Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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… We’re still here?

   … We don’t understand

This doesn’t make sense.

Where are the rest of us?

How are we here?

Why is it dark?

Why are we… apart?

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A long time ago, on a park bench in Apollo-1’s hospital gardens, Chess told Xisuma about her vision for the future.

They’d become quite good friends in a rather small amount of time. It helped that Chess so willingly took on the challenge that was being the personal physician of Xisuma’s twenty-something players. It was even better that she, despite the odds being so small, was also a voidkind hybrid, just like Xisuma. Outside of his brother, he’d never known that another one had existed. 

Despite only a few months passing, communicator chats and the occasional phone call led to Xisuma feeling like Chess was his long-lost sister. She was smart, level headed, and so incredibly passionate about her craft. She had a love for healing that matched Xisuma’s desire to provide, and the two interests blended splendidly.

“I was all on my own, when I first spawned in.” She’d said to him that day. “It was just me, the void, and the endermen. Nobody really knew how to help when I first started jumping into the overworld. I couldn’t breathe, but how could anyone know why? So when I established myself I thought, ‘I could be that person.’ I could be the one to help when others have no clue, just because the one in need has unique needs.”

She studied medicine, specifically hybrid medicine, which was a tiny and underdeveloped field at the time. Chess then went on to expand that field, being a pioneer in hybrid studies. She was the one who discovered the different compounds in hybrid blood types, teaming up with lead scientists in Nether and End studies. Her hospital, built from the ground up with her own blood, sweat, and tears, was the premier hospital for treating hybrids. The world was her oyster, she could have treated anyone she wished, but Chess chose to dedicate her time primarily to his hermits . 

“You’re their mom,” She’d snickered at him affectionately when he’d told her about his dream, about providing a home and a space for those without one. “You took them all under your wing. I respect that more than you can imagine, Xisumavoid. You’re a wonderful admin.”

A wonderful admin.

Xisuma didn’t particularly feel like one today. Not when half of his charges were now back at Chess’s hospital, broken and bleeding.

Especially not when one of them had yet to take a single breath. 

“Get a nether room ready!” One of the medics yelled down the hallway to another attendant, who immediately rushed off to do as asked. The same medic then glanced at her communicator before looking sideways at Xisuma. “Dr. Chess says she’s on her way.” 

Xisuma could only nod. In front of him, Jimmy and Skizz each had a hand on Tango’s stretcher, either supporting it or holding on for their own stability. Striding alongside, wings tucked in tight to avoid smashing against the walls or bowling anyone over, was Philza… only it wasn’t Philza. Kristen, she’d called herself. Phil’s wife. Goddess of Death. 

Except in this case, she was the self-proclaimed Goddess of Life. She’d seen Tango’s sickness before. 

They turned left, and the hallway immediately felt darker, warmer. The room at the end emanated a red glow and enough heat to make Xisuma instantly feel uncomfortable. That didn’t stop him from soldiering on, feeling sweat break out across his brow and arms, casting a creeping chill along his skin.

The stretcher plunged forward, but then paused before the doorframe. The second medic turned and cast Skizz and Jimmy a firm, but apologetic, look. “You two will have to stay out here.”

Jimmy’s grimy feathers puffed out immediately. “No.”

“Jimmy-” Xisuma started to say, but Jimmy made a low warning sound deep in his throat, pinning him with a slightly crazed stare. “ No.”

“Jimmy, buddy, I know you don’t want to leave.” Skizz was forcing his words past clenched teeth. Clearly he didn’t want to leave, either. “But you have to let the medics and Kristen do their job. We can’t get in the way.” 

Jimmy made another sound, louder, and stood a bit taller. It suddenly struck Xisuma that Jimmy may try to pick a fight right here in the hospital. He’d seen how changed the man was back on the island; there was a wariness and anger to him that hadn’t existed in the past. Jimmy wasn’t Xisuma’s player - he had no power over the avian and no authority. He couldn’t officially tell him to stand down.

But Kristen could.

“Little avian.” Kristen came to stand in front of Jimmy, and despite Phil’s body being a good half a foot shorter than Jimmy’s, Kristen’s presence filled the room up to the ceiling. A stab of pain shot through Xisuma’s skull when, beyond his physical sight, he saw her code swirl . It was different than Philza’s and yet so similar, and it collected inside the hallway like a dark, star-filled cloud. 

Jimmy couldn’t see the cloud, but its presence could be felt, and the avian leaned back almost immediately. His feathers fell flat, his expression changing from one of anger to one of fear. Kristen’s ink-black eyes grew, if possible, even darker.

“Step. Aside.” Two words were all that she said. Jimmy retreated with a whimpering sound, drawing Skizz along with him. The other man stared at Philza’s body with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

“Your friend will be helped.” Kristen went on, never once breaking eye-contact with the two. “But you must not interfere. Besides, you-” she nodded her head in Jimmy’s direction. “Should see a medic yourself.” 

Xisuma took another look at Jimmy, once again cataloging the blood, grime, and general aura of sickness and starvation that clung to the emperor like a smog. He grimaced. “Skizz, do you think you could take Jimmy to see a medic?”

Skizz glanced at Jimmy, then back at Tango, and bit his lip. Visibly steeling himself, he nodded. “Sure. C’mon, Jimmy.” 

He reached out slowly with one arm, gently drawing it around the outside of Jimmy’s wings to usher him back into the hallway. Jimmy went along silently, head craning backwards to look at Tango even as he left. 

It was only after the two other players had gone that the medics sprang into action again, carrying Tango’s stretcher into the nether room. The heat from the walls smacked into Xisuma like a physical weight as he crossed the threshold, even causing him to wince. It was oppressive, smothering, and yet he had no doubt that to a netherborn, it must have felt fantastic. He’d seen Tango happily wade in pools of lava, after all. 

“Where is Dr. Chess?” Kristen asked, once the medics had set Tango down on a hospital bed. They were hovering, clearly unsure what to do while Kristen was still there. 

“I’m here.” Chess burst into the room, panting a little, having clearly run all the way. She shut the door behind them, causing the heat to pool more thickly. She was immediately covered in a sheen of sweat, but she showed no signs of feeling it. “I’m here.”

“Good. We can start.” Kristen sounded relieved. It made Xisuma feel a little better, strangely, to know that she could even feel relief. But Chess moved forward, stepping between Tango and Phil’s body, her eyes blazing with bright purple fire.

“I’ve heard about this from Xisuma,” Chess said slowly. “But I don’t know you. You need to tell me exactly what you’re going to do when you put your hands on my patient.”

Phil’s face twisted slightly in annoyance, but the black eyes glittered with understanding.

“There are things I cannot say,” Kristen said softly. “But I have seen this kind of… illness before. I have spent a thousand lifetimes studying code and how to treat this. I can bring Tango back to the land of the living by soldering together the remains of his coding alongside some of my energy. But it’s not easy, and there are going to be sacrifices. That’s why I need you all here. I can make Tango breathe again, but I need you all to make sure he keeps breathing after I’m done.”

“What you’re talking about with Tango’s code has never been done before.” Chess said steadily, gaze unwavering. “You are going to violate the sanctity of his code and you are not a doctor. And what sacrifices do you mean?”

Kristen huffed out a breath, wings lightly brushing the wall behind her, and pointed at Tango’s left side. “For one thing, that arm needs to go.”

“ What ?!” Xisuma cried out, horrified. Tango couldn’t lose his arm . He was too technical, he used his hands too much with redstone, and he was too darn tactile . Tango would freak out if he woke up without an arm!

He looked at Chess to see if she was just as shocked, hoping she’d come up with a solution, but instead her eyes had dimmed, chin dipping. “That was already going to happen.”

“Chess? What do you mean?!” Xisuma felt somewhat betrayed. How had Chess already come to this decision? She hadn’t even examined Tango yet!

“Xisuma, look at him.” Chess said quietly. “Look at his arm.” 

Xisuma had been avoiding that very thing. He didn’t want to fully take in the extent of the damage. Every time he saw the cracks cutting through Tango’s body, he remembered the strange gaping holes in his code, and he felt sick. But now he forced himself to look, bile rising in the back of his throat upon seeing the mangled limb. What little skin remained was gray and dead. Three fingers were missing. The cracks covered every square inch all the way up to his shoulder, where they started to spread out.

“There’s too much damage.” Chess said gently. “We’re going to have to take it off no matter what, Xisuma.” 

Xisuma put a hand on the side of his helmet, feeling dizzy. Kristen’s eyes were black, bottomless pools, and yet they showed sympathy. 

“I have to sever his coding there,” she said. “His hand is the source of the corruption. Once that’s done, I can start working on the gaps in his code.” 

There was something else she wasn’t saying, Xisuma could feel it. Voice trembling, he managed to say, “And?”

“I can do my best to fill in the gaps of his code, but every player’s code is different. It’s not going to exactly match… and he’s going to feel that intimately.”

Xisuma almost slid to the ground; the magnitude of what Kristen was saying was that potent. His head swam. “K-Kristen…”

“Kristen, you know what that means.” Chess snapped. Even she sounded disturbed. “You can’t seriously mean that-”

“It’s either that, or your player is dead forever.” Kristen snapped at them. “We need to do this now and stop stalling. Do I have your agreement? Chess, do I have your permission to do this? You need to be prepared to tend to him the minute he wakes up.”

Chess went quiet, then looked over Xisuma. He felt like he wanted to cry, or scream. Kristen was saying that not only was Tango going to lose his arm, he was going to wake up with his coding being… touched. Tainted. It wasn’t going to be his , the unique coding that he’d spawned into. A player could go insane with that sensation. They would wake up every day and know, in the depths of their soul, that something was wrong, and they’d never be able to shake it. Never be able to fix it.

But the alternative was that Tango stayed dead forever. Xisuma couldn’t allow that.

He just hoped that Tango wouldn’t hate him for what he was about to allow.

Xisuma gave a single nod to show his approval. Chess echoed the movement.

“Okay.” Kristen breathed out slowly. “Get gauze, or whatever you need to stop a severe amount of bleeding.”

Chess and the medics sprang into action, rushing around and gathering materials. Chess barked out orders regarding x-rays, IVs, and several pieces of equipment that Xisuma didn’t recognize including something called a lava infusor. He bit his tongue to keep from asking questions and distracting any of them.

When Chess and the medics were ready, and Xisuma was positioned by the door and out of the way, Kristen closed her eyes. Her arms raised, and the air shimmered in between them. Xisuma’s head throbbed again, a fresh trail of blood sliding down to his lips upon his admin vision picking up whatever the hell was going on in front of him. 

Darkness, like the void, seemed to manifest in the space between Philza’s claw-tipped hands. It twisted and writhed, the coding within it so powerful that it hurt to even look at. The two medics flinched back at the sight of it, one even covering their eyes. Chess’s eyes glowed fiercely from behind her mask.

The void shifted, twisted, and then shaped itself into what could only be described as a scythe, long and sharp. Kristen took a deep breath, opened her ink-black eyes and, after muttering a quick “be ready,” swung it down hard. The blade bit deeply into Tango’s arm, just outside of the shoulder. 

There wasn’t a crack, or a squelch, or any particularly graphic noise to accompany the cut - that’s how sharp the manifested scythe was. Instead, Tango’s arm fell to the side, a perfectly clean line separating it from the rest of the blazeborn’s body. 

Then the blood started to flow. 

It poured out in a torrent, pale in color and shimmering. Xisuma knew immediately upon seeing it that the color was incredibly wrong. Chess and the medics sprang into action immediately to stem the flow, while Kristen reached out with the very edge of the scythe and gently placed it on Tango’s forehead, closing her eyes once more. All of the purple cracks on Tango’s body pulsed once, brightening, and then dimming to a very pale, dull violet. They started to close - not entirely, but enough that they were just thin lines as opposed to gaping, open cracks in his skin. The skin that remained behind from the closed wounds was a pale, silvery color that melded neatly with Tango’s ashen skin. They would, no doubt, stick out strongly if the netherborn recovered his usual skin color.

When he recovered it. When, not if. 

Kristen removed the scythe, and there was a moment of silence as everyone paused and waited for some kind of response, a sign that Tango would come back.

It came, a heartbeat later, in the form of a single, horrific sounding breath. Tango’s entire body jerked, and a metallic, grating rattle came from deep in his chest on the inhale. Chess flinched back with a curse, immediately snapping at the nearest medic, “Get him on oxygen and get him prepped for surgery, now. ”

“What is it?” Xisuma wheezed out. Chess spun to face him, as if realizing for the first time that he was still there. 

“His blaze rods are broken.” She said flatly, and Xisuma’s heart nearly stopped. “We have to get those repaired ASAP. Xisuma, I’m sorry, but you need to leave. We need to focus.”

“But-” Xisuma started to protest, but Kristen was already herding him out of the room. 

“Listen to her, Xisuma.” The woman (spirit? Goddess?) murmured. “She’ll take care of your player. We’ve done all we can.” 

“I’ll tell you everything about his condition as soon as he’s stable, Xisuma!” Chess called after him as Xisuma was swept out the door by Philza’s great wings. 

He fought the urge to whimper like a child when the door to the nether room swung shut, leaving him alone with Kristen in the hallway. 

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Kristen melted away as soon as she and Xisuma found a place to sit in one of the wider hallways. There were rows of chairs along the wall, and after pulling one out so his giant wings wouldn’t be squished, the inky blackness in Phil’s eyes faded away to be replaced by their usual crystal blue. 

“ Void ,” Phil groaned a little, raising a hand to his temple when his eyes had gone back to normal. He shook a little in his chair, feathers ruffling, but then the wrinkles of pain around his eyes smoothed away and he straightened. 

“How long has that been a thing?” Xisuma asked wearily. “Your wife being able to possess you like that.”

“It’s not really possession if it’s consensual, is it?” Phil frowned, but then seemed to think about what he said. “I guess it’s still possession.”

“ Just- ” Xisuma hissed out a breath. “Just answer the question.”

Philza’s eyes softened, sympathy spreading across his face. “She’s been able to do that for ages, mate. Centuries.” 

“What is she?” Xisuma hissed. “How come nobody knows about this!?”

“It’s not really a thing we advertise.” Phil snorted. “I think that’d freak some people out. She’s a spirit - that’s all you need to know. A couple centuries ago we came up with this joke about her being the Goddess of Death and it stuck. End of story.” 

“That’s not-” Xisuma cut himself off with a growl, frustrated by the lack of information. But knowing exactly what Kristen was didn’t matter right now as much as other things did.

“You trust her? She knows what she’s doing?”

“Kristen did everything in her power to help your player, Xisuma.” Phil said quietly. “It’s more than anyone else could have done. Yeah, the situation isn't… great. But it’s a hell of a lot better than it could have been.” 

Xisuma closed his eyes, which stung with tears and exhaustion. The blood on his lips was drying, crusting over. The taste of it was now a familiar one. 

“How did she know what to do?” He finally asked. “She said she recognized what happened to Tango. Did you see it, too? Do you recognize it?”

Phil went quiet, eyes growing somewhat distant. He stared at the floor, one of his talons tapping restlessly against the tile, before finally saying, “Yeah. I recognize it.”

“Then how-?”

“There used to be more elytrians, mate.” Philza said bluntly, cutting him off. Xisuma stared at him in shock, half stunned into silence, half waiting to see if Philza kept speaking. But that was it - the elytrian went back to staring at the floor, talon continuing in its tapping. There was a heaviness along his shoulders and wings that hadn't been there before, a grief in his eyes that was dark and shadowed. Ancient. 

Xisuma, quite suddenly, didn’t want to ask any more questions. 

“I’m going to go see if anyone else is around.” He said instead, slowly getting to his feet. His vision tilted, but that was normal for him now, and he knew exactly how many deep breaths it took for him to grow steady again. “See if other doctors have updates on anyone.” 

“I’ll stay here and keep an eye on Tango’s door, if you’d like.” Philza offered, and some tension inside of Xisuma’s chest eased a little. He nodded in thanks, then slowly made his way down the hall towards the busier part of the hospital, keeping an eye out for anyone he recognized.

It took him a few minutes before he spotted a head of coppery curls and a blue hoodie: Fwhip. The man was staring dully at a big door in front of him, sitting in a chair like Xisuma had been in only moments before. Xisuma noted the drumming of Fwhip’s fingers on his knees before coming to sit next to him, groaning a little as his entire body protested as being pushed into a sitting position again.

“What are you waiting for?” He ended up asking. Fwhip let out a heavy sigh.

“Joel’s in surgery.” The other admin said, and Xisuma’s heart clenched. “Where’s Lizzie?”

“Hermes freaked out when everybody left the server.” Fwhip said. “Sausage ended up bringing him to the lobby because he wasn’t sure what to do. Lizzie didn’t want to leave, but she was the only one who was able to calm him down. I think she took him back to Stratos.”

Xisuma’s heart swelled with pride for the emperor. It must have been excruciating for Lizzie to not be here by Fwhip’s side, waiting for Joel to come out of surgery. But she’d chosen to comfort Joel’s child instead of listening to her own desires. Xisuma could only hope that it helped both of them find some peace of mind. 

Xisuma looked at the door in front of them and noticed, for the first time, that the plaque by the door read “Conference Room A.” He shot Fwhip a curious look.

“He isn’t able to shrink down unless he’s conscious,” Fwhip explained. “The medics had to drag him into a bigger room and bring all of their medical supplies in after him. They’re converting it into an actual hospital room for him.”

Xisuma hummed in understanding. “Jimmy?”

“Getting checked over by another doctor down the hall.” Fwhip said. “He’s got Skizz, Scott, Oli, and a few others in there with him. Hopefully they can keep him calm.” 

“Kristen sent him off pretty aggressively.” Xisuma said quietly. “I hope it didn’t upset him too much. We just needed to make sure Tango could be treated without interruption.” 

Fwhip’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he didn’t say a word. That alone spoke volumes about Jimmy’s current state.

They were quiet for a little while, Xisuma resigning himself to the fact that everyone was busy tending to the injured players and wouldn’t be able to give him any info. That was okay; tending to everyone was the priority. Xisuma was patient; he’d waited for two months, he could wait a little longer. 

Gods above, two months was so long . A lump rose in his throat as he pictured the bodies, the graphic wounds. He thought of the monsters on that island, and the strange blended dimensions. He thought about how Joel’s body had been pulled from the depths of the earth like a puppet, and how Jimmy had screamed not again . 

Things wouldn’t go back to normal just because everyone had come back. This was just the beginning.

“We have a long way to go.” He whispered. Fwhip glanced at him, and he went on. “This is just the start, isn’t it? We have no idea what they all went through. You saw how Keralis and Ren were when they woke up, nevermind the others. This isn’t just going to go away.” 

“This is going to make a lasting impact for months, Xisuma.” Fwhip agreed. “Years. A lifetime, maybe. That’s just something we’re going to have to help them get used to.” 

“I can’t even bring them home, Fwhip.” Xisuma rasped, tears filling his eyes. “I can’t bring them back to our server. They can’t even have that kind of comfort.”

“Xisuma.” Fwhip turned to look at him, looking similarly emotional. “You’ve been here for months. I’m not afraid to let everyone stay. As long as you need it, as long as they need it, EM-2 is your home, do you hear me? Me and my emperors will build all the homes you need, and we’ll get all the resources you need. You helped me find Joel and Jimmy - I owe you so much. Our home is yours until whenever we get that Rift back open.”

Xisuma was overwhelmed, unable to speak. For once, the tears that rolled down his cheeks were ones of gratitude rather than sorrow, and the ache in his throat was somehow cathartic. He nodded a few times, mute, and reached out to grip Fwhip’s shoulder with one hand. 

Fwhip’s blue eyes were bright, but then his expression became serious. “Everyone needs to get back on their feet before we focus on that Rift, though. They’re all going to need a lot of help.”

“Absolutely.” Xisuma’s mind flashed to Keralis’s damaged eye and how the healing potions had flowed right off of the open wounds. “But we’ll be there to help them all through it.”

“You know it.” Fwhip gave a tiny smile.

They were quiet again after that, but something in Xisuma’s chest had gone slack, and it felt so, so good. Some of the buzzing in his exhausted, frazzled brain had eased, and he allowed himself to sink a little deeper into the chair, fatigue settling on his shoulders like a warm, weighted blanket.

They waited, and that weight got warmer and heavier. Xisuma started having to jerk himself awake upon finding his head tipping back and his eyes sliding shut. Fwhip, after about the fourth time of noticing him snap awake, gave a soft, exasperated chuckle.

“Get some rest, Xisuma.” He reached out and rested one arm on Xisuma’s helmet, effectively pinning his head back against the wall in a limp, resting position. “You’ve earned it.”

Xisuma blinked sluggishly, honey oozing through his veins, and did his best to nod. The darkness slipped over him easily after that, dragging him down into softness and weightlessness, a void of his own making. 

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“Xisuma?” 

Someone tapped his helmet lightly, the sound echoing through his skull, and Xisuma blearily opened his eyes. He felt hardly rested at all; his neck ached from the weird angle, and his entire body was weighed down by cinder blocks, heavy and unyielding. Still, he managed to pull himself into a semi-upright position. “Huh?”

Glowing pinpricks of purple shone in front of him, and a jolt of panic shot down his spine, only to fade when Chess’s dark mask came into view. Fwhip was no longer beside him, and the lights of the hospital hallway had dimmed slightly.

“Tango’s surgery is still ongoing, but he’s more stable. The medics are handling the rest of it.” Chess said quietly. “I want you to come with me and get checked out.”

Xisuma blinked at her, still half asleep and dizzy. “Someone else should be looked at-”

“There’s no-one else, X. Fwhip’s already getting looked at by a colleague. You’re the only one I need to focus on right now.” 

“Tell me about everyone else, then.” Xisuma demanded, feeling more alert. “What’s the update on Ren and Keralis? Or Bdubs? Or-”

“Xisumavoid.” Chess said firmly, eyes flashing. “I promise you that I will tell you everything I know about all of your hermits, but only if you go with me and allow me to examine you while I’m doing so. Do you understand?” There was a steeliness to her voice that Xisuma wasn’t used to being on the opposite side of. Normally this was a tone reserved for someone like Doc and Tango. Or Grian. 

“Fine.” He finally said. He slowly got to his feet, vision predictably shifting, but this time Chess grabbed his arm when he swayed. He let her drag him down the hallway, his feet each weighing a hundred pounds. “As long as you tell me everything.”

“Don’t worry, Xisuma.” Chess sighed, pulling him along to a hall Xisuma recognized as housing examination rooms. “There’s plenty to tell.”

Chapter Text

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Why did this happen? 

Could this have something to do with the lore coding? 

Don’t think so, it’s not strong enough. 

Nothing should be strong enough to do this except us.

Well then, was it? 

It can’t be them … they’re gone. 

We made sure of that. 

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Chess led him to a very different room than the one Tango had been in. This room was dark, with end rods in the corners to provide a gentle glow. The temperature inside was much colder, with a kind of icy dryness that soothed Xisuma’s aching muscles. He felt like he’d dropped a solid ton of tension the minute he stepped through the door. 

Chess shut the door behind her, pressing a button next to it. The air hissed as a seal was established, and then she reached up and undid the strap for her mask, taking it off and setting it on a desk by a computer and monitor setup.

Chess’s facial features were strong to go alongside her tall, muscular frame. Her eyes blazed a bright, pale lavender from corner to corner, providing the lighting that shined through the purple glass in the sockets of her mask. Freckles that glowed lightly like stars were scattered across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Thick eyebrows, full lips, and a constant ever-so-slightly furrowed brow gave her a very intelligent, pensive face. 

Right now, however, her face was lined with nothing but worry.

“Sit down on the table and take the mask off, X.” Chess patted the top of the padded examination table, lined with crinkly sterile paper. Xisuma made his way over and heaved his aching body on top of it, fingers shaking slightly as he undid the clasps on his helmet. Something cracked and flaked against his skin when he finally removed it, and he almost dropped it when Chess spat out an angry, “What the hell, Xisuma?”

“What?” Xisuma exclaimed, bewildered, only to flinch when Chess grabbed the helmet from his hands and thumped it down on a nearby chair. She then hissed, “Don’t move,” and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. 

Xisuma stared after her, slowly and methodically filling his lungs with the End air that was being cycled through the room. He reached his hand up to absentmindedly scratch at the back of his head and winced in absolute disgust at the state of his hair. 

There was something else, something that continued to flake off under his scratching fingers. He brought his hand to his face in confusion, only to blanch when he saw dark red collected under his fingernails. 

Chess stormed back into the room, exuding waves of anger and worry. She had a washcloth and a container of water in hand, and she wasted no time in dragging a chair over to the examination table, kneeling on it, and bringing the washcloth to Xisuma’s face. 

“Hold still, Xisuma.” Chess brought up the washcloth and gently raked it over the skin around Xisuma’s neck and chin. When she drew it back only moments later, the cloth was stained red.

“Oh.” Xisuma abruptly felt a bit sick. He’d forgotten about all of the nosebleeds he’d had recently - they’d faded into the background as a regular occurrence. No wonder Chess had freaked out upon seeing him, his face must have been caked in gore. 

“Yes, oh .” Chess glared at him with fierce purple eyes. “How long has this been happening, Xisuma?”

“A few weeks, maybe?” Xisuma mumbled. He had a harder time meeting her eyes, suddenly realizing how disheveled he must have looked. 

Chess’s lips pressed into a thin line and she exhaled in a single huff. Her hand came up with the rag again, and her touch somehow managed to be both firm yet gentle as she started wiping more blood from his face.

Xisuma tried to be quiet and keep his composure, he really did. But something about how soft and caring her touch was, combined with how stressed he’d been lately… he found himself choking up. The weight of his grief, guilt, and fear started piling up again on his shoulders, dragging him down, threatening to suffocate him. 

Chess glanced up to meet his eyes a few moments later and she paused upon seeing his expression. Her eyes dimmed, and her eyebrows furrowed even more.

“Xisuma,” she sighed, and that was all it took for him to break. The first sob slipped out and he smothered it the best he could, swallowing it down with a few heavy breaths and strangled whimpers. The tears started falling, faster and faster, and his shoulders started to shake… but he tried to be silent. It felt too shameful to break the quiet atmosphere of the room.

Chess noticed, and her eyes dimmed even more, leaving her with a sad, glass-eyed look. 

“It’s okay,” she said in a hushed voice. “They’re all here, Xisuma. They’re all breathing.” She continued to wipe at his face, smoothing away his blood and tears even as he continued to cry. At some point her free hand came to rub gentle circles against his back, leaving only when she needed both hands to wring out the towel.

She’d done so twice by the time Xisuma finally regained some of his composure. His face and neck felt clean and cool from the water, and the container was rusty with blood. He then sat silently, aching inside, while she left and then came back with some other tools. He answered vocally only when she asked him questions about his headaches, the bleeding, how much sleep he’d been getting. His head throbbed when she checked his eyes with a light, the world spinning slightly, and he saw her mouth quirk downwards into a frown. He found it hard to bring himself to care. 

She checked the rest of his vitals, including his blood pressure, heart rate, and even his weight, which probably shouldn’t have surprised him. When he finally sat back down on the examination table she sighed, and then stared at him for a good, long minute. Xisuma’s eyes watered when he met her gaze, so he looked away.

“You’re a mess, Xisumavoid.” Chess finally said in a hushed tone. “A real mess.”

“What else is new?” Xisuma croaked, a crooked attempt at a grin crossing his face. She smiled a little in response, but then became serious again.

“I’m going to get you a potion for the headache,” she said, “and then you’re going to lay down and close your eyes. We can talk about the others while you rest.”

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Half an hour later, Xisuma was situated in a new pair of clothes, a slightly starchy-feeling t-shirt and loose-fitting pants. Chess had gone to get a potion and other supplies while he changed in the adjoining bathroom. Before changing, Xisuma had gotten a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the first real look he’d had at himself in weeks. 

He looked, frankly, like an absolute disaster. He understood why Chess had been so angry upon seeing him without his helmet, and this was after all the blood had been cleaned off. His skin was deathly pale and gray-toned, with bags under his eyes that might have caused Bdubs to pass out from sheer horror. His eyes were scary to look at - the sclera so bloodshot that they were beet-red instead of white, and his irises had an odd purple tint to them that must have come from all the admin magic he’d been using. His cheeks were sharper than usual, with a thick stubble lining his jaw from weeks without shaving, and his hair was greasy and clumped together.

He’d been about to change properly when there was a knock at the bathroom door, and he’d opened it to find Chess waiting with a towel, some soap and shampoo, a razor, shaving cream, and a toothbrush with toothpaste. Despite everything, he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at her. “Did you steal this from a hotel?”

Chess snorted. “We’re a hybrid-centric hospital, X. You expect me to make any End patient leave this pressurized room just so they can shower? No, everything that you could possibly need is either in the main room, in this bathroom, or in the attached supply closet.”

“That’s… kind.” Xisuma deflated, hating that he was associated with the word “patient.” It brought him back to reality, reminding him that there were many others much more deserving of attention, and he started to feel antsy. “Chess-”

“Shower, shave, then we’ll talk. I’m not going to keep you in the dark forever, Xisuma.” Chess shoved the supplies into his hands and then shut the door, leaving him stuck. She had all the power, holding the information that she did, and Xisuma reluctantly got himself undressed and stepped into the shower. 

Admittedly, the shower was blissful. The lukewarm water soothed so much of the tension in his shoulders and neck, easing the headache some, and it felt so good to clean out his hair. When he emerged a few minutes later he felt like a completely different person. 

After spending a few minutes shaving and brushing his teeth, Xisuma finally emerged from the bathroom, loose-limbed and feeling much more present. He had to fight back a lump in his throat once again when he saw that Chess had removed the crinkly sanitation paper from the padded table and replaced it with a soft blanket. She was waiting for him with potion in tow, and when he sat down she settled a new blanket over his shoulders to preserve a little warmth. It was thin enough that the crisp atmosphere still kept him comfortable. 

The pink regeneration potion crackled along his tongue when he drank it, but it also swept away any lasting discomfort that had lingered beyond the shower. The sudden lessening of pain was so novel that Xisuma almost passed out then and there, feeling like he was floating on the soft blankets. But he still had some reports to listen to, and so even when Chess dropped soothing eye drops in his eyes and gave him a doctor’s order to keep them shut, he was still very much awake. 

Thankfully, seemingly satisfied that he was clean and medicated, Chess began to speak. 

“I want to start by saying this:” Chess began. “All of your hermits are getting all of our focus and attention. Even if we normally rely on potions and coding for our medical practice, we’re still all trained in other methods. We know how to do surgeries, we know how to work with IVs and medications. This was a slight surprise but it’s not going to set us back on our treatment.”

That was… good. Reassuring. Xisuma nodded, breathing out a thanks. He couldn’t see her, but her voice was confident and clinical, which kept him focused on the facts and less on the context that had led to them.

“Cleo is probably the least injured out of all of them due to her zombie-hybrid nature,” Chess went on. “Whatever cut her neck was sharp, and so the wound is relatively clean. We know in the past that when she’s lost limbs she just needed to stitch the wound back on and the healing code would repair the tissue, but since this isn’t the case right now, we’ve had to use some thicker thread alongside some heavy-duty bandages to keep her head stabilized. As long as she moved carefully her head should remain still. If she consents, we’re hoping to see if using a harming potion will encourage tissue regeneration. Outside of that, her body doesn’t need to eat in the same way, and she doesn’t feel pain, so she’s been told to rest. In the hospital, of course, since she refuses to leave and we don’t expect her to.”

“Of course.” Xisuma murmured. That was probably the best news he could have hoped for regarding Cleo. He still couldn’t wipe out the image of all the blood he’d seen splattered all over her torso from the killing blow, but at least she wasn’t hurting. At least she could still function. Thank goodness for being a zombie hybrid.

“Jimmy’s getting checked out now,” Chess went on. “We’re most likely going to see some pretty severe malnutrition and exhaustion, based on what he looked like when I checked in on him earlier. He’s definitely in shock. We’re hoping that getting him cleaned up, hydrated, and rested alongside some company will help draw him out of it, some. We’ll need to monitor his food intake for a while, and he may need to be medicated in order to sleep effectively. He’s already asking about the others, so he’ll most likely be in the hospital for some time. It wouldn’t be good to make him separate from the others, especially Tango, Joel, and Grian.”

“How’d you-”

“They were the main ones he was asking about earlier.” Chess’s voice became more somber. “Best friends?” 

“Grian and Joel? More like brothers. Flockmates, in avian terms.” Xisuma said wearily. “Tango and Jimmy were pretty much partners when I last saw them.” There was a quiet, sympathetic oh as Chess took that in. 

“The rest are in rough shape.” Chess said after a few moments of silence. “Grian’s sick, severely so. The remaining wither poison is still running through him. He’s got a high fever, and so delirium is a problem. His lungs were also damaged, so he’ll be coughing and on oxygen for a spell when he wakes up. It’s pretty much an equivalent to a rather severe case of pneumonia. We’re confident, however, that fluids, rest, oxygen, and medication will clear out the wither sickness entirely. The entry wound on his shoulder has already been disinfected, stitched, and bandaged.” 

“Is he still conscious?” Xisuma asked. “I know he was asking about Scar-”

“He’s been sedated.” Chess sighed. “His body needed to rest. As for Scar, he’s not going to be awake for a good while.”

“That bad?” Xisuma asked quietly.

“Frostbite on every extremity, alongside missing skin, more broken bones than we could initially count, and bruised internal organs.” Chess said flatly. “He’s still in surgery, and he will be for a while because we’re trying to piece him back together. He’s getting blood transfusions. His wings were practically shattered. We’ve already had to use more than one set of rods and screws to keep his bones intact.”

“Void,” Xisuma breathed. His eyes were already closed but he screwed them up tighter, resting a hand on his forehead. His headache already felt like it was resurfacing. “Anything else?”

“He’s not going to be able to move properly after this, X.” Chess said softly, and Xisuma’s eyes shot open. He tried to sit upright but Chess had already anticipated it, a firm hand on his chest keeping him pinned to the bed. “What?”

“We can do our best with all the broken bones, but considering how many pieces they were in… they’re not all going to heal back the same way. His wings especially. He’s not going to be able to use them, he might have a hard time walking normally. He’s definitely looking at some chronic pain.”

“Oh, Scar…” Xisuma buried his face in his hands. He could see himself and Jimmy standing on a mountain top, slowly chipping away at Scar’s mangled body, peeling it up from the frozen stone. He’d seen with his own eyes the damage there had been. How could he ever have thought that it wouldn’t have lasting ramifications? 

“We’re working the best we can on him,” Chess said. “He’s going to wake up and he’s going to heal, Xisuma, we just have to be prepared for it to not work all the way. There was just too much damage.”

“Right.” Xisuma said wetly. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. “How about everyone else?” 

“Impulse had a great deal of water in his lungs, but he’s actually mostly okay, just extremely dazed and exhausted.” Chess told him. “Although, somehow , his entire code makeup changed and he’s-”

“A drowned, right.” Xisuma had almost forgotten, and a sense of bewilderment swept through him. “How is that even possible?”

“I have no clue.” Chess shook her head. “But I’m assuming, based on everything else I’ve seen and based on my quick scan of his surface code, that it’s permanent. No doubt there will need to be some further exams and tests to see just how much has changed. The last thing we want to do is have him burn to death just from stepping outside in the daytime. As of right now, we’re keeping him hydrated and keeping the room cool. It looks like his skin is much more fragile than before and runs the risk of drying out more quickly.”

“Okay.” Xisuma was already thinking about talking to Cleo, once she recovered, about speaking to him. But then he cringed - how could he ask anything of Cleo after all she’d gone through? 

“Zedaph is proving to be a rather serious case,” Chess went on. “His entire body, especially on his left side, is covered in second and third degree burns. We’re getting them disinfected and we’re getting him on an IV, but he’s going to require several skin grafts. For now he’s being kept sedated so we can work on him and so he’s not in pain.”

“ Is he going to be?” Xisuma couldn’t help but ask, cringing immediately afterwards at the stupid question. Chess, thankfully, didn’t answer his question directly, but said, “We’ve got a medication plan lined up for him already.”

“Good.” Xisuma was starting to feel overwhelmed. He’d wanted to know all the details but hearing the extent of it all was driving him a little crazy. His headache was fully back, and the tension had returned in his shoulders, a weight settling on his chest. And yet, he needed to know it all. “Go on.”

“Etho’s a mess.” Chess complied. “We’re seeing practically every wound somebody can get all in one place. Burns, bruises, lacerations, broken bones. Even some internal lung and throat damage from dragon’s breath. We’re working on it all one bit at a time, with bandages, stitches, blood transfusions, you name it. He should make a full recovery but it’s going to take a while and he’s going to have some serious scarring.”

The slightly psychotic part of Xisuma’s brain laughed at that, knowing how much Etho hated showing skin and so fervently hoping the scarring wouldn’t freak him out. He swallowed then, thinking of the other person in Etho’s minecart. “Bdubs?”

“Surgery.” Chess’s voice suddenly fell, and Xisuma’s heart rate rose. “He’s… he’s pretty badly hurt, X. The stalagmite punched a hole through several of his organs, including his intestines, stomach, pancreas, and even one of his kidneys. Somehow his spine is still intact, although from what limited information we’ve gotten from the situation, we think that more has to do with him being brought back to life than anything else. By all means, X, he should be dead still, but he’s somehow hanging in there. We’ve got to repair a lot of the internal damage from scratch, patch up both exit and entry wounds, and give him back a lot of blood. He’s not going to recover for a long time. He won’t be able to eat solid food for weeks.” 

Xisuma shivered, remembering the bloodstains that soaked through Bdubs’ shirt and around his mouth, coating the sharp part of the stalagmite. He couldn’t even imagine what that death must have been like. Had he been alone? 

“Who’s left…” Chess murmured to herself, then caught Xisuma’s gaze. “Close your eyes, X.” He complied while she reorganized her thoughts. 

“Keralis has gotten stitched and bandaged up,” Chess started again, back on track. “The biggest concern is his eye. It was completely sliced by the blow across his face, and the pressure was completely ruined. I don’t think it’s going to be salvageable, X. We’re thinking of ways to restore it but odds are, we’ll have to remove it in a few days to keep it from getting infected and causing more problems.”

“Do you have to?” Xisuma was horrified. He knew Keralis had a thing about his eyes - they were so big, so bright and expressive, he was known for them. Everyone made jokes about them or complimented them, Keralis knew that and played along. Losing one would not just impact his vision, it would be a huge blow to his pride and self-esteem.

“It’s either that or let an infection spring up close to his brain, X.” Chess said sympathetically. “We’re not calling it just yet, but it’s looking likely.” 

Xisuma swore, covering his mouth with a hand and forcing himself to take another deep breath when his lungs burned. “Who’s left? Ren? Joel?” He needed to get this over with. He no longer wanted to hear all this. It was putting too many awful images in his head, making it hard for him to think.”

“Ren, Joel, and Tango.” Chess murmured, and Xisuma cursed again. She plowed on, apparently recognizing his agitation. “Ren’s mostly in the same boat as Keralis but his throat was heavily damaged rather than his eye. Something punctured straight through both his trachea and esophagus, which means we currently have him on a breathing tube inserted further down to make sure he still gets air while we fix the damaged tissue. He won’t be able to swallow or breathe well for some time, and he’s probably going to need speech therapy.”

“Joel?” Xisuma’s voice cracked, and he tried not to think of Ren’s playful, theatrical speeches or silly voices. 

“Joel’s still… well, he’s still big. You saw they moved him to a conference room?” Xisuma nodded. “He’s got a stab wound in his abdomen that caused some damage similar to Bdubs but on a sharper, cleaner scale, so we’re treating that. One of his wings is getting operated on due to a snapped tendon. Other than that, he’s on an IV due to general malnutrition, and the lichtenberg figures are getting treated for some sensitivity and tenderness.”

“And… Tango?” Xisuma had been there for Tango in the beginning, and had seen him be brought back. The metallic grating sound of that first breath would probably haunt his dreams forever. And his code …

“We’re still working things out for him.” Chess sounded resigned. “We know about blazerods in both blaze anatomy and blazeborn anatomy due to studies, but they’re so rare… we have no official records of any being restored. We have to be experimental. We’ve pieced together the rods like we would broken bones, but we can’t use metal in there as a long term solution because his internal temperatures would melt it as soon as he’s stronger.”

“So how do we fix them?” Xisuma asked, voice shaking slightly. “How does he get better?”

“We’ve got him deeply right now.” Chess said. “He’s in a room that’s as hot as we can stand it, and his vitals are being maintained by our instruments. But what we’re realizing is that, since blaze rods are an organic metal, they can heal themselves like other tissues. They need intense amounts of heat to do so, however, so we’re having to take them out one at a time, hold them together with metal wires and rods, and need to soak them in lava - in quick spurts to avoid the melting metal - individually until they’ve healed enough to be re-established in Tango’s chest.”

Xisuma… had no words for that. He fell quiet as his brain tried to comprehend what that even looked like. “S-so… how…?” 

“It’s going to be a long surgery.” Chess sounded abruptly exhausted, and Xisuma could certainly imagine why. “He’s got about ten machines hooked up to him right now to keep everything running, and we have to cycle through surgeons because of the heat. The rods, as of right now, are predicted to take about ten hours each to recover when soaked in lava, so we’re forced to have him under for the next two days. We have been able to clean up and stitch together his shoulder, but we can’t bandage that properly until his chest is closed. And the cracks, whatever those were, left internal scarring, X. They weren’t just surface level.”

“So what’s the final verdict?” Xisuma felt breathless, like even the End air was too heavy for him. “What’s going to happen?”

“We keep him in surgery until those blaze rods can be put back in,” Chess said, “then we close him up. He’s going to be put on a very, very hot mix - as hot as our reinforced IVs can handle - of regeneration and nutrients. We know the potions don’t work but a normal IV won’t work because of his body’s natural hydrophobia, and so we’re hoping the hot liquid will both keep his temperature up and deliver those nutrients into his bloodstream. And, X… his blood levels are dangerously low. He lost a fair amount when his arm was removed and the rest… we have no idea what happened. Potentially it was destroyed when his coding was damaged? But we need to do a transfusion, and we don’t have the blood for it.”

“I thought you would have had some by now,” Xisuma couldn’t help how desperate his voice sounded. “You said you didn’t have some back after the moon crash and now-”

“He’s a rare hybrid, X.” Chess said sadly. “That’s why we created this hospital in the first place - people haven’t figured this stuff out yet. It’s the curse of being unique like that. When his surgery is done and he’s a little stronger, we’re hoping you can ask around to see if there's another nether hybrid that might be willing to donate. Hopefully one that’s not a piglin, even though those are more common. We’ve unfortunately learned by now that those two blood types are incompatible.”

“I can ask.” Xisuma felt all kinds of mentally and physically drained - he couldn’t even imagine how Chess was standing, knowing all that she knew and having done all that she had. “What now, Chess?”

“Now?” Chess rested a hand on his shoulder. “Now you rest, because you can’t do anything in your current state. Afterwards? We wait, we treat, and we do our best to help everyone adjust to being home.”

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Skizz was fully, and completely, not okay. 

He’d hung on to his composure for dear life when he’d found out that everyone had gone missing. He’d fought back tears during lonely nights in his bunk on Astro’s spaceship, longing for his three missing friends. He’d done his best to help with the search efforts, helping prepare meals and rushing around to comfort the emperors and other hermits. 

He’d sobbed, so unbelievably grateful, when that portal had opened. But now the elation of having his friends back was being tempered by the fact that, while they were returned, they were all so damaged . 

Impulse was a completely different species. Zed was covered in burns from head to toe. Tango was - Skizz didn’t even know what was going on with Tango,but it was enough to cause some kind of deity to show up in Philza’s body and demand that she help them fix it. 

Skizz didn’t want to leave when they’d gone to the hospital. Like Jimmy, he wanted to stand his ground. He’d be quiet, he’d stay in the corner, but he couldn’t leave , because if he let any of his friends out of his sight one more time…

What if they disappeared again? 

But Kristen was right - Jimmy needed help, and the reset of the group needed space. So Skizz mustered all of the remaining strength and courage he had in his shattered spirit and helped herd Jimmy away, heart breaking even more at the little anguished chirps that the avian made as they stepped down the hall. He didn’t want to do this - he wanted to grab Jimmy by the hand, rush back to the room, and demand that they be allowed to stay. 

Stay focused, Skizz. One foot in front of the other. One more step, one more step, one more step…

“Are you two from the group of missing players?” A nurse stepped up to greet them, a short player with a pixie cut of blonde hair, bright pink eyes, and two twitching antennae on her head. Skizz had to take a second to process that question, but he found his words soon enough. 

“N-no,” Skizz stammered. “I’m not. But Jimmy is.” He gently put a hand on the emperor’s shoulder, almost letting go when he felt the avian flinch under his touch, only to then slowly lean against it. “He needs to get looked over.”

“Right.” The nurse’s eyes did a quick scan, and to Skizz’s relief, filled with sympathy as opposed to a clinical detachment. “You should come with me, hun. Do you want to come along as well?”

That last question was directed at him, and it once again took Skizz a moment to realize that. He looked at Jimmy, shaking and pale, and the decision was made in an instant. “Lead the way.” 

The nurse led them to a different room, gently directing away some anxious hermits and emperors as they went. Jimmy was hardly paying attention, not reacting even when his fellow emperors said his name. Skizz gave them all a sympathetic look as he passed, not missing the expression of absolute heartbreak on Scott’s face. 

The room they then entered was not quite an exam room, but more like a quiet recovery room. There were curtains over the windows and a soft yellow light from a lamp next to a hospital bed. The nurse motioned for Skizz to sit on the chair next to the bed, then gently led Jimmy to the bed and helped him sit on the comforter. Her movements were soft, but confident - practiced. Clearly, she’d treated similarly shocked patients before. 

“Look at me, sweetheart.” She murmured, using the slightest of pressures to direct Jimmy’s attention towards her face. Like before, he flinched, staring with wide eyes at her. She smiled at him kindly. 

She directed him through a simple exam, keeping her voice soothingly low and soft. Jimmy followed in a sort of daze, hardly responding even with a vocalization. 

He did wake up a little when she asked him, multiple times, if she could touch his wings. At that, a somewhat wary look crossed his face. Then, to Skizz’s surprise, Jimmy’s attention turned to him , as if Skizz’s thoughts had any weight in this situation at all. 

“It’s okay, Jimmy.” Skizz managed to say. He wasn’t sure why Jimmy was looking to him for comfort, or why he was even here (wouldn’t Jimmy have wanted someone more familiar?) but he wasn’t going to question it or shirk his responsibilities. “She just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

With that, Jimmy ducked his head and stared at the ground, stiff as a board, as he allowed the nurse to gently unfurl his wings one at a time, softly gliding her fingers through his feathers to check for damage. It was clearly uncomfortable for him, and Skizz could see the feathers on his wings and ears slowly rise up in agitation, the stiffness growing with every passing second. But eventually the nurse stopped, leaving Jimmy frozen with his fingers curled into the comforter. 

“Alright, Jimmy.” The nurse said, casting a quick glance at Skizz to confirm the avian’s name. “You’re in pretty rough shape. I think you’ll feel a lot better after a shower, and then we can get you into bed with some water and little food, alright? Does that sound okay to you?” 

Jimmy nodded slowly, still stiff as a board. The nurse mentioned something about towels and clean clothes, and she got up to leave. But before she could, Jimmy suddenly rasped, “Wait.” Skizz flinched - his voice was hoarse, and he suddenly remembered the screaming Jimmy had done earlier that day, clawing at the ground. 

“Yes, hun?” The nurse responded softly, swinging around. “What do you need?”

“Two things.” Jimmy swallowed, blinked a few times, then glanced at her. “Where are Grian, Joel, and Tango?” 

The nurse looked unsure at the unfamiliar names, but Skizz murmured, “The blazeborn, the giant emperor, and the parrot avian.” She nodded. 

“They’re all in different rooms getting treated, hun.” She said, “I promise we’ll let you know how they’re doing once you get settled. What was the second thing you needed?”

Jimmy suddenly looked afraid, shrinking in on himself. But then he looked away from the nurse and met Skizz’s gaze again, whispering, “C-can.. Can you help me? Sh-shower and stuff, I mean?”

Skizz felt the wind get knocked out of him, absolutely laid low by the show of vulnerability and trust . His eyes teared up involuntarily. How was he the one to receive this? Weren’t there others that Jimmy could lean on? 

But Skizz wasn’t going to disappoint him. Jimmy had handed him something precious; the least he could do was protect it.

“Of course, buddy.” Skizz said gently. “Anything you need. I’m sure this nice nurse won’t mind?” She, thankfully, shook her head with a grateful smile. 

“I’ll get you some clothes, Jimmy. There’s a bathroom next door with showers and towels - I’ll leave them outside on a bench for you.” 

With that, she showed them to the showers and then took her leave. Skizz glanced around at the new room, taking in the handrails, benches, and tiled floors. Jimmy looked so out of place, covered in grime and blood, shivering, so uncertain. 

“C’mon, Jimmy.” Skizz tried to speak as softly and soothingly as he could. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

The showers were fairly simple to work, and it didn’t take long before the water - warm but not hot, with Skizz not wanting to shock Jimmy any further than he already was - was running steadily. He found the soap and the shampoo and conditioner, and a cabinet also containing multiple types of soap for different hybrids. He grabbed the one for feathers and made his way back to Jimmy, who had taken off a very bloodstained leather vest but hadn’t otherwise moved, staring at the lump of clothing on the floor. 

“Here you go.” Skizz set the soaps and towels down on a bench by the nearest shower, then turned to look at the avian, who still wasn’t moving. “Do you… do you want help?” He still wasn’t quite sure what Jimmy wanted or needed at that moment. He didn’t know the man that well aside Life Games or what Tango had told him. Even still, he wasn’t afraid to do what would help, and so when Jimmy silently nodded at him, Skizz turned off the part of his brain that would suffer any kind of awkwardness or embarrassment. 

“Alrighty then.” Skizz gently helped Jimmy undo the buttons on his shirt, throwing the dirty item down on the floor by the vest. He fought the urge to cringe upon seeing Jimmy’s torso, which was much thinner than it should have been, bruised, and bloodstained. He tried to refocus, helping Jimmy step out of his boots, his jeans. At that point Jimmy seemed to shake himself out of his daze, muttering, “Thanks, I- I can do the rest.” Skizz backed off without a word, taking up residence on a bench by the shower while Jimmy finished undressing, grabbed the soap, and slipped into the shower. 

They were silent for a while, the only sound being the running of the water and the swishing of Jimmy’s wet wings and movements. Skizz stared at the floor, feeling a bit numb himself. The air was warm and humid, soothing to breathe. He hoped Jimmy was getting some comfort from it all. 

Maybe thirty or so minutes later, the water turned off. The shower curtain rustled as Jimmy grabbed a towel and drew it behind the curtain, more rustling sounds occurring as he dried himself off. Skizz waited for the avian to emerge from the shower… but he didn’t. A few moments later, Skizz looked up, somewhat concerned. There was another sliding rustle, but then silence.

“Jimmy?” Skizz tried, but didn’t receive an answer. His heartbeat skyrocketed instantly. “Jimmy? Buddy, you okay?” 

Nothing.

Skizz hissed out a breath, feeling his hands start to shake. “Jimmy, I need to know that you’re okay.” When there was silence again, he got up and walked over to the shower, hoping he wasn’t about to traumatize the avian some more. “Buddy-”

He slowly drew the curtain back, just to peek inside, and saw Jimmy curled up in a ball in the corner of the shower, towel wrapped around him, wings tucked by his sides and curled around his knees. The avian’s eyes were bloodshot and he was clearly crying. When he looked up and saw Skizz, Jimmy let out a quiet sob, and that was all it took before Skizz was on his knees in the shower, water soaking through his pant legs.

“Are you okay?” Skizz asked firmly. “Jimmy, I need you to talk to me.” 

Jimmy inhaled shakily, exhaled, sobbed, and tried again. Eventually, he managed to squeak out, “I-I’m- I’m o-out , Skizz. We’re out. ” 

“Oh.” Oh. Oh Jimmy. 

“C’mere.” Skizz reached out and Jimmy all but flung himself into his arms, sobbing with new abandon, although now Skizz understood why. He held the shaking avian close, fingers stroking through damp hair, and murmured all the reassurances he could.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Jimmy. You’re out - you’re safe. You’re home.”

“You’re all home.” 

Chapter Text

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Why are some of us here, and the others beyond? 

We can still sense each other… they aren’t far. 

And yet… we cannot leave. We cannot join them. 

Something is trapping us here. 

Who would dare?

Who, or what? 

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Cleo’s memory of her death was… sketchy, at best.

She didn’t remember much leading up to it. She’d been angry, so angry, and determined. There had been a thirst for flesh that sat like an iron bit on the back of her tongue, a craving she hadn’t known before but was somehow recognizable. It set fire to the insides of her limbs, a sensation that both exhilarated and frightened her, and she’d been picking targets as little ants walked along makeshift bridges, tiptoeing over the void. She’d fired arrows, stepped closer, swung her axe again and again, aiming for the one with the white hair…

There had been a slash of silver in her vision, and then darkness. The transition was so incredibly quick that when it flickered on seemingly moments later, Cleo hardly noticed it. She immediately scrambled upright to get back into the fight (when had she laid down?) and shrieked in surprise when, instead of her vision aligning with her movement, the world rolled . Something slammed into her face, sticking to her skin, and the ground and sky spiraled-

But her hands were clenched firmly onto something hard, and her knees were pressed against a similarly metallic floor. Why was the sky shifting and her body stayed still?

Hands touched the sides of her head and she flinched, stunned into stillness and silence as she tried to figure out what was going on. But then the world settled, a pressure against her neck indicated that something missing had been returned, and she opened her eyes to see-

Joe. Joe Hills, her friend, looking pale and teary eyed and yet grinning from ear to ear. Suddenly, Cleo forgot about fighting. She forgot about bloodlust and the taste of flesh, forgot about fear and anger. Dizzying relief washed over her in a crushing wave and she was unable to fight back tears, pulling her body forward to wrap her arms around her friend. 

Oh gods, oh void, Cleo had missed him . 

The tears broke free almost instantly. Cleo didn’t consider herself an easy crier. Her skin was thick and her mental walls were thicker; few things made her truly cry. But now the tears came fast and she was sobbing , anguish and fear and joy pouring into Joe’s shoulder.

“You’re back.” Joe’s voice was hushed, practically reverent. His hand had settled on her head like he was holding something precious. “You’re back.”

All Cleo could do was nod, still crying, but the movement destabilized her vision again and she lurched sideways in sudden vertigo. Joe slid with her, helping her settle on her knees inside of the metal box she was in. Her hands skated along the sides of it as she moved, and the word for what it was came to mind: minecart . 

Why Cleo was inside of a minecart after getting knocked out, she had no idea. Maybe Etho had hit her with something and needed to transport her-

Just like that, she froze.

Memories started to piece themselves back together.

“Cleo?” Joe asked, sniffling. There were cries and screams and shouting from the distance, and they merged perfectly into Cleo’s visions, flickering across her eyes like a movie screen. She could see herself fighting, see herself side by side with Zed, arrows flying. She watched as she lunged at Etho, took potshots at Bdubs, hacked away at Impulse…

But the biggest realization came from remembering the rage she’d felt as she’d trapped Etho against the edge of an End island, advancing with her axe held high. She’d been aiming to kill - she remembered it now. His eyes had been huge, but then they’d narrowed, and now Cleo could see it for what it was: not a challenge, but determination not to let her kill him or anyone else.

The silver flash in her vision had been his axe. The darkness had come seconds later. 

She remembered . 

“Cleo? Cleo, are you okay?” Joe was asking her desperately, and Cleo snapped out of her reverie. She felt… stunned, to say the least. Not because of what Etho had done, she understood that immediately, especially since all the bloodlust was drained out of her system. 

No, she was stunned because she was pretty sure she had been dead … and yet Cleo was here, kneeling in a minecart, staring up at Joe. 

“How am I here?” She breathed. Where even was here? She tried to look around but something was holding her head in place, so only her eyes could move. The forced immobility made something disgustingly anxious spring up right behind her ribs, and she hissed through clenched teeth, trying to shake it off. “Joe-”

“Cleo, don’t move.” Joe snapped, and Cleo went still more out of shock than anything else. When she met Joe’s eyes again she saw that he was crying, and there was panic written all over his face. 

“Don’t move,” he said again, more softly. “Jus’ stay still.”

“O-okay.” Cleo wasn’t sure what to do with all of this. She tried to look around with just her eyes again, taking in green grass, bright blue sky, and a hint of a building she didn’t recognize. 

What she did recognize were players, so many players, many that she knew. She locked eyes with one of them, and Xb came flying over a heartbeat later, skidding to a halt by her side and flinging his arms around both her and Joe. 

“Oh my gods,” the man was breathing. “Oh my gods you’re here. You’re back.”

“I’m back.” Cleo gave a wobbly smile. “But where is here ?” 

“EM-2” Xb said. “You were - Xisuma and Jimmy brought you guys back through a portal-”

“But when!?” Cleo said incredulously. “I don’t remember this! How-”

“MEDIC!” A scream came from a little ways away, cutting her off. “MEDIC, WE NEED HELP!” Cleo jerked, trying to peer around Joe and Xb to see who was yelling, but her vision wobbled again and Joe screeched a desperate, “Cleo, stay still!”

“Why?! What’s going on? Who’s yelling?” Cleo was starting to feel angry now, and more than a little confused. The bloodlust was gone but she was in a new place, with no idea how she’d gotten there, and now that her shock at seeing Joe and Xb was fading, she realized she didn’t know where the others were . 

And when did Xisuma enter the equation?? 

“Cleo, look at me.” Joe redirected her focus towards his face, and she realized she felt a bit dizzy, her gaze sliding around without her permission. “You’re safe, okay? Everyone else is safe. We’re goin’ to get you to a hospital to get checked out and then I’m sure everyone else will explain things, alright?”

Something hardened behind her ribs, and Cleo slowly reached up with both hands, grabbing onto Joe’s wrists.

“Joe.” She said quietly. “ What. Happened .”

Joe swallowed, then looked at Xb, and then his eyes glanced around at the rest of the area that Cleo couldn’t see. His fingers shook, but they didn’t move from her head and neck.

“You were dead.” Joe said, and Cleo snapped, “Yeah, I was. What else?” She felt bad when her friend flinched back, but this wasn’t the time for sentiment. Cleo needed answers . If she was gone, and yet she was here, did that mean… others were back?

“Oh my gods,” she breathed. “Joe, is Ren alive? Is Keralis? Joel?”

“They’re alive,” Joe said, but before Cleo could say anything he added, “But everyone’s still injured, Cleo. Xisuma’s gone to get help.”

“Injured?” Cleo cried? “How injured?!” 

“Your head’s not attached to your body, Cleo!” Xb snapped. 

Cleo froze. 

Her hands detached themselves from Joe’s wrists, slowly reaching up towards her neck. Neither of the other hermits tried to stop her as her fingers found the divet, dull skin still sensitive enough to note wetness. She brought her hands up to her face and saw red. 

No wonder Joe’s hands were still on her head. He was keeping it in place .

Etho hadn’t just sliced through her throat like she’d thought.

Cleo swallowed a few times, saliva filling her mouth as she suddenly felt rather nauseous. Meeting Joe and Xb’s eyes, she whispered, “So if I’m still like this…” 

“Everyone else is hurt.” Joe whispered. “There’s help here, but we can’t get in the way of the medics. They’ll be over here soon so you can-”

“Help me up.” Cleo snapped. She struggled to her feet before either of her friends could stop her, tilting and swaying as Joe’s hands frantically tried to keep her head in place. She ignored their protests, straining her eyes to see beyond their faces.

There were other minecarts, players kneeling by each one. Any residual air was forced out of her hitching lungs at the sight of burnt skin in the minecart next to her, warped and blackened and bleeding. Before she could figure out who exactly it was, someone was rushing up behind Joe and Xb, and she found herself instinctively maneuvering into a defensive position.

“It’s okay! I’m a medic,” the new player said. Pale pink skin, hair, and eyes gave the impression of a cutesy ghost that was only heightened by the white medic uniform. “I’m only here to try and help. The sooner we get you to a hospital, the sooner we can tell you about the others.”

Cleo blinked, shoulders relaxing only marginally. Was she really that easy to read? Was her desperation that obvious? 

The medic came closer, and a huge wave of unease almost forced Cleo backwards, but she held her ground. The medic held up their hands in an appeasing gesture. “Why don’t we get you out of that minecart, okay?”

Cleo went to nod only to stop herself, instead blinking in affirmation. She allowed Joe and Xb to help her numb, suddenly exhausted body out of the minecart, and found herself listing sideways upon standing on solid ground. The two of them alongside the medic helped walk her away from the minecart and towards a portal that sat swirling nearby.

Around them, there continued to be wails and sobs, shouts for help, for medics. Sudden tears sprang to her eyes at the sound, and they rolled uninhibited down her cheeks as she was led away, stepping through the portal and onto new ground.

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The hospital room where they brought Cleo was small and sterile - more of an examination room than a treatment room. She supposed it was because she didn’t need the same kind of attention. She was injured, yes, but she wasn’t in excruciating pain, and they didn’t have to worry about blood loss. With her body sitting upwards on the examination table, her blood was all contained, only leaking slightly from the cut through her neck. 

The room didn’t feel safe, however. Cleo wasn’t even sure what that felt like anymore. She was hyper aware of the fact that the room only contained one exit and that three extra people crammed inside of it (as Xb and Joe had joined her alongside the medic to help keep her head stabilized) meant that mobility was limited. What would she do if the room was broken into by Hungers? Or if the ground split, broken open by the void itself, or if the Watchers decided to take a pot-shot at Joe or-

Cleo blinked. This was a different server. They weren’t on that island anymore. Things like that couldn’t happen here, right?

Right?

“Okay.” The medic came around to stand in front of Cleo so she could see exactly where they were. “It’s ZombieCleo, right?”

“That’s right.” Her words came out a lot more wary than she meant them to be. Thankfully, the medic took it in stride.

“My name is Nurse Hubble,” they said with a warm smile. “Dr. Chess is currently busy with another patient, so I’m going to do a quick preliminary exam and check on your neck wound, so that she can come tend to you right away when she’s available.  Is that okay?”

Cleo nodded. She sat in silence for a few minutes while the doctor checked over her limited vital signs (this part of doctor’s appointments always passed by quickly for her) but was unable to stop her eyes from flicking around as she then felt a dull pressure on her neck. Joe’s face went green and he glanced away, while Xb hissed out a curse. Cleo was, once again, very grateful that she couldn’t feel pain. 

“What’s going on with the others?” She asked after a few minutes of silence. She couldn’t tell exactly what Hubble was doing, but she could feel strokes of something along the sides of her neck. She stiffened when her eyes lifted slightly and she could feel the same strokes inside her neck, a sensation she’d never felt before. Her heart spasmed in her chest. “Who else was hurt?” 

“Dr. Chess can tell you more than I can,” Hubble said quietly, clearly still focused on their task. “But don’t worry about them right now. Right now we should focus on-”

“Don’t tell me not to worry,” Cleo hissed, and the two other hermits jerked back from her in surprise. She felt Hubble pause in their motions and she sighed, tamping down on the roiling anger in her stomach. “I’m sorry. I’ve… done nothing really except worry, for what feels like forever. I need to know what’s happened.”

“Many of you are injured pretty severely,” Hubble said quietly. “Normal healing code isn’t working, which is why your head is still not attached. That’s all we hospital folks know.” 

Cleo slowly glanced upwards at Joe and Xb. Joe sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair while keeping the other still firmly fixed against the side of Cleo’s head.

“You all went missing for a while,” he finally said. “We looked for you. Xisuma recruited some people to help. He finally found the server y’all were on and brought you back home, but you guys were all…” he trailed off, but Cleo hissed out a breath. “Dead? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Joe slowly nodded, and Cleo felt something remarkably cold fill her insides.

“All of us?” She whispered. She flinched at a new, unfamiliar pressure at her neck, and Hubble murmured an apology. “ It was Ren, Keralis, and Joel when I… but, everyone else? ”

“Everyone except Jimmy.” Xb said quietly. “And he’s… not particularly happy about that fact.” 

Cleo cupped her hands over her mouth, utterly horrified. How long had she been dead? What had happened while she was gone? 

How long had it been since she’d died? 

The door opened, and Cleo flinched, almost smashing heads with Hubble behind her who gave out a small yelp and jumped out of the way. A new player came into the room, apologizing for the sudden entry. She was tall, with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and a black mask of some sort obscuring her face. Her eyes shined through in vibrant purple, and at the sight of the color, Cleo panicked.

“Stay back!” It only took a heartbeat for her to slip off of the table and try to place herself between the newcomer and Joe and Xb. The movement caused her head to slip from her shoulders, however, and her knees buckled at the sudden dizzying twist in her vision. The newcomer lunged forward to catch it before it hit the ground, giving Cleo a very close, personal look at her face. And those purple eyes .

“Put me down, Watcher!” Cleo shouted, trying to scramble backwards but struggling to differentiate between her line of sight and the sensation of tile under her knees and hands. The new player immediately set her down, “It’s okay! It’s alright, I’m not a Watcher.” 

“Your eyes are purple.” Cleo hissed, and she heard Xb start to say something behind her, but not before the player said, “I’m a voidkind hybrid. Look.” 

Hubble squeaked out a frightened, “Chess!” as the woman removed her mask. A strong nose and full lips complemented thick eyebrows and wide, intelligent eyes… that glowed a very pale lavender. Not a rich purple like they’d been moments before. The woman took a somewhat heavy breath as she knelt down to the ground and put the mask at Cleo’s eye-level, tapping on what Cleo could now see were lenses. “The glass is purple to make my eyes look cooler and to keep the seal intact. I’m thinking maybe I should change it now.”

“Yes, alright, you showed her, now put the mask on, Chess.” Hubble snapped, suddenly sounding quite tense. Chess chuckled, slightly wheezy, and put the mask on. The sound of the hissing, pressurized seal settling back into place eased some of the tension in Cleo’s shoulders.

“Cleo, can we help you get back on the table?” Xb asked hesitantly. When she agreed he helped lift her head off the ground and held it firmly against her shoulders. With her viewpoint now much closer to normal, Cleo was able to slowly pick herself off the ground, leaning on Joe and Hubble as she maneuvered herself back onto the examination table. 

“Alright.” Chess sounded relieved. “I’m very sorry about startling you.”

“I’m sorry about making assumptions.” Cleo suddenly felt exhausted, and more than a little upset with herself for freaking out so suddenly. She had only seen the Watchers possess someone once and yet…

And yet the sight of Joel with those flaring purple eyes would haunt her dreams, no doubt. 

Thinking about Joel made her stomach twist. “You're the main doctor here, yeah? What’s going on with everyone else who was hurt?”

“Will you let me check on your neck while I tell you?” Chess asked, and Cleo’s head wobbled in mockery of an agreeing nod.

“I’ll leave your admin to tell you the full details later,” Chess said, already putting on gloves and grabbing some tools. Her mask’s purple lenses glowed uncomfortably close to Cleo’s face as she started inspecting her neck wound. “Basically, everyone who came back from that island was seriously injured in some way except for the canary avian, who’s mostly exhausted, malnourished, and in shock. Xisuma’s currently on bedrest because any further admin magic could risk him getting a brain bleed.”

“When we came back,” Cleo’s voice shook slightly, “Was everyone…?” 

“Dead?” Chess hesitated for a moment, “When everyone came to the hospital they were breathing except for one hermit. But they’re breathing again and in the middle of surgery as we speak.”

Cleo blinked back tears, torn between asking who it was and leaving herself in ignorant bliss. Xb gripped one of her hands firmly and she squeezed back, anchoring herself.

“Do you happen to remember how this happened?” Chess asked a few moments later. Cleo still didn’t know exactly what she was doing, but Joe’s face was still rather green and Xb was steadfastly staring at the floor. 

“It was, uh…” Cleo’s mind flashed back to the image of Etho staring back at her, pressed against a ledge, axe in hand. “It was an accident.”

Chess paused. “You accidentally had your neck severed?”

“ Yes ,” Cleo spat, and Chess backed off. They sat in awkward silence for a few more minutes. 

“Okay, Cleo.” Chess leaned back. “I’ll be frank with you; I have absolutely no idea how you can still be alive while your head is detached. I’m going to chock it up to some kind of Watcher interference. As it is, we’re going to try and reconstruct your spinal column and musculature. We’ll use a combination of normal and metal-filament stitches to keep everything held together once we’re done. Would you be alright with us attempting to use a harming potion to regenerate tissue?”

“Can’t you just stick it back on and give me some steak or something?” Cleo said crossly. She felt antsy; she wanted to speak to Jimmy, or anyone else who would be willing to tell her about the state of the others, patient-confidentiality be damned. “That usually does the trick.”

“Healing code isn’t working.” Chess said. “It was the first thing we tried when you all were found. That’s why people are in surgery - healing potions are ineffective, and when we fed Jimmy earlier his wounds didn’t heal. The Watchers have put you all on the slow path to recovery.”

“ Shit ,” Cleo swore, clenching her fists. She immediately dropped Xb’s hand when he flinched, murmuring an apology. Resting a hand against her face, she sighed and said, “Fine, yes, do whatever you need to do. But get me out of here soon . Please,” she added, a tad desperately. “Please. I-I… I need to see everyone.”

“Of course.” Chess said softly. “Bare with us while we work on this, alright? Then you can go off and meet the others. They’ll all want to see you, too.” 

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It took almost two hours for Chess and Hubble to reconstruct her neck and stitch everything together. Joe and Xb stayed with her the entire time, telling her a little about what had been happening while she was missing. Xb, she found out, had been trapped on HC-9 for nearly the entire time alongside Beef, and he was still adjusting to the reality of their disappearance. Joe, in contrast, had been there from the very beginning.

“It was terrifyin’,” Joe whispered. “You all vanished at the exact same time. Nobody could find you, not even when Xisuma tried to look through the server’s coding.” 

He told her about the weeks of searching, and the realization that Xisuma and Fwhip couldn’t do things alone. He told her about The Convergence - the absolute outpouring of support and players who had shown up to search, to provide resources, to provide comfort. They were from a multitude of different servers and, despite the long weeks of no progress, had yet to leave.

“EM-2 looks a little insane,” Xb gave a weak chuckle. “The newcomers saw Hermitopia and started constructing their own little bases to match. I think we’ve got Noxtopia, Q-Topia, Stabtopia-”

“Stabtopia?” Cleo interrupted incredulously.

“The Stabby Stabby crew showed up,” Joe grinned at her. “Flew in on a spaceship. I’ll have to show you later.”

Cleo thought about that, how in a few hours - or days - she could be touring a spaceship, and couldn’t decide whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Had it really been so long since she’d been killed? It felt like only a few hours ago she’d been consumed by bloodlust and hell-bent on murder. Now she was back, getting medical care, here with friends, talking about spaceships …

Something crackled through her limbs, making her jolt, and Hubble hissed out a quiet, “Sorry! Sorry, that was a nerve.” Cleo fought the urge to snap at them. She was suddenly very aware of how these two strangers were digging around inside of her body like it was a science project, and she didn’t like it .

“What happened later?” She rasped, trying to distract herself. “How did you find us?”

“We’re not entirely sure,” Xb said slowly. “The admins had all been in codespace together, and then out of nowhere, both Xisuma and Fwhip had vanished. Fwhip came back a few hours later but Xisuma took a couple days longer, and when he did… he brought back all of you.”

Cleo processed that, and then jolted again, but this time it had nothing to do with a touched nerve.

“Wait!” She almost shouted, ignoring Chess’s warning to stay still. “ All of us? He brought back Joel!?”

Please, please say he brought back Joel.

Joe and Xb hesitated, something dark crossing their faces, and Cleo wanted to scream. But then Joe said, “Yeah… yeah Joel’s getting medical attention right now. He’s back.”

More tears. But this time, Cleo let them fall, relieved to the point of feeling faint. She had no idea how Xisuma could have done it, but her admin was nothing but a miracle worker. She settled her weight into the table beneath her and closed her eyes, numb to the feeling of needle and thread working its way through her skin. When she finally opened them, the sensations had stopped. 

“You’re done,” Chess said softly. “We’re going to see if that holds or if we need to try the harming potion. For now, try not to shake your head around too much. Go see the others, but take it easy. Let us or one of your friends know if you feel any sort of lingering discomfort, alright?”

“Right.” Cleo slipped off the table, sighing in relief when her vision stayed stable even as the stitches tightened around her neck. She reached out and grabbed Joe and Xb’s hands, unwilling to have them more than a few feet away, and was starting to move towards the door when Chess suddenly said, “Actually, Cleo, there’s one more thing I have to talk to you about.” 

And just like that, the fear was back. Cleo stiffened and spun around. “What?”

“It’s about Impulse,” Chess said quietly. “Some… interesting developments have happened while you were…” she paused, clearly searching for the best way to say dead without being insensitive, before shaking her head and sighing. “Impulse is going to have to deal with some changes, and you’re probably the best person to help him.”

“What kind of changes ?” Cleo asked, bewildered. And how could she help?

“Well, for one thing,” Chess tilted her head, “he’s now a Drowned hybrid.”

“... what!?”

Chapter Text

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Wait… there is a pressure below and above us. Holding us down. 

… below? Above? 

These things are new to us. 

This is physical space… not our space. 

Player space, you mean. 

But we are still within code. 

What do we do? 

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The last thing Impulse remembers is drowning. 

He’s been pulled viciously under water, lungs getting squeezed to a pulp in his chest, ears popping from the pressure. His world is composed of water and darkness, but there is a glint of light far above him, a figure frantically struggling to reach him.

Tango.

And in the moment, Impulse feels victorious. He’d wanted to pull Tango down into the water, after all. The blazeborn deserved it for what he did to Zedaph. He deserved to burn; it was a fitting way to die. 

But after darkness claimed him, and Impulse floated… he came back. His mind cleared once again. And this time, the image of Tango swimming down after him didn’t bring him comfort or satisfaction. 

It brought him a sickening amount of fear. 

He’d jerked to life once again, trying to fight tentacles that were, somehow, no longer wrapped around his body. He’d opened his eyes to see light instead of darkness, and while his lungs spasmed around water, the liquid was coming out of him instead of streaming in.

And Skizz had been there. His best friend in the whole entire world, his brother .

Impulse thought he was hallucinating, but he didn’t take it for granted. He’d let himself be held even as he coughed and coughed and coughed-

Even as the image of Tango swimming replayed itself over and over in his mind. 

He must have passed out, because darkness claimed him again not soon after. Or maybe the whole thing had been a vision brought on by lack of oxygen. Maybe Impulse was still drowning. 

Maybe the visions were his punishment in the afterlife, forcing him to see the consequences of his actions, over and over again.

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Somehow, when Impulse woke up again, he knew that he was officially awake. Everything felt… strange. Heavy and numb, but he could feel pressure against his back and he could hear some kind of ventilation system, which meant he had to be awake. 

That, of course, brought more questions than answers. How could he be awake? What happened to the water? What happened to him ?

Impulse opened his eyes. There was no darkness, nor was there that horrifyingly bright light from before, shining around Skizz’s face like a halo. Instead he was met with a gentle, muted green: a painted ceiling. There was some kind of machine placed directly over him, also painted green, spraying down… fog? Mist? Impulse couldn’t really feel the droplets on his skin, but he could see the white vapor, and he could hear the hiss it made as it fell. 

All of this was strange, not least of all because he couldn’t recognize the room he was in. Had someone saved him, pulled him from the Barnacle’s clutches? And what about-

“Tango!” He gasped, jackknifing upwards. Or, at least, he tried to. Instead, every muscle in his body moved like it was made out of concrete, meaning he was only able to rise a few inches before he was dragged back down. He tried to suck in a breath, anxious to try again, but his lungs struggled through the action like they, too, were made of stone. His panic started to spike - why was breathing so hard ?  

“Wha-?” Impulse slurred, struggling to move his head to the side. He saw an IV drip - no, two IV drips, and another one of the mist machines spitting out vapor. 

Okay Impulse, you’re in a new place, and you’re clearly very, very exhausted. Somehow you didn’t die to the barnacle, and you were moved to wherever here is. You hallucinated crazy lights and Skizz earlier.

You probably killed Tango.  

Impulse bit his lip. Gods, he hoped Tango forgave him. 

Thinking of Tango made him realize that his bloodlust was gone - not just settled and dormant, but completely gone. How was that possible, when not only minutes earlier he’d been glad he’d tortured and subsequently killed one of his best friends?

And why was breathing so difficult?

It was that more than anything else that spurred Impulse to move. He was starting to truly panic - every inhale and exhale felt far too heavy, like the air was five times thicker than normal. This was a problem, right? There was something wrong with him.

Impulse struggled to shift his body, flailing a little as he tried to get his uncooperative limbs to move. He needed to get to his feet, or he needed to attract some kind of attention, because something was clearly wrong with him and-

In his struggle to move, Impulse caught sight of a hand. He froze.

It wasn’t a human hand. The skin was ragged, damp, and grey. A growth of some kind - it looked a little like barnacles - was scattered across the back. It was currently braced against the mattress, which was what Impulse was laying on.

Impulse wiggled his fingers. The fingers on the hand moved as well, and a jolt shot down his spine. His mouth abruptly went dry. 

“Void,” he breathed. Groaning as he pulled himself into a sitting position, the mattress sagging beneath him. His gaze drifted from the hand positioned next to him to his other side, where he knew his own hand actually was, because he could feel it gripping the bedrail. 

There was another grey hand, with two IVs attached to the back and some kind of device clamped over one finger. Impulse followed the grey skin up to a forearm, then to where the color was swept away by a pale blue. He glanced down at his chest to see the same blue in the hospital gown he was wearing.

The feet he could see beyond were also grey. 

Impulse wiggled his toes. The ones below him moved. 

It was hard to wrap his brain around his own emotions, nevermind Impulse’s thoughts in that exact moment. All he knew was that, somehow, he ended up on his feet. A machine nearby squealed when he ripped himself off of the IVs, the pain no doubt swept away in his numb state. He staggered to the door, every movement a struggle, and stumbled into the hallway.

The lights were much brighter out here, and they hurt his eyes. Impulse squinted, searching. He spotted it in the form of a restroom sign not too far away. 

Restrooms had mirrors. 

He fumbled his way down the hall, leaning heavily on the wall for support. His brain recoiled from the odd sounds his footfalls made on the tile - a damp, squishy sound that he didn’t recognize - and how he could barely feel the chill under his bare feet. He found the door, he opened it, he almost fell inside in his haste to get to the mirror-

In a flash, he was bracing himself against the sink with his forearms, staring deeply into the mirror. His knees felt weak beneath him, and his breaths were exhausting, rasping things.

But none of that mattered, because Impulse looked into the mirror and his face… his face…

Why wasn’t that his face? 

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After getting Impulse’s room number from Chess and Hubble, Cleo was on the hunt, dragging Joe and Xb behind her by their hands. She was tired, and the skin at her neck squeezed and tightened oddly with her movements, but that was the only thing wrong with her. In comparison to Impulse, she was fine. She had to see him and be there for him. 

Of course, Joe and Xb didn’t see it quite like that.

“Cleo, I really think you should go back to Hermitopia and rest,” Joe protested, although he didn’t fight her as she tugged him along. “You just woke up only a few hours ago-“

“Right, and I’m fine ,” Cleo snapped at him. She paused only for a second as they reached an elevator, pressing the button to the fourth floor. “Look at me. Yeah, the head thing was a bit odd, but it’s back now. I’m not hurting and I’m not dead on my feet, yeah? So leave it.” 

“Cleo, just listen to us for a second, okay?” Xb said firmly. He stepped alongside her as she moved into the elevator. “I know you think you feel fine, but you were dead for weeks, do you understand that? Weeks . That’s not just something you can walk off.”

“Xb,” Cleo turned to him, exasperated, but stopped when she saw the look on his face. Her stomach clenched; she’d already forgotten about the time difference between them. How could she blame them for being wary when, to them, she’d been missing for months? 

“I promise both of you that I won’t overextend myself,” she finally said. “I just need to see Impulse, okay?” She was going to say more, but then the elevator came to a stop at floor 3 as opposed to the one she was aiming for. 

Voices flooded in as the doors opened. “-’s just check on Impulse and then get you-“ Skizz took a step into the elevator and froze, eyes locking instantly onto her face with a shocked “ Clebert? !”

But that was all she could hear, because anything else was drowned out by an absolute explosion of yellow in her vision and a raucous, joyful stream of chirps and whistles. Something plowed into her at full speed, knocking her back a step, and when Cleo looked down she saw yellow feathers and blonde hair and-

“Jimmy…” Cleo could have cried, almost dropping to her knees as she reciprocated the hug, squeezing the avian close to her chest. Jimmy himself was sobbing, long limbs wrapped around her and head buried in her shoulder. Skizz hurriedly stepped into the elevator so it could continue on its journey, but then he settled by the two of them, joy written all over his face.

“Cleo,” he breathed. “You’re okay.” 

“Yeah, yeah I am.” Cleo blinked back tears, smiling crookedly at him. “It’s good to see you, Skizz.” She untangled one of her arms from Jimmy’s hug to extend it to the other man, who wasted no time in moving close and joining the embrace, strong arms wrapped around the two of them.

“O-oh my gods,” Jimmy was trembling, words broken and threaded throughout with vocalizations. “Y-you’re - void - you’re okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m here, Jimmy.” Cleo pressed a kiss to one temple, closing her eyes and sinking further into the hug. The elevator dinged, signaling that it was open and on the correct floor, and she heard someone step into the path of the doors to keep them open. She hoped no-one planned on using this elevator anytime soon. 

Beneath her hands, Jimmy’s bones pressed sharply against his skin. His hair and feathers were damp, and he smelled of soap, which indicated a shower, but anytime he pulled back to drink in the sight of her face, Cleo could see dark shadows around his eyes, and she could see how pale he was. He looked sick, and exhausted, and there was an almost feverish glaze over his hazel eyes. 

Cleo thought back to the last time she’d seen him and her heart ached. He hadn’t exactly been happy, but he’d been much healthier than this. What could have happened to get him to this state?

Jimmy lived while everyone else died , isn’t that what she’d heard from the others? Her heartache intensified.

“Alright you two, we need to get out of the elevator.” Joe said quietly, voice wobbling slightly. Cleo slowly stood, dragging the very clingy canary with her, and hobbled out into the hallway outside of the elevator. She then wasted no time in repositioning herself and re-enveloping Jimmy in the tightest hold she could muster, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. Jimmy trilled, feathers fluttering, and the movement drew attention to how patchy they were. 

Skizz took up a position next to her, wiping a hand across his face. He looked tired too, Cleo noticed. 

“How are you?” He asked her.

“I’m fine.” Cleo smoothed back some of Jimmy’s hair. “I’ve been told I’ve got a few screws loose in the head.”

Skizz choked out a laugh, and Cleo caught Xb hiding a smile. “I heard.” 

“Other than that, I’m just a bit tired.” Cleo became more solemn. “I was on my way to see Impulse.” 

Skizz stiffened. “Then you heard about-“

“Yeah. Dr. Chess wanted me to speak with him.”

“Good.” Skizz nodded a few times, exhaling unsteadily. “I was, uh, actually on my way to see him too. Then I was going to get Jimmy back to EM-2 for some rest-“

Jimmy stiffened, voice muffled when he spoke. “I said no, Skizz.” 

“Jimmy-“

“ No ” 

Cleo blinked in surprise, looking - bewildered - between Jimmy and Skizz. She’d never heard the canary speak with such venom. 

“Jimmy,” Cleo said slowly, “why don’t you want to go home?”

Jimmy looked down at her, then slowly withdrew and hugged his arms tightly to his chest, wings tucked around his shoulders. He stared at the floor. “I can’t leave everyone.” 

“Jimmy, they’re all still being treated,” Skizz said gently. “You’d just be sitting around. You might as well get some rest.”

“I can rest here.” 

Skizz sighed, starting to sound a little frustrated, “Jimmy-“

“Does anybody hear that?” Xb suddenly cut in, frowning. The group went silent, and Cleo strained her ears. One of the biggest detractors of being a zombie hybrid was that her hearing wasn’t quite as sharp as it could have been.

But she did hear something. A high pitched whine, like an alarm.

Skizz suddenly swore - which made Cleo jump, since she’d never heard him do it before - and hurried down the hallway. 

“Is that Impulse’s room?” he asked anxiously he ran, and Cleo’s heart dropped. After grabbing Jimmy’s hand to keep him close, she rushed after him. 

The room that the noise was coming from was indeed Impulse’s room. Cleo knew because she saw the number on the door. She shot around the corner and into the room, not sure what she was expecting to see.

It wasn’t an empty bed.

“Step aside, all-” a medic hurried to see them and froze alongside them at the sight of the empty room. “What on earth-?”

“Cleo!” Joe exclaimed from behind, and Cleo spun around. Joe pointed at some damp spots on the floor, leading down the hall towards what looked like a restroom.

It didn’t take long for Cleo to put the pieces together. Impulse, waking up dazed and confused, noticing that his body didn’t quite feel or look right. He would panic, and upon seeing no mirrors, had stumbled out in search of one. Thankfully, this restroom was conveniently close by, otherwise they might have found him collapsed in the hallways somewhere.

“I’ll talk to him,” Cleo said, letting go of Jimmy’s hand and striding down the hallway. She heard one of the others explaining things to the medic, who no doubt would be hovering in a moment. Probably a good thing; Cleo had no idea what sort of condition Impulse was in.

Cleo paused by the door, noting that it wasn’t locked. She rapped lightly on the wood with her knuckles. “Impulse? Are you in there?”

There wasn’t an answer, something that instantly made her worry, because surely the sound of her voice would have been enough to make him come out, or at least respond to her? Evidently not, because although she asked again, she didn’t get a response.

“I’m coming in,” she finally said, noting the presence of the others now behind her. Slowly, quietly, she opened the door and slipped inside.

Impulse was there, leaning heavily on the sink like it was the one thing keeping him upright. His forearms were planted firmly against the ceramic, and his eyes were fixed on the mirror.

And he was, undoubtedly, a hybrid.

Cleo paused after shutting the door, taking a minute to assess the changes and to challenge her growing nerves. Impulse’s frame was the same, but his skin was much closer to her own now, somewhat ragged and gray in color. It was much damper than hers, with patches of roughness - shells and barnacles, from what she could see. 

His hair was still brown, but there were strands of green woven through it - seaweed. And his eyes, while the irises were still the same color, were dramatically changed, because the sclera glowed a bright teal blue.

Cleo took a hesitant step forward. Impulse was still, with the only visible movement coming from the ragged rise and fall of his chest. He was still trying to breathe normally, like a human, but Cleo knew that it was incredibly difficult for him. His body was no doubt now conditioned to a life without breath, without a heartbeat, and he was forcing the habitual motions through sheer effort. It would be much easier for him to just relax and become familiar with the newfound stillness.

“Impulse,” she said again, a bit louder, trying to get his attention. This time his eyes flicked over to her through the mirror, and he went even more still as shock crept over his features.

“It’s me,” Cleo said, raising her hands gently. She moved forward again. “This is real. Do you know where you are?”

“I-” Impulse choked, speaking newly difficult, and turned his head to look away from the mirror and at her instead. “Cleo?”

“I’m here,” Cleo smiled at him. “I’m alive. Got fixed up.” She pointed to her neck. “But I’m back.”

Impulse wheezed out a breath, the corners of his lips twitching, but then his whole body shuddered and his legs sagged. Cleo was there to catch him as he abruptly slipped from the sink and slid to the floor.

“Cleo,” he gasped, sucking in air with a tremendous amount of force. “F-feel weird.”

“It’s okay,” she tried to soothe him. “I’m here. I can help.”

“‘S not me .” 

“Yes it is.” Cleo’s heart spasmed, her eyes growing damp. Her own zombie skin had a hard time feeling the wetness of Impulse’s drowned flesh, but she could feel how much more delicate it was. “Everything’s okay, Impulse. You’ve changed a little bit, but that’s okay.”

“C-can’t breathe-”

“You don’t have to,” Cleo said softly. “Don’t try, Impulse. Let it go.” She put a hand on Impulse’s chest, pressing down gently. In his weakened state she heard the air leave his lungs, and he struggled against her, panic spreading across his face. “ Cleo -”

“Trust me on this, Impulse.” Cleo said, slipping a bit of firmness into her tone. “Trust me. Don’t inhale.”

She watched as Impulse spasmed, clearly fighting the urge to breathe, newly glowing eyes bright with panic. But then he relaxed slightly, realization softening his features. His chest didn’t rise again, and with each passing second, he relaxed further. 

“Oh,” he breathed, and then jumped, clearly unused to the sensation of speaking without breathing. Cleo herself wasn’t entirely sure how it worked; she knew she had a hole in her torso starting from her few exposed ribs, so she’d always assumed the air somehow got in that way. Maybe Impulse had an entry point somewhere like that?

Impulse wheezed out another sound, flinching, and Cleo caught movement on the side of his neck. She marveled at the three sudden moving slits there - gills, although they only moved when he was trying to speak, and his chest stayed still. 

Interesting. Cleo couldn’t help but be curious about that, although she shoved her questions away for now. Impulse had bigger things to worry about.

“Let’s get you back to your room,” Cleo said, helping Impulse stand. He was practically dead weight in her arms, and she was tired, but they both managed to stumble out of the bathroom where Skizz and the others were anxiously waiting. 

Impulse was clearly dazed, because he had gone silent and wasn’t reacting much when they all helped him to his room. Once he was laid back down on the mattress and the misting machines were turned back on (Cleo hadn’t even noticed how much drier his skin was getting by the minute) she, Skizz, and Jimmy all hovered in the room while he adjusted. Xb and Joe had been pulled away to speak with the medic about something. Whether it pertained to Impulse, herself, or Jimmy, Cleo wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

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Nearly half an hour later, Impulse fully became aware again. His sudden words of “ Cleo? Skizz? ” frightened poor Jimmy, who’d been slumped against Cleo’s side and fighting sleep. But that hadn’t stopped the canary from getting up alongside the others to go hover by Impulse’s bed. 

Impulse’s eyes were brighter than before when they locked on their faces, wonder filling them with light. He smiled, truly smiled, and breathed out, “Cleo, you’re alive.”

“I’m alive.” Cleo confirmed, smiling back. “And so are you.”

At that, Impulse’s smile dropped somewhat. “Yeah.” He glanced at Skizz, blinked back tears, and stretched out one arm. Skizz gripped it tight without hesitation, although Impulse flinched at the sight of grey and looked back up towards the ceiling.

“What happened to me?” He whispered. “Why am I like this?”

“We don’t really know, homie.” Skizz said gently. “Do you know how you died? We think it has something to do with that.”

“He drowned.” Jimmy said suddenly, and his tone was remarkably solemn. “That’s all any of us know.” Impulse shuddered, eyes filling with more tears.

Cleo winced. Drowning was a horrible way to go. “Well, that’s probably got something to do with it. Alongside the Watchers being absolute gits, that is.”

“There’s more to it.” Impulse rasped, and while they all waited for him to say more, he didn’t. Jimmy, however, lowered his head a little. “We know.” 

Cleo whipped around to face him. “You know? Well say something, Jimmy, that could tell us why this happened.”

“It’s not for me to tell.” Jimmy said quietly, and Cleo couldn’t help but scowl at the cryptic answer. No matter what it was, it mattered in a time like this.

But Impulse seemed to appreciate the answer, relaxing a little. He glanced at Cleo. “What’s going on with me? What’s changed?”

Cleo sighed. “Well, a lot of things.” She sat at the foot of the bed. “You’re a hybrid now, Impulse. A drowned hybrid. Similar to me, I guess. That’s why they wanted me to come talk with you.”

“W-what does that mean for me, exactly?”

“You can already feel some of it, can’t you?” Cleo asked gently, and Impulse nodded. “You don’t need to breathe. You can’t feel pain. Most likely, you’ll notice you don’t have a heartbeat.” Impulse nodded again. “I don’t know all the specifics, but no doubt your skin is a bit delicate. You’ll probably notice your senses have changed slightly. There’s probably a dozen other things that have changed that I wouldn’t know about, since they’ll be related to being a drowned rather than a zombie.”

“I don’t want this,” Impulse whimpered, the sound of it clawing at Cleo’s insides. “Is this- is this…” he stopped before saying anything else, instinctively taking a deep breath. Cleo watched as it shuddered through him before he remembered to leave his lungs along, chest falling flat. Skizz had to glance away. 

“It’s not so bad,” Cleo said softly. “I’m here to help, Impulse. With every stage, every step of the way. You’re in good company.” She raised up her own, green-grey zombie hand and waggled her fingers, relishing in the tiny smile she was able to get on the man’s face. 

“Being a hybrid is nothing to be scared of, Impulse.” Jimmy finally spoke up. He ruffled his feathers, flaring his patchy wings out a bit. “It’s just a different way of living. You’ll catch on quickly.” 

Impulse blinked, eyes glassy. Skizz squeezed his hand again.

They were silent for a spell, meditating on everything that had changed, when Impulse spoke again.

“Is Tango okay?” he asked, voice small and fragile. Cleo hesitated, not sure of the answer. She hadn’t actually heard anything about Tango. But Skizz went very still, and every feather on Jimmy’s body slowly rose up, which didn’t bode well for the answer.

“Skizz? Jimmy?” she asked cautiously. “How is Tango?”

Jimmy was suddenly staring very intently at the floor, like he was unable to meet Impulse’s worried gaze. Skizz’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he hesitated for several seconds before saying, “We don’t… actually know.”

Cleo bristled, and Impulse’s eyes went wide again. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“He was rushed into surgery almost immediately when we got here.” Skizz went on. He rested his other hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, who Cleo now noticed was trembling slightly. “We weren’t allowed to see much.”

“What kind of surgery?” Impulse choked out. 

“We don’t know.” Skizz sounded defeated. “He, uh…” he glanced at Cleo, then back at Impulse, then visibly steeled himself. “He wasn’t breathing when he got brought to the hospital.”

“ What ?” Cleo almost shouted, horror flooding her insides with ice water. “What do you mean he wasn’t breathing ?” 

“When the Watchers brought everyone back, they didn’t fix Tango.” Skizz’s voice was hoarse, tears leaking down his face. “He was still dead. I-I don’t fully know what happened, but Philza’s wife showed up and promised to heal him, and so he was rushed to the hospital. We weren’t allowed inside when they started to work on him. We don’t know what state he’s in.” 

“How did he die?” Impulse’s voice was hushed and terrified. “I-It… it wasn’t from any sort of water damage, was it?”

Skizz frowned in confusion, but Jimmy’s head snapped up, gaze sharpening. Almost like he knew exactly what Impulse was referring to. He didn’t say anything, however, deferring to Skizz while the other man continued to speak.

“No, it was some kind of code corruption? I’m not sure… he had these purple cracks all over his body. I think that was the reason he died.” Skizz glanced at Jimmy for confirmation, tone apologetic when he asked, “That’s what it was, right Jimmy?” 

Jimmy ran a shaky hand through his hair and nodded without speaking, eyes still fixed on Impulse. It was a very unnerving look, something Cleo wasn’t used to seeing from the avian. It was much more aggressive than she was used to, even from her time spent on the island with him. 

Impulse noticed it, clearly, as something akin to guilt traversed his features. The minute Cleo saw the guilt, she felt suspicious; there was something that had gone down between either Impulse and Tango, or Impulse and Jimmy, and it was clearly still a bit of a sore spot for the two of them. 

Fortunately, Impulse changed the subject. “How about everyone else? You said the Watchers brought everyone back?” He suddenly sounded hopeful, which brought soothing relief to Cleo’s anxious soul. “Is Joel back?”

“Joel’s back,” Skizz confirmed, and Impulse practically melted into the mattress. “Everyone else is getting treated as well. Clebert here was one of the least injured, and Jimmy just needed a bath…” a hint of teasing colored his voice and he nudged the canary, but faltered when Jimmy didn’t react, too preoccupied with once again staring at the ground. Sighing, Skizz continued. “We can only assume that the doctors have everything under control. We haven’t seen Xisuma yet, but we’re hoping to ask him about everyone’s status when we do.”

“He’s resting,” Cleo said, remembering what Chess had said before. “Apparently Dr. Chess is worried about him having some kind of brain damage, so he’s on bedrest.”

“Brain damage?” Impulse’s voice shook slightly, and Jimmy looked up, shocked. Skizz just grimaced. “You know, that doesn’t surprise me. He’s been working nonstop for months. I don’t know anything about admin magic but the number of seizures and nosebleeds that X has had in the last few weeks alone has been kind of terrifying.” 

“Well, as long as he’s getting rest,” Impulse sounded flustered. “It’s… it’s really been months? Do you know how long I was…?”

“How long you were gone?” Cleo thought about it, “Do you know how long after I died that you did?”

Impulse flinched somewhat, and his face darkened upon thinking. Cleo suddenly felt very bad about reawakening what were clearly quite traumatic memories, and she fought the urge to flinch when she saw her friend’s eyes well up again.

“It, uh-” Impulse swallowed. “I-I don’t know. Maybe a few days? There was, um, a lot that happened after you died.”

“So it’s been a few weeks.” Skizz sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Dear void.” 

“It doesn’t feel like a few weeks.” Impulse whispered. “It just feels like a few hours, now. Only minutes since I woke up for the first time. Was it like that for you, Cleo?”

“I thought I was still fighting Etho, right up until my head fell off.” Cleo quirked her lips into a semi-smile. “So yeah, just minutes.”

“Which means it’ll be like that for the others, too.” Impulse sucked in a breath, coughed, and then looked very, very frightened. “Cleo? Have you had a chance to talk to or see Ren at all?” 

Cleo frowned. “No, I haven’t.” She glanced at Skizz. “Is he in any condition to talk?”

“No, he wouldn’t be.” Skizz’s expression turned grim. “His throat was all messed up.”

“Oh gods, right.” Cleo cursed herself for having a bad memory and for being stupid. It had been so long… but suddenly she remembered finding Ren’s body, a bloody hole punched through his throat that had spilled blood everywhere . 

And she remembered, suddenly, that Impulse had been the one to see Ren die.

“Is there something you’re trying to tell us about Ren, Impulse?” Cleo asked, feeling herself grow a bit numb when her friend nodded. Skizz, who knew nothing about any of this, looked on with morbid curiosity, whereas Jimmy was just pale.

“You know that he never got over Keralis,” Impulse whispered. “W-when I found him, he was on the beach, digging up Keralis’ grave. And he was grieving… so when phantoms showed up, I thought maybe he just hadn’t noticed them, you know? He’d fight back as soon as they started to get too close. But he didn’t , Cleo, h-he just… he just…” 

Impulse let out a strangled sound that had Skizz pressing closer, hand gripping onto his friend’s shoulder in a firm, grounding motion. Impulse blinked back tears, croaking out, “he just sat there, Cleo. He didn’t try to fight back at all . He just sat there and let them kill him.” 

Cleo blinked, sitting back more heavily on the mattress beneath her.

Ren had just… chosen to die? 

“What if he’s still like that, Cleo?” Impulse sounded terrified. “What if he still wants to die when he wakes up? It won’t have been that long for him!” 

Cleo didn’t have an answer for that. This wasn’t something she ever would have thought they’d have to deal with. A friend who was struggling, depressed even? Absolutely, especially on that island. But suicidal? 

Skizz was clearly at a loss for words. Of course he would be - he had no idea about what transpired between Keralis and Ren, or how it felt to realize that your friends, your family , were permanently gone, never coming back. Even if that ended up not being the case, that was their reality for a time, and it was a reality that Ren - especially regarding what being a red life had caused him to do - was unable to deal with. 

“We have to talk to him.” Impulse whimpered. “Please, guys. Cleo, Skizz, Jimmy, please talk to him when he wakes up. We can’t let that happen again. We have to make sure he’s okay.” 

Impulse’s voice was rising in both panic and volume, starting to breathe again out of sheer distress. “A-and, and Keralis - gods, how is he? You need to check on him too, you need-”

“Dippledop,” Skizz interrupted, fully leaning over to face his friend head on with both hands planted on his shoulders. “It’s okay. We’ll talk to them both, alright? Just take a-” he stopped, shaking himself. “Calm your breathing. Try to stop it again.”

Impulse shuddered through the motions, eventually getting to a state of stillness once again. Cleo wanted to help, but she was frozen in place, realizing maybe for the first time just how much damage had been inflicted on her friends. She’d known about Ren and Keralis, or at least she’d thought she had, but she’d had no clue about Tango. And Etho, Zed, Bdubs, Scar, Grian… what about all of them? And Joel, how had he gotten out of the void? What had happened during her “absence”? 

And how would they be able to help if Ren was truly feeling suicidal?”

“They’ll get the help they need, Impulse.” Jimmy finally spoke up. His expression was still somewhat wary, but the intense look in his eyes had softened to something more akin to sympathy. “Nobody is going to overlook them, not after everything. They’re going to be fine.”

Impulse nodded, reaching up with a shaky hand to wipe away tears. But the sight of his grey skin, once again, caused him to flinch back in surprise, and he ended up shutting his eyes and facing the ceiling, face screwed up in confusion and anguish. 

Skizz rubbing circles on Impulse’s shoulders, glanced back to give Cleo a frightened, helpless look. Cleo knew exactly how he felt.

This was so, so much bigger than she’d previously thought. How would they ever be able to help everyone recover?

Chapter Text

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We contact those of us who are beyond.

We will know what to do once we all are one.

Yes, this seems to be the most optimal move.

Perhaps those of us who are beyond will see more clearly.

We shall reach out.

And decide how to approach this once we know.

Let us begin…

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After getting checked over, the doctors in Apollo-1’s hospital deemed Fwhip fit enough to not be confined to bed rest, albeit with strict warnings to take it easy. He hadn’t quite overextended himself in the same way as Xisuma, but now that the adrenaline had worked its way somewhat out of his system, the headaches and nosebleeds were becoming a bit of an issue. 

He had medicine in him now to help with the pain at least, but the nosebleeds were the result of higher blood pressure, and so he’d been given the instructions to sit and relax . The doctors hadn’t specified where they wanted him to do this, for which Fwhip was grateful. 

He ended up in Joel’s room, slipping inside as soon as he’d heard that his player had stabilized from his recent surgeries. The emperor was peaceful looking on his cot - which was just three hospital beds shoved together to make room - with his good wing neatly folded alongside him and the injured one carefully spread out and bandaged on a conference table someone had moved over. His skin was pale, and he had an IV with fluids connected to one wrist alongside a blood bag attached to the other. The lichtenberg figures stood out in angry red. 

His toga had to have been cut away for the surgery on his torso, and no doubt the hospital didn’t quite have gowns big enough to fit him, and so extra sheets had been carefully tucked in around Joel to preserve his modesty while still allowing access to his freshly bandaged wound. 

Fwhip carefully tiptoed into the room and sat down on one of the abandoned conference chairs, stifling a groan as his sore, weary muscles protested with every movement. He sighed as he settled, fixing his gaze on Joel once again. He’d been given the rundown of his emperor’s status by a nurse who’d been leaving as he’d come in. So long as there were no unforeseen complications, it sounded like Joel would be just fine, and would most likely wake up within a few days. A miracle, considering everything he’d been through. 

This also meant that he was open to have visitors, so long as they were quiet, did not touch any attached machinery, and were limited to only a few at a time. Fwhip knew exactly who he had to contact.

Fwhip to LDShadowlady:

Fwhip: Lizzie, Joel’s open to have visitors if you’d like to come over.

LDShadowlady: I’m on my way. Hermes good to come? Sausage too?

Fwhip: Yes. But that’s it - visitors need to be limited. And Hermes needs to know he can’t touch any of the machines in here. I’m assuming you’ve explained at least a few things?

LDShadowlady: I’ve explained enough. We’re on our way.

Fwhip looked back up at Joel and sighed again, feeling a little like he was melting into his chair. The room was quiet except for the steady beep of a heart monitor and the sound of his own breathing. It was an odd mixture of peaceful and also incredibly nerve wracking. Fwhip had gotten used to being constantly surrounded by sound, both physical and in the strange, metaphysical sense of codespace. 

Pretty much everyone on EM-2 had been whitelisted to Apollo-1, either via Dr. Chess, Xisuma, or the hermits and Fwhip himself. Therefore it only took a few minutes before there were hurried footsteps from outside the conference hall and then Sausage pushed open the door, eyes wide and uncharacteristically anxious. Another head, smaller and with tostled blonde and purple hair, poked its way in after her. 

Fwhip’s heart clenched at the sight. Hermes’ eyes widened at the sight of Joel’s still form, face growing pale. Sausage put a hand on his small shoulders, but Fwhip could see his fingers shaking slightly.

It was Lizzie who fully broke the barrier and slipped inside, immediately going over to Joel. She glanced at the monitors, and then slipped her hand into Joel’s much larger one. She looked back at Hermes with a slightly shaky smile. “It’s okay, Hermes.”

The boy tip-toed his way inside without saying a word. It was dramatically different to what Fwhip was used to seeing from him; having Joel and Sausage as dads meant that Hermes had adopted a very loud, chaotic personality to match. It wasn’t unusual to catch the kid pulling pranks or swooping by just to shout and scare someone. 

He was a good kid at heart, though. Sweet, and sensitive. His fear and grief were written all over his face at that moment, purple eyes glassy with tears. 

“He’s actually here,” Hermes whispered, slowly creeping up to Joel’s side. He looked at Joel’s face, then down at the bandage wrapped around his middle, feathers fluffing up all over his wings and back. “Is he… is he going to be okay?” 

“He’ll be fine, Hermes.” Sausage came to stand beside him, crouching to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’s hurt, so he’s going to be sleeping for a while, but he’ll get better. Nothing can hold your daddy back for long, right?”

“Right.” Hermes nodded rapidly, even though tears were starting to flow down his cheeks. He blinked up at Lizzie, then. “C-can I…?”

“Just be gentle.” Lizzie told him, and Hermes slipped by, feathers rustling against the side of one of the hospital beds. 

The boy sidled up alongside Joel around the juncture of his neck and head, looking at his face with an expression of absolute rapture, clearly still adjusting to the idea that his dad was there after two whole months of being missing. But then the dam really broke, Hermes’ composure crumpled, and suddenly he was burying his face into Joel’s shoulder and sobbing , the sound loud and raw and vulnerable. Lizzie and Sausage were immediately there, soothing him, telling him was going to be okay, that Joel would get better, caressing his hair and feathers with gentle hands. Fwhip, feeling a little like he was intruding, looked away from the scene. 

Joel slept on, unaware.

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A few hours passed like that. The light streaming through the conference room’s windows started to dim. Fwhip slowly found himself molding into the chair he was sitting in, exhausted, and it became hard to keep his eyes open. Hermes had calmed and had devoted himself to preening the dirty feathers on Joel’s good wing, telling his dad about all he had missed while he was away in hushed tones. Lizzie had rested her head on Joel’s chest and might have fallen asleep, her form rising and falling with each breath her husband took. Sausage had taken up a post on Joel’s other side, holding his hand and scrolling through his communicator while glancing up at the nearby monitors now and again.

It was… peaceful, in an uneasy sort of way. For once, there was no agenda. No mission. All they needed to do was wait.

The sound of a door opening jolted Fwhip from his stupor, and he glanced up to see Scott enter the room. The elf stopped short at the sight of Joel, and it suddenly occurred to Fwhip that this might be the first time Scott had even seen Joel since that very first day. 

Scott took in the sight of Joel with a blank face, clearly focusing on keeping his composure, although his eyes welled up with tears upon seeing Hermes, who had paused his preening only for a moment before getting back into it. Nodding a greeting at Sausage and taking a shaky breath, the emperor made his way over to Fwhip.

“How are you?” Scott asked, voice hushed so as not to disturb the atmosphere of the room. Fwhip blinked at that, and found himself too tired to try and lie. “Exhausted, to be totally honest with you.”

Scott hummed, “Thought so. You got checked over already, right?”

“Doctors said just to take it easy. No admin magic.”

“When was the last time you ate something?”

“I’m sorry, who’s the admin here?” Fwhip couldn’t help but grin. Scott mirrored the expression, bi-colored eyes twinkling. “You are, of course. But somebody has to keep an eye on you. Void knows you and Xisuma deserve to be coddled for a bit, wouldn’t you say?”

“See, normally I’d be down for some coddling.” Fwhip sighed. “But, now…” He glanced back at the others, then up at Scott. “Also, I might have melted into the chair.”

Scott nodded. “Ah, I see. Well, I’m also here to tell you that the nurse out there - Hubble - needs to come in here and change Joel’s bandages. So how about we move you all to the lobby and get some food into you? After that, you could come back here, but there’s a pirate and two princesses who might kidnap you back to one of their bases before you can make it.” 

Fwhip snorted, warmth settling in his chest. He startled himself by suddenly tearing up, exhaustion making him more emotional than usual. Scott’s face softened, but he didn’t say anything, instead extending an arm to help Fwhip heave himself out of the chair. 

His knees locked up as he stood, joints cracking, and he might have stumbled to the ground if Scott hadn’t been there to catch him. The movement caught Sausage’s attention and the other man got up from his chair, looking concerned. Hermes stopped in his preening again to face them. 

“I’ve come to tell you guys that a nurse needs to get in here and change Joel’s bandages,” Scott told them. “Would you mind coming down to the lobby for a while? I think Philza and Techno left to go get pizza or something.”

Fwhip couldn’t help but chuckle at that. While the emperors preferred to stay locked in on their server to preserve “lore”, it was of course fully possible to leave and get amenities from other servers. Public servers in particular had a lot of things like restaurants that most admin-run servers did not, because not everyone wanted to spend their days building or redstoning or roleplaying. Some wanted to pursue personal passions, like being a cook or running a shop, and the best place to do that was on a public server.

Hence, pizza.

“Okay,” Sausage agreed. “Hermes, how about we go eat some pizza for a few minutes, hmm? Just so that a doctor can come make sure your dad is healing up properly.”

Hermes looked uncertain. “But we can come back, right?”

“Of course,” Scott reassured. “Just as soon as the nurse finishes their work here.”

Looking reassured, Hermes nodded. Sausage then turned to gently wake Lizzie up and inform her of the plan. The emperor nodded, pressing a kiss to Joel’s brow before sleepily getting up and following Scott, Fwhip, and the others out of the room.

Hubble was waiting outside the door when they left, flashing them all a reassuring smile before slipping inside. Fwhip glanced back and saw them pulling a fresh roll of bandages out of their inventory before the conference doors slipped shut.

“How long was I asleep?” Lizzie murmured to Fwhip as they walked, still sounding exhausted. The short fur on her face was completely flattened on one side, blue eyes cloudy. 

“A few hours, I think.” Fwhip said.

“Nothing changed?”

Fwhip shook his head, and she nodded, ears lowered somewhat on her head. “Right.”

“He went through a lot, Lizzie.” Scott said gently, casting a quick glance at Hermes, who was holding Sausage’s head and staring blankly down the hallway. “You know it’s going to take him some time to wake up. And even then…”

“I know that.” Lizzie snapped, then flinched a little, tail swishing behind her. “I know. I just… miss him.” 

“We all do, Lizzie.” 

The lobby was surprisingly full when they entered, with a collection of both emperors, hermits, and a few other players from various servers milling around. The receptionist, a female avian with rainbow-spattered feathers, was chatting animatedly with Owen, Martyn, and Oli by her desk. The others were all sitting on the lobby’s chairs and couches. Fwhip caught sight of a card game going on in one of the corners.

This was the perk of Apollo-1 being a private hospital world, he supposed. Since they worked almost exclusively with HC members and spent the majority of their downtime helping out with hybrid-centric research, there was plenty of room and time for the players to take over the lobby like this, with little worry that they were going to disrupt the arrival of someone else. Although, with the newcomers of the Empires server alongside others, this was probably the most business Apollo-1 had dealt with in years. 

“Pizza’s here!” someone called out, and Fwhip saw the front doors of the hospital swing open. A wave of chuckles and excited chatter swept through the lobby, and he had to bite back a laugh at the sight of Philza and Technoblade standing there loaded with bags of soda and boxes of pizza. Well, truly it was Techno carrying the majority of it. The piglin hybrid must have had fifteen pizza boxes stacked against his massive frame, crowned head poking over the top along with slightly bemused red eyes. 

“Alright, you little sh-” Philza stopped himself upon seeing Hermes, which led to another wave of snickers, in particular from the QSMP members. “-you lot. Pizza’s here. I expect order when you eat this, no descending on ‘em like my fu-frickin crows.” 

“Did you get any for your fu-frickin crows, Philza?” Quackity asked, amused. He pointed to the nearest window, where Fwhip could now see what must have been dozens of crows lining the topiary and nearby trees, staring mournfully inwards. Chess had been adamant about the birds staying outside, he knew. “They look hungry.”

Philza sighed, “Yeah I got them some, the beggars.” He leaned back against the front door and shouted out at them, “it’s not like they’re not real birds and don’t need to fucking eat .” The crows exploded in a cacophony of what, to Fwhip at least, sounded like offended squawking that could be heard even when Phil shut the door. 

Techno sat the pizzas on the nearest coffee table. “Have at it,” he drawled, while Phil set up the sodas. A line quickly formed after that, although Fwhip found himself tugged down onto a couch before he could join. Scott mouthed what type do you want? from his spot further up in the line, casually tugging Hermes forward so he could get pizza quicker. 

Fwhip shrugged, leaning back on the sofa and watching through half-lidded eyes as everyone got their pizza and drinks. It was chaotic, but there was a subtle undertone of organization revolving around those who needed the most care. Upon catching that Scott was getting him food, the elf quickly found himself at the front of the line (alongside Hermes) so it could be delivered quicker. Particularly tired or stressed out players were given food first and then corralled to some furniture to be seated. In this way, all the most exhausted players were fed and allowed to rest first, with the others slowly following. 

There was then a time of relative silence as everyone ate, talking quietly now and again but mostly taking the time to rest. Fwhip, who found himself starving, finished his food in record time and closed his eyes afterwards, resting his head against the back of the sofa. A small headache had sprung up some time ago, and he willed it to go away now that he’d blocked out excess light. 

Between the quiet chatter and the padding beneath his head, Fwhip found himself once again starting to fall asleep. He found he didn’t mind it so much this time.

But he never got there. As he started to slip under, he was jolted away by the sound of running footsteps.

“What…?” Someone said, concerned, and Fwhip’s poor, traumatized heart had him sitting up and spinning around in seconds. He caught sight of a player sprinting down the hall, spotted tail streaming behind her, ears pinned against the side of her head. 

“Get the portable MRI ready!” she barked as she flashed by, and there was a flurry of footsteps as a few others hurried after her. Fwhip watched, confused, then flinched when he realized what direction they were going in.

They were going towards the conference room. The room where Joel was. 

“Joel!” Lizzie came to the same conclusion as him, shooting up off her chair and towards the hallway within the span of a heartbeat. Fwhip was right there with her, and although he heard a plaintive cry rise up from Hermes behind him, he couldn’t stop to look. He had to trust that someone else - hopefully Sausage - would take care of it.

They were stopped from entering the conference room.

“That’s my husband in there!” Lizzie snarled, baring her fangs at one of the attendants, the cat-like player who had first run through the hallways. Her name tag read AllyCatAce (Ace, she/her) . “Let me in!”

“I’m sorry ma’am, we can’t do that.” Ace said firmly. “Your husband is getting medical treatment. Everyone who isn’t hospital staff needs to stay out.”

“What happened to him?” Fwhip demanded, feeling more than a little flustered. “We were with him maybe an hour ago! He was fine!”

“He had a seizure.” Ace said bluntly, and Fwip felt himself grow pale. All of Lizzie’s fur stood on end. “What? ”

“We’re tending to him now and trying to figure out the cause,” Ace said. “I promise you he’s getting all the help we can give him. But we need space, and we need to focus; you can’t go in.” 

Lizzie made a strangled sound deep in her throat, some kind of whimper mixed with a sob, and Fwhip put an arm around her shoulders. 

“We understand,” he said slowly, trying to keep his voice steady despite his pounding heart rate. “Please let us know the minute you know something.”

“Of course.” Ace nodded, amber eyes growing soft with sympathy. “I know this is hard. But trust us on this; we’re not trying to hurt your husband or keep you two separate, alright?”

“Alright.” Lizzie whispered, letting Fwhip lead her away from the conference room doors. Ace slipped back inside as soon as they turned.

Back at the lobby, everyone had gone quiet, an anxious mood blanketing the room. Dozens of eyes raised to meet them as Fwhip came back with Lizzie, and Hermes wrestled himself out of Sausage’s grip, sprinting over to face the two of them.

“Is Dad okay?” Hermes demanded, fists balled at his sides and wings puffed up. “What’s going on? Is he hurt?” 

Fwhip opened his mouth, then shut it. He had a seizure , was what Ace had said, despite his only wounds being his wing and his stab wound. Was it an aftereffect from whatever had given him his lichtenberg figures? Was it the Watchers, pulling some kind of last minute trick? Trying to harm Joel even more?

“Fwhip!?” Hermes almost yelled at him, tears filling his eyes, and Fwhip refocused. He still couldn’t think of what to say. What could he say?

He ended up telling the truth.

“I don’t know.” 

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

It ended up being Chess who came to tell them about Joel.

It was several hours later. Most of the other players had gone home. Fwhip and Lizzie were sitting in two uncomfortable plastic chairs right outside of the conference room doors, where they had been for all of those hours. Hermes had been taken home - he’d cried and begged, but it wasn’t good for him to be up so late, and nobody wanted him to have to hear what the doctors had to say if it wasn’t good news.

Please, please let it be good news , Fwhip begged, although he didn’t know who he was begging. He felt sick with worry - how did Xisuma stand it? Although was currently bedridden and at risk of a brain bleed, so he supposed the other admin hadn’t really withstood it at all. 

Chess came out of the double doors. Fwhip hadn’t seen her go in, but she was this world’s admin, the head doctor, and a voidkind admin to boot, so he didn’t question it. He started to stand, but she held up her hand and motioned him to sit back down, so he did.

“Alright you two,” Chess sighed, and she sounded tired. The glowing light behind the lenses of her mask was dull and dim. “I won’t sugarcoat this. Yes, Joel had a seizure. We took some scans to see if anything was wrong with his brain that caused it. We found out that no, Joel’s brain is not injured, but we also found out that he’s since slipped into a coma.”

“He’s in a coma?” Lizzie gasped, voice shaking and eyes wide. “ Why? ” 

“We don’t know.” Chess said grimly. “His brain is actually pretty active, but everything else about his physiology is indicating a coma. We’re not sure what’s causing it.”

“How do you get him to wake up then?” Fwhip asked.

“Right now? We don’t.” Chess sighed, holding up her hand when Lizzie hissed and started to speak. “That’s not to say we don’t worry about it in the future. But Joel’s body is still hurt - even if he wasn’t in a coma, he’d still be unconscious for a while. On top of that, I heard from Xisuma about the… odd situation Joel was in, regarding his death and the Watchers. His code is in flux from that, which may be the reason for the coma. If we give it a few days he might slip out of it on his own. For that reason, I think it’s best that we just wait.”

Fwhip hesitated, glancing at Lizzie. Ultimately, they had no say in the matter; a doctor’s word did in most ways trump an admin’s. Fwhip trusted Chess to make the right decisions. But it was understandable that Lizzie would still be upset with passively letting something like this happen.

Fortunately, although Lizzie’s ears remained flattened and her tail lashed behind her, she didn’t fight Chess on anything. She just clenched her hands into fists and said tightly, “Can I see him?”

Chess’s eyes dimmed even further. “He’s under observation right now in case there’s another seizure. It’s late - why don’t you go get some sleep and then come back in the morning? So long as nothing happens during the night, you will be able to see him.”

Lizzie grumbled, but nodded, abruptly turning and stalking away from the conference room. Fwhip watched her go, heart heavy. 

Chess sighed, then turned back to him. “How are you feeling? Have you gotten any rest since your exam?”

Fwhip pressed his lips together and gave a short, quick shake of his head.

“Go to bed, Fwhip.”

“But Joel-”

“Will be right here in the morning.” Chess insisted. “Gods, all of you admins are stubborn, aren’t you? I swear, I will put you on house arrest like I did Xisuma, I don’t care if you're technically under my care or not.” 

Fwhip let out a laugh that morphed into a yawn, which caused Chess’s eyes to brighten. “Fine,” he relented. “But I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

“I’ll see you then.” Fwhip agreed. He watched as she slipped back into the conference room, then slowly began the journey back to the lobby. Lizzie was already out of sight, and his heart ached for her. He couldn’t imagine how she must feel right now, knowing what she did about her husband.

The ache intensified when he realized he was going to have to tell the other emperors. They’d all made him promise to keep them updated on Joel’s progress - even if they hadn’t, as admin, that was his duty. The thought of sharing the news caused his stomach to twist, and he closed his eyes, fighting back the nausea. The last thing he needed was to spew pizza all over the inside of the hallway. 

A face flashed behind his closed eyelids, and he cringed, curling in on himself. There was one person that deserved to know first. 

Letting out a shuddering breath, Fwhip let himself slip to the ground, propping his back against the wall behind him. His headache was back, throbbing painfully, and his mouth had abruptly gone dry. Swallowing, he pulled up his communicator.

Fwhip to SolidarityGaming:

Fwhip: Are you awake?

SolidarityGaming: Yes

Fwhip: Come meet me in the hallway by Joel’s room.

There was no response. Fwhip furrowed his brow, concern rising with every minute that he waited, but it wasn’t long before he heard a squeaking sound and Jimmy came flying around the corner, hospital-provided slippers skidding against the tile floor. 

The avian looked terrified.

“What’s wrong?” Jimmy gasped, sliding to his knees down by Fwhip’s side. He was shaking from head to toe, breathing heavily, and Fwhip abruptly realized his sheriff was moments away from full scale panic attack. He slowly got onto his knees. “Jimmy, I need you to take a couple deep breaths.”

“B-but Joel! He- is everything-”

“Deep breaths, Jimmy. Nothing’s going to happen to Joel before you calm down.”

Jimmy glared at him, but forced a breath in and out, then another when the first one stuttered a bit. Fortunately it didn’t take him long to get himself under control again; he then leaned back on his heels, staring at Fwhip apprehensively. “Well?”

Fwhip found himself hesitating. Jimmy looked like a nervous, gaunt, sleepless wreck - despite showering, every inch of him was pale and shivering, eyes shadowed and cheeks hollow. The sweats given to him by the hospital staff hung too loosely on his tall frame. He looked like one strong breeze could knock him over, nevermind this kind of news about Joel.

But it had to be told. Fwhip knew Jimmy deserved that much.

“I want you to know that right now, Joel is safe.” Fwhip started, trying to put the avian at ease. It seemed to do the exact opposite, with Jimmy stiffening immediately. He plowed ahead, determined to get the words out so he could do the inevitable damage control.

“He had a seizure earlier,” he said, and Jimmy let out a strangled chirp. “The doctors don’t think he’s going to have another one.” Not necessarily true, but not a total lie, either. “But he’s slipped into a coma, and nobody is sure why.”

Jimmy went still and gaped at him, shadowed eyes huge with shock. “H-he’s… in a coma?”

“Yeah, Jim.” Fwhip said softly. “But it’s not too worrying just yet. Chess thinks there's a chance he’ll pull out of it on his own if we give him a few days.”

Jimmy didn’t seem to hear him, eyes glazing over and the shivering picking up in speed. Fwhip’s heart rate began to do the same. “Jimmy-”

Jimmy muttered something that Fwhip couldn’t hear. “What?”

“It’s my fault,” Jimmy suddenly hissed, teeth chattering, and Fwhip blinked in confusion. “Jimmy, how-?”

“It’s my fault because I’m the one who stabbed him !” Jimmy suddenly shot to his feet, stumbling back a bit, face the color of paper. “O-oh void. Oh gods . This is ‘cause of me. Joel’s gonna be stuck in there cause of me. What about Lizzie? O-or Hermes!? What have I-”

“Jimmy, hey, Jimmy calm down.” Fwhip said desperately, getting to his feet as well. His head pounded with the movement but he fought through it, trying to grab on to Jimmy’s flailing hands and hold them tight. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” 

“It is ,” Jimmy practically wailed, the sound echoing down the hallway, and Fwhip flinched at the volume. “If I hadn’t attacked him- ”

“Jimmy listen to me,” Fwhip snapped, lowering his voice and ducking slightly. In his dazed state, Jimmy subconsciously lowered himself to match. “Listen to me. Whatever you did on that island, no matter what it was, was not your fault. All the time you spent there was a kidnapping - you were doing what you had to do to live, do you get that? None of it was your fault - none of it.”

“B-but the Watchers,” Jimmy panted, eyes wild and rolling. “The Watchers-”

“They made their decisions. You weren’t part of it. You were doing what everybody else on that island was doing. You are not at fault.” 

Jimmy moaned, gripping his hair between his hands, and would have crumpled on the spot in his grief had Fwhip not caught him. He started crying, fully lost in his head, rocking back and forth. All Fwhip could do was hold him and tell him it wasn’t his fault, over and over, as many times as he could.

The yelling had attracted attention. A night nurse found them on the hallway floor, helping get a by-then nearly catatonic Jimmy onto his feet. Fwhip ended up taking Jimmy home with him, helping him into bed after managing to get some water into him. Jimmy was quiet for the rest of the night and didn’t protest a single time.

As soon as he was able, Fwhip knew that Jimmy would be right back at the hospital, most likely to see Joel. At least, he hoped he did. The worst thing Jimmy could try to do right now was isolate himself because of his guilt. Fwhip really hoped that, through constantly showing he didn’t believe anything was Jimmy’s fault, that the avian wouldn’t take that route. 

But Fwhip didn’t know anything anymore. He was just as lost and confused as the rest of them, an exhausted admin scrambling to keep his family from falling apart. How could he do or say anything to make Jimmy feel better? 

How could he make Jimmy see that no part of this entire, hellish situation was his fault?

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

Hermes was awake and waiting for Lizzie by the time she got back home.

She’d stopped living in her own empire some time ago, finding that the little village was simply too quiet for her despite the constant animal noises around. She was so used to Joel swinging by to say hello, the sound of his wingbeats shaking the crystal roofs, that she’d often find herself pausing and listening, waiting. No sound would answer her.

The nightmares had grown worse at night, her anxiety worse during the day. Lizzie could hardly focus on any given task, too preoccupied with daydreaming about Joel’s voice, his face, his laugh. Eventually, Sausage - who had taken Hermes to live with him more permanently since Stratos was empty - had swept Lizzie into the fold, too. She lived in the aptly named Sanctuary now. 

She and Hermes both had guest rooms at Sausage’s house, although she knew Hermes spent most nights sleeping in Sausage’s room. She knew he loved to cuddle - she’d caught him multiple times snuggled up against Joel’s side on a patio somewhere, napping in the afternoon. 

But tonight, when Lizzie portaled back to EM-2 and prepared herself for a long, sleepless night in her room, she was met with Hermes sitting on her bed, kicking his feet lightly. Sausage was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, face twisted into a concerned frown. He fixed her with a blue-eyed look that clearly said I don’t know what to do.

Hermes’ head snapped up when she entered. He looked exhausted - he was up far past his bedtime - but also determined.

“How’s Dad??” He demanded.

Lizzie fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. It wasn’t his fault he was so concerned, so nervous. He couldn’t know just how fragile she felt at that moment. 

“Your dad is still sleeping,” she finally ended up saying. Somehow, she kept her composure, even as her claws threatened to dig holes into her own palms. “He… he got sick again. But it’s not bad - the doctors are keeping an eye on him.”

“But it’s worse than that!” Hermes insisted, nearly wailing, eyes filling with tears again. His hair was messy and his wings were too, and between that and the pale yellow pajamas he was wearing, he looked like a distressed, disheveled duckling. “There were so many doctors! And they looked worried . A-and they were talking about machines-”

“Those are just to be extra safe, Hermes-” Sausage spoke up, but Hermes yelled over him, voice shrill. “You would have let me stay if Dad was okay .” 

Sausage went silent, and Lizzie felt ill. Her feet carried her over to the bed, where she sat down. Hermes went still, panting a little, tears staining his cheeks. She silently opened her arms in an invitation and he wasted no time in curling into them, face pressed against her neck. She smoothed the soft, downy feathers along the insides of his wings. 

“Your dad is sick,” Lizzie whispered, “and the doctors don’t know why. He’s sleeping, and they don’t know if he’s going to wake up.”

Hermes stiffened, and across the room, Sausage’s eyes filled with tears, and he put a hand to his mouth. A whimpering, keening sound escaped Hermes’ throat, and he rasped out, “ Why?”

“I don’t know.” Lizzie pressed a kiss to the side of Hermes’ head, then beckoned for Sausage to come closer and join the hug. Sausage, broad shoulders shaking under his purple night-shirt, sniffled a little as he slipped beside them on the bed, joining in the hug and wrapping them up with his strong arms. Lizzie closed her eyes, letting her own tears fall as she listened to the other two cry. 

Void, she was so tired. 

She wanted to be angry. She’d been angry at first, then desperate, then terrified. Now she was all three - anger was the easiest for her to deal with, she wanted it back. She wanted to rage at Joel and yell at him for scaring her, for making her wait so long to hear her voice. 

But then Lizzie thought of Joel’s body beneath her hands, his blood coating her fingers, of feeling his stuttering breaths tremble up through her arms. The anger always melted away. How could she be so cruel to be angry, after everything he’d been through?

After being controlled like some kind of puppet by the very beings that kidnapped him?

It was early, early morning by the time they finally got Hermes to bed, and then Sausage and Lizzie parted ways. He offered to let her stay in his room, a ward against nightmares, he’d said. She knew he meant nothing but goodwill, and she trusted him, but she still said no. There was only room for one other man in her bed, and she was going to keep it that way, regardless of the situation. 

Lizzie felt that empty place beside her like an ache that night, like she did every night, and she surrendered to the nightmares as the moon started to sink on the horizon. 

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

EM-2 was flourishing.

Quackity had spent a great deal of time flying around the server, and he could see all of the progress. Each group of newcomers had taken inspiration from the chaotic amalgamation of materials that was “Hermitopia” and decided to construct their own, with varying results. He was rather proud of Q-topia. It was a bit of a mess, but it was also one of the biggest, with members of his server, the former DSMP server, and collective friends joining in to make it. 

The new bases, where the non-hermits and non-emperors were staying, were arranged in a circle around a newly constructed “Town Square.” There was Hermitopia in front,  Noxtopia to the left, Stabtopia (run by the Stabby Stabby crew) to the left of that, then Q-topia, and Oaktopia at the end. The huge, nonsensical bases formed formidable silhouettes in the evenings, but were lit up like fireworks at night, with lanterns, torches, neon signs, and flashing redstone decorating the surface. Stabtopia had Astrozoan’s spaceship settled on top of it like an alien star on a very chaotic christmas tree.

Normally, the nights were pretty quiet. The players had all socialized a lot during the first few weeks but had become less talkative as everyone grew more tired and discouraged. Quackity did a fly-by every night on principle, just like he did on his own server, just to keep an eye on things. Before, these flights were quiet, and the ground below was dark.

Now, the entire town square, and each of the towers, was alive .

With the missing players having been returned, it had become all hands on deck to prepare for their inevitable arrival. The energy was mostly focused around Hermitopia, since that’s where all of the missing players were from aside from two, but that didn’t stop non-hermits from joining in to help. Extra rooms were prepared, food was stocked up, medical supplies were packed away in closets for emergencies. Players schemed alongside hermits to make sure each room was custom-made for a missing player, so they could be the most comfortable when they got back. There were even ramps installed to make sure that any wheelchair users would have an easy time of it.

Torches skittered across the ground like fiery ants, mixing and merging into lines and then scattering into chaos once again. The sounds of shouting, talking, laughing, and music reached his ears. It was beautiful, even if the situation was dire. 

Quackity wanted to join in and help, he really did. But he couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop flying, because although twelve missing players had been returned… one had not.

Foolish was still missing. 

Three months was not something to be dismissed. Foolish had already been gone for weeks before the other missing players reportedly disappeared. It had been sudden; just a quick communicator message to let Quackity know that he needed to run an errand, and that he should be back within a day or two. 

But Foolish never came back. 

Quackity liked to think he was a pretty good judge of character. He picked his invitations to the QSMP very carefully, after all. He’d been burned by Dream and the DSMP, he wasn’t going to let something like that happen again. So he knew that Foolish was a good man. He wouldn’t abandon his server, his friends, out of the blue like that. Especially not when he had a daughter to take care of.

And he did take care of her, now that Vegeta had been called away to attend to personal business. Nobody could blame Vegeta, but that didn’t change the fact that Foolish had suddenly become a single parent, and had no background taking care of kids. Quackity had been slightly skeptical at first, but he saw how Foolish had determinedly taken up the task. He invited Leo to join in his building projects, supervised her while she played with other kids, supported her interests and joined her in pranks, even learned sign language to properly communicate with her. Foolish loved Leonarda, and she loved him, and there was no way in hell that he would just up and leave her.

Leo was currently heartbroken. It was a testament to her love for her father that she never once questioned whether Foolish would abandon her. She’d become worried for him almost from the get-go, signing in rapid, shaky motions that something must have happened, Foolish must have been in trouble. There was no other explanation!

The first month had been devastating. Quackity had searched in every way he knew how, but he still hadn’t found a lead. He couldn’t track Foolish’s code anywhere, and no-one had seen him, not even on any of the public servers he’d checked. And it wasn’t like Foolish was easy to not notice - even if the man could cover up the gold and grey skin, the shark teeth, the tail and fins, the emerald eyes - or the fact that he was eight feet tall at his smallest size - Foolish’s personality wasn’t subtle. He was giggly, he was loud, he would get noticed . 

But no-one had seen him, or heard from him. He was gone without a trace.

Now, Quackity had a lead. No, Foolish hadn’t been seen by the others on that island. But maybe , just maybe… there was a clue. Quackity needed to find it.

He had an idea. 

He contacted Philza, Techno, Sapnap, and George, first. People he knew from the old days. People he trusted. They met him on the roof of Q-Topia, a place no-one would decide to go without a good reason.

“I need you guys to back me up on something,” was the first thing Quackity said. He saw Sapnap’s eyes narrow slightly - which he didn’t blame him for, since those were suspicious words - but he continued on before one of them could make a comment. “I think we need to do two things. First - I think we need to go check out that island for ourselves, to see what’s out there. We also need to make sure that myself and the other admins check that the island's coding isn’t somehow corrupting EM-2’s.. At the very least, we need to go over there so we can figure out what the fuck happened to those players!”

“I’m with you,” Techno rumbled. His blood-red cape waved slightly in the wind. “I don’t like that it’s just sitting out there still.”

“Agreed.” Sapnap nodded. “Okay, we can back you up on that if you bring it to Fwhip or Xisuma. What’s the other thing?”

“Woah, hold on, time out.” Phil waved his hands a bit, a crow sitting on his shoulder giving a disgruntled caw at the motion. “You guys know this is the same island that actually killed eleven players, right? And you want to step foot on it?”

“We can’t just leave it there, Phil.” Quackity protested. “It’s dangerous-”

“ Exactly . Investigate it all you want, but I think that should be done from here.” Philza’s cheek and ear-feathers ruffled, showing his unease. “We fought those fucking Watchers for months, and that’s their home terf. If we get onto that island, who the hell knows what they’ll do to us?”

“Phil,” Techno said, which got the elytrian’s attention immediately. “I know how ya feel about this. But if the Watchers can create somethin’ out of nothin’...” Techno shrugged. “I don’t think it matters whether we get on that island or not. You saw what they did to Smallishbeans. If they want to do something with that power, they’re going to do it. I think we should take this chance to get on that island.”

“Xisuma will never allow it.” Sapnap shook his head, looking discouraged at the realization. “Fwhip won’t either. And since this is their server and those were their players, they do have some jurisdiction over that.”

“That brings me to the next thing I wanted to say,” Quackity clapped his hands together, causing a few nearby crows to take flight. “I want to bring Bad onto the server.”

Philza cringed. “Mate, he’s got like five kids he’s lookin’ after right now.”

“I know, I know, but Fit, Cellbit, Roir, and some of the others have room, right?” Quackity said. “I really need Bad here, guys. He’s known Foolish the longest out of basically everybody, and you know they have that weird code-bond thing where they can find each other. If anyone can help get Foolish back, it’s him.”

At the mention of Foolish, everyone became a little more somber. Even if some of them hadn’t been the best of friends with him, everyone knew Foolish in some way. The guy was everywhere, he was impossible to truly dislike. Philza, in particular, looked a lot more sympathetic. “Quackity, he’s already looked.”

“He didn’t look on the island.” Quackity snapped. “He might find something there.”

Philza sighed, but didn’t protest. He glanced instead at Techno, who just huffed through his nose and looked in turn at Sapnap and George. The two former DSMP members shrugged.

“I guess that’s it then.” Philza turned back to Quackity. “If you end up going to the admins, we’ll all get behind you. At the very least because we owe it to Foolish.”

At those words, at least ten crows swooped in to land at his talons from seemingly nowhere, bobbing in a kind of dance and cawing in unison. George jumped back when Philza swore and flapped at them with his wings, trying to drive them off. “For the love of- don’t start that again!”

Quackity couldn’t help but grin. “So, we have a plan. I’ll send a message to Xisuma as soon as I know he’s a bit healthier, alright? And then if he needs convincing, you guys will step in to help.”

“That’s the plan.” Techno nodded, casually leaning down to sweep a bunch of startled crows off the edge of the roof with the hem of his cloak. 

“Good.” Quackity’s chest swelled with excitement, with hope, and maybe just a bit of desperation. “I’ll let you know when the time comes.”

Chapter Text

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Grian had promised he wouldn’t leave.

He’d promised Scar. After all of the heartbreak, after all of the effort and tears and anger they’d poured into this relationship, after running away to try and save Scar’s life and having the man chase after him… Grian was once again breaking his promise. 

This time, he couldn’t do anything to fix it.

Scar was sobbing. The tears glittered as they tracked down his cheeks. They were falling onto Grian, shaken loose from the words he was saying, but Grian could barely hear or feel anything. The wither poison was quickly making its way through his system, burning and freezing him from the inside out. It held his tongue in an iron grip, and it locked up every limb. He couldn’t reach out, couldn’t hold Scar, couldn’t say he was sorry.

Grian wanted to shout his apologies with all the air in his lungs, but he couldn’t. He tried to convey it with his eyes, but how could Scar know? All the while Scar was crying, creating flowers from nothing and placing them oh-so-tenderly in his hair, in his wings. Surrounding him with beauty in his final moments.

And Grian was leaving him alone. It was a reversal of Monopoly Mountain, where Grian had screamed and sobbed into the bloodstained sand where Scar’s fallen body had been only moments before. He’d been left alone, then, under the sun, but at least he’d had someplace to go afterwards. At least he’d been able to go home and see Scar again, albeit with the tainted memories of that cactus ring and those bloodstained sands.

Scar was trapped. Scar couldn’t go anywhere. He was stuck, and Grian was leaving him. 

His vision was dimming. The acid in his veins had settled in his lungs, filling them with iron. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t hear, and yet Scar kept speaking and crying and covering him with flowers, easing his passage. 

The last sensation Grian felt was Scar’s arms around him. 

But then, somehow, that wasn’t the end. 

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There were colors, first. Blues and greens that exploded alongside syrupy black, gray, and red. There was red on him, all over him. Was he bleeding? Had he hurt someone? 

The pain that slammed into him moments later made him realize maybe he was the one that was hurt.

Sirens went off in his ears, both close and far away. Grian struggled to find purchase as the world spun. He was burning. He was freezing. His lungs didn’t work and yet his head was filled with hot air. Was he floating? Where were his wings?

Grey - the grey was closer to him. Grey and blue. Freezing. Burning. Grey was the color of stone and thunderclouds and iron. Iron was cold. This wasn’t iron.

Grey was the color of Scar, stark against the golden sands. Grey coated in red.

There was too much red here .

Grian flinched away, vision spinning. No, no no no that can’t be right. The desert was gone . That horror story was over . It couldn’t be the desert because they were supposed to be surrounded by water, not sand, and Scar couldn’t be dead because Scar had been holding him because Scar COULDN’T BE DEAD.

Bones. Bones and blood and skin and teeth and bones. They were all he could see. Pointing through grey flesh and scars and blue, beautiful wings . Butterfly wings that were smashed and broken from being held too tightly. Scar had wings like that. Was Scar the butterfly? What had the world done to him? 

Grian needed to fix this. Grian was supposed to help, supposed to protect. Protecting normally meant running far, far away, because Grian was dangerous and Scar was dangerous and those two things would only get worse if they were mixed together. But words echoed in his brain over the sirens - I’ll stay, Scar. I’ll stay - and he couldn’t leave even if his burning-freezing-dying flesh would allow him to. 

Something shoved him back. Grian fought it. The Watchers wouldn’t stop him this time. Even if the world was devoid of their signature purple, they must have been there, stalking him, stalking Scar. Just like they stalked Joel. They’d taken enough from Grian already, they couldn’t have Scar .

The force pulling him back was too strong - Grian found his vision shifting from grey and red and bones and bones and bones to see… eyes. Not purple, dark eyes, familiar eyes. Messy black hair and pale skin and the black suit and… and… 

The mustache .

This wasn’t the Watchers. 

Mumbo held him tight, held him close. Grian didn’t think he’d ever see his friend again. How did Mumbo get on the island? Had the Watchers captured him, too?

I’m sorry, Mumbo.

Mumbo was saying something to him, the words dancing past his ears and coiling spring-like inside of his brain. They didn’t make sense, but there was a comforting feel to them, which Grian clung to desperately as the world started to spin. He felt so sick - like his insides were liquifying and his lungs were filled with ashes. Was he dying, still? And Mumbo and Scar were only figments of his imagination conjured up to soothe him as he went?

But if that were the case, why would his brain create something as nightmarish as the broken body lying next to him?

Grian wasn’t able to figure it out before he was dragged under - this time, presumably, into a proper death. 

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He was so cold. Everything was hurting. The sirens were back - screaming loudly right in his ear, squealing in higher tones next to him, echoing in sharp, agonizing staccato. He was being touched, and it burned. He tried to scramble away from it but he was held fast by ice-coated hands.

He had to get to Scar. He had to get to Scar .

What if whoever was holding him was hurting Scar, too?

The hands didn’t move. His strength floated away from him, oil on water, and he sat submerged.

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There was a butterfly in front of him.

Grian watched it flit around in front of his eyes, its translucent blue wings catching the sunlight like gemstones, and his bird-brain cooed at their shimmer. He wasn’t sure where he was, what he was standing on, or why there was a butterfly there, but he was too enraptured by the sight of it to care. Something deep down was telling him that this little insect needed to be protected, like he had made some kind of vow to watch over it.

The butterfly shivered in the air, frozen, and its wings suddenly started to crack. All the warmth in Grian’s body abruptly turned to ice, and he started to shiver. He watched, horrified, as the blue wings grew larger, filling his vision even as they chipped away and fell down in sparkling pieces like snow. All he could see was blue, then the blue morphed to grey, and then the grey trembled and broke and there was bones, so many bones, bones and blood and teeth and bones bones bones-

“-temperature’s spiking again-”

“-hold him steady! Get those wings secured-”

“-going to need some ice to cool his temperature down-”

The desert was going to kill them both this time. 

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Grian opened his eyes to see clouds. They shifted in his vision, white and floaty, forming weird and indistinct shapes. He blinked, feeling a bit fuzzy himself, and watched as the edges of some of them darkened and sharpened. 

He inhaled, and his chest seized abruptly, sending him coughing and sputtering. Sharp, jagged pains struck through his chest and into his head, pulling a weak moan and anxious twitter from his throat. The fuzziness turned into a distant roar, a kind of ocean-wave rushing sound that pounded through his head alongside his heartbeat. 

There was a gentle touch to his cheek, and Grian’s eyes opened from where they had slid closed again, seeing a shape hovering over him. His fear spiked, a low chant of Watchers Watchers Watchers starting to reverberate through his skull, but this shape was pale and there were no purple eyes, no wings to be seen. His head was gently tilted back, and something cold was eased past his lips, and oh, oh it was water .

Water in the form of ice, slipping into his throat and quickly melting. The liquid immediately eased the dryness on his tongue and brought a surge of thirst to the forefront - he might have whimpered as he pushed forward into the touch, silently begging for more. The shape mercifully responded, easing him back against the cushions when his shivering body couldn’t hold himself upright anymore, and easing a few more bits of ice into his mouth. Each one was a drop of liquid euphoria - Grian had lost his hearing some time ago, but he could feel his chest rumbling with happy vocalizations as the water trickled down his throat.

He fell back some time later, exhausted, no longer fearful but plenty confused. The darkness was starting to drag him under, although this time he welcomed it properly, seeing it as rest rather than the abyss. 

It only struck him right before he slipped under that he still didn’t know what was really going on with him, or with Scar. 

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The next time Grian woke up was the first time he was able to think about his situation.

This time, the room was darker. A little lamp plugged into an outlet in the corner of the room cast enough light to stop mobs from spawning. The room’s pale walls and ceiling were dulled to grey. Machines beeped and squeaked next to him, and when Grian weakly turned, he could see that he was hooked up to an IV. His wings were accommodated by the wide width of the bed he was in, gently curled around him. He felt himself grow a bit dizzy at the sight of the cut, unpreened feathers.

But perhaps the dizziness was already present. He still felt… ill. Very ill. Each breath was a struggle and his skin positively crawled with hot-cold chills. Glancing down at his body, he saw that beyond the mint-green hospital gown he was wearing, his skin was deathly pale. Grey, shadowy veins could be seen on his right arm, glistening under the sweat-soaked skin, although the veins didn’t reach his hand and vanished halfway down his forearm. 

Grian leaned his head back against the pillow beneath him and shuddered, sucking in a breath of cool air. It was exhausting to even try and think, but he had to, because aside from weird, distant memories of colors and blood and butterflies for some reason, there was just one thing that stuck out to him.

Grian had been dying. 

He’d been stabbed by a wither skeleton, and those wounds tended to end things rather quickly. He’d been pulled to safety by Scar, and-

You can’t leave . You promised me! You promised me you wouldn’t leave again, Grian!

He’d promised. He’d promised .

An involuntary sound pulled itself from deep in Grian’s chest, a trill mixed with a sob, and it caused pain to spike through his chest. Blinking back sudden tears, he tried to focus. He’d been dying. Scar had held him as he died . Which meant, somehow, the Watchers must have intervened, because there was no way Scar would have found a way to cheat Grian out of that kind of death. 

Which meant that wherever he was, it was due to Watcher influence.

He was probably dreaming. The Watchers liked to communicate in dreams, finding that they could enact more influence that way. Grian heaved ragged breaths as he looked around the hospital room again, sweat running down the side of his face and soaking into his ear feathers. His vision swam - the edges of his bed looked fuzzy, the doorway blurred on the other side of the room. Were they making him feel sick in his dreams?

Am I unconscious, and my real body is dying from wither poisoning?

The door opened and Grian flinched, locking his hazy eyes on its movement. A player stepped in, a short, pale hybrid with axolotl-like fins on the side of their head. A neat, white uniform only accentuated the light pinkness of their skin and hair, and with large pale eyes, they looked ghostly.

“You’re awake!” The player spoke softly, but happily. They smiled at him. “My name is Nurse Hubble. Let me get you some more ice.” 

Grian watched warily as they went to the side of the room beyond where he could see. There was a sucking sound, like a seal breaking, and a slight gust of cold air that felt glorious to Grian’s hot and aching body. Then the nurse was back, a cup in hand and a spoon in the other.

“Here we are.” Hubble said softly, taking the spoon and offering him an ice chip. It felt blissful easing down his dry, sore throat, and he couldn’t help but coo, eyes slipping shut. 

No, focus!   He didn’t know this person. His eyes opened again.

They didn’t immediately give signs of being a Watcher; Grian tried to surreptitiously study them while letting more ice melt in his mouth. Their eyes weren’t purple. They didn’t have any jewelry or characteristics that involved wings or more eyes. His vision shifted to the room, slightly sharper now that he had water in his system. He couldn’t see any mirrors. There was light coming into the room, but it was from behind him, meaning he couldn’t see windows. There could be a Watcher in the reflection and he wouldn’t know it. His stomach clenched.

The heart monitor next to him picked up speed, and Hubble paused. 

“Are you in pain?” They asked gently, but genuinely. Grian slowly shook his head, even though feverish body aches were running rampant through his system. He didn’t want to get injected with anything here, even if it might just be a dream.

If it was a dream, and his mind was trapped as his body was dying, and the Watchers wanted to set up some kind of torment for him before he finally died… they would try to drag it out as long as possible. Give him false hope before plunging him into nightmares.

They wouldn’t want him to go quickly. Which gave Grian an idea.

He waited until Hubble had checked him over, deemed him safe to leave alone, and told him to rest. He watched them go, fighting sleep, sweating and shivering. It was only after they left the room that he started to move.

Finding the strength to reach over and slide out his IV, not to mention also muffling the pained groan he wanted to make as he did so, was nearly impossible. His hands were shaking with stress by the time he was done, dark, murky blood slipping down his arm from the exit wound. His vision swam, dark spots appearing, and he hurriedly blinked them away. 

Getting his feet on the ground sent a shock through his entire system. He had socks on, but even then, the cold tile managed to leak through, and his nerves didn’t like that. His wings trembled and shook, cut feathers sliding against machinery. He was still attached to the heart monitor; no doubt it would attract attention when he took off the sensor.

Or, more likely, the Watchers would already know and would send dream characters to drag him back into bed. At least then Grian would have his answer.

The first step almost sent him to the ground. The second and third weren’t much easier. By the time he got to the door, black-tinted sweat was staining his hospital gown, and his breath was coming in ragged, agonizing gasps. The sharp pains in his chest were only getting worse. The spots in his vision were multiplying.

Come on, Watchers. I’m dying, aren’t I? Don’t you want me to stay a little longer?

When he managed to get out into the hallway, leaning heavily on the wall, the cavalry arrived.

“ Sir, what- what are you doing?! You need to be resting!” 

A pale face appeared in his vision - Hubble, Grian remembered hazily. Hadn’t they just been in his room? Where had they gone? They continued to speak to him, face anxious, hands reaching out-

Here it comes .

Gentle, cold fingers wrapped around his upper arm, helping him upright. Grian’s world spun, ceiling merging with floor, feet scrambling to support himself. He waited for the nurse to drag him back to bed, to manifest those purple eyes, for the monologues to start. Everything hurt, he was so hot …

“-burning up, don’t know how he got out-”

He wasn’t being dragged - he wasn’t moving at all. Was he melting? Grian kind of felt like he was melting. 

“-need some assistance over here-!” 

Cold touches pressed against his forehead, supported his back, carefully kept his wings from dragging too on against the ground.

“Winter! Winter, can you-”

Sound fizzled out again, fading into a frantic, desperate beating that resonated in his chest as well as his ears. Something blue appeared in front of him, getting closer, and Grian saw butterflies.

Not the same blue butterfly wings as before, but the sight of them caused something to ache in his chest in a way that couldn’t possibly be physical. It wouldn’t have hurt so much if it was.

Grian’s throat ached - was he saying something? Making a sound that he couldn’t hear? The blue moved forward, more touches, he was spinning, he was falling, Grian wanted, he needed -

He didn’t know what he needed. But it wasn’t here, and it was killing him.

Grian was so scared. 

And then, just when he thought that maybe this was it, he was going to fall back into that abyss and he didn’t want that because he hadn’t found what he needed yet… there was a sound.

Grian hardly registered it as a sound and yet it swept into his soul and soothed him, stroking his feathers without a touch. He blinked, the world a blur, and saw gold. Gold that got closer, that was so pure, so familiar, he knew the word for it at the tip of his tongue-

The gold swept past the blue and pushed in close, and Grian closed his eyes. This color was good. It was safe, he knew it well, even if names and faces were escaping him. The gold made another sound, something so tender, and Grian’s face felt wet. 

This wasn’t the Watchers - and he remembered them now, the reason why he was in this hallway, their cursed name resurfacing for just a moment. This wasn’t them. This was safety, this was love, this was his flock . 

And Grian slipped away in the comfort of their arms and feathers.

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Surely, upon waking this time, Grian’s brain would finally cooperate with him.

He’d stayed still and quiet for the first few minutes, letting his mind adjust and his memories come back. So much of it all was still so hazy. Butterflies remained a prominent theme.

But now he remembered the island fully, and he remembered going out into the hallway, daring the Watchers to do… something? For some reason? He wasn’t even sure he actually went into the hallway or if he remembered.

Most of all, Grian remembered seeing gold, the sensation of his flock being nearby, and now he could hear quiet breathing in his room. And he hoped, oh he hoped …

Grian’s eyes cracked open, and it took less than a second for tired, shadowed hazel to lock onto them.

Jimmy’s breath hitched. “Grian,” he whispered, already sounding close to tears. Grian watched, already tired, as those hazel eyes welled up. 

“Hey Tim,” he managed to rasp out, and Jimmy sobbed, clapping a hand over his mouth. The canary tapped a button on the nearby machinery and then leaned in close, cradling Grian’s head close to his chest and letting out a myriad of vocalizations that made Grian’s heart flutter. He answered the best he could with rusty chirps and coos, but his throat hurt, and so he couldn’t do much. 

The door opened and Hubble walked in. Grian recognized them now, confirming that more shifty visions were indeed memories and not dreams. 

“You’re awake.” There was relief on Hubble’s face, and distantly Grian thought that maybe that wasn't the best expression to see on a nurse. “How are you feeling?”

Grian thought about that for a moment, then managed to say, “Got any ice?”

Hubble chuckled at that, leaving only for a moment before coming back with the spoon and cup. Jimmy shifted only a tiny bit out of the way to accommodate them, then went back to his - now quieter - vocalizations.

“Your friend’s been worried,” Hubble said softly, as if Grian hadn’t picked that up by now. “He hasn’t left your side since you passed out.”

Grian swallowed a bit more ice, then asked, “I really… went out in the hallway?”

Hubble nodded. “Scared the life out of me. You were delirious, though, so I guess some weird behavior was to be expected. Your fever’s gone down a bit since then because we were able to get some cool water onto you and adjust your saline drip, although we still need to monitor you.” Grian glanced down at himself and noticed he was in a different, much cleaner, medical gown, and felt himself blush.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Hubble soothed. “You were very sick. Still sick, although much better. You’ll continue to heal so long as you stay put and rest.” That last bit was said much more firmly. 

“Now,” Hubble glanced at teary-eyed Jimmy, who had pushed himself to be as close to Grian as possible. “I’ll leave you two. There's a red button on the side of your bed that you can push if you need anything. Either myself or someone else will be in to check on you sometime later.”

Grian watched Hubble leave, mind spinning, then sighed and leaned into Jimmy’s embrace. His flockmate draped his wings - dull and patchy, Grian now noticed - over him like blankets, pressing his forehead against Grian’s temple and letting out a shuddering breath. 

“You’re back,” Jimmy whispered. “My gods , Grian.” 

“How am I even here, Tim?” Grian whispered back, eyes staring blankly at the doorway where Hubble had gone. “The last thing I remember…”

Burning. Freezing. Staring up at Scar’s broken expression, feeling the vex press flowers into his hair and feathers. 

Making a promise. 

“X ‘n Fwhip… they, uh, they went and searched for you. Brought all your bodies back to Empires. Then-” Jimmy’s breath hitched, and he stiffened, which made all of Grian’s feathers stand on in. He twisted, painfully, to look at Jimmy in alarm, seeing him crying again. The canary’s hazel eyes were fixed firmly on his fingers, which were starting to preen through Grian’s closest wings.

“The Watchers brought you all back.” Jimmy finally said. “But they didn’t heal everythin’. That’s why you’re here.”

“Where is here?”

“Xisuma called it Apollo-1?”

“Oh!” Grian sucked in a breath, recognizing the name, only to start coughing as his aching lungs seized. Jimmy immediately was there to offer more ice, which he accepted gratefully. 

“I know Apollo-1” He wheezed out once he could speak again. It was the hermit’s default off-world hospital for emergencies. He’d only been here twice, once when he’d gotten an arrow stuck in his wing that wouldn’t come out with respawns, and the second when he’d visited Tango after HC-8. “Everyone else is here?”

“Everyone.” Jimmy wiped his eyes again. “Only a few people are up and about, though. Cleo’s mostly been the one checking up on everyone.”

“Cleo’s okay!?” Grian felt himself break into a smile for the first time since waking up to a level head. “She’s okay?”

“She’s got a newly detachable head but she’s okay.” Jimmy smiled back at him, although it looked hollow. “She’s currently on patrols around the hospital with Skizz and a few other people.”

“Skizz is- how many people are here?!”

“Dozens. X and Fwhip sent out a distress call that lured in players from multiple servers. Philza, Quackity, people from MCC, the Stabby Stabby crew, the Shady Oaks server… they’re all here. For a little while, at least.”

Grian leaned back in his pillows, stunned. He was already feeling tempted to fall back asleep, but he had to know more . 

“If Cleo’s back - you said we’re all back.” He clarified, and Jimmy nodded. “Does that mean Joel is back too? And Scar?”

Stiffness. Instantly. Jimmy was not a good liar, and Grian’s heart sank.

“They’re both… here.” Jimmy said slowly, solemnly. “Joel’s… his wounds are healin’ but he’s in a coma, Grian.”

Devastation. Grian felt it like a punch to the throat, rendering him mute and breathless. He processed in silence, wings curling around himself. 

Joel was back, but he was in a coma. Stuck in a state of unconsciousness for the foreseeable future. Why? He tried to remember the way Joel had died. They’d fought him, and he’d taken a knife to the abdomen, fallen into the void. Did he hit his head?

“No-one knows why.” Jimmy rested his head on his arms, draped over the hospital bed armrest, and stared blankly forward. “No-one knows. People are wondering if its because he spent time in the void before he came back here.”

That could have been it. There was no telling what kind of nonsense was performed on their code, especially with people like Tango and-

“And Scar?” Grian demanded. Jimmy finally looked at him, and Grian started to have trouble breathing at the grief in his eyes. “Is Scar okay? What happened to him?”

“He…” Jimmy hesitated, “We don’t actually know what happened to him. On the island, um, it was me, him, and Etho. Scar vanished out of nowhere, and died about an hour later. We only know that he died because of those stupid notifications.”

“We know the Watchers took him,” Jimmy said before Grian could say the words on his tongue. “We know they did it for… f-for one of their sick, twisted games. We don’t know what they did to kill ‘im but, but Grian,” A truly sad tone crept into Jimmy’s voice. “Whatever they did, Scar’s body is broken. So badly. He’s had about six surgeries already and they know they’re going to have to do more.”

Grian’s breath froze in his lungs as a memory, ugly and graphic, surfaced. Opening his eyes to see grey skin torn by shards of bone, splattered with blood, iced over in places and crushed in others. 

To see beautiful blue wings - butterflies , his mind whispered - shattered into a million pieces. Glowing scales dull and bloodied, the membrane ripped to shreds.

“Oh void,” Grian whispered, clapping a hand to his mouth. “W-what I saw- that… that was Scar-?”

“He’s getting treated.” Jimmy said softly. “But we don’t know what the repercussions of that are going to be. The Watchers didn’t heal anyone, so he’s going to have to heal from scratch. And nobody can get out of something like that unscathed. Not even Scar.”

Grian keened, covering his eyes as if that somehow could stop him from seeing the images in his head. It was too much - graphic in its own right, but knowing it was Scar…

It was too similar. Seeing blood splattered on gray skin, seeing scars colored over by bruises. 

But Scar had recovered from that. Showed up the next day on Hermitcraft grinning without a care in the world. Surely he could bounce back from this?

But then Grian thought about the codewatching, the Hungers eating his magic, and how he’d had to leave Scar behind even though Scar had begged him not to again . 

“Everyone else?” He ended up whispering behind his hands, eyes shut, black-stained tears once again slipping between his fingers.

“Well-” Jimmy started, then hesitated when both their communicators pinged. Grian flinched at the buzz, unused to it, and uncovered his eyes to see that he’d been added to this world’s chat, most likely upon the admins finding his code again.

Xisumavoid: Hello everyone. Sorry I’ve been incognito for a bit. I have an update on everyone’s conditions. First and foremost, say welcome back to Grian!

Iskall85: OMG GRIAN YOURE AWAKE??

PearlescentMoon: ON MY WAY OVER TO HUG YOU

GeminiTay: Grian you’re backkkkk!!!!!

Privately, a new message came up, and it made Grian smile through fresh tears.

MumboJumbo: I’m on my way there right now.

But the smile faded when the next messages started to come in:

Xisumavoid: Now, here’s the updated list of everyone’s conditions. For those who are going to housing people back on the server soon, pay close attention so they can be tended to properly.

Xisumavoid: Firstly, we have Keralis…

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Xisuma had never been put on house arrest before. He didn’t like it. 

Chess had given him another examination after his last nap (a full twelve hours, he was told) and declared him technically stable but still very, very fragile. His brain, especially, was overworked and overused, hence the chronic headaches and a tendency for blood to sporadically leak from his eyes, nose, and ears. 

Bedrest was his main prescription. Bedrest, good food, lots of water, End air that wasn’t recycled from his helmet, and absolutely no strenuous activity, especially admin magic. The one time he tried to check on the hospital via codewalking after being put on house arrest, he’d woken up half an hour late with a very angry Chess at his bedside, snapping at him about having a seizure and losing so much blood out of his head that she’d been worried about needing to do a transfusion.

Quite a bit of cleaning, pain medications, and scolding later, Xisuma was tucked into his bed at his little Hermitopia-based home. He had water nearby and a stack of books, too. The filter was on, filling the room with properly pressurized air with the right amount of oxygen, and it was nice and chilly inside. Under his light blanket, Xisuma felt the most comfortable he had in days.

Physically, at least. Mentally, Xisuma was very much stressed out. Having guards wasn’t helping whatsoever.

Chess apparently didn’t trust him  to not try and use admin magic or sneak out of his room. As such, she used both her admin and medical authority to recruit volunteers from around the server to keep an eye on him. To Xisuma’s embarrassment, frustration, and perhaps secret pleasure, there was no shortage of volunteers. Right now, Philza - who could breathe the End air freely due to being an elytrian - was comfortably perched on the back of Xisuma’s cushy couch, scrolling on his communicator screen and chuckling to himself now and again. 

He wasn’t distracted enough for Xisuma to slip out, of course. Any sudden movements that Xisuma did - shifting around in bed, grabbing a book, etc - and one of Philza’s feathery ears would perk up to listen to him. There would be no escape.

Xisuma sighed, leaning his tender head back against his pillows and fighting the urge to close his eyes. He was so tired, and everything ached, but he was also nervous . What was going on with his players? Had Scar’s latest surgery been successful? What about Bdubs? There were so many things that he wanted to know and he felt so trapped here. 

“If you think any harder your brain will start comin’ out of your ears, mate.” Philza called over to him from the couch. “You should try to put it out of your mind and get some sleep.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Xisuma sighed again, shifting and sitting up a little. It was so awkward, sleeping here with someone in the same room, but he understood why Chess felt it necessary. He hadn’t exactly done himself any favors. “Maybe if you message her-”

“X, you’ve tried to get an answer out of her like, ten fucking times.” Philza said seriously. “If she didn’t answer you after all that, she won’t answer me. Besides, you know she’ll get back to you when she’s ready. She won’t leave you hanging.”

“Right.” Xisuma rubbed at his eyes, which were itching quite badly. The last time he’d seen them, which was maybe a few hours ago in his bathroom, the sclera was still blood-red. It might take a few more days from it all to drain away. “I’m just worried that-”

His communicator pinged. Xisuma had that thing up and on the right channel before he’d even realized he’d moved his hands.

DocCheshire: Xisuma are you awake?

Xisumavoid: Yes

DocCheshire: You’ve failed the test.

Xisumavoid: HOW?

DocCheshire: You should be sleeping

Xisumavoid: I CAN’T SLEEP ALL THE TIME

DocCheshire: Fair enough. Here’s the status update on your players. *document attached*

Xisuma’s heart leapt into his throat, and he tapped on the document, buzzing with adrenaline. Philza had gone quiet and was watching him carefully, sky-blue eyes attentive and compassionate as he did his reading.

It was… not great, but it could have been far worse. Each of his players were slowly showing signs of recovery. Tango, Zedaph, Scar, and Bdubs were proving to be the stubborn ones, with their injuries being so severe that it was taking quite a bit of effort just to keep them stable. And Joel, of course, was still in a coma.

But it wasn’t terrible news, so Xisuma took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, then switched channels.

Or, at least, he would have, but then Chess messaged him again.

DocCheshire: Oh, this just in, Grian’s apparently awake and no longer delirious. He’s talking with Jimmy right now :) 

“Oh thank the void,” Xisuma exclaimed out loud, shutting his eyes in instant relief. Philza hopped off of his perch to come stand by him, curious. “What is it?” 

“Grian’s awake and no longer talking nonsense,” Xisuma grinned, sending Chess a dozen messages of excitement and gratitude. “I’m going to let the hermit-specific chat know. I also need to update them on everyone’s status. I trust them to then tell the others what they need to know.

“Got it.” Philza said. He paused, great ebony wings ruffling at the edges, then said slowly, “if I leave to give you some privacy, are you going to do anything stupid?” 

“No.” Xisuma shook his head, looking at the other man gratefully. “I promise, Phil.” 

“Okay then.” Philza went for the door. “I’ll be right outside that little pressure chamber of yours. Let’s not break any trust today, mate.”

“I won’t,” Xisuma watched him go, slightly irritated. He shook it off when Philza vanished, the door shutting and resealing behind him. He then turned to his communicator.

Xisumavoid: Hello everyone. Sorry I’ve been incognito for a bit. I have an update on everyone’s conditions. First and foremost, say welcome back to Grian!

Iskall85: OMG GRIAN YOURE AWAKE??

PearlescentMoon: ON MY WAY OVER TO HUG YOU

GeminiTay: Grian you’re backkkkk!!!!!

Xisuma grinned at all of the enthusiasm. He hoped Grian was able to see it. 

Xisumavoid: Now, here’s the updated list of everyone’s conditions. For those who are going to housing people back on the server soon, pay close attention so they can be tended to properly.

This was going to be tremendously important. It was decided that, based on what they’ve seen from Cleo, Jimmy, and Impulse, that it would do all of the formerly missing players a world of good to be in a normal world setting as opposed to the hospital, where it gave constant reminders of how wounded everyone was. But, if the players who were caretaking didn’t do things right, not only would it potentially send the newcomers back to the hospital, it might also do serious, permanent damage. 

Xisumavoid: First, there’s Keralis. His wounds are well on the road to healing but his eye is going to need a prosthetic. Iskall, Doc, if Keralis is up to it once he’s awake and feeling relatively normal, would you guys consider talking to him about a new eye?

DocM77: Obviously! 

Iskall85: o7 

Xisumavoid: Thank you. That’s probably the biggest thing for him. Ren’s going to need regular appts at the hospital for speech therapy and the doc may ask for someone to give him regular exercises throughout the day. Joel’s still out… we don’t know when he’s going to wake up so I’ll keep you posted on that. 

Xisumavoid: Cleo’s up and about, some of you have most likely already seen her (hi Cleo!) Make sure to take good care of her and MAKE SURE SHE IS RESTING. 

ZombieCleo: I’m fully capable of taking care of myself

Xisumavoid: Humor me on this

ZombieCleo: I think you’re being a hypocrite 

Xisumavoid: HUMOR ME

ZombieCleo: Fine 

JoeHills: Cleo I’ve missed you so much

ZombieCleo: You too, Joe <3 

Xisumavoid: Zedaph is in critical condition and is currently getting skin grafts. It’s a delicate process because they need to make sure they’re getting resources from good donors that Zed’s body accepts. He’ll be in the hospital for quite a few more weeks and when he wakes up, he’ll be in a lot of pain. He’ll need a lot of support.

Welsknight: We’ll be there for him X. 

Xisumavoid: Thank you.

Xisuma had to stop and rub at his eyes, which were leaking a mixture of tears and blood. He was getting emotional, and the heightened blood pressure was leading to, well, a mess. Chess had warned him about that.

Xisumavoid: Impulse is also awake. You guys all know about his new condition, right?

iJevin: Yeah… we’ve all been informed, and we’re telling the non-hermits so they’re prepared for that. 

Xisumavoid: Good. He’s going to need lots of water and to be housed in a place that is cool and damp. And he’s going to need a lot of patience and understanding. I’m trusting you all to help him there.

Xisumavoid: Grian’s up now, but he’s still sick, so he’ll need lots of fluids and bedrest once he’s released. 

MumboJumbo: I can take care of him.

Xisumavoid: Wonderful. Bdubs is still getting surgery done and will be in the hospital for quite some time. They’re patching him up from the inside, but I was told infection set in. 

Xisuma didn’t tell them what Chess had revealed to him in her report.

By all means, Bdubs should not be alive. Between the infection, fever, blood loss, organ destruction… he should be dead. But something, I suspect the Watchers, is keeping him with us. We’re doing what we can.

Xisumavoid: I’ll keep you posted on that. Etho is done with surgery but will have a long recovery with physical therapy as well as some speech therapy due to the wound to his cheek and jaw. You all know how he feels about the mask, so I expect you to be respectful of this if he needs to take it off during a session. 

Xisumavoid: Scar is still in surgery and has a few others scheduled. He’s not coming out of this one unscathed, hermits. He’s going to need extensive physical therapy as well as lots of regularly scheduled treatments to help heal open wounds and prevent infection. The doctors expect him to struggle with walking and regular movements after this, although he’ll regain some movement after therapy. They also expect chronic pain so… just… be patient. Let’s all take care of him. This is going to be so hard for him. 

Cubfan135: You know we will, Xisuma. He can stay with me when he gets released. Being with his vex counterpart might help somewhat.

Xisumavoid: Good. Perfect. Thank you Cub.

Xisumavoid: Jimmy is technically allowed to leave the hospital now but he’s sticking around to keep an eye on everyone, so everyone please just make sure he’s eating and sleeping. And finally there’s Tango, who hasn’t woken up yet. His arm had to be amputated, as I’m sure you all know, and they’re wrapping up the procedure to fix up his blaze rods. So long as his blaze rods hold up and no infection sets in on where the shoulder amputation was, he should be okay physically.

Xisuma hesitated, biting his lip. There was still the matter of Tango’s code… he hadn’t revealed that to anyone yet. But they needed to know, because how Tango behaved when he woke up would most likely be directly linked to that.

Xisumavoid: There’s one other thing I haven’t told you about Tango because I wanted to know decisively what was happening. When Tango was brought to the hospital, he wasn’t breathing like the others, because his code was destroyed. We were able to fix it but because of that, Tango’s coding had to be patched up.

There was silence for a few minutes, then…

DocM77: WHAT

Hypnotizd: What do you mean!?!?

PearlescentMoon: X Thats… really bad. How did that even happen? Watchers?

Xisumavoid: Most likely. We still don’t fully know how. But it was… really bad. He’s stabilized codewise now, but… different coding in the same body…

Cubfan135: X that’s so bad. That could drive a player insane! 

Xisumavoid: Well it was either this or DEATH, Cub. 

Xisumavoid: That’s all the info I have right now. I’ll keep you posted if I find anything else out. Let me know if you hear anything, and tell the non-hermits so they can be prepared.

Xisuma put down his arm and huffed out a breath, cradling his aching head in his hands.  More blood and tears trickled their way down his face and onto his fingers, and he cursed as they started to stain the sheets underneath him. He started to feel dizzy as panic slowly but surely began building in his chest. Saying it all bluntly like that to the hermits… having them question him on it, especially the Tango bit… Xisuma didn’t know what was going on. He wasn’t a miracle man, he wasn’t a magician. He was just an overworked admin trying to keep his community together and he was failing .

A knock on the door to his room snapped him out of his spiral and he glanced up, breathing heavily. A moment later, the concerned face of Philza appeared as the elytrian stuck his head into the room, ebony ear-feathers ruffling. 

Upon seeing X’s distressed face, the elytrian let out a low, rasping coo that settled something primal deep in Xisuma’s soul. He watched, world weary and hurting, and Philza stalked his way across the room and grabbed a tissue, wordlessly handing it to him. Xisuma thanked him with a silent nod, sniffling a little, and wiped the mess of blood and tears off of his face. 

Phil then dragged a chair across the room and sat it in awkwardly, wings held a little too high to avoid the chair back, and studied Xisuma’s face. After a moment, the elytrian said softly, “I know you’re not in the best of headspaces right now, mate, but uh… if you want more information on what’s happening with Tango, that might be helpful for both you and your hermits.” 

Xisuma looked at him warily. “You know more?”

“I told you, there used to be more elytrians.” Phil said, picking at his talons. “It was a long time ago. So long that you hadn’t even spawned in yet. But, um… the thing happening to Tango? It’s called code corruption.”

Xisuma slowly sat up straighter, giving Philza his full attention. He felt tingly all over, like he was being bestowed with some great knowledge. And, knowing how one-of-a-kind Phil was and how… odd he was, with his connection to Kristen and the crows and the hints at being older than any player Xisuma had ever known… maybe he was.

“Back when I was young, code corruption started to spread among the other elytrians.” Phil said, still looking at his talons. “Nobody knew what it was. Only that it typically started in an elytrian’s wings and then moved inwards. By the time it reached their head, their brain, there's no chance of revival. Kristen looked at our people’s code during this time and - this disease, it eats away at you. It consumes your code until there’s nothing left except a single, negative emotion, like rage or sorrow. Players would either die from neglect, from suicide, or from sheer lack of coding. You’re lucky it didn’t progress that far with Tango or there would have been no saving him.” 

Phil stopped again, and while Xisuma was sitting frozen in horror, added quietly, “I had it, a long time ago.”

“You had this? ” Xisuma breathed. “But how- how did you-”

“I was off-world at the time. Testing out a hardcore world of my own. The distance from the source must have saved me, or maybe it was just luck. Either way, I came back home to find everyone else gone.” Philza shrugged, but his eyes were dull, and an incredibly guilty look swept across his face. “It’s the kind of thing that practically no-one survives. Kristen saved herself through some kind of code wizardry that I don’t understand. There’s me because I was far away… and now Tango’s the third survivor since Kristen’s had centuries to study and ruminate on this sort of thing.”

“Thank her.” Xisuma choked out, terrified chills running up and down his spine. “Thank her for me. I didn’t know- Tango could’ve-”

“It’s still gonna be a long road, mate.” Phil said gently, “We know it didn’t progress all the way but it still might have really messed with Tango’s emotions. But Kristen-” He paused, cocking his head slightly as if listening to something, then smiled. “She’s just happy she got to save someone from this kind of death. She was right in the thick of it the first time, you know.”

Xisuma couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like. Seeing everyone around you slowly crack to pieces, watching it consume your own flesh… he shuddered.

“The point is, I can tell the hermits some more details for what this means for Tango if you’d like.” Phil said. “No need for you to dwell on it. I’ve had such a long time to come to terms with it.” 

Xisuma thought of the guilt on Philza’s face as the elytrian spoke of his own survival and inwardly cringed, but nodded. “If that’s something you think you should do.”

“I don’t mind.” Phil shrugged, a big sweeping motion of both sets of shoulders and wings. “Whatever helps them process.” 

Xisuma ended up giving Philza access to the hermitcraft chat and, after being pushed to drink some water and lean back on his pillows, watched as Philza steeled himself, took up his perch on the couch again, and started to type.

Philza: Hello hermits. X gave me access to this chat - I have some information about Tango’s code illness that you might find useful.

Chapter Text

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Ren wakes up to the scent of Keralis filling his lungs. 

Bloody, fearful, wounded… but alive.

It’s that more than anything else that prompts him to open his eyes. Every sense is otherwise in agony. His throat, in particular, hurts so badly that Ren almost wishes he could stop breathing, just to ease the sensation. There’s liquid rushing into his throat and choking him, each breath accompanied by a grotesque bubbling and sucking. He hates it.

But Keralis is here. And when Ren opens his eyes and sees him, bloody and wounded but here , all he can feel is joy.

Keralis is back. His friend is back .

Ren didn’t kill him. 

Keralis is scared - why is he scared? Instantly, despite everything, Ren feels protective. His friend had gone through enough , and Ren wasn’t going to let anything else harm him.

So he curls around Keralis as much as he can, trying to shield him from whatever is causing him stress. The scent of terror fills his nostrils and Ren does his best to ease it away, to hold him close, to show Keralis that everything is okay. 

But the fear doesn’t let up. If anything, the smell grows stronger, its driving Ren insane, now he’s terrified, what is causing it-

Someone touches his shoulder and Ren snaps at it without thinking. The growl that thrums through him is strong and agonizing, marred by an awful sounding gurgle. Something hot is streaming down his chest and he tries to shield Keralis from the threat, snarling blindly, fully prepared to bite the next thing that touches him. 

The touch retreats - good - but then moments later its back, more of them, things tugging and pulling him away from Keralis’s body. Ren fights as hard as he can - he gets teeth into flesh more than once, desperate to not let go of Keralis, to not let him get hurt again , but he’s pinned down to the ground, green strands of grass filling his vision. There are voices, and they’re soothing, but Ren can’t focus, can’t concentrate. He’s terrified, he’s angry, he can’t breathe, his throat hurts so much, he’s gulping down iron by the bucketful…

There’s a prick in the back of his neck and Ren yelps, the sound sending a fresh dagger of pain straight through his neck, which morphs the sound into a gurgling whine. 

Suddenly exhausted, he sinks into the ground fully. He might have been crying. Gentle hands were smoothing through his hair, gently rubbing behind his ears, which normally he adored, but now he hated because those hands had torn him away from his friend. He could still smell Keralis’ fear, his blood, he needed to get to him, he-

Ren was so dizzy.

He jerked his eyes open, only to have them slide shut against his will. The pain was fading. The hands continued their gentle caresses. 

Ren drifted, knowing he was still leaving Keralis behind.

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Ren wasn’t alone in the room.

Hybrid instincts could truly be both a blessing and a curse. Before Ren’s brain had even realized he was awake , he knew instinctively that he was indoors, he was wounded, and that there was someone else in this room with him.

Dragging his eyes open was torture. The light burned, even though it was dim. A sharp, acrid odor stung his nose, and when he instinctively breathed in he almost retched, both at the smell and also the sharp, stabbing pain that ricocheted through his throat. His whole body jolted, and when his vision picked up a shadowy, purple-blue figure getting closer, with bright green eyes, he panicked.

They’ve come to finish me off, Ren thought deliriously. His hands were empty, there was no body to hold. Had he dropped Keralis at some point during the onslaught?

It was finally time.

The shape approached, but it was bigger than Ren had expected. And he certainly hadn’t expected to hear a voice.

“Sir, everything’s okay.” It was low, and soft. Unknown, which Ren couldn’t help but latch onto. “I know you’re confused and in pain. But you’re safe.”

There was a click, and a slight hiss, and some of Ren’s pain started to melt away, leaving him exhausted. But it also helped uncloud his fragile mind, and his eyes sharped, letting him focus even more on what was in front of him.

It was a woman. Dressed in scrubs, her skin was a deep blue, almost purple, with light blue stripe-like markings that slipped along her arms, neck, and under her eyes. Long, delicate wings were folded behind her shoulders, ridged with what must have been bone, the membranes dark and translucent. Navy blue hair fell in waves around her head, and her eyes glowed emerald in the dark, casting a faint light along her nose and cheekbones. 

She was a hybrid, her mob-kin very obviously a phantom, and Ren found that remarkably ironic. 

“You’re probably a little confused,” the doctor - he assumed she was a doctor of some kind - went on. Her voice remained hushed, which he appreciated, his ears finding every sound to be grating and harsh. “Let me get you some ice.” 

She walked a little ways away, and Ren tracked her across the room without seeing her, noting her every sound, footstep, and movement. He was on autopilot, though, his mind starting to race at dizzying speeds despite feeling increasingly exhausted. 

His memories were jumbled. He thinks he could remember some flashes of… well, it must have been a kind of fever dream, jumbled as it was. Scents and sounds and sight all blurred together in a kind of nightmare. It can’t have been real, can it?

But his death… Ren remembers that all too well.

He knows that he died. Somehow, he’s accepted that. Made peace with it. He remembers vividly sitting on that beach, Keralis in his arms, feeling the cold weight of his friend pressed against his chest. He can recall the exact moment when the phantoms had arrived, and he could picture the scoop of claws against his back, of fangs digging into his shoulders.

The killing blow had been at his throat, he knows. It had faded so quickly after that, but the pain had been intense. 

And he remembers being at peace with all of it.

It had been a moment of clarity. The days before had gone… fuzzy. Every emotion heightened, his thoughts starting to no longer make sense. Paranoia and rage had become his constant companions. Keralis, his Hand, his friend… Keralis had suffered for it. Ren hadn’t seen it until the blinding rage had finally subsided, and he’d looked down to see what he’d done, blood dripping from his claws and filling his mouth with the taste of metal. 

What else could he have done but go home and sob? Alone, confused, a murderer? When the voices and visions had started, urging him to the beach, what was he to do but follow? When they swore to him that Keralis wasn’t dead, that he’d been buried alive, that Ren had to save him… who was he to argue?

When it was clear that Keralis wasn’t alive and that Ren was about to die… what right did he have to fight it?

A life for a life. One dangerous soul no longer on the server, no longer a threat to the others. Ren had accepted his fate. 

Except… it hadn’t lasted, because now he was here, in a hospital. 

The doctor was back, sitting next to him with a spoon holding an ice chip. Ren blinked, struggling to focus on the closer object. As his vision re-focused, he noticed her name tag: VividExo (Vivi, she/her) 

“It’s not going to feel great,” Vivi warned him. “You had surgery on both your esophagus and windpipe, which is why it hurts to breathe. I can’t give you too much, since the tissue is still fragile. But you can swallow a few times, so long as you let the ice melt in your mouth before you do so.” 

Ren nodded slowly, letting her slip the ice into his mouth. It was cold on his tongue, but the sensation … Ren never thought he would have called ice delicious before, but that’s what this was. His eyes slipped shut, savoring it, and Vivi gave a quiet chuckle. 

Swallowing, however, was a whole different experience. He did so automatically, but stiffened immediately after, a pained whine slipping past his lips as his whole neck throbbed with pain. His ears flattened against his head, and Vivi murmured words of comfort, tone sympathetic.

“I know,” She said softly. “I wish I could help more. We just need to let it heal. It will get better, I promise.” 

Ren just cringed, curling in on himself as the throbbing continued, a hot, angry sensation deep in his throat. His eyes started to burn with tears and, unbidden, he started to think back to the beach, to the phantoms, to holding Keralis, to-

Awake. He was awake, and Keralis was here. Keralis was in his arms and bleeding and scared . Fear was everywhere - he could taste it. What was making him so afraid?

Ren held on tighter, trying to shield him. Blood coated his chest and neck, splashing onto the body ahead of him. Keralis was screaming.

He was SCREAMING.  

He was screaming because of REN.

Ren was jolted out of the memory by a slight touch to his arm, gasping in a ragged breath that immediately was pushed out of him by pain, the sound a mix between a wail and sob. It grated, and he couldn’t help but reach for his neck. He couldn’t stop the whine resonating from his throat even though the sound hurt . 

Tears slipped down his cheeks, but not from the pain. 

It was because he understood. 

Keralis had been scared of him.

Ren, who’d told him they were comrades in arms. Ren, who’d shouted at him, snarled in his face. Who’d slashed at him with his sword, who’d torn his flesh with claws and teeth alike. 

How could he have possibly imagined that Keralis wouldn’t be scared of him?

There was a low, melodious tone in the room. Something constant, quiet enough not to hurt his sensitive ears but loud enough to draw his attention. Ren’s chest hurt, finding it a struggle to inhale when the sensation was enough to make him want to claw out his own throat, but he tried to do so anyway, blearily looking up at whatever was making the noise.

Vivi was there, hands gently rubbing against his own, cool, slender fingers massaging his wrists, along the pads of his fingers. Her eyes glowed brighter than before, and her mouth was just slightly opened, allowing whatever sound she was making to be heard more clearly.

It was like a purr, except deeper, softer. Sonorous. It sank into Ren’s bones until it thrummed deep within his chest. Involuntarily, his breathing slowed. The whine subsided. He sat in a daze, hardly able to think beyond the thrumming, the tension pouring off of him like water. Vivi learned forward, easily pushing him back into his pillows. Ren went without a struggle.

The sound slowly tapered off, leaving Ren blinking in confusion. He felt… calm. A bit numb, but no longer frightened. The pain in his throat had settled to a dull ache. 

And yes, he remembered. He still knew why Keralis had been frightened. But something had shrunk the memory so it felt… small. More manageable. He could think of it now without it sending him into hysterics. 

“There we are.” Vivi soothed. Her wings had spread, blocking out the rest of the sterile room, their long, thin forms surrounding him in dark velvet and pillars of white. 

“I know you must be panicked and confused,” Vivi went on, “Do you know sign language, so we can communicate better?”

Ren shook his head wearily. 

“I can get you a pen and paper,” Vivi said, standing. “You must be exhausted, but I need to check on a few things with you.” 

She pulled a notepad out of her inventory as well as a pencil, handing both to Ren. He stared at them, fingers twitching, then managed to grab onto them both.

“If you can answer with a nod or a shake of the head, please do so,” Vivi went on. “Are you in any pain aside from your throat?”

Ren thought about that, giving a slight shake of his head.

“Good.” Vivi sounded pleased. “I know you’re probably tired, but would you like me to find someone from your server to come keep you company? There are quite a few of them around here, I believe.”

Ren thought about that, eyes widening. Right - if he wasn’t on the island, of course there would be other hermits around, seeing as he was at the hospital. The thought got him emotional again. He could see his friends? Fellow hermits? 

He thought of Keralis and his heart sank. 

Would they want to see him?

Still, he nodded. At the very least, he just needed a glimpse. A sign. Something to prove that he wasn’t still on that island and that this hospital wall, the doctor, wasn't all just a ruse or a pre-death vision. 

Vivi reached for her communicator, typing something in. She’d started to make that thrumming noise again, deep in her chest, like how Tango purred when he was deeply satisfied with something. She wasn’t looking at him and her mouth was closed, so it wasn’t as strong as it was before. But Ren still found himself calming, sinking into his pillows, not quite falling asleep but certainly drifting. 

He watched as Vivi was on her communicator for some time, maybe a few minutes, maybe longer. She eventually looked up towards the door, then glanced back at Ren, a gentle smile revealing a set of small, sharp teeth.

“One of your server-mates is here,” She said, and Ren sat up slightly, heart starting to pound. Suddenly, he felt frightened. What if they didn’t want to see him? Or even worse, what if they did? Didn’t they know that Ren was dangerous? That at the drop of a hat, the Red King could come back? 

The door opened… and a familiar face appeared. 

“Hey, Ren.” Doc’s voice was gentle, friendly. His dark right eye was glassier than usual, his tall frame almost making it so his horns brushed the ceiling. He was big, and furry, and his redstone arm and faceplate cast red light onto the walls, and Ren had missed him so, so much.

He must have made a sound, because his throat stung, and then Doc practically teleported over to his bedside, walking in that oddly silent way of his that only a creeper hybrid could do. Ren stiffened up as he approached - he wasn’t sure why, Doc was a friend. But his presence makes him nervous despite how much his chest ached with affection, and his ears flick back a little at the close proximity.

Doc went still, noticing immediately. Vivi, who had taken a few steps back to give them room, was watching the two of them intently. Probably to make sure something bad didn’t happen, and Ren couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t sure why he felt so on edge. He could feel his throat pulse in time with his rapid heartbeat.

“It’s okay, man.” Doc said slowly. He carefully sat down in the chair beside his bed, leaning back, giving him space. Ren relaxed a little, hating himself for feeling so nervous. 

Because this was Doc . Doc, his partner in crime, creator of lightning machines and crazy space-traveling camper vans. Fellow hermit, fellow hybrid, someone who had never not had his back in times of need. There was no reason to be scared. 

Most of all, this was a sign. Doc hadn’t been on the island. Doc hadn’t been part of the Watchers’ plans. He was a safe player, unassociated with the death and destruction they’d suffered. 

And yet… and yet…

“It’s okay Ren, don’t overthink it.” Doc told him, and Ren couldn’t help but smile at that, even as his eyes started to fill with tears again. He stared down at his blankets, feeling pathetic, the weight of his situation starting to crash down on him. 

“Ren, it’s okay.” Doc’s practically whispering, and when he shifts in his chair, the rustle of fur alongside the creak of metal was so familiar that Ren couldn’t help but relax a bit more, even if he was close to crying. He sniffled, wincing, then looked back up to meet Doc’s mismatched eyes. They both glowed warmly. 

“I’ll step outside,” Vivi cast them one more look, apparently deciding they could be trusted alone together. To Doc, she said, “let me know if you need anything.” 

“Got it.” Doc hummed, not turning away from Ren to look at her, but not making direct eye contact with him, either. Ren picked at his claws, feeling the fur along his tail go between bristling and relaxed, bristling and relaxed, like whatever was setting him off couldn’t make up its mind.

Vivi left, and he and Doc sat in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t… wholly uncomfortable. Ren mostly stared at the sheets and messed with his claws, itching, antsy. The pain medication he was on - which he could now see as an IV connecting to the back of his hand - kept him from getting too overwhelmed by the pain so long as he controlled his breathing and instinctual urge to swallow.

Easier said than done.

“How are you feeling?” Doc finally said, and Ren jumped at the sudden sound. Doc flinched at the sudden movement - actually flinched - and the scent of gunpowder slipped into the surrounding air. For a heartbeat, he thought of a pit, of death, of red names, of blood - then it was over. He blinked.

With numb, shaky hands, he reached for the notepad and wrote out, been better , in sloppy handwriting. Doc craned his neck to see it and chuckled. Ren’s ears lifted slightly at the sound; despite the slight wetness to it, it was so warm. 

“I bet you have,” Doc sighed, and leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his thighs. He studied Ren for a heartbeat, then breathed out, “I’ve missed you.” 

Ren’s heart spasmed, and his eyes welled up again. The taste of blood in his mouth, stronger whenever his memories slipped back too far, faded. 

Missed you too

“You’ve been out for a while,” Doc said. “You all came back a few days ago. Everyone’s been asking about you.” 

Ren studied his claws again, torn between affection and fear. They shouldn’t have missed him. They didn’t know what he’d done, who he’d harmed. Surely they wouldn’t feel the same way once they found that out. He hunched in on himself, shivering a little in the lukewarm hospital air. Against his will, another whine slipped out, the sound high-pitched and mournful as images of blood and gore started to appear behind his closed eyes.

“Oh Ren…” Doc sounded so sad. Ren didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t want to look at anything , didn’t want to think anymore, didn’t want to remember. He wrapped his arms around his torso and hugged himself tight, hot tears slipping down his face. 

“Ren, please, man.” Doc sounded desperate. “I can’t…” A shift, the smell of gunpowder grew thicker, Ren screwed his eyes shut even tighter. “Can I give you a hug?”

Ren sniffled, peeking open one eye. Doc was right at the edge of his bed, leaning in but not touching him, respecting his wishes but clearly wanting to get closer. His creeper eye was huge, the fur around it damp with tears. 

Ren had forgotten how big Doc was, standing the same height as most players while kneeling next to the hospital bed. Part of him saw the size and recoiled, while the rest of him…

Ren nodded.

Doc moved slowly, cautiously, but slipped forward until his arms could wrap around Ren’s shoulders and gently tug him to the side, into Doc’s chest. Ren went still at the contact, chills running through him at high speed, unable to remember the last time someone had given him friendly contact like this. The Red King didn’t hug, didn’t cuddle, didn’t bump shoulders or give high fives. 

And after the Red King, there had only been pain. 

Doc was warm, a powerhouse of muscle and fur and inner fire. Ren was enveloped immediately, surrounded by softness and the scent of gunpowder mixed with redstone, musky fur, and metal. Not the most warm, homey scent, but a distinct mix that would always be associated with Doc. 

Ren melted, sinking into Doc’s side in a boneless heap. Doc caught him gracefully, nuzzling into his hair and purring, the sound so deep and loud that Ren’s whole body trembled. He was crying again, but this time it wasn’t because of pain or anguish, rather due to the sheer intensity of being held . There was no leader, no ruler, no murderer here. Just Ren, tail wagging for the first time in weeks, fighting to get closer into Doc’s warmth. His throat burned when he started crying, the sounds escaping him a mixture of sobs and high-pitched whines.

One of Doc’s massive hands was behind his shoulders, pressing him close. The other reached up to gently massage behind his ears, metallic fingers just as soft and careful as his flesh-and-blood ones would be. Ren’s tail wacked into one of the guard-rails on the bed, but he could hardly feel it. All he could feel was safe, warm, and loved in that moment, like Doc’s arms could protect him from the pain and memories. 

His only regret in that moment, as exhaustion started to really take its toll and his eyes started to slip shut, was that he couldn’t have passed on this same kind of security to Keralis. 

Most likely, he’d never have the chance to try and do so again.

Chapter Text

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There is a delay between us.

That is new.

But we know where we are now.

We shall remain here, as agreed upon.

Perhaps this may prove advantageous.

Though unintentional…

…what an interesting development this is.

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“Order for Chess: Medium iced vanilla latte with almond milk?”

The call rang out over the din of the small cafe, a cozy little place with wooden floors, green couches and chairs, hanging lanterns, and a gentle background of jazz music. Chess carefully slipped around other customers, the majority of which were shorter than her, and did her best to sound friendly when she came to grab the cup from the barista behind the counter, “That’s me. Thank you.” 

The barista gave her a wary smile, nodding. Chess wasn’t offended, flipping open the flap of her mask to take a sip of her coffee as she headed towards the door. Most people were wary about the mask. Nobody knew that she needed it to breathe, and it was instinct to get nervous around something without a proper face.

She’d been meaning to pick a less intimidating design for years and send it off to someone from the prosthetic’s department at Apollo-1. Considering the recent reactions she’d been getting from the hermits regarding her purple lenses, maybe now really was a good time to start on that.

Outside the cafe, it was chilly, a gentle snowfall painting the sky grey and the ground white. Winter was here, and unless private servers had specific weather-altering coding, it was making itself known. Prismarine Bay, the public server where Chess lived, had no such coding, so she could enjoy the seasons fully. Winter was Chess’s favorite time of year; the cold was her friend, and so she felt no discomfort as she sipped her iced latte and walked down the salted sidewalks, boots crunching against the salt crystals. 

This was her traditional morning routine, before she went to work each day. Chess didn’t get a day off - she hardly needed one outside of the occasional vacation. She loved her job, it brought her fulfillment and joy. But every player needed rest, so despite the chaos going on at her hospital, Chess still made sure to carve out a carefully crafted self-care routine. She aimed for seven hours of sleep every day, she ate three square meals, and she treated herself three times a week to either coffee from this little cafe or a pastry from a patisserie in a different part of the server. She’d then walk a mile or so to get herself warmed up and her mind clear before teleporting to Apollo-1 to start the day. 

Right now, Chess needed the walk, needed the time to settle her thoughts. She’d been through several crisis situations before; a few notable ones were when an MCC ended in disaster when an Ace Race prop fell into the track during an event, or when Sky had wounded herself badly when they’d been spending the day together on a hybrid-centric server. She knew how to compartmentalize her emotions and keep a level head, even when those she knew were suffering. But the recent events with Xisuma’s hermits was testing that resolve.

Xisuma had almost died. That was the thing that had scared her most of all, and she’d had to hide it from everyone until she’d gone home that night, curling up in bed with her dog, Alice, and sobbing into her short fur. Her fellow voidkind didn’t even realize it, but she could see the way he’d worn himself down to the bone, see the fragility in his frame. The bleeding, the discoloration of his eyes… all of it spoke of an overuse of admin magic, and that kind of affliction could be fatal. Nobody’s brain could handle that kind of stress for too long; even a few more days of that kind of strain could have resulted in something rupturing in Xisuma’s brain, resulting in so much damage, potentially even irreversible damage. Since admin magic dealt in coding, that was a kind of thing a respawn wouldn’t be able to fix. 

But he was safe, and Chess had to remind herself of that. There was a reason she’d been so strict with him, practically putting him in quarantine with others instructed to keep a close eye on him. With that out of the way, Chess could focus on his hermits, who ranged from being in bad shape to critical . 

Some even moreso. Some, Chess still couldn’t figure out how they were alive. She tried to compartmentalize that, too.

Sighing, Chess took a final sip of her drink and threw it in the closest recycling bin before tapping on her communicator, opening up the portal to Apollo-1. Her skin tingled as she stepped through, vision blinking out momentarily before she landed in the lobby, able to bypass the entrance due to her admin status. 

Sky was, predictably, situated at her desk when she walked through the room. A few other players were hanging around, mostly hermits who were loath to be away in case there was an update on a friend’s condition. She waved to a few of them as she passed, making her way up to her avian receptionist, who she now saw was speaking with Winter.

“Good morning, ladies.” Chess greeted, leaning against the outer part of the desk. “Winter, aren’t you supposed to be off today?” 

“I was checking in on Grian,” Winter shot her a slight smile, though it was strained. The poor allay hybrid had been one of the people Grian had run into while deliriously making his way into the hallways. He’d panicked at the sight of her, potentially due to her looks, but whatever the reason, it had shaken Winter badly and made her quite invested in Grian’s recovery. “I was able to catch Vivi as she was heading home. Sounds like he’s healing well.” 

“His lungs are probably what’s going to take the longest to heal,” Chess agreed, thinking back to her charts and documents that held the status of each player in her care. “The fever is all but gone. He’s definitely on his way to getting better.” 

“You got a call from Jengu Hospital by the way,” Sky tapped the hospital’s phone a few times with a gold, sparkly nail. “I think Celeste was answering your call about blood donations. I sent her to your answering machine so she could leave a message while you were out.”

“Great.” Chess really hoped she’d hear good news, but she doubted it. “I’m going to make the rounds and then be in my office. Page me if anything happens or if you need me. Winter?”

“Yeah?”

“Go home.”

Winter saluted, bright blue wings fluttering behind her. “Yes, Doc.” 

Chess bid farewell to the duo and made her way to the elevators, creating a list in her head of who she needed to check up on. She knew that a few players were technically still patients but were well enough to move around on their own; she’d check their assigned rooms but doubted they’d be in there.

It took her around thirty minutes to make the rounds. Cleo and Jimmy were, predictably, not in their rooms, although she located Cleo chatting to Grian in his room. The avian was certainly still sick, but the dark markings from wither poisoning were continuing to vanish, leaving him looking more like he was sick with pneumonia than anything else. The cough was still a problem, but it would clear up with treatment and time. Cleo was all but healed, her neck still held in place by stitches. 

Keralis was asleep, as was Ren. Jimmy was keeping vigil by Joel’s side. The canary wasn’t taking care of himself the way Chess hoped he would - his wings were unpreened, still dull, and she’d heard he wasn’t eating the way he should. She hoped a friend would get him back on track or she’d have to intervene.

The more wounded patients, Etho, Bdubs, Zed, Scar, and Tango, were firmly locked in unconsciousness. Scar was due for another surgery in a few hours, as they were frantically trying to get everything in some semblance of order before his bones healed incorrectly. Etho needed to get all of his bandages changed before infection could set into the terrible slashes and burns. Zed had gotten some skin grafts but they’d had to stop so his body could adjust before they could do more. Bdubs… well, they were doing what they could. She didn’t quite know how Bdubs was still breathing even with being on a ventilator. 

Her last patient was Tango, and Chess had felt a fluttery sense of anxiety sprout in her chest as she made her way to the nether ward. The heat picked up as she drew closer, and she carefully steeled herself against it, holding onto the memory of snow and iced lattes to distract herself. 

She had to steel herself against something different than the heat when she finally opened the door to Tango’s room. 

It was a sight that would have frightened Chess, back in her student days. Tango was lying still on an operating table, sheets of blue cloth and other sanitized fabric hiding his body aside from his face, chest, and left shoulder. The amputated shoulder was swatched in thick pads and bandages to keep it clean. His face had to be bare so that the ventilator tube could cleanly go down his throat. Other machines were sending some of his limited blood supply steadily pumping through his heart, while others were tracking all of his vitals. More specially crafted IVs infused his body with a mixture of scalding hot saline-like liquids as well as healing potions. 

But the frightening part came to the surgery in his chest, which had been going on - without stopping -for the past six days. 

Q, their head surgeon, had taken it upon themself to be Tango’s main surgeon. They’d researched everything there was to know about blazeborn rods, which admittedly was very little, and alongside Chess and a colleague from a specialized nether hospital had devised a way to try and piece them back together so they could heal. But it was a grueling process; each blaze rod - four in total for Tango, each about an inch thick and five inches long - had shattered into multiple fragments. Q had to personally dig inside Tango’s chest, find the fragments scattered around his lungs, heart, and other organs, and dig them out without nicking said organs. They then had to piece together two fragments, grip them carefully in metal instruments, and dip them in the hot healing solution until they started to carefully heal together into a solid unit. The process had to be repeated until a blaze rod was fully pieced together. 

Even then, the rods were extremely delicate. They had to have healing solution pumped in and around them for another 24 hours before they started to become more strongly bonded together. Only one blaze rod could be managed at a time, and it took almost a full day to piece it back together. Not to mention the hours spent trying to find all the fragments and clean up the mess that had resulted from their fracturing in the first place. 

It was one of the most gruesome surgeries Chess had ever seen. The scarring caused by the strange code anomaly that had killed Tango in the first place went deep into his tissues, leaving oddly-colored marks on his bones, his veins, his organs. Apparently the first time Q had gone to piece together a blaze rod they’d misstepped and the rod had shattered again, leaving poor Q to frantically hunt for each fragment on the operating table and floor before re-sanitizing them and trying to get them hot enough that they didn’t lose their healing properties. 

Q had hardly left the room, the surgeon surviving on only a few hours of sleep a night. They didn’t trust other surgeons to come in and do the main work. Chess couldn’t convince the elf to leave for long. So Chess had become accustomed to walking into the room and seeing them bent over Tango’s chest or the recently set-up table where she could see them piecing blaze rod fragments together like a puzzle before dunking them in boiling hot healing solution, one bit at a time. 

“Good morning,” She greeted them when she came in. Q was at the workstation, casting a careful glance over at Tango’s still, pale body on the operating table. Q grunted in response, still fully focused on the task at hand. Chess fought the urge to sigh in displeasure at their obvious exhaustion. “How goes it?”

“I’m on the last one.” Q said, crimson eyes narrowed in on the small fragments of golden metal in front of them. The current blaze rod was half formed, the solid chunk sitting in the healing solution while Q found other pieces to add to it. Chess walked over to Tango and glanced into his chest cavity, noting the other three blaze rods carefully placed in the proper position around his heart. It would be a brutal recovery - Q had needed to saw through the blazeborn’s ribs in order to get there - but so long as they were careful and did everything with uttermost care, Tango would be able to recover from this. 

She tried not to think about everything Tango was going to have to deal with upon waking. Losing an arm was difficult enough. But between the arm and the difficulty maintaining homeostasis due to healing blaze rods, as well as recovering from the wounds of surgery, and recovering from having his code adjusted… 

It was going to be a very long journey. 

Chess then turned her gaze to Tango’s face, deathly pale and thin underneath all the tubing. Her eyes then drifted to the monitor tracking his O2 levels - which were stable due to their infusion of oxygen - and his blood levels. Which were still far, far too low. Dangerously low. If it weren’t for the machines circulating blood through his heart and blood vessels…

Chess swallowed. She really needed to get back to Celeste and check her email. This wasn’t sustainable for much longer.

“Let me know if anything changes,” she told Q as she prepared to leave, saying the words more out of habit than anything else. She knew that she’d always be kept in the loop - she had an excellent staff. “I’ll be in my office. Hopefully we get good news regarding blood donations.”

“We better,” Q sounded grim, carefully dunking another set of blaze rod fragments into the steaming solution next to them. “He’s not going to get better if we don’t get his blood levels back, Chess. It’ll just be the machines keeping him alive.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Chess promised both Q and herself, wiping sweat from her forehead as she exited the room. The air outside, although only marginally cooler, was blissful. She relished it all the way to her office. 

Her office was a mess; recent events meant she hadn’t been able to do much sorting or organizing, and there was a lot of paperwork that needed to get filled out, especially when she was reaching out to other hospital servers. Chess unceremoniously shoved a stack of papers to the side as she sat down at her desk, adjusting her photo of Alice before logging in. 

As she waited for the screen to load - curse private world internet, she really had to speak to someone about that - she tapped her answering machine, swinging around in her swivel chair while it retrieved Celeste’s message. 

Celeste was Chess’s counterpart in Jengu Hospital, a general hospital located on another server that catered much more to the public. The two of them had been friends for some time, contacting each other frequently to inquire about the best ways to share resources. Celeste was one of the first people to support Chess while Apollo-1 was being built, both financially and emotionally. As such, she was the first person Chess tended to reach out to when things got dicey. 

“ Hi Chess ,” Celeste’s voice crackled over the machine while Chess logged into her email account. “ I got your email about the blazeborn blood… I’m sorry but we just don’t have any. You know how it is - I think I’ve seen a blazeborn in here once and I’ve been working here for more than twenty years. You’re probably better off reaching out to Rune to see if they have anything. I’m sorry - I hope you find what you need. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help. Bye. ” 

Chess sighed, lowering her head in defeat. That was okay - it was a longshot. Being a general hospital, she would have hoped that something would have been available due to the wide variety of patients… but it was also understandable that they wouldn’t, if the majority were human. 

Chess then turned her attention to her email. Rune was her last shot at this - as the attending physician at a nether-centric hospital, they were the most likely person to know about blazeborn blood and where some might be, if not located at Belenus - Rune’s hospital - directly. She couldn’t help but childishly cross her fingers as she discovered a response email, biting her lip as she clicked on it. 

Her heart fell almost immediately. 

Dear Chess - 

I’m so sorry to say that I got your email just a hair too late… yesterday morning a blazeborn came in in critical condition… they used up the last of our blood supply. We won’t get another delivery until the end of this month because it’s so hard to collect. I know you needed this, Chess, I’m terribly sorry. 

If you’re desperate, I’ve found that ghast-hybrid blood can be used as a substitute, although you’d need to monitor your patient carefully for a few days afterwards to make sure there are no adverse effects. 

Chess stared in horror - what was she going to do? She couldn’t give Tango something that was going to adversely affect him in the slightest - not when he was in such a fragile state. Ghast blood wasn’t going to cut it.

But then she read the rest of the email, and her heart started to lift again. 

However, I do have a blazeborn on file that has consented to be contacted if the need for blood does arise. His name is Jack Manifold - I can give you his contact information if you’d like. 

Once again, I’m so sorry for getting back to you just a little too late. I’m really hoping that we can encourage some more donations - maybe set up a contest or a raffle or some other kind of incentive for blazeborns to give blood. I know how important it is that you have this at your practice.

Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you. 

With love, Rune 

Chess leaned back in her chair, shakily running a hand over her mask. This was it - the chance she’d needed. She immediately started writing a response email, but halfway through she paused, frowning. For some reason, Manifold’s name was ringing a bell, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe she’d treated him at this hospital before? 

Still working on her email, she reached out to a few of the admins, using their specific admin-hospital chat. 

DocCheshre to Admin Chat: 

DocCheshire: Have any of you guys heard of a Jack Manifold? 

Xisumavoid: I’m not sure. Maybe?

Quackity: He’s a buddy of mine! Why? What’s going on?

DocCheshire: I’m having a hard time getting blood for Tango. I contacted the attending physician of a nether-specific hospital and they told me Jack is a blood donor that has consented to be contacted if the need arose. If you have his contact info, can you please reach out and let him know that we need his help? 

She’d contact him individually as well, but Chess knew it was important for friends to also be in the loop when it came to this sort of thing. Blazeborn blood was a hot commodity - one of the reasons hospitals had a hotline for that specifically was because shadier operations hadn’t had any qualms about stealing it from clinics and using it for things such as potions. 

Quackity: I’ll do it right away. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help, Chess.

DocCheshire: Thank you. This is going to be extremely important for Tango’s recovery. 

Xisumavoid: Quackity tell me when he’s here so I can come thank him.

DocCheshire: YOU ARE NOT LEAVING YOUR ROOM. 

Xisumavoid: CHESS

DocCheshire: TWO WORDS, X. BRAIN. BLEED. 

Xisumavoid: AT LEAST GIVE ME HIS CONTACT INFO

Quackity: I will, but WHAT DO YOU MEAN BRAIN BLEED.

Xisumavoid: It’s not a problem now I swear

Chess rolled her eyes, fondness battling that ever-present concern when it came to X and his stupid sacrificial tendencies. She wrapped up her email to Rune thanking them for the info and telling them she was reaching out to Jack, then leaned back and stretched. She had another hour or so before her next walk around the hospital - she really needed to get this paperwork done. 

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Jack was halfway through wrapping up his stream setup when he received not one, but two notifications on his communicator. 

He paused, casting a quick glance at his monitors to make sure nothing would spontaneously crash if he looked away, then glanced down at his communicator screen.

Quackity to JackManifoldTV:

Quackity: How’s it going man

JackManifoldTV: Can’t complain. It’s been ages - how’s QSMP?

Quackity: Fine. I needed to let you know about something and ask you a favor.

JackManifoldTV: Oh?

Jack grimaced, glancing back at his setup. A few of his blaze rods swirled quickly around his head and he shooed them away impatiently, settling them a few feet away for the time being. If Quackity needed something, there was a very even shot that he would or would not be streaming today. 

Quackity: You’re going to get a message from a doctor at a hybrid-centric hospital. There’s a blazeborn there that’s in severe need of blood but the doctor isn’t able to get any from other hospitals. Apparently you’re on the donor list at Belenus?

Jack’s eyes went wide, and he felt his hair sizzle. So that’s what this was about. He’d signed up for that donor list because it had been the right thing to do, but he honestly hadn’t expected anyone to make use of it. Surely, blazeborn’s weren’t that rare…? 

But no, that was stupid thinking. Jack only seen another blazeborn once and it was actually at Belenus Hospital when he was signing up for the donor list, because that blazeborn had been doing the same thing. And he wasn’t that dense that he hadn’t heard of the thievery that occurred at clinics to get blazeborn blood from the system. 

It seemed that streaming would have to be put off for now. 

Jack shut off his monitors and computer, then went back to his communicator, where another message was ready to be read. He assumed that must have been the doctor Quackity had mentioned. 

JackManifoldTV: I see the other message. I’m going to read it, then I’ll head out. Thanks for letting me know.

Quackity: Sure thing. It’s a cool thing that you signed up for that, man. 

Quackity: Also… some shit went down, that’s why the blazeborn needs blood and he wasn’t the only one hurt. Be prepared for a lot of people to be hovering around. I’m here, so is Phil, Techno, and a few other faces. 

JackManifoldTV: What happened!?!? 

Quackity: You might find out, you might not. But what you’re doing is really important. 

Suddenly feeling a bit uneasy, like he was stepping into something he wasn’t supposed to, Jack leaned back in his chair and pulled up the next message. 

DocCheshire to JackManifoldTV: 

DocCheshire: Hello Mr. Manifold, my name is Doctor Chess from Apollo-1 Hospital. I’m reaching out because I am in desperate need of a blood donor for one of my patients and Dr. Rune from Belenus Hospital informed me that you are on their blazeborn donor list. Are you available and willing to donate blood today?

JackManifoldTV: Hello, and yes I am. What are the coordinates?

The doctor responded almost immediately.

DocCheshire: Wonderful! Thank you so much - you’re probably going to save someone’s life today. Here are the coordinates:

Following the message was the string of numbers that would allow Jack’s communicator to connect to the server and teleport him through. Casting one more look around his room, Jack stood, messaged on his public chat account that he wouldn’t be streaming that day due to unforeseen circumstances, and then tapped into the portal. Sending a blaze rod off to quickly flick down his light switch - only slightly melted from previous occurrences of that same act - Jack stepped through the portal and onto the new server, wondering what the hell he was about to get himself into. 

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Chess got the notification of Jack’s arrival immediately due to her status as an admin, and she was up and out of her chair in seconds. She only paused in the hallway because of Q, a rare sight nowadays, who was striding towards her.

“It’s done.” Q sounded exhausted, but satisfied. “The last blaze rod is in place, and I’ve sealed up Tango’s ribs and torso. So long as he remains still and we keep him as warm as we can manage, he should start to heal up. Then their face grew serious. “He really needs that blood, Chess.”

“I’m working on it.” Chess nodded rapidly. “I was able to get ahold of a donor that Rune had on their blazeborn list. He’s at the front - I’m going out to meet him.”

“Oh fantastic ,” Q wilted, relief written all over their face. “Thank the void. Send him up as soon as you can.”

“Of course.” 

Q left, presumably to fully sanitize and refresh themself before the blood transfusion. Technically, Chess didn’t need them for this part, but she doubted Q would want to be anywhere else, not when they’d invested so much into this one patient. 

Making her way to the elevator, Chess entered the lobby to see Philza, Technoblade, and Quackity all greeting a short, slight man with mismatched red and blue eyes. His hair was short, but simmered like flames on low heat, sending up shimmering air above him. Blaze rods, each about a foot long and about twelve total, spun lazily around his head and feet. They stretched out to orbit laps around the three others, too, carefully avoiding the delicate feathers on Phil and Quackity’s wings, but sliding now and again against the pink skin on Techno’s arms. Chess could see a golden aura connecting the rods to Jack’s skin, showing the heat transfer between them. 

Chess couldn’t help but be curious at the sight. She’d studied blazes, and she’d studied blazeborn’s, but aside from Tango, she’d never actually seen another one. Jack looked remarkably different from Tango. They both shared the same small, lean build, and their skin was both a healthy golden tan, but Jack had no tail and no shock of bright gold hair. His eyes had white sclera although the irises glowed a searingly bright red and blue, and when he spoke, his teeth were flat, humanoid. The variations amongst blazeborns was clearly more widespread than Chess had realized. 

“Mr. Manifold?” Chess asked, stepping up to announce her presence. Jack pulled away from Quackity, where he’d thrown a friendly arm over the avian’s shoulders, and reached out with one hand to shake. “Call me Jack. Thanks for calling me - I came as quick as I could.”

“Thank you , Jack,” Chess said firmly, grasping his hand and shaking it. His skin was incredibly warm. “You have no idea how important this is.” 

“Well, I do at least a little because I signed up for the donor list.” Jack smirked, but it was a friendly one, harmless. It faded slightly a moment later. “I, uh, heard from Quackity that something went a bit wrong with a group of players. That’s how your blazeborn got injured? Is everyone else alright?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Chess saw Philza wince. She pursed her lips, thinking of an appropriate response.

“We’re going to be busy for a while.” Is what she ended up settling on. “ But you’re helping. Come with me?” 

Jack nodded, calling back at the others, “See ya, fellas,” before following her down the hallway. Chess took him to one of the examination rooms, motioning for him to sit down on the examination table.

“I need to make sure you’re physically healthy before I send you up to get your blood drawn,” Chess explained. She was trying to be calm, trying to convey no sense of urgency, but inside she was anxious. Now that the chance to get Tango some blood was here, she wanted to get it done now . “I’m going to pull your shirt down for a moment, okay?”

“Do whatever you need to do.” Jack said firmly. “I don’t care. I know you’re in a hurry, doc.” 

Mollified, Chess quickly ran through Jack’s vitals, taking in the rapid heartbeat, the elevated temperature, signs that would have indicated serious problems in any human player but were just fine for a blazeborn. His iron levels were off the charts, as they should be, and blaze powder levels were perfect. Satisfied, Chess packed up her instruments. “Thank you. We’re heading up a few floors - Q’s been the surgeon taking care of our patient. They’ll be doing the blood draw.”

“How much blood do you need?” Jack asked, hurrying after her as they sped to the elevator. “One pint’s about standard but you could take more if you need to.” 

“Legally, I’m not allowed to do that,” Chess said, tapping the button to the fourth floor. “But odds are that I’ll have to call on you again in a few weeks. My patient is extremely injured - just one pint will help his condition significantly, but he’s missing more than that. If I can’t get another pint or two from Belenus at that time, you’re probably our next option.”

“I thought we regenerate blood pretty quick,” Jack frowned, tone not judgemental but certainly curious. “A few weeks would be enough for him to get back to normal, wouldn’t it?” 

Chess hesitated as they stepped out of the elevator. She couldn’t say much - even with Tango unconscious, doctor-patient confidentiality was vital. 

“He’s been critically injured,” She finally ends up saying as they walk. “He’s on life support. He can’t breathe on his own or maintain a healthy temperature, nevermind regenerate blood. We have to help him along.”

“Oh.” Jack said softly, sounding a bit on edge. “That’s… goddamn.” 

Chess couldn’t agree more. 

Q was waiting for them by Tango’s room, foot tapping on the floor. They’d changed into fresh scrubs, their hair pulled back and no longer in a surgeon’s cap. Tired red eyes locked on to Jack’s face, and they gave a true, genuine grin. “You’re about to save a life, sir.”

“So people keep telling me.” Jack said warily. “Am I - it's okay for me to go in there?” 

“You got to wear a mask,” Q held one out for Jack to take. “And you need to stay on the other side of the room until we start the transfer. Our patient needs the freshest blood possible so it’s going to be a direct transfusion from your body to his, which is why we need you two to be in the same room. But you can’t touch him - his immune system will be compromised and he cannot get sick.”

“Alright.” The blaze rods around Jack’s body had started to pick up speed, matching the overwhelmed look in his eyes. He put the mask on, and Q wasted no time in opening Tango’s door and ushering them all inside.

Q had, as he’d mentioned before, cleaned Tango up. It was still a bit shocking to see all of the machinery and bandages - certainly for poor Jack, who actually froze in shock upon entering the room. Q’s face softened behind his own mask upon seeing it. 

“You’re helping him,” Q said, and Chess nodded, pulling out another operating table from the corner of the room. She set up some padding on it composed of blue cloth and then directed Jack to lay down, which the blazeborn did, craning his neck to stare a bit dazedly at Tango’s prone form. The other netherborn was still on his own operating table, cleaned up of course, due to their inability to move him very well. The cuts on his chest had been bandaged, although faint glowing lines could be seen underneath from where the healing solution was snaking through to his chest in reinforced IVs. 

“Prep Tango,” Q told her, and Chess immediately pulled on gloves and grabbed transfusion materials. It would need to be a quick operation; they couldn’t let Jack’s blood cool off at all, so it would need to be directly from one of Jack’s arteries into Tango’s. Both she and Q would need to keep careful watch over the whole thing in case Jack started losing too much blood. 

But Q was a professional, and Chess liked to think she was the same. This was a bit risky, but it would be worth it in the end.

Jack, of course, was understandably wary watching them set up. “I thought blood transfusions usually involved going into a bag or something, first.”

“Normally, yes.” Q tied a tourniquet around Jack’s upper arm, swabbing the inside of his arm with disinfectant. “But we can’t allow your blood to cool off at all, so we need to do it like this. We'll keep an eye on the both of you, don’t worry.”

“Alright.” Jack took a shaky breath. His blazerods had gathered themselves into a cluster that was spinning at almost dizzying speeds over his head - at his deep breath, they spread out and slowed a little, pulsing golden aura sending heat down on Jack’s head and shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

They moved Jack a bit closer, where Chess had already readied herself by Tango’s side. Fortunately, she was able to work with his good arm - trying to do this by the amputated shoulder would have been tricky. “Are you ready?”

“Go ahead.” Jack leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, breathing in and out in deep, steady waves. Appreciating the seriousness with which Jack was taking the situation, Chess met Q’s eyes and nodded. With professional quickness and steadiness, Q slipped a needle directly into the crook of Jack’s arm, drawing only a slight flinch and hiss of pain from the blazeborn. Within milliseconds, dark and glittering blood was slipping up the tube and into Tango’s arm. 

Both the tube and needles were reinforced with a special heat-resistant material, specially made for nether hybrids. A normal needle, at Jack’s proximity and current state of natural distress, would have heated up and broken in seconds. Tango wasn’t posing any kind of risk in his current state, although Chess could feel the heat of Jack’s blood coursing through the area around the transfusion site, even through her rubber gloves. 

They stayed like that for several minutes, Q keeping track of the time and Jack’s physical condition. The blazeborn seemed steady, breathing carefully in and out, eyes still closed. The only real sign of nerves or distress was the blazerods spinning rapidly once again. 

Tango, meanwhile, was already showing signs of improvement. A glance at his monitors revealed that his temperature had already risen two degrees. There was just a little more color in his face, a slightly more golden tint to his hair. Between the healing solutions, the blood, and the heat in the room, Chess could only hope that they were finally getting things back on track.

A few minutes later Jack's face had gone a little pale, his breathing slightly shaky. Q rightfully took that as a sign to stop, murmuring the word to Chess who was waiting until Q had disconnected the needle from Jack’s end before taking the tube and letting gravity rush the last bit of blood into Tango. Then she removed the needle, quickly wiping away the outrush of blood and bandaging up the wound before it could leak any more. 

“How do you feel?” Q was asking Jack, helping the blazeborn raise his arms over his head to help the blood rush back to his core. Jack let out another shaky breath, then smiled. “Dizzy as hell.”

“That’s perfectly normal,” Q nodded. “Rest here for a bit and then we’ll get you out of here. I’ve asked another staff member to grab you some honey and a snack from our kitchen, that will help with the dizziness.”

“Great.” Jack dazedly blinked open his bi-colored eyes. “And your patient?”

“Already doing better.” Chess couldn’t help but beam at the man. “You’ve already helped him so much. Thank you .”

“Hybrids gotta help each other out,” Jack murmured. He was still a bit pale, so Chess took off her gloves and left him to rest for a moment before stepping out into the hall and contacting Quackity.

DocCheshire to Quackity:

DocCheshire: Transfusion is done and it went well. Jack’s a bit woozy - he’s going to get some honey and snacks from us but then can you take him back to whatever server you’re on and make sure he gets some rest? No strenuous activity for the rest of the day and the next few days if possible. We might have taken slightly more than a pint.

Quackity: Got it. Tango?

DocCheshire: Jack probably just saved his life. 

Chess put down her communicator and waited a few minutes before stepping back inside, where Q was helping Jack sit up and slide off the operating table. The blazeborn moved a bit sluggishly, rods moving slowly as they circled around them, but he looked deeply satisfied. “Anything else I can do?”

“I’ve told Quackity to come get you - you’re staying with him for the night at least,” Chess informed him. “Doctor's orders. Eat your snack and honey. Definitely get some kind of protein into you later tonight. Sleep well, don’t do any crazy activities for the next couple days.” She reached out and shook his hand again. “Thank you, Jack.”

“Happy to help, really.” He assured her. Walking just slightly off kilter, Jack went to the door and was met by an expectantly waiting Quackity as well as a kitchen staff member, who promptly shoved a small bottle of honey and a package of cookies into his hands. Jack looked down at the two offerings and snorted, already working on popping open the honey bottle. “Message me in the next few weeks if you need more blood.”

“I’m sure we will if we can’t get the pipeline working again,” Q sounded both appreciative and frustrated at the same time, a special emotional mix that they were particularly good at. “Take care, Jack.”

“See you around.”

Chess watched him leave with Quackity down the hallway, the kitchen staff member going in the opposite direction, then shut the door and turned to look at Tango again. She had totally forgotten about the heat in the intensity of the transfusion, but now she realized she was sweating quite a lot, the beginning of a headache throbbing at the base of her skull. She really needed to go drink something of her own.

“Amazing,” Q murmured, checking over Tango’s vitals. “That’s already worked wonders. Tango’s still missing about a pint and a half but this… this did a lot.”

“Let’s hope it speeds things along,” Chess said wearily. “He’s stable for now - if he’s still good in the morning, we can move him to a proper room. It can’t be good for his back to be on that operating table much longer.”

“Right.” Q stretched, then headed for the door. “I need to rest. I’ll probably be back in a few hours.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Q.”

“Thank me when Tango’s back on his feet.” 

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Quackity had already informed Q-Topia about Jack’s arrival, so the entrance to the little complex was buzzing when they portaled in. The crazily structured towers were silhouetted by the setting sun, casting wild shadows all over the ground. Jack’s blaze-rod induced aura glowed like a torch in the twilight, blazing a bit brighter at the sight of everyone waiting to see him. “What, is this like a party?”

“It’s good to see you, big man!” Tubbo rushed in first, throwing his arms around Jack a little too forcefully considering the blazeborn was still woozy. Quackity had to gently intervene after a few seconds, shoving one wing between the two and chiding a little, “Tubbo, he’s still dizzy, man.” 

“Sorry!” Tubbo squeaked, stepping back. He was then passed by Philza, who pressed one massive wing against Jack’s shoulders to keep him steady as they walked forward. “You better have eaten that shit they gave you at the hospital, mate. We’ve got more here but that stuff’s important.”

“Do you think I want to keel over?” Jack scoffed. “‘Course I ate it. Honey is fantastic.” 

“I have some in the kitchen!” Tubbo sped ahead of them, practically running, and Quackity rolled his eyes with a snicker. The group trailed after him, passing a collection of closely clustered buildings that ranged from cute little cottages to big, castle-like structures. None of them were quite as intricate or well-built as the ones from Hermitopia - because those guys were on another level , and there was no shot at matching them - but Quackity was still proud of what this group had accomplished. 

The stragglers, mostly consisting of people like Aimsey, Ranboo, and Sapnap, drifted off once they saw that Jack was seated and getting a proper meal at their big, community kitchen. That left just Quackity, Phil, a very excitable Tubbo, and a quiet Techno lurking in the corner, sharpening his axe and eating potatoes. A big fire pit roared in the center of the room to heat the space and Jack had taken up a seat right against the edge of it, blaze rods drifting to float directly in the center of the flames. The resulting heat transfer had Jack glowing like a lantern and grinning from ear to ear as he ate his food. 

“So,” Jack asked between bites. “What’s actually going on? Because there’s no fucking way you can expect me to just sit here in the dark after seeing whatever the hell happened to that poor guy back at the hospital. Everyone’s on edge, clearly.”

Quackity cleared his throat, casting a glance in Phil’s direction. It wasn’t like this was a secret … just hard to explain to someone who hadn’t been involved. 

“How about Phil explains it to you,” Quackity said slowly, watching the elytrian’s eyes narrow at him. “I need to talk to Xisuma about Foolish. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Wait, what about Foolish?” Jack tilted his head to the side, clearly confused, and the quiet chatter between Tubbo and Techno went quiet. Phil let out an incredulous little huff. “You don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?” Jack asked, bewildered. “What’s going on with Foolish? Last I saw he was training with Valkyrie and the others at Valorant tournaments, although that was months ago.” He paused for a second, “More like a year, now that I’m thinking about. Damn, it’s been a while. Is he okay?” 

“Foolish is missing, Jack.” Quackity said quietly, and Jack’s face contorted in shock. “He was on my server up until a few months ago, and then he just vanished. I haven’t been able to find him yet. I found out that Xisuma had some missing players and showed up to see if things were connected and, well, Phil?”

“I’ll tell him the full thing,” Phil sighed, getting up to sit a bit closer to the fire. Quackity took that as his que to leave, heading out of the kitchen and into the night air, pausing under a lantern. After a moment’s thought, he jumped into the air, boosted himself with a quick flap of his wings, and settled on the top of the lamp-post, comfortably perched. More comfortable now that he was off the ground, he focused on his communicator.

Quackity to Xisumavoid:

Quackity: Hey. I need to ask you something. You awake?

Xisumavoid: If you say I failed the test then I’m going to send Doc to hunt you down.

Quackity couldn’t help but chuckle. House arrest had done Xisuma’s attitude no favors. He was recovering, slowly but steadily, and it was incredibly entertaining to watch the normally amicable admin grow increasingly more salty as the days passed. It didn’t help that the concept of Xisuma “failing the test” had been passed around through all players on EM-2 and now poor X was getting called out on the simplest things. Awake after 8pm? Failed the test. Not having eaten breakfast by nine in the morning? Failed the test. Not napping at noon? Failed the test.

And Quackity’s personal favorite: Responding to messages from other admins? Failed the test. Hilarious because it was the exact right kind of response that Xisuma should have and it was funny to call him out on it and watch him get mad.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

Quackity to Xisumavoid: I want to invite a player on to EM-2.

Xisumavoid: That’s technically Fwhip’s department - it’s his server.

Quackity: Ah, right. But there’s one other thing

Xisumavoid: ….what

Quackity: I want to take this player on the island to check out the coding

Xisumavoid: No.

Xisumavoid: Absolutely not.

Quackity: Xisuma this could be incredibly important in my search to find Foolish

Xisumavoid: It’s too dangerous

Quackity: Xisuma please . The player I want to bring on is well-versed in code, even if he’s not an admin. We’re both good fighters. We just want to check and make sure there’s no traces of Foolish. We also want to make sure the island’s coding isn’t going to spread and corrupt other servers. We know nothing about this place, don’t you think we should check it out? 

Xisumavoid: I’m not going to lose more players to that fucking island.

Quackity blinked, startled by the curse and the visceral tone that somehow managed to seep through the message. His heart ached - he understood, he did . Quackity was still kept up at night thinking about what could have possibly happened to Foolish - his player, his friend. And he knew nothing about the totem’s whereabouts or what was happening to him.

Xisuma did know. He had the information, he’d seen the trauma and the injuries. Quackity couldn’t be blind to that kind of experience. It was fully within Xisuma’s right to be frightened and to want to keep everyone as far away from that island as possible. 

But that didn’t stop Quackity from wanting to do this. If Xisuma understood the desire to search for missing players at all, which Quackity knew that he did, then he should know that Quackity wasn’t going to stop searching just because he got a “no.”

Quackity: Xisuma I’m begging you here. 

Quackity: It would be quick. In and out. 

Quackity: The slightest hint of trouble and we leave. 

Silence, for a long time. Quackity rocked back and forth on the lantern’s edge, feathers ruffling, waiting anxiously. His communicator was quiet for so long that by the time it was fully dark outside, he started to worry that Xisuma had fallen asleep and wouldn’t be able to answer him. But just before he turned to go back inside…

Xisumavoid: I’ll think about it. That’s all I’m going to say for now. 

Quackity shut his eyes in exhausted relief, wings slumping. Thank gods . That was probably the best he could hope for in this situation. It was at least something . 

This was a start. Quackity slipped off the edge of the lantern and landed silently on the ground, making his way along the lit path towards the kitchen once again. He could hear Jack’s voice, agitated, no doubt freaking out about the situation he’d walked into. 

But before he joined that conversation, Quackity made one more message.

Quackity to BadBoyHalo:

Quackity: Almost there. Xisuma’s thinking about it. 

BadBoyHalo: I’m ready whenever you are. 

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Chess was awoken in the middle of the night to the sound of her communicator ringing. 

Groaning, blinking sleep from her eyes, she glanced at her clock. Two in the morning, far too early for this to be a normal phone call. Suddenly alert, she sat up in bed, Alice shifting from her spot on the floor to a standing position.

“Hello?” Chess answered the call, heart beginning to speed up. “This is Chess.”

“Dr. Chess, this is Echo,” came the voice, and Chess’s heart leapt into her throat. Echo was the night shift receptionist, meaning that if they were calling, something was wrong. “We need you to get to the hospital right now.”

“What’s wrong?” Chess was out of bed in seconds, stumbling to turn a light on. She yelped as she accidentally stepped on one of Alice’s toys and stumbled, almost falling to her knees. The great dane pushed past her as she struggled to regain her balance, and she watched her pad to the door, whining. “Who’s hurt?”

“One of Tango’s blaze rods shattered again. Vivi’s in there with him trying to stabilize him, but she told me she doesn’t think it can be fixed. He’s slipped into shock.”

Chess swore, struggling to strap on her mask so she could open up the door and unstick the seal. Alice slipped out and Chess followed, grabbing socks and hopping a little to get her shoes in place before reaching for a coat. Was she about to show up to work in her pajamas and a jacket? Yes, but such things didn’t matter at a time like this. 

“You called Q?” She asked. 

“They were the first one I called.”

“Good,” Chess breathed, trying to tamp down on her panic. She’d only left the hospital a few hours ago, and Tango had been fine . What had happened to cause such a dramatic shift in his condition? What had caused the break?

What were they going to do without one of his blaze rods?!

“Tell Vivi to do her best - I’m on my way.” Chess told Echo, hanging up as soon as she got confirmation. Ignoring Alice’s whines to be fed - “it’s too early, Al” - she made sure she had her jacket, her ID, and her mask firmly in place before practically throwing herself into a portal as soon as it opened. 

She was accosted by Echo as soon as she landed. 

“Vivi needs you up in Tango’s room now, ” the bat hybrid snapped, motioning her frantically towards the elevator with clawed hands. “Tango’s in critical condition.”

“ Damn it, ” Chess hissed, sprinting down the hall, past the elevator, and towards the stairs. She took them two at a time, panic fueling her strides, then flung herself through the door and into the corridor. 

Tango’s door was open, heat flooding into the hallway, and she could hear a cacophony of sound coming from inside.

“I need more oxygen, Vivi!”

“I know, I know, it’s going, his body’s just not absorbing it-”

“Increase the heating on the blood filter.”

“It’s as high as it can go!” 

Chess spun into the room and was met with catastrophe, Tango’s whole body tense and agonized even in unconsciousness, the heart monitor squealing, monitors warning of low oxygen, low temperature, low iron, low everything . 

How could this have happened?

“What happened to his blaze rod?” Chess snapped, grabbing gloves and slipping inside. Vivi backed off, allowing Q and Chess to start undoing the bandages around Tango’s chest. Chess glanced at the machinery to her side and saw, devastatingly, that Vivi had been right: so many of them were working as hard as they could, and it wasn’t doing enough. The ventilator and blood pumps were the only things keeping him functioning. Outside of that, Tango was freezing, suffocating, and anemic all at once. 

“I don’t know.” Q said grimly. “I don’t want to move him to try and do an X-ray. We have portable ones, right?”

“I think so.” A recent invention by a medical redstoner, portable X-rays were pretty experimental but considered to be revolutionary, allowing doctors to look at their patients without moving them to different rooms or running them through big, bulky machines. The only downside was that they had a tendency to crash and break, but Chess was willing to take that risk at the moment.

“Vivi,” she called, and the phantom snapped to attention. “Go get the portable X-Ray from storage.” 

“But we haven’t tested those yet-”

“Just do it ,” Chess snapped, turning her attention back to Tango, whose lips were turning blue. Warmth flooded behind her eyes and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling despite knowing no-one could see it. She tried, frantically, to think of something that would help. “He can’t keep losing oxygen like this.”

“He needs to be warmer.” The barest edge of panic was audible in Q’s voice as the surgeon prepped Tango’s chest, still showing a large, graphic line of fresh stitches from his recent surgery, for the X-Ray. “His body is using up too much oxygen trying to keep itself warm.”

“We can’t make it any warmer here without making it uninhabitable for us.” Chess said wildly. Then it clicked, and she almost smacked herself. “Call Echo and tell them to get some fire resistance potions.”

Q paused, glancing at her. “You know that’s going to make this room an active hazard.”

“ You know it’s the only chance we’ve got.”

Q nodded slowly, unblinking with bloodshot red eyes. Vivi rushed in with the X-Ray and, after grabbing it from her, Q told her to go get the potions from Echo. “Be quick, Vivi.”

After the phantom hybrid rushed out, Q quickly attached the X-Ray, a giant pad with a mechanical box on the outside to display the picture inside. Setting it on Tango’s chest and instructing Chess to put her hands on either side to lift some of the weight off, Q turned it on and stared at the screen intensely. 

A few minutes later, he cursed, motioning for Chess to take a look. She leaned over, searching the screen.

On it, Tango’s rib cage was clearly visible. She could see the outline of his bones alongside the faint anomalous smudges of the internal scarring. She could see three blaze rods nestled alongside his heart, but the fourth…. 

The fourth was gone.

“ Void ,” Chess breathed. “It didn’t just break, it disintegrated .” 

“The structural integrity must have not been strong enough,” Q sounded shocked. “I don’t know how that’s possible - they all could at least hold together when I put them back in.”

“The scarring must have weakened it.” Chess vaguely remembered seeing one blaze rod have more pieces than the others, and cursed herself for not asking Q to devote more attention to it. “It couldn’t hold up when the others could.”

“This is really bad, Chess.” Q pressed his lips together, brow furrowed. “It’s not like Tango has a dozen others to spare. Clearly, this is throwing everything out of balance. He needs a transplant.”

Vivi rushed back in with fire resistance potions. Chess thanked her before shooing her out the door, knocking back the potion and handing the second one to Q. These potions, brewed specially for medical purposes, were twice the strength of regular ones and could withstand lava-like temperatures for up to twenty minutes. That gave them that much time to try and stabilize Tango so they could take a minute to come up with a plan. 

The minute the potions took effect, Q went to the thermostat in the room and cranked it up to its highest setting. An alarm went off, warning them of the risks, asking if they truly wanted to go this far. Q wasted no time in shutting it off, shutting the door firmly and messaging in the staff group chat for no-one to touch Tango’s door without drinking a potion and wearing protective gear. 

Then he removed the X-Ray from Tango’s chest, prepared the wound site for surgery again, and waited, staring expectantly at the monitors.

The temperature in the room started to climb. The worst of it was dulled by the potion but Chess could still feel it in the air, a stifling thickness that pressed against her skin. She knew instinctively that if she were to take her mask off, the amount of heat and pressure in the air would knock her out almost instantly. 

But as deadly as the atmosphere was for her, it seemed to be helping Tango. Chess could have cried seeing some of Tango’s vitals start to finally climb, his temperature rising, oxygen levels finally getting somewhat stable. The increased heat was taking the strain off of his last three blaze rods, allowing everything to settle. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t even close to being a solution, but for now it was enough.

“You need to tell Xisuma,” Q told her, already cutting along the edge of Tango’s stitches again. Chess knew that he had to start running tubes of healing solution alongside the last three blaze rods. Since they were inside of his body, Tango’s rods couldn’t collect and transfer heat the same way that Jack’s could. Once again, she could note differences between both blazeborn’s physiology. Jack’s blaze rods acted like conduits, collecting and transferring heat directly into Jack’s core to keep him warm. In contrast, Tango’s seemed to be more like solar panels, collecting and trapping heat directly at his core rather than transferring it. 

The advantage that Jack had was that, with blaze rods that floated outside of his body, he could maneuver them to places with more heat with ease, charging them up and keeping himself toasty. Tango was limited by the rods inside of his body, leaving him vulnerable to external temperatures. Chess had noticed, however, that Tango could store a lot more heat than Jack could when he was healthy. Trade-offs that came with an internal vs external system. 

But that was neither here nor there. Tango, in this current moment, was hovering far too close to systematic shock than she was comfortable with. When she glanced down again she saw that Q had fully reopened Tango’s chest cavity, doing their best to suck away and recycle leaking blood before setting up a system of IV tubes and pumps to run superheated healing serum alongside the cracked and fragile blaze rods. The elf leaned back when they were done, breathing a little heavily, still affected by the pressure in the air even if the heat wasn’t affecting them the way it would have been.

“This is not sustainable,” Q said, leaving the area to take off their gloves and wash their hands. They splashed some water over their face. “This needs a solution as soon as possible.” 

Chess opened her mouth to respond, pausing when her communicator pinged. Her eyebrows shot up at the message on the screen, and she wordlessly showed it to Q.

VividExo to Hospital Chat:

VividExo: Heading to EM-2 to get Jack. We need a blaze rod from him ASAP.

VividExo: I know he just donated blood but this is critical.

Chess sighed - she wasn’t wrong. Theoretically, taking a blaze rod from Jack wouldn’t adversely affect him too badly… but it was something she normally would want to avoid. That being said, this was a very difficult situation. She found herself agreeing with Vivi. 

“Let’s hope he’s up for it,” she said grimly, wiping more sweat from her brow. “If he says no, we can try to use a mob blaze rod, but those often aren’t as compatible as another hybrid’s. They share both human and mob DNA that way. It fits in better.” 

“Well we’re going to have to figure it out,” Q said, sounding exhausted. “I need- I need fresh air. We can leave Tango for a moment, he’s stable.” 

The two exited the room and leaned against the wall outside, panting and sweating. The potions were starting to wear off a little, giving Chess enough sensitivity to feel the waves of heat radiating off of the door and filling the hallway. They needed to hang up a sign or something - that door was going to give someone a nasty burn if they weren’t careful. 

“We need to get Jessa in here early so she can make more of those fire potions.” Q rubbed at their eyes. “This hallway is a hazard now.”

“I’m sure she’ll be able to.” Chess agreed. “We’re going to need them just to be in this hallway, nevermind open the door.” 

Q slid down to sit on the floor, a rare moment of vulnerability, and gave a long, deep sigh. “Gods I hope he ends up okay, Chess.” 

Chess blinked back a sudden stinging in her eyes that had nothing to do with heat, carefully maneuvering herself so she could sit next to them, taking a brief moment of rest while she could. “So do I, Q.” 

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Vivi didn’t think she’d ever flown faster in her entire life. 

She wasn’t a transporter like Winter, or a Rapid Response member like Ace. She was a night shift physician; she was supposed to be there to treat, to calm, to help patients drift off to sleep and help them out of nightmares. She never expected to find herself in a position like this, hurtling through the sky at speeds that made her eyes sting and water. Or maybe that was tears, it was hard to say. 

Vivi had seen a few medical emergencies at this point in her career, but the one with Tango had probably scared her the most. Injuries were supposed to be treatable - wasn’t that the point of physicians? So when she’d come in and heard the sirens, seen Tango’s pale skin, caught the tail-end of an awful grating sound from deep in his chest… she’d tried to fix things. That’s what the oxygen was there for, alongside the other half-dozen machines that were taking up all that space in the operating room. She was trained to use those machines to help save lives, and so when she’d upped the oxygen and Tango’s body hadn’t responded … that was terrifying. 

Vivi hated feeling useless. What good was a physician who couldn’t heal?

Jack Manifold might be the only thing that could save Tango. He was before, and he probably would be this time, too. She knew they weren't supposed to ask something of him so soon after the blood transfusion but she didn’t know what else to do. As she shot through the air like a dark, glittering missile, she tried to formulate what she would say to the other blazeborn. 

I know we’re asking so much of you, but Tango could die. He needs you. 

A sudden little ping went off in her awareness, a little buzz deep in her brain, and she glanced down. She was over Hermitopia, and someone was awake, even this early in the morning. She’d bet money on who it was. 

She really hoped she was right.

Swooping down on silent wings, Vivi landed right outside of Xisuma’s little hut. He was definitely awake, the pinging grew stronger the closer she got to the door. Feeling a bit better about that but also hating that she was about to deliver some bad news, Vivi rang on the doorbell twice and then pounded on the door a few times for good measure. 

Please hurry please hurry please hurry-

“Hello?” Xisuma opened the door, mask thankfully in place. Even through the purple visor she could see how bloodshot his eyes were - he certainly wasn’t back at full health. He realistically should have been sleeping, but she was just grateful she didn’t have to wake him.

“I have some bad news,” Vivi tried to compose herself. That was her thing; a calm presence, a soothing presence. Even when she wanted to panic, she couldn’t because she needed to be strong so others didn’t have to worry. “One of Tango’s blaze rods broke again.”

“ What!?” Xisuma almost shouted, voice high-pitched with panic. He lunged outside of the room and Vivi didn’t have the heart to tell him he was still technically on house arrest. “Is he okay!? Did Chess fix it?”

“I’m here to grab Jack because he needs a transplant,” she informed him. Voice steady and soothing. Calm. “It broke in such a way that it can’t be pieced together again. Q and Chess are working on keeping him stable until we can get another one.”

“Oh Tango… ” Xisuma sounded devastated. Without another word the admin pulled up a portal, whole body shuddering from the act, and stumbled his way through. Vivi knew that he shouldn’t be up and using admin magic, but she wasn’t here to corral Xisuma, she was here for Jack Manifold. So that’s what she was going to do now. 

She slipped over to Q-Topia, catching its messy outline against the ground. Even without her night vision it would have been visible due to all the lanterns and torches thrown around it. The pings went off a few times as she drew close: multiple people awake, scattered around the buildings. She wasn’t quite sure which one Jack was in so she’d need to just bounce from place to place until she could find him. 

The first door she pounded on didn’t give her Jack, but a very disgruntled Technoblade, his massive frame looming out the opened door and leading her to squeak and back up. He looked… not malicious, but certainly not happy. “Heh?” 

“D-do you know where Jack Manifold is?” Vivi stammered out. “We need his help. Desperately.” 

Techno’s gaze sharpened and hardened all at once, clearing up upon catching her tone. He grunted, motioning towards a different building. “In that one. Are we under attack or somethin’?”

“No! No no, a patient that Jack gave blood to today suffered another setback… he needs a blaze rod transplant, and Jack said to contact him if we needed anything so…” Vivi trailed off uncomfortably, tail rattling its bones across the cobblestone ground. Techno nodded, then shouldered his way out of the door, leading her to stumble back to get out of his way. She was left with watching the piglin trek across the street in what looked like white silk pajamas and… and his cape, still, despite it being night. She trailed along behind him, not sure where he was going or if she should follow. 

But then the man pounded on the closest door and shouted, in a deep, rumbling tone, “ JACK. GET OUT HERE.” 

Vivi jumped, startled. She jumped again when about fifty crows suddenly started screaming and croaking from the top of a nearby building and another voice shouted out, “ TECHNO SHUT THE HELL UP.” 

“ I’M TRYIN’ TO GET JACK, PHIL,” Techno roared upwards back at the building. 

“ GO INSIDE LIKE A NORMAL PERSON.”

“HOW ‘BOUT-”

“What the fuck is going on!?” Jack slammed open his door, almost smacking Techno in the face with it. His bi-colored eyes blazed with irritation, blaze rods swirling around him hotly. “It’s like three in the morning!”

“Jack!” Vivi took that as her chance to swing forward, getting the blazeborn’s attention. “I’m so sorry for waking you up, but it’s an emergency. One of Tango’s blaze rods shattered.”

Jack’s eyes went wide, then narrowed. “Who’s Tango?”

“The patient you gave blood to earlier today,” Vivi clarified, and saw Jack’s face go a bit pale. “I know we asked a lot of you already but please, he needs a transplant, his body’s gone into shock and he-”

“Okay, I’m going.” Jack shouldered past Techno, smacking the piglin in the face with a blaze rod in a show of boldness Vivi could never hope to match. The other man just snorted and swatted it away, thankfully. “Portal?” 

“Portal,” Vivi said, relieved. She opened one on the spot, watching Jack slip through, then turning apologetically back to Techno, still standing there in his pajamas and cape. “So sorry for bothering you!” 

“It’s fine.” Techno seemed to relax a bit, although he still looked grumpy. Without another word he left, heading back to his house or building or whatever his living quarters were. Vivi took that as her sign to go and slipped through the portal as well, leaving Q-Topia behind. 

She entered the lobby to find Jack striding towards the elevators, already having some idea of where to go. He seemed far less dizzy than before, but she could still tell he was a bit pale. She hoped giving a blaze rod wasn’t going to be too difficult for him. 

“One more thing - this shouldn’t be a problem for you, but they had to turn the heat way up in Tango’s room,” she told him as they got into the elevator. She pulled a potion out of her inventory - one that Echo had given her earlier just in case - and wiggled it around to showcase it. “If you see anyone get close to Tango’s room while he’s unstable, make sure they have this on them.”

“How bad off is he?” Jack’s voice was incredibly apprehensive as they exited the elevator and started off down the next hall. “He was fine when I left.”

Vivi hesitated, cringing as she remembered the screaming machines, the blue-tinted lips. “Well, um-”

“Jack, you made it.” Chess was suddenly there to greet them, sounding exhausted and incredibly relieved. She was coated in sweat from head to toe, and suddenly Vivi could feel how warm it was in the hallway. She blanched when she realized how far off Tango’s door actually was. That room was boiling . 

Jack realized it too, blaze rods drifting a bit closer to the source of heat. Vivi watched as they lit up and transferred the heat over to Jack’s aura, leaving him glowing. “Tango’s blaze rod broke?”

“We’re thinking it was too damaged when he was initially injured.” Chess told him. “It didn’t heal and solidify like the other three. Those three are fine, but the fourth didn’t survive the process and shattered just a few hours after the blood transfusion. It’s… well, it pretty much crumbled into blaze powder. There aren’t even fragments for us to collect like the first time. 

“ Fuck me ,” Jack muttered, horror crossing his face. “What kind of injury did this man get ?!” 

“Patient confidentiality.” Chess quipped without missing a beat, then added more softly, “Sorry, Jack.”

“No it’s okay… Philza told me a bit about what went on. It’s insane.” Jack exhaled slowly, then straightened his shoulders. “You need a blaze rod.”

“We do.”

“I don’t think mine are going to fit into his chest.”

“We’re going to have to file one down regardless of how we get one,” Chess said. 

Jack considered that, then nodded. “You’re on potions, right?” When Chess nodded, he reached out and drew one of his closest rods to his open hands, gripping it firmly. Vivi couldn’t help but lean forward, curious. 

With an intense, focused gaze, Jack started to tug the blaze rod away from his chest, pushing it outward. The golden aura pulsed once, twice, and then slipped away entirely, leaving the rod devoid of the glow and looking like any blaze rod one could find in a bastion. Jack went pale at the movement, stumbling slightly in a way that had Vivi immediately wrapping a wing around him to make sure he was steady. 

“I’m good,” Jack wheezed. He handed the rod to Chess with slightly shaking fingers. Chess wasted no time, grabbing the rod and telling Vivi to get Jack to a chair. Vivi was about to go, supporting Jack - who fortunately was a little bit cooler due to missing a rod and a substantial amount of blood - but then felt herself grow pale. 

“Chess? Have you seen Xisuma around?”

Chess spun around in an instant, eyes blazing purple behind her mask. “What do you mean have I seen him? He’s supposed to be on house arrest? Where is he!?” 

“I told him about Tango and he jumped through a portal.” Vivi said miserably. “He was already awake when I got there!”

“Oh for the love of- ” Chess threw up her arms and growled wordlessly at the ceiling, a strange sound with an unsettling resonance that set Vivi on edge. Without another word the voidkind hybrid slipped into Tango’s room and slammed shut the door, leaving Vivi and Jack in the hallway. 

That… well, Vivi wasn’t going to try and handle that right now. 

“Let’s get you to a room where you can sit down,” Vivi murmured, focusing back on Jack, who was looking a little overwhelmed and more than a little exhausted. She shifted a little, keeping one of Jack’s arms securely around her shoulders while using her tail and one wing to steady him. “Let’s move just a little.” 

She helped Jack down the hall and towards the nearest empty room, letting him sit and then lay down on the hospital bed. The blazeborn groaned as he sank into the mattress, closing his eyes almost immediately and then muttering, “See, normally that’s not so tiring.”

“Well normally we wouldn’t ask you to donate blood and then give up a blaze rod on the same day.” Vivi said gently. “Those grow back, right?” She was pretty sure she’d read something about that.

“Yeah, it’ll be back in about a week I think. Takes a bit to get up to full size.” Jack yawned, then shivered a little. Vivi grabbed an extra blanket to drape around his shoulders. 

Jack fell silent after that, clearly exhausted from giving up so much of himself in one day. Vivi found a chair and positioned it so she could keep an eye on the door, humming a little and then letting the sound shift until it became her signature thrum, a sound that she knew lulled players into a daze. It wasn’t quite hypnosis, wasn’t quite paralyzation, but something in between; a state of stillness that she’d found helped calm players down. Not that Jack needed it, being so close to sleep already, but she wanted to help him into it. He’d done a lot of good deeds today. 

She’d only been there for about ten, maybe fifteen minutes when her thrumming was interrupted by a faint tap tap tap that seemed to be getting louder. Pausing, Vivi craned her neck forward to look out at the doorway, hearing the sounds get louder and louder. What was that!?

Night-time hybrid or not, Vivi had just had a long, trying day. She wasn’t prepared to deal with this right now.

The sound got louder, and louder, and just when she’d gotten halfway up from her chair with her wings spread wide, there was a flash of color right by the door, a blur of green and purple. It was followed by gold, then green and orange, and dear lord the hermits are heading right towards Tango’s door-

“Wait!” Vivi yelped, speeding out after them. “You can’t go in there! The door is too hot!”

Fortunately, the heat from the door did manage to repel people enough for her to shove her way to the front of the group. Dear VOID, how many hermits were here!? She counted at least ten, although there were other faces as well that weren’t on their hermit registrar. Vivi stared at them, sweating from the heat, feeling more than a little overwhelmed when everyone’s panicked eyes seemed to turn on her.

“Chess and Q are in there performing a very delicate operation,” Vivi said slowly, forcing her voice to remain steady even as hysteria started to creep into her chest. “I cannot let all of you in there. I can’t let anyone in there until I get the all-clear. Do you understand!? I only have three potions on me and I only have a few masks and you all need to wait .”

How was she supposed to deal with all this!? She was only one hybrid for gods’ sakes-

“Can you at least tell us if Tango is okay?” One of the closest players to her, a golden-winged avian, sounded on the verge of tears. He was practically shaking with stress, and Vivi’s heart crumpled in sympathy. Jimmy, she thought his name was. Asking about Tango since day 1.

“There were some… complications,” she forced herself to say, cringing at the rush of anguish that swept through the crowd. “We had to ask a lot out of Jack today, so nobody bother him or crowd him for a while. We’re hoping that Tango is going to be okay now. So-” she steeled herself. “So three of you can stay, but the rest of you need to leave and come back tomorrow, when things have settled. There’s only so much we can do right now. I promise that tomorrow we’ll have more fire resistance potions and masks for you to use. But right now, only three can stay.” 

There was a great deal of grumbling, and Vivi prayed that they would just give in, that they wouldn’t fight her on this. Fortunately, three were picked to stay, and the rest trickled away down the hall. Vivi watched them go, eyes burning and chest heaving, then turned back to the three who stayed. 

It was Jimmy, anxiously stepping from foot to foot. Xisuma, leaning against a wall like he couldn’t stand up on his own. And Cleo, the zombie hybrid, looking a little like she was ready to fight something, and Vivi definitely didn’t have the energy to try and deal with that right now. 

So she wordlessly handed them their potions and masks, saying that they couldn’t drink them until she got the all-clear from Chess to let them in. They wasted no time in sitting down right in the hallway, clearly prepared to wait as long as it took.

And Vivi… well, she sat down right with them, because she was exhausted, sue her. 

About ten minutes later, she got a ping on her communicator from Echo. 

EchoedSpecter07 to VividExo:

EchoedSpecter07: There are about 15-20 people camping out in the lobby right now.

EchoedSpecter07: I can’t get them to leave. 

EchoedSpecter07: Send help.

Vivi groaned, slapping a hand across her face. It startled Jimmy, but she was quick to assure him that it wasn’t anything bad. 

Just… hermits being hermits. And really, that’s what she’d signed up for. She knew what crowd she was going to be serving when she took this job. 

Around four in the morning, Chess and Q finally left Tango’s room. 

Vivi was almost asleep, dozing with her neck and wings crooked awkwardly against the wall. It was only the sound of the hermits frantically scrambling to their feet that pulled her out of it, leaving her to awkwardly stagger upright.

She felt a bit guilty a moment later, however, because if Vivi felt tired… well, it didn’t hold a candle to how Chess and Q looked. 

“He’s… well.” Chess rubbed at her temples under her mask’s support straps. “Tango’s stable for now. But this isn’t sustainable. The blaze rod…” Chess exhaled slowly. “Jack’s blaze rod held up only for about thirty minutes before Tango’s body started to slip back into shock. We tried to superheat it to help it take, but that wasn’t working. We then tried to get an actual blaze rod in case that made a difference but that worked out even less. So right now we’re stuck; he’s got Jack’s blaze rod in him as the best option, and we’re keeping the room as hot as we can manage, but that’s about all we can do.”

“So, Tango’s untreatable?” Xisuma rasped. “After everything?”

“I don’t know , Xisuma.” Chess snapped, the first time Vivi had ever caught her acting aggressive towards the admin. “I don’t know. I don’t know why this isn’t working. They’re both blaze hybrids, we know this has been done before, we know similar transplants between different hybrids have gone along swimmingly. So I don’t know why this one is failing.” 

Xisuma wilted, but that evidently wasn’t enough for Chess, because she suddenly let out another oddly resonant snarl and rounded on him again. “And you . You left the house? You were on house arrest, Xisumavoid!” 

“My hermit was dying ,” Xisuma snapped right back at her, standing to his full height. He wavered a little, but standing so close to Chess… it was a scarily even match. Two exhausted, frightened players, hybrid siblings, facing off against each other. Vivi didn’t know who would back down first, if someone even did.

But then Jimmy spoke up.

“Xisuma came to get me,” The avian whispered. He looked devastated, eyes red-rimmed and bleeding tears. “H-he wanted me to be here in case somethin’...” He trailed off, hiding his face in his hands, but Vivi understood. Her heart wrenched, and Chess’s eyes dimmed their glow. 

Xisuma stepped back as well, resting a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and glaring at Chess, challenging her to say something. Cleo came to stand behind the admin as well, her presence just as threatening. Vivi felt every bone along her spine tingle in worried anticipation.

But then Chess relaxed and backed off. 

“It’s been a long night for all of us,” She said softly. “It’s been long and full of disappointments. We all need to sleep. I need to focus on this again later, after my mind has reset a little. I need to figure out why this isn’t working.”

“What’s not working?” Cleo asked, speaking for the first time that night. “What’s causing the problem?”

“Both Jack’s rod and the actual blaze’s rod aren’t generating enough heat.” Q said flatly. “Which, at least for the first one, makes no sense. But that’s what we’re dealing with.”

Cleo hummed, gaze going a bit distant, then said very, very slowly, “I might know of a place where we could get stronger blaze rods.”

Everyone went quiet, slowly turning to stare at her in shock. She looked back at them, expression even but eyes dark and tumultuous. 

“Cleo,” Xisuma finally shook himself free of their stupor. “ Where? ”

“On the island,” Cleo started, and then repeated herself as soon as she saw Xisuma stiffen. “ On the island , there was a mob called a Wildfire. A kind of giant blaze. It was hot, hotter than any other mob I’ve seen. Tango fought against it and had no trouble touching it, so I know he’d be able to handle that kind of heat.” Cleo shrugged. “If we need a hotter blaze rod, that’s where to find it. 

“Cleo-” Xisuma said tersely, but Chess interrupted him.

“I’m going to be frank with you, X.” The doctor said, “We’ve tried every avenue here. The blood donation wasn’t enough, nor was a transplant with both hybrid and mob blaze rods. What Cleo is suggesting is the only thing I can think of that might work. Other than that, you’re dooming Tango to what might be a very real death.”

Vivi gaped at Chess’s harsh words. The voidkind was being intentionally cruel, she knew, provoking Xisuma into making a decision. But Vivi understood. Sometimes, especially when it came to health, hard choices had to be made. Xisuma, as an admin, couldn’t shy away from that. 

That didn’t mean Vivi didn’t sympathize with him.

“Actually, X, I think it would also be a good idea.” Vivi jumped as a new voice came from behind, spinning around to see creamy gray feathers, dark hair, and a navy blue beanie. Quackity’s dark eyes peered out at them from the dimly lit hallway, landing on Xisuma immediately. The voidkind took one look at the avian’s face and sighed, shutting his eyes. “Quackity-”

“You said you’d think about it, X.” Quackity pleaded. “I know how you feel about this, I do. But this is the perfect opportunity, don’t you get it?”

“Perfect opportunity for what ?” Cleo cut in, eying Quackity warily. She’d angled herself slightly between Xisuma and the other admin, protective. “What exactly have you talked to him about?”

“He wants to take a friend and explore the island to see if he can find his missing player,” Xisuma said wearily. Vivi and Cleo turned to face him in surprise, then looked back at Quackity.

“You’re missing a player?” Cleo said, sounding horrified. 

“He’s been missing for close to three months now.” Quackity croaked out. “Look, I know how X feels about that island, but my player’s been missing for longer than his had and I don’t even know where he is. I don’t know if he’s hurt, or if he’s scared, and the one lead I might get could come from this island’s coding. Now I’m finding out you all might need to go there anyway just to get that blaze rod, so why can’t I get my friend and come along?”

“That sounds pretty reasonable to me.” Cleo startled Vivi by saying almost immediately. Her stance had relaxed too, leaving more space free between the avian and Xisuma. “Come on, X.” 

Xisuma hesitated, and Quackity went on hurriedly. “Shouldn’t we also be checking to make sure the island’s coding isn’t leaking out and corrupting other servers? What if it starts screwing up the dimensions here, X, or on Hermitcraft or Empires? Shouldn’t we make sure that’s not going to be an issue?”

Xisuma rested his helmet in his hands, deathly quiet, not even seeming to breathe. The entire hallway was filled with tense anticipation, everyone frozen, waiting to see the admin’s decision.

Then finally, after lifetimes of stillness and waiting, Xisuma caved.

“Fine.” Xisuma whispered. “We’ll go back. We’ll get that blaze rod for Tango, and you and your friend can check out the island and its coding.” 

Quackity let out a loud cheer, startling everyone as he pumped a fist in the air, and Vivi couldn’t help but grin. It was immediately shut down when Chess snapped, “ Quiet. You’re in a hospital, ” and Quackity faltered with a sheepish grin.

Chess sighed. “You’ll all leave in the morning - not in a few hours morning. You all need decent sleep, especially you, Xisuma. I will send Vivi to your house to check to see if you are sleeping or not” She leveled a look at her fellow voidkind, who just scowled back at her. Vivi just threw up her hands, betrayed. “Excuse me!?” 

Chess ignored her. “You’ll need to take Jack with you, I think. Someone needs to keep a hold of that blaze rod and keep it warm. He should be good after some more sleep and some good food tomorrow - keep him fueled up so he’s at maximum heat the whole time. Take some good fighters with you so you all are safe. Xisuma, I don’t want you to go at all , but I know you’re going to fight me on it anyways so you can go. HOWEVER,” she snapped so suddenly that Xisuma actually took a step back. “You cannot do admin magic. I forbid it. You are going just to survey things and that’s it. If I find out you used magic at all or even did any kind of unnecessary heavy lifting I will actually banish you from this server, do you hear me? You will be left in the dark. I will feed you all of your information through hand-written letters.” 

Vivi actually saw Xisuma grow pale, and he nodded rapidly. Practically breathing smoke, Chess hissed out, “ good. ” Then she straightened, took a deep breath, and went on in a calm, professional tone. “I’ll be reaching out to contact a friend of mine who’s a nether hybrid. If they’re available, I’ll be sending them to go with you, since you’ll be in a nether-oriented climate. They’ll be able to handle that the best and keep a level head if anyone needs treatment. Any questions?”

There were none. Personally, Vivi thought everyone was a little stunned. 

“Good. Go to sleep. I don’t want to see you here until the afternoon. You all need to eat food before you show up here. Bye.” And with that, Chess turned on her heel and stalked off down the hallway, opened a portal, and vanished. 

Vivi gulped, turning to look at Q, who looked more shocked than she’d ever seen them. After the surgeon shook their head and similarly left, she turned to Xisuma.

“ Please ,” she pleaded. “Tell your hermits in the lobby that they need to go home and sleep. Don’t make Chess send me out to check on people. I have only two more hours on this shift and I haven’t slept in over fifty-six hours. I can’t sleep until everyone else is sleeping, please. ” 

Xisuma blinked, then slowly nodded. “That’s… yeah. Okay.”

“ Thank you ,” Vivi pressed her palms together in thanks, then strode off in the other direction as fast as she could, trying to put as much distance between herself and hermit drama as possible. 

Yes, she signed up for this job, and yes, she loved to help the hermits. But they were chaotic, and trouble magnets, and Vivi had suffered enough chaos and trouble for one day.

Chapter Text

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We must study this.

Understand it.

Figure out our limits. 

See what we are capable of. 

If we don’t know the origins…

We can work backwards. 

And adapt as we go along.

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Bad gets the message from Quackity in the early morning, before the sun was even close to rising. 

He wasn’t sleeping. Bad didn’t sleep anymore, which he was sure was contributing to his weird color palette these days. Blue didn’t suit him.

His chest throbbed, and Bad held a hand to it, grimacing. The broken coding there certainly wasn’t helping, either.  

The eggs were all asleep. Or, at least, they were supposed to be. Bad was pretty sure he’d caught giggles coming from where Dapper and Leonarda were sharing a room, no doubt the two of them caught up in some insane conversation led on by sleep deprivation and the giddiness of having someone to speak to at two o’clock in the morning.

He wouldn’t put a stop to it. Void only knew that Leo especially needed something to keep her spirits up. 

The message catches him standing outside his front door, back leaned against the frame, shadowy, blue-stained robes swirling restlessly around him. He glances down at his communicator immediately, eyes narrowing in on the words. 

Quackity to BadBoyHalo: 

Quackity: I’ve got approval

Quackity: Are you ready

BadBoyHalo: Let me grab Fit so he can watch the eggs

Quackity: Of course. Just give me the word. 

Biting his lip with his fangs, Bad immediately reaches out to Fit, filling the other man in on the situation. He wasn’t too concerned about leaving the eggs. QSMP, due to how many players were around and how many had eggs of their own, had a decent co-parenting system set up. Roleplay drama aside, nobody actually would harm each other or the eggs. So Bad didn’t feel at all concerned about leaving them with Fit for the time being, especially since he knew Cellbit, Roir, Slime, Baghera, or a number of others would step up to help if it was needed. 

Bad couldn’t just leave, though. He waits until he’s gotten confirmation from Fit that the man was on his way, then slips back inside the house, heading to the hallway that held the eggs’ rooms. 

He stops by Chayanne and Tallulah’s room first. They’d been with him for the last two months or so, ever since Phil had gone to help out on the EM-2 server. Knocking on the door with ink-black knuckles, Bad waited until there was a shuffling inside, a few muffled footsteps that led to the doorknob turning and a little head poking itself outside. 

Tallulah’s yellow eyes glowed lightly in the dark, dark pupils unfocused and sleepy. Unlike the two next door, she’d clearly been sleeping, and she meets Bad’s gaze with a look of fuzzy confusion. Chayanne, a mess of navy-blue pajamas and blonde hair tangled around ivory horns, looks irritated more than anything else. Bad’s excellent night vision, aided by the scattered night-lights in the eggs’ room, easily picks up on Chayanne’s signing.

It’s super early, Uncle Bad. Why did you wake us up?

“I needed to tell you guys something,” Bad’s voice is instinctively hushed, despite knowing he was about to intrude on Leo and Dapper’s conversation next door. “Can you come with me to the other eggs’ room?”

Straightening, perhaps catching the subtle edge to his voice, Tallulah grabs Chayanne’s arm and practically drags her brother into the hallway, leaving the older egg stumbling. Bad couldn’t help but grin at the sight, especially when Chayanne caught up and retaliated by sweeping his tail around Tallulah’s legs, flattening her against his side where he quickly wrapped an arm around her to pin her there. Tallulah didn’t seem particularly concerned about the arrangement, leaning against her brother’s side and weaving her tail with his. 

“Okay, let’s go get Leo and Dapper.” Bad led the eggs down the hall, rapping gently on the next door. The muffled voices inside immediately stopped, then there was a thud , and Bad braced himself. 

The door flew open as Leo practically jumped out the door, bright green eyes huge with worry, anxiety, hope . Gone was any hint of the laughter she’d been expressing only seconds before. 

Bad couldn’t give her the news she wanted. But he did want to fan the flames on that hope she still held, even after three months of waiting. 

“Hi, Leo.” Bad sat down against the wall of the hallway, watching the eggs take up posts around him, four sets of glowing eyes watching him intently. Leo was the closest, not having blinked or signed a word since seeing him. He wondered if she was even breathing. 

“I got some news from Quackity,” Bad finally said, deciding just to jump into it. “You remember how he left to help out another server, but also to look for Foolish, right?” 

Nods all around. Bad went on.

“He might have a lead, and he wants me to go help search.” Bad said, and Leo’s eyes brightened, literally, going from a soft jade to fluorescent green in a heartbeat. She jumped to her feet, tail thumping against the walls, signing so quickly that Bad had a hard time keeping up. 

¿Vas a encontrar a mi papá? Is he going to be home soon?

Bad’s chest throbbed again, heart and code both raw and aching. He stayed quiet, not sure how to answer, but that was all that was needed for Leo to realize his uncertainty. Her eyes dimmed again, she sniffled, and then Chayanne, Tallulah, and Dapper were by her side, hugging her from all angles.

“I’m going to try to get him back, Leo.” Bad whispered. He opened up both his arms and Leo fell into them instantly, bringing the other three eggs with her, and Bad welcomed them all into his embrace, shadowy arms, wings, and robes holding them close. He could feel Leo shaking, tiny sobs escaping her, and it ached .

Foolish, wherever you are, I’m coming to get you. Leo needs you. 

I need my best friend back. 

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

Fit arrived a few minutes later. After some tearful goodbyes and promises to come back as soon as he had news, Bad told Quackity that he was ready to go. Coordinates were shared with him almost immediately. Heart in his throat, Bad shared one more wave with Fit and the eggs before pulling open a portal, bracing himself, and stepping through. 

His boots landed on cobblestone. Bad’s eyes, stinging a little from the contrast of the bright, glowing portal and the dark early-morning sky, track movement immediately. He smiles when he sees Quackity moving towards him, but his smile fades when he really takes in the state of the avian.

Quackity looks… tired. That’s the best word for it. Which, to be fair, it is incredibly early in the morning… but this felt deeper than that. Quackity’s wings are halfway preened and there's stubble on his face, and his beanie is halfway on, leaving one beige-feathered ear poking out at a weird angle. His dark eyes were ringed with shadows, and the smile on his admin’s face was both friendly and incredibly strained. 

Suddenly, Bad feels like he walked into something much bigger than he’d been led to believe.

“It’s good to see you, Bad.” Quackity goes in for a hug and Bad squeezes him tight, immediately sensing that his friend is more than a little desperate for it. There are more shapes around him, and Bad glances around Quackity’s wing to see Philza and Techno approaching, both looking just as tired. Techno looks on edge, too, wearing pajamas and his classic red cape, holding a sword. Bad has to fight the urge to laugh. Clearly, something’s up.

“What finally made Xisuma give the go ahead?” Bad asked once Quackity had let go and stepped back. 

“There was uh, a situation with one of his players.” Quackity’s expression somehow manages to get even more strained. “Turns out going to the island might be the thing needed to save his life, so…” Quackity blew out a breath, then studied him in turn while Phil came over to squeeze Bad into a side-hug, wing pressed against his back. “How’ve you been?”

“Well… you know.” Bad grimaced, murmuring a “ hi Phil” as he leaned into the elytrian’s sleepy embrace. He rubbed at his chest again, feeling his code spark and burn with the movement. “Been better.”

“No change?”

“I would have told you if it did.” Bad sighed. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling fatigue start to creep in. He willed it away with a flick of mental hands, knowing it would most likely crash into him again later when his control slipped. “So what’s the deal, here? I know about the island, and I heard about the Watchers. The missing players are back. Now we need to go back onto the island to save one of them?”

“Let’s go inside and get you a drink or something, then we can talk.” Quackity leads them all down a cobblestone path. Bad takes a moment to check out his surroundings, eyes widening when he fully realizes what’s around him. 

Behind him is… well, he’s not sure what it is. A giant, chaotic mix of buildings, zigzagging switching every which way. A huge, glowing face with eyes and a mustache peered out at them through the dark, the sight sending an odd chill down Bad’s spine. “What is that ?”

“Hmm?” Quackity glanced back, then grinned. “Hermitopia. It’s insane - the hermits are no jokes as builders.” 

“Apparently.” Bad didn’t think he was a bad builder, but he wouldn’t hold a candle to that. The collection of buildings, squeezed together haphazardly in front of him, was a lot more his speed, a mix of more common building materials alongside some fun splatterings of paint, concrete, and wool. Quackity led them all through a set of double doors into a giant room with a big heated fireplace in the middle. Further in, Bad caught sight of cabinets, chests, and kitchen appliances. 

“Sit down, man.” Quackity motioned for him to do so, and Bad listened, flopping into the nearest chair. Techno peeled off upon seeing Bad settle in, grunting in farewell as he did so, and Philza took that chance to leave as well. Bad watched them go, then turned back to Quackity, folding his hands across his stomach. “So.”

“So.” Quackity deflated into his own chair, wings sagging until they touched the floor. Now that it was just him and Bad, there was no reason to pretend. 

They’d been the first ones to notice Foolish’s disappearance, after all. They were in this together in a way nobody else was. 

“Drink?” Quackity offered, but his heart wasn’t in it, and Bad shook his head. The avian nodded, steepled his fingers together, and began to speak. 

“We have two goals tomorrow.” Quackity started, and Bad’s robes shifted around him in anticipation. “Firstly, we need to track down a mob that one of the hermits noticed on the island they were held captive at. It’s kind of like a giant blaze - if we kill it, we need to grab one of its rods. That’s going to hopefully save the life of X’s player.” 

Bad raised an eyebrow, thinking that over. A rescue mission of sorts… or search and retrieval. Not quite what he was expecting, but certainly something he could help with. “And Foolish?”

“We have free reign to search the island tomorrow so long as the first mission goes successfully. We also need to make sure the island’s code isn’t spreading and corrupting anything else.”

Bad nodded slowly. “That’s a lot of tasks, Quackity. I’m going to help, but I thought I was going to be here for one thing and one thing only.”

“I know that,” Quackity’s voice got sharp in a way Bad wasn’t used to. “Believe me, I do. But this isn’t my server - I’m limited on my authority. I’m beholden to Xisuma and Fwhip - if they say go kill a mob before anything else, then that’s what we have to do, okay?”

Bad held up his hands, concerned. “Okay, okay.” He leaned forward in his chair. “You should probably go get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

Quackity looked like he wanted to protest, but then his expression melted into a defeated grin. “You’re not the first person to say that. We’re banned from trying to search until way later today, maybe even early tomorrow morning.” Bad stared at him. “Who banned you?” 

“X’s main medical admin. She’s pretty awesome, also a little scary. She’s fed up with Xisuma the most. Threatened to sicc one of her staff on him.”

Bad snorted, only halfway joking when he said, “Can’t wait to meet her.”

“You’ll get along well, I’m sure. In the meantime.” Quackity stood, stretching, and Bad heard a myriad of things snap and crackle. “We both need to sleep. I’ll take you to Apollo-1, the hospital server, in the morning.” 

“Got it.” Bad followed Quackity as the man led him to a different building and up a flight of stairs, quietly informing him that he was sharing the same block of rooms as Jack, Tubbo, and Tommy, although the others were most likely sleeping. Jack had apparently just been carried back completely conked out after donating both blood and a blaze rod within the same day, a feat of generosity that warmed Bad’s weary soul upon hearing it. He’d have to express his admiration to the blazeborn later.

But for now, Bad took a look around his new apartment setup, two adjoining rooms consisting of a living area and a bedroom, as well as a side bathroom and storage space. The bed looked clean and fresh, and Bad stumbled over to it, once again feeling his exhaustion. This time, he could afford to give into it.

Banishing his robes to the Next Plane and stripping down to his barest essence, Bad curled up underneath the blankets and comforter and closed his eyes, trying - as always - not to think about bright green eyes, golden scales, a sharp-toothed grin. He tried not to think about Leo’s anxious, worried face, or the shaking of her fingers when she’d signed to him, late at night, that she still didn’t believe her father had abandoned her. Something must have happened to him, because Foolish would never leave her. 

Always juntos. 

Sighing, Bad did his best to ignore those thoughts, and ignore the throbbing, aching pain in his code from where his soulbond used to be. The pain had been there for three months, he could bear it for a bit longer. 

Fortunately, fatigue overpowered pain, and Bad was able to fall asleep. He knew that the next time he woke, things would get a little crazy. 

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

Jimmy shifted, anxious, from foot to foot in the corner of the conference room. 

It was morning; not the same morning as when Tango’s blaze rod had broken, but the morning after. Most of the original crew who’d shown up to Tango’s room had evidently slept through the rest of the day or, if they’d woken up and arrived at the hospital, Chess had sent them back. She apparently believed that the only way they’d get anything productive done on the island was if they got enough rest. Which, gauging on how Jimmy felt more alert now than he had in days, he was inclined to believe was correct.

Void , the island . Jimmy, alert as he was, felt sick to his stomach. 

The last week had passed in a daze. Jimmy had distantly felt like he was drowning the entire time, resurfacing whenever he could speak to someone who had woken up only to slip right back under once he was alone. He hardly remembered what he’d been doing aside from flitting from room to room, checking in on everyone. At least, the ones he was even allowed to see. Keralis and Joel were the only hermits he was allowed to visit while they were unconscious. Everyone else who hadn’t woken up yet was either too unstable or too fragile to risk disturbing or exposing to extra germs. 

Jimmy tried to stay present, he really did. He talked a little with Cleo, visited Impulse, spent hours curled up in a chair by Grian’s bedside doing nothing but vocalize back and forth with his flockmate. But after that? Nothing. 

Nothing except for the crushing, soul-wrenching, gut-churning memory of purple eyed gaze and words that hurt more than any physical blow ever could. 

Why, we wanted to see the canary win, of course .

A death sentence, that’s what those words were. Not for Jimmy’s body, but for his soul. How could he go on and do anything normally after that? How could he look at any of his friends, the ones who hadn’t been on the island, and feel equal to them when he was the cause of so much devastation? How could he meet Xisuma’s eyes when his existence had resulted in so much pain for his players? 

If Jimmy hadn’t been so determined to see all of his friends recovered and out of this hospital, he would have found a dark corner to curl up and hide in ages ago. But he couldn’t - he owed it to his friends, to his flockmates, to his rancher to stay present, as best as he could. 

Part of that meant, upon hearing about what Cleo had suggested, Jimmy felt honor-bound to offer himself as a volunteer for the away-team. He’d been on the island the longest, and it was for Tango. How could he not go? When his rancher’s life was at stake?

But he didn’t want to go. He desperately didn’t want to. Just thinking about the island, their torn apart ranch, the treehouse… all of it made Jimmy’s insides go ice-cold and his hands start to shake. Even as he pushed himself forward into the room, where Xisuma was talking with Cleo about who would go, his mind had started to pick of a screaming, panicked litany of don’t go don’t go I don’t want to go please don’t make me please-

“I-I’ll go with you,” Jimmy’s words came out choked, his pulse slamming in his temples and throat. “I-I know the island r-really well. I can help-”

“Actually, Jimmy,” Xisuma interrupted, giving him a once over. “I was thinking that you should stay here. Chess is busy and needs someone to keep an eye on Tango in case his condition changes, so they can go get her.” 

Jimmy blinked, stunned into silence. Next to X, Cleo shot the admin a confused look, but then met Jimmy’s eyes and softened instantly. 

“That’s right.” Cleo nodded. “You should say and look after Tango, Jimmy. We can handle the island.” 

Jimmy opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat. He wasn’t dumb - he could see what they were trying to do. But he really, really didn’t want to go back to that island. And if they said they could handle it… and if it gave him a chance to see Tango…

Footsteps behind him made Jimmy spin around, wings fluffed, to see Chess approaching. Sometime between when she’d seen them the other morning and now, she’d changed the lenses in her mask to be pink, not purple. Jimmy noticed she had on a pair of pink converse as well as a pink scrunchie to match, and the little detail relaxed him immediately. 

“Are you telling Jimmy about the assignment I have for him?” Chess asked, voice good-natured, and Jimmy had to fight back tears. Had they all teamed up to make sure he didn’t feel pressured to go to the island? 

“Yeah.” X nodded. “I like the new lenses, Chess.”

“Thank you.” The aforementioned lenses flared with color, then Chess turned to Jimmy again. “If you’re okay with it, they’re right, I need eyes on Tango. He’s stable for now, but I have other things I need to get done and Q is working with Bdubs right now. Can you do that for me?”

He didn’t deserve them. No, Jimmy didn’t even deserve to have met them. This was too much. 

Perhaps sensing that Jimmy was a bit overwhelmed. Cleo came over and touched his shoulder, the only one he would have tolerated it from in this group. He looked over at her to meet her green gaze, which was warm and familiar. 

“Is that okay, Jimmy?” Cleo said quietly. “I promise you things are going to be okay on the island. You don’t need to worry.”

Jimmy most likely wouldn’t have been able to help even if he was able to compose himself on that island. So he swallowed shakily and nodded, squeezing his twitching fingers together. He looked back at Chess, head tilting slightly because she was just a tiny bit taller than him. “Do… do I just go see him now?”

Chess shook her head. “Not quite. His room is still extremely warm. Go down to the lab and get some special fire resistance potions from Jessa, then snag a mask on the way back. You can go see him then.”

“Right. Okay.” Jimmy hugged his arms to his chest, wings shifting awkwardly. “Where’s the lab?”

“Go down to the far end of the hall outside the conference room,” Chess turned and pointed in the direction. “Its the door on the left. Go down a flight of stairs, enter the next hallway. The door has a sign on it.” She paused. “Want me to go with you? Jessa is super friendly but she can be a little… intense.” 

“No… I’m okay.” Jimmy said, thinking for a moment. He hated that she would have to chaperone him around. “I’m fine. I’ll go get the potions. How many?”

“Grab… well, grab at as many as you can.” Chess’s eyes dimmed. “They last about twenty minutes, which is a lot better than the 8 that standard potions go by but it’s still not nearly long enough. She’s working on it.”

Jimmy nodded again, then glanced a final time at Cleo and Xisuma. Cleo smiled at him, holding open her arms. The silver stitching around her neck made Jimmy’s heart twist, but he fell into her embrace, feeling her strong arms wrap around his torso and hold him a firm, secure grip.”

“Everything’s gonna be fine, Jimmy.” Cleo said softly. “We’re going to be okay. You don’t have to worry.”

Yes I do, Jimmy thought about saying, burying his face in her fiery hair. Always. You could be hurt by mobs. The Watchers could possess you. You could die again .

But instead he just withdrew after a few more moments, blinking back tears and stammering that he was going to get potions. Then he turned on his heel and left, slipping to the side as more players filtered into the room, trying to focus on Chess’s instructions. 

Far end of the hall, down the stairs, door has a sign . Jimmy could do that. He couldn’t help but cringe at himself as he walked, hands tucked in pockets and wings flattened to his sides. Just a few weeks ago, he’d been trapped in what was essentially a giant death game. He’d faced down psychotic reds and monsters alike. He’d dodged TNT and arrows and had felt his hands get stained with blood. He didn’t need help finding a lab . 

Jimmy went down the stairs, then into the next hallway. He saw the sign for the lab almost immediately, rapping on the door. There was an answer - muffled, high pitched, so he poked his head in the door, hesitantly asking, “‘ello? I’ve been sent down to see Jessa?”

“Come in!” The voice called from somewhere inside the lab, high-pitched and slightly sibilant. Jimmy cautiously stepped inside, nose wrinkling at the sharp tang of chemicals in the air. The lab was… chaotic; metal tables were everywhere, each surface filled with differently colored vials and bottles. Some glowed, others were dull and cloudy. They each had labels written in glow-ink for better visibility, and Jimmy curiously read the ones closest to him.

mnd pot + glow + healing = psn fix? 

Blz pwdr + spidey ven = NO TOUCH TIL HEATED

Wtr brth + regen = pneumo fix?

Jimmy blinked. Maybe “label” was a strong word. He had no clue what kind of jargon was being said here.

Further in, cabinets lined the walls, as well as shelves of chests and other such bins. Counter space was filled with a confusing jumble of potion stands, IV tubing, and beakers, and bunsen burners. Also, most confusedly, there were a number of thick, strong-looking spider webs that decorated the corners of the room. He blanched a little, was there a pet spider or something in here!? 

“Hello!” Jimmy jumped, startled, and looked around frantically for the source of the voice. He squeaked again when a moment later the voice spoke again, “Down here!” 

Jimmy looked down.

Standing only a few feet away from him was a very, very short player, maybe only three and a half to four feet tall. She had three pairs of arms resting their hands in three sets of pockets on her lab coat, and eight bright, ruby-red eyes blinked up at him curiously. For a heartbeat, the many eyes made him nervous, but it vanished almost immediately. They were red, not purple. 

“Chess said someone would be headed down here,” The player went on. One hand came up to point at her nametag: MonarchSpider (Jessa, she/her). “ I’m the hospital pharmacist and resident potion master.” She grinned up at him, eyes blinking each in turn. “What can I help you with?”

Jimmy floundered for only a moment, taken aback by the sudden sight of her, then quickly grasped for his words because the last thing he wanted was to be rude. “H-hi. I’m Jimmy. I, uh, was sent down to get fire resistance potions from you. But the long-lasting hospital ones, not regular ones.”

Jessa nodded rapidly, black boots - an interesting choice for hospital wear - tapping on the floor. “We only use the medical grade ones here, anyways. The normal ones would wear off too quickly - the last thing you want is for a surgeon to get smoked during a surgery.” She chuckled to herself, but Jimmy just cringed at the mental image it gave him. She noticed immediately.

“Sorry,” Jess winced. “Sorry. I say whatever’s in my brain. You need fire res? I got some for you, come on over.” She moved without waiting for him, striding at surprisingly quick speeds across the lab. Jimmy hastened to go after here, carefully lifting his wings so they didn’t brush against any potions. 

Jessa hummed to herself as she walked, transitioning from the floor to one of the walls in the span of a heartbeat, scuttling across with incredibly fast movements as she accessed a series of cabinets from her spot on the wall with strands of web slipping from one wrist to anchor herself there. After grabbing a few bottles of dimly glowing orange substances, she then sprang to the floor, set them on a counter, and was jumping up to another cabinet in seconds. Jimmy watched her go, shocked by her speed and precision. 

And… there was something familiar about the way she worked, humming, muttering occasionally, dark hair pulled back with hair clips and a bright grin sliding over her face now and again. Jimmy was positive he’d never met her before and yet… there was something…

Jessa finally settled about eight bottles of orange liquid on the counter, matched with eight bottles of pink. She swung across the ceiling, lightning fast, and had just plucked a vial of bright, glittering gold dust - or was it liquid? - before settling herself on the floor again and turning back to Jimmy. “You’re in luck, these have been my focus since that new player came in - the blazeborn. Is that the one you’re going to visit?”

Jimmy’s throat tightened, and he nodded without speaking. Her face went soft. “I see. Well, again, I’ve been focusing on these little concoctions since he came in. Twenty minutes isn’t enough time - so, thankfully, I’ve made an upgrade!” 

Jimmy tilted his head, finding his words. “Chess said twenty minutes when I spoke to her upstairs.” He flinched immediately, hating himself for questioning the medical professional , but Jessa only gave him a wide, almost wicked grin. “That’s because up until about half an hour ago, they were only twenty minutes. I haven’t told Chess about the upgrades yet - was doing some final testing. But results came in just before you opened the door, soooo….” she trailed off, gesturing with six light-green hands. “If I make it fresh, you’ll be all set for about forty. Only downside is that they require more blaze powder. But we’ve got a contract with Belenus so we get sent a lot of their extra supplies-” 

Jessa continued to talk as she gathered all of her supplies in her many arms, slipping a few bottles into her inventory but mostly carrying them all from one counter to another, where potion stands were set up. Unceremoniously shoving a few papers away, she plopped all the bottles on the countertop before setting them up at lightning speed. She’d gerryrigged some kind of complicated tubing system from three separate stands into a big, multi-faceted nozzle display, which - Jimmy realized in surprise - would allow her to fill about ten bottles at once, not only expediting the process but also squeezing an extra bottle out of the process. 

“My own design!” Jessa said, catching his look. Her chest puffed out proudly, finishing inserting the orange bottles and then setting up the pink ones in an even more complicated looking system of tubes and nozzles. “Takes two half-way created potions and mixes them into one, lets me add a third ingredient, then sends the whole mixture to the end to get filled into their final containers.” She blinked her eyes at him again, smile so wide it looked like it hurt. “Nifty, huh?”

That was it. The rambling, the quirky contraptions, the enthusiasm and excitement… Jessa reminded Jimmy of Zedaph. 

His smile back was slightly teary. “Yeah. Nifty.” He inhaled shakily, “You know… one of my friends upstairs getting treated… you remind me a lot of him. I hope you two get to meet at some point.” 

Jessa went a little slack-jawed, arms slowing in their movements, then all eight eyes filled with tears. “ Aww that’s - Jimmy that’s so..” she sniffed, and Jimmy was shocked to see that she seemed genuinely emotional. “I really hope I can meet him now, too. Is he a scientist, too?” 

“Bit of a mad scientist, yeah.” The urge to think of Zedaph upstairs, burned and broken, was strong. But the call to think of Zed as bright, excited both through Jimmy’s limited time with him and through the crazy stories Tango had told him, was stronger. “I honestly don’t know him all that well. But my ra- my partner… he knows him best. And I’ve heard some crazy stories about redstone and potions and all sorts of things.”

Jessa nodded along, turning on her potion contraption and quickly settling the big vial of blaze powder into the centermost machine. They both fell silent as the colorful liquids blended and swirled together, mixing with the shimmer of blaze powder before traveling down to the end where it steadily filled all the potion bottles. 

Jessa picked one of them up, and Jimmy flinched in shock at how she suddenly appeared on the other side of him, having not noticed her move. She shook the potion around in her palm, watching the liquid - now a bright, almost neon shade of shimmering, glowing orange - swirl around inside, then handed it to him. It was warm against his palms, warm and bright, like liquid fire. 

“I’ll see him.” Jessa said simply. “I’ll see all of them at one point or another, I’m sure.” 

“Probably.” Jimmy agreed. He grimaced, the weight of what he was about to do next now settling on his shoulders. “Well… thank you. Good to meet you. I gotta… I need to go.”

“Right.” Jessa nodded, sympathy spreading across her face. “Well, I’m down here. Alone, most of the time. Feel free to stop by if you need anything, or if you just want to say hi and chat about potions.” She brightened again. “There’s a lot of really cool stuff happening down here, let me tell you.” 

Jimmy surprised himself with a chuckle. “Right, yeah. I’ll try to. I’ll let some of the others know as well. Cubfan would probably want to see what’s up.”

“Oh! Cubfan? Vex hybrid?” Jessa practically squealed. “He’s been down here since day one!” She giggled to herself as she swept up all ten potion bottles and handed them to Jimmy one at a time, letting him put them away in his inventory. “We’re actually working on a few things together. He’s got a degree so that’s technically allowed I think. Vex magic is a really interesting thing to experiment with-” She stopped herself, sighing. “Rambling again, sorry. You go see your partner.” She patted his arm with a few hands.

Jimmy sputtered. “I never said I was seeing-”

“But you are.” Jessa winked at him, a very confusing thing to watch since every eye did it, resulting in a full-face swirl of movement. “You are. I’m rooting for him.” 

“Thanks.” Jimmy wheezed, chest tight, but not necessarily in a bad way. He suddenly had a very strong urge to wrap the pharmacist up in a hug, but he restrained himself and started heading towards the door. “I’ll… I’ll see you around, Jessa.”

“By JimJams!” Jess called after him, and Jimmy choked at the sound of the nickname, unable to stop another grin from spreading across his face. It stuck with him all the way up to the main floor, it stuck with him as he snagged a disposable mask from the front desk, and it clung to him all the way up the elevators. But it faded when he reached Tango’s floor, and he was left with nothing but mind-numbing, stomach churning anxiety as he stood in front of Tango’s door.

The heat here was palpable, almost unbearable. It set every feather on his wings shivering, sweat breaking out across his face and underneath his t-shirt. He tugged on its collar, antsy. He’d changed into more plain, unassuming clothes as soon as he could, unable to stand the sight of his sheriff outfit anymore. Now, the soft cotton was clinging to him, and he shuddered at the restriction.

He hadn’t seen Tango in so long. The last time he’d seen his rancher, Tango hadn’t been breathing . What was he about to walk into?

He tried to picture it in reverse - if Jimmy had been the one laying inside, and Tango was awake. His rancher would be by his side in a heartbeat. There would be no hesitation. He’d be breathing smoke if anyone tried to pull him away.

Why was this so hard?  

Jimmy bit his lip, hard, letting the pain ground him as he pulled a potion from his inventory. With another shaky exhale, he knocked the potion back, grimacing at the strange, bitter taste. His whole body flushed with heat, then settled into something much more neutral, a steady baseline that suddenly made the near-steaming hallway feel pleasant and unassuming. With the potion in effect, and a forty-minute timer set on his communicator, Jimmy put on his mask and grabbed the door handle. Not giving himself another moment to worry, he stepped inside the room, shutting the door behind him.

The potion did its work admirably - the only way Jimmy could tell it was extraordinarily hot inside was because of the slight shimmer rising off of metal surfaces in the room. It was quiet, the silence broken only by a slight beep of a heart monitor, the faint woosh that came from the ventilator, and the gentle hum that accompanied other machinery. 

Jimmy was locked in place. He stared, frozen, at the bed in the middle of the room, surrounded by machinery like the patient inside was at a funeral and the metal instruments were in mourning. From here, he could see just small bits and pieces of Tango’s skin and hair, surrounded by tubing and wires as he was. He slowly stepped forward, dizzy, until he ended up next to the bed. 

The first thing he noticed was that the purple cracks had closed, leaving behind jagged, silvery scars that stretched across his face. His face was slack, mouth open and locked in a silent scream around the tube of the ventilator. It was keeping Tango breathing, he knew, but Jimmy hated it immediately, fighting the sudden, crazy urge to reach out and tear it away. 

His hair was practically white, his skin translucent and sickly. Jimmy could see dark veins under his eyelids and by his neck. He was mostly covered in what looked like heating pads, but his chest was left coated by bandages. Multiple IV tubes of a brightly glowing liquid snaked underneath them, radiating light from beneath the bandages. 

Jimmy swallowed, feeling hazy, then glanced back at the monitors. Most of the readings were unreadable to him. But he saw the heart rate and temperature, both of which would have been considered low for a normal human, and knew that Tango was borderline dying. The blaze rod that should have helped him heal wasn’t doing anything at all. It wasn’t enough, that’s why the wildfire rod was needed. 

There was a chair by Tango’s bedside, and Jimmy slowly lowered himself into it, vision blurring. He felt something tap against his leg and when he glanced down, he saw a wet splotch against his jeans. He reached up with one hand to touch his face, fingers coming away wet. The tears evaporated quickly off of his skin.

It was only after about fifteen minutes of sitting in silence that he started to feel grief. 

Well, relief came first. The realization that Tango was here and breathing had Jimmy gasping, one hand clutching at his shirt and the other in an iron grip around the arm of the chair. Oh void. Oh void , Tango was alive. He was alive . 

He’d felt Tango shudder and fall still in his arm, breathing his last breath. He’d heard the agonizing twist of broken metal. He’d been there . 

But now Tango was here, alive. Breathing, albeit with help. 

And that was when the fear started to kick in.

Because Tango was here, but he might not be for much longer. He wasn’t healing, he wasn’t getting better. Jimmy might lose him again . 

“I can’t do it.” Jimmy wheezed, shaking so hard his wings were rattling against the chair and other machines. He tried to tuck them in close, tears staining his mask. “I can’t do it, Tango.”

Tango, of course, was silent. When was the last time Jimmy had heard the blazeborn’s voice? He couldn’t even remember how long it had been. 

“I need you here.” Jimmy whimpered. He wiped furiously at his eyes, blinking blearily at Tango’s pale, broken form. He let out a keen, broken-hearted, upon suddenly seeing the empty space where Tango’s left arm had been. He hadn’t noticed it before among the sheets and the bandages and machinery. He’d known it was damaged, it had been missing fingers , but to see that they’d actually had to remove it…

Jimmy wept, the sound of it filling the room alongside the beeping and humming. He pressed his face against the side of the mattress, then looked up again at Tango’s slack face. 

Trembling, Jimmy reached out, daring to brush against Tango’s cold hair with feather-light touches. He drifted the touch along Tango’s forehead, feeling the chilly skin, then down his nose, going to cradle his jaw.

“Come back.” Jimmy whispered. “Please. I can’t- I can’t live without you, Tango. I can’t watch you die again.”

He leaned in, brushing his thumb across the new, silvery scar under Tango’s left eye. 

“Just hold on a bit longer,” Jimmy’s voice wavered. “Just a bit longer. They’re gonna get you help, yeah? And then you’ll get better, and you’ll see that everyone made it. Zed’s back, you know that? You didn’t kill him, he’s gonna get better, you all are.”

“ Please .” Jimmy reached over, pressing a kiss to Tango’s forehead through the mask, then rested his own against the blazeborn’s. “ Please , Tango. Don’t leave me by myself. I can’t do it. I can’t do this without you.”

It would be too hard, waking up every day without Tango there. It was terrifying to think about. He’d already had a taste of it and Jimmy had been resigned to lay there next to that body forever. He couldn’t dream of living without his rancher, he couldn’t .

“I’ll be here.” Jimmy pulled away, curling his knees up to his chest and reaching out to gently take Tango’s one remaining hand, fingers intertwining with the blazeborn’s cold, limp ones. “I’ll be here no matter what. I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll be here in case you’re scared. I won’t leave, ever.”

“Just please don’t leave me .” 

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The group was almost assembled, and Skizz was starting to feel rather antsy. 

He also felt a bit like an imposter. The settled-upon group was filled with people who had a big role to play within the operation. There was Xisuma of course, the one person who had the island’s coordinates and who was overseeing everything. Chess had threatened him - publicly, loudly, in front of everybody - that Xisuma wouldn’t dare to do any kind of admin magic, and that she was tasking her fellow physician - the mysterious Rune, who hadn’t shown up yet - with keeping an eye on him. Skizz couldn't help but grin upon seeing Xisuma go beet red behind his helmet and visor, stammering in outrage that he was fully capable of taking care of himself. The look Chess had given the admin was nothing less than scathing. 

There was Cleo here, of course, and Gem had volunteered to provide extra muscle. The redheads were standing close together, speaking to each other in hushed tones. Gem had swapped out her princess outfit for a comfy under-layer beside diamond armor, butterfly wings twitching. Jack was there too, blaze rods spinning around him in circles. He looked a little tired from everything he’d given the day before, but with a bottle of honey in one hand and some kind of meat jerky in the other, he seemed content. 

Beside the three of them were the ones Skizz knew little about. Quackity he’d seen around; the avian had been on the front lines with Xisuma and looked almost just as tired, deep shadows around his eyes and skin several shades paler than it should have been. But there was a newcomer, too, someone Skizz had never seen. 

BadBoyHalo. A demon from QSMP. Skizz had never seen a demon before, and if all of them looked like Bad, he was almost glad of that fact. The man was taller and broader than his high-pitched voice would indicate, swatched in strange, shadowy robes of gray and blue that swished and flickered around him despite there not being any breeze. Pitch-black horns rose above his head, beyond the folds of his hood, and although Skizz couldn’t see much into the shadