”

Just then, the door opened, and for the second time in a row, Grian’s stomach soared with hope.

Impulse stepped through the doorway, but Grian’s eyes were fixed on the man behind him.

Etho’s hands were in his pockets, his eyes unsure and filled with guilt. Grian hated seeing that look on his face.

The four were in silence for what felt like forever, until Impulse coughed, raising his eyebrows at Cleo, and headed down the hallway, an unreadable look on his face. 

Cleo quickly followed him, leaving Etho and Grian alone.

“Do you wanna talk?” Grian asked after a long pause.

Etho shifted slightly towards the direction of his and Cleo’s shared room, but then sighed.

“Sure.”

Grian swallowed nervously, and moved to the side, allowing Etho as much space as he wanted on the couch. Etho walked over, his hands still in his pockets, and sat down. He was tense, and on the very edge of the cushion. Did Grian make him feel this way? Did Grian make him feel uncomfortable?

“I want to apologize,” Grian began, but Etho cut him off.

“No, there’s nothing for you to apologize for-”

“Yes, there is.” Grian lifted his head and looked Etho straight in the eyes. For once, Etho was the one who broke contact first. He fell silent reluctantly.

“It was too soon. I- I was just so happy to see you, and- and that horrible place- but I shouldn’t make excuses. It was my fault. I’m sorry.”

Etho was quiet for a few moments, taking in Grian’s apology and processing it.

“I was happy to see you too,” he finally replied, his voice soft. “All this time, all this worry, and you were finally safe. But-” His voice became even quiet, almost a whisper. His tone was guilty and slightly embarrassed.

“I’m scared, Grian. I’m scared that I’ll become too attached to you, then you’ll end up just like Bdubs.”

“I’m never leaving you, Etho,” Grian said, his voice definite. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here by your side and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Etho looked unconvinced, but Grian was at a loss on how to fully solidify his standing in the situation.

“Y’know, I’m safe, you’re safe, we’re all safe. Quit feeling guilty about something that’s not going to happen, because it might if you really believe it will.”

Etho breathed out a breath he had probably been holding, and his body slightly untensed and he relaxed into the couch a millimeter more. “I just-”

“Please, Etho,” Grian implored, “I want you to stop being like this! I can take care of myself. I’m not some object that you have to cherish and protect, I’m not fragile.”

“No- I- I just-”

“No. I know what you mean. You don’t want to get too close to me because you’re afraid that you’ll hurt me. But, Etho.” Grian took Etho’s hand gently in his own. Etho didn’t resist or pull back, he simply let it happen, his eyes filled with a fragilely taped together hopefulness that seemed like it would shatter at the wrong word.

“I love you , Etho. There’s no changing that. And I really want this to work. So please, please don’t push me away. It only hurts both of us more.”

Etho hesitated, his hand shaking slightly in Grian’s gentle hold, but eventually he gave a small nod.

“Okay.”

Grian froze, raising his eyes to Etho’s. “Really?”

Etho scratched the back of his head with his free hand, his eyes slightly crinkling. “Well, don’t push your luck, we’re not that close of friends.”

Grian blinked, then a smile curved his lips. “Well, if that’s the case, then I better try my luck elsewhere-”

It was Etho’s turn to cut off Grian with a kiss. In one fluid motion, he unhooked his mask and leaned in. 

Grian was rendered rooted to the spot, his mouth hanging open wordlessly.

Etho pulled back with a slight smirk playing on his lips. “That’s two to one.”

Grian blinked, taken aback. He felt his face heating up, knew there was a very prominent blush painting his cheeks. “Are you keeping track on who kisses first?” he exclaimed indignantly, but couldn’t keep the fond amusement from his voice.

“Maybe.” Etho’s smirk widened. He placed the mask back on his face, and from the relaxed way his posture was angled, anyone could guess nothing had just happened. “You’ll never know, I guess.”

Just then, Grian saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. His gaze shot to the head of curly red hair, and Cleo’s eyes widened upon realizing she had just been caught. They had a broad smile on their face, but it was almost immediately wiped away, instead replaced by a sheepish grin.

“How long were you standing there?” Grian asked, keeping his voice politely questioning.

Etho turned around, and had a similar reaction to Grian.

“Cleo?” he asked, his voice prompting. “How long?”

Cleo looked like they were fighting a smile, but it was a losing battle. “Long enough?” they admitted in a questioning tone. Grian groaned, putting his head in his hands.

“No!” Cleo exclaimed, “it was cute!”

“Is Impulse there too?” Etho asked, his voice dejected.

Impulse’s head peeked out from the corner, and he gave a small wave, his face also slightly guilty.

Grian felt his face burning bright red, and he refused to move his hands away from his face. “It’s too late for us, Etho,” he groaned dramatically, flinging himself down onto the couch cushions next to him. “We’re gonna get teased so hard.”

“Come on, go comfort your boyfriend,” Grian heard Cleo say, nearly failing to stifle a laugh.

“I’m going back to bed,” Etho muttered, standing up and Grian heard his retreating footsteps. 

Grian sat up, uncovering his eyes, not missing the fond smile Cleo sent after Etho’s retreating back.

Impulse raised an eyebrow at Grian. “So, that’s the third time?”

Grian felt his face rise in bright red again, and he hurriedly turned away from Impulse’s question and Cleo’s wide grin. “Maybe.”

Three weeks passed without any disruption. The six assassins moved in with each other for protection purposes, and all seemed peaceful for the time being. 

Scott and Etho were recovering quicker than expected, and Grian was slowly overcoming his trauma from the whole kidnapping ordeal.

But it wasn’t always easy.

Some nights, Grian awoke to the dark room and panic surged through him, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He would jump out of bed and sprint for the door, only to remember that he was safe.

That word was something Grian deeply dwelled on.

Safe.

They were safe. Grian was safe, and he wasn’t there in that room anymore. He was safe with Etho and Cleo by his side. 

***

Scott groaned as Gem dragged him towards another store. 

“How long have we been here?” he complained, the countless bags full of clothes, beauty products that Scott may or may not have helped pick out, and other items which Gem deemed ‘necessities’ weighing heavily on his arms.

Gem had a loose grip on his wrist, but despite that Scott didn’t resist being pulled into another clothing store.

“A few hours. Come on, I thought you liked shopping!” Gem answered cheerfully, the purse that she had bought swinging in her excitement.

“Well yeah, but shouldn’t I be resting instead of picking out your makeup?” 

Gem’s face immediately fell and her gaze flooded with concern. “Are you hurting?”

Scott’s eyes widened. “No! No, I’m fine! We can keep picking out your makeup!”

Just like that, Gem’s happy demeanor was back. “Don’t you use these too?” She picked up a box of eyeshadow and waved it tantalizingly in front of his face. 

“That’s totally unrelated!” Scott crossed his arms, in the process nearly dropping a bag full of art supplies that they had picked up for Impulse.

“Fine, these are all mine!” Gem stuck out her tongue at him.

“Let’s just see what this store has,” Scott said, rolling his eyes. Gem made an excited noise, and darted off to admire a pale pink sweater. Scott wandered off to a different part of the store. He lifted the sleeve of a jean jacket, feeling the fabric between his fingers. He needed some spares. After Pearl had given him the injury that had rendered him absolutely useless for around four weeks, he was unable to get the blood stains out of the fabric.

Currently, he was in a dark zip up, a plain white shirt, and jeans from the assortment of clothes that him, Impulse, and Gem had gathered before the whole Grian warehouse incident. 

Offhandedly, he noticed a figure a little shorter than him walking past. They had a dark hoodie with the hood pulled over their head. Their hands were in their pockets, and a few dark curls poked out from under the hood.

Scott didn’t turn to look at the person, but a sense of unease flooded his mind, and he kept them in sight out of the corner of his eye. It was probably just paranoia from everything that had happened, but something about this person seemed vaguely familiar to Scott. 

Scott let the jacket fall out of his light hold, and casually made his way to the side of the store that Gem had run off too. He noted footsteps behind him, a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Skepticism rooted itself in his brain, goosebumps raising on his still too-pale skin. He could hear the continuation of the footsteps in his direction and he froze on the spot.

The person had failed his test. They continued walking past Scott, never sparing him a second glance. Their head was turned away from him, but up close judging by their figure Scott guessed it was a man.

The hooded man continued along, picking up a jacket and examining it closely.

Scott shook his head, orienting his thoughts. Of course this man wasn’t following him; it was just his paranoia talking. The Mounders Foundation hadn’t made a move for weeks, why would they now?

Scott passed the man, and despite his growing confidence that the man wasn’t a spy, he cast a glance over at him. Just at that moment, the man turned away from Scott and crossed the store again, walking behind the cover of a rack of coats.

Scott narrowed his eyes, but decided that staring would just draw unwanted attention to himself so he turned and made his way towards Gem.

She turned to him, alerted by his footsteps, and the bright smile on her face caused Scott’s warning to die and decay on the tip of his tongue. 

Gem’s eyes were practically glowing with joy and happiness, the wide grin on her lips genuine and sparkling. Scott couldn’t find it in himself to turn that elatement into fear and anger.

“Isn’t this cute?” she exclaimed, spinning in a circle, the sweater that she was looking at earlier held over her front. 

Scott smiled, and turned over the price tag. “It’s a little pricey though.”

Gem swatted his hand away from the tag, rolling her eyes and pulling out a card from her pocket. “The Watcher’s credit card gives us unlimited money, remember?”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “But we never know when those might deactivate or if they even do run out of money now that the Watcher’s probably stopped funding us.”

“Hm, you’re right,” Gem examined the dark credit card closely, her eyes squinted. “Oh well!”

Scott had never seen Gem so happy. After Pearl and the others left the Watchers, Scott had been put on a team with two complete strangers, while the other team was put together. It was unfair, Scott had thought. Scott had envied Etho, Grian, and Cleo. Why hadn’t they put Cleo with Scott? Or at least someone he knew? 

Scott had wondered if it was a punishment for nearly going with Pearl that fateful day. Well, whatever the cause, things were obviously awkward the first few weeks of meeting Impulse and Gem. None of them knew each other, and it turned out Scott and Gem were both very guarded, only exchanging words when necessary. It was Impulse that cracked both of their stubborn and closed exteriors, causing the team to eventually bond and become close.

Impulse was always the glue that held them together. Often, back in the early days of their team, Scott and Gem would get into arguments. Both of them having strong opinions caused conflict to arise between the two. Gem reminded Scott of Pearl in some ways.

Maybe that’s why Scott felt resentment towards her so quickly. 

The way Gem’s eyes shone with determination when she was after a target. The occasional wild look in her eyes as blood drips down her face, the target laying dead at her feet. The warmth on the inside much different from the cold outside she would always put on for strangers. 

It all reminded Scott of Pearl, and with those memories came resentment. And with that resentment came with regret and sorrow and then Scott became a mess of emotions just at the mere reminder of his former best friend.

But eventually, Scott and Gem warmed up to each other, Impulse completing the trio, and it was perfect.

Whenever anything became too much, Impulse was there, his words similar to rubbing soothing gel on a burn wound. They were comforting, warm, washing away the pain just with a simple few sentences.

Gem was the protector. With her already protective nature, anytime Scott or Impulse were in trouble, she would immediately spring to their aid. The concerned look in her eyes always pained Scott. To him, that look was something he never wanted to see in that amber gaze. 

After the hit where the six assassins had realized that the Watchers were after Scott- or all of them- the second they got back to the dorms Impulse and Gem had immediately fussed over him. Changing his bandages, pouring antibacterial on the wounds, the worry in their eyes when they realized Scott would need stitches in his palm because of the caught knife.

Scott had found himself frozen during the whole ordeal. Explaining what had happened, the traitor note, the suspicion- it had all been too much. His body was shutting down, the pain nonexistent to his mind, and that only caused Gem and Impulse’s worry to increase. Later, Scott had been told that he had collapsed.

It was similar to this when Scott was stabbed by Pearl with the machete. Although instead of having a medical facility in walking distance, Scott was left balancing precariously, caught in the realm between life and death. He had felt absolutely useless during the whole thing, but there was nothing he could do about it. All of Gem and Impulse’s tireless care only made him feel worse.

One late night, Impulse had told Scott that Gem had even cried.

Scott froze at that. Gem never cried. Much like Etho, she had a stoic resilience to showing much emotion in the face of danger or sorrow. 

Knowing the fact that Gem had cried over him sent Scott spiraling into an even deeper low.

Scott was abruptly brought back to the present by a tapping on his shoulder.

“You okay?” Gem asked, her eyebrows knitted.

Scott blinked, focusing on her face. “Yeah. Yeah- I’m fine. I- I dunno, yeah.”

Gem tilted her head to the side, thinking. “You hungry?”

Scott shrugged. “Sure.”

“Okay! I'll go pay for this then we can go to the food court!” Gem smiled, walking off with the sweater in hand.

Scott watched her walk away, his thoughts still a swirling, disorienting hurricane inside of his mind. Gem shortly returned, and linked her arm with Scott’s, pulling him along. 

“Is something wrong? You don’t seem all the way here,” she asked, a slightly worried and curious look reflecting back at Scott.

“No, I’m fine.” Scott gave her a smile. “Just got a little lost in the past.”

Gem’s smile morphed into something sympathetic. “Happens to the best of us, now come on! I’m hungry!”

Gem pulled Scott along to the food court, and the sudden rise in cacophony of chittering voices caused a sudden pang of pain to hit Scott’s head. People were milling around, idly talking, some absorbed in devices, the screens illuminating their faces. The line to the food was short enough, with around five people in front of Scott and Gem. 

Scott examined the menu. “What do you want?” he asked, glancing over at Gem.

Gem’s eyes lit up. “Funnel fries!”

“That’s not even a real lunch food,” Scott said distastefully, raising his eyebrows at a plate of nearby funnel fries. “How much sugar are in those things?”

Gem shrugged. “Probably a lot. But that’s not the point! They’re delicious! Here, it’s on me. I’ll pay for it.”

Scott couldn’t contain a smile. “You sure? Because I’d gladly pay for this.”

“No, really. It’s okay.”

“Okay then, if you’re absolutely sure…”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, before both burst out laughing. The older man in front of them turned slightly and gave them a reproving glare. He turned and whispered something to the woman next to him- presumably his wife- which sounded like “kids these days”.

“You wanna get drinks too?” Scott asked.

Gem nodded, and brought out her card as the couple in front of her and Scott finished paying for their food. As Gem stepped forward, something- or rather someone walking past caught Scott’s eye. He froze, watching the man in the same dark hoodie walk past, his head bent. He turned, and locked eyes with Scott, apparently feeling Scott’s gaze on him. 

Scott’s eyes widened, and he sharply took in a breath. Scott knew why he had thought this man familiar. He was next to Tango and Skizz that day at the warehouse, and from his description of curly dark hair and warm black eyes, Scott knew. 

BigB’s eyes widened, knowing he was caught, and he turned hurriedly. He walked quickly away, his strides long and soon he disappeared around the corner.

Scott’s eyes never left the corner, until he felt somebody tugging on his arm, and he turned. Gem was staring at him, holding out a cup to him with a basket of funnel fries cradled in the crook of her arm.

“Come on,” she said, sending a wary glance towards the people in line behind them.

Scott followed Gem to a vacant table and she sat down across from him. “Seriously. What’s wrong?”

Scott blinked multiple times, orienting his thoughts, his breath quick. “We need to get out of here,” he muttered, standing up quickly. 

Gem pulled him back down, her eyes genuinely concerned this time. “Scott,” she said, her voice firm. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s him. They’re here. They- they know where we are.” 

Gem’s eyes widened. “The Mounders Foundation.” It wasn’t a question, but Scott nodded anyway.

“Shit, we have to get out of here.” Gem cast a glance around her. “Come on,” she stood up, and her body language was completely different from just two minutes prior. Instead of the bubbly excitement, she was rigid and prepared, her eyes cold and calculating. 

Gem took Scott’s arm, but he didn’t need any encouragement to pick up the pace and eventually they were running almost at a full sprint through the maze that the mall had suddenly become. A few of the bags on Scott’s arms fell and the stuff that they had bought spilled out in their wake, but neither paid them mind. The items didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting out of the mall undetected and alive. 

“Which one of them was it?” Gem asked between breaths. 

“BigB, he was at the warehouse.”

“Alright, we just need to get back to the car- actually, no, don’t go back out to the parking lot, they’re probably there.”

“Come on, there’s a side exit here.” Scott branched off to the side, another bag slipping off his arm. Gem was at his side, her gaze determined. 

They ran through the door, welcoming the cold and crisp February air into their lungs. They didn’t stop running until they were a good distance away from the mall.

“We have to lose them if they’re still tailing us,” Gem said, sending a careful glance behind her.

Scott nodded, reaching inside of his jacket pocket for his phone. But all his hand met was the emptiness of fabric. Scott slowed almost to a complete stop feeling for his phone, but it was gone. He tried the other pocket. Nothing.

“Gem?” he asked, his voice slightly raised in pitch. “Do you have your phone?”

Gem checked her pockets, and her face fell. “No, do you?” But it seemed like she already knew the answer.

Scott shook his head anyway. 

“Shit.” Gem said, and that word alone summed up their entire predicament.

“I swear I just had it, I specifically made sure to put it in my pocket,” Scott muttered, slightly panicked.

“This means we can’t alarm the others,” Gem realized, giving up on the search for her phone.

Scott picked up his pace again to purposeful strides, dragging Gem along with him. “Let’s go to a random hotel, book a room there and stay there for the night. Just in case we are being followed.”

Gem seemed reluctant, but her face gave away that it was the best course of action. “Let’s do it.”

***

Cleo paced the kitchen, every other sending a worried glance at the door, then at the quickly setting sun. 

“Why aren’t they back yet?” she asked, their voice slightly cracking with worry.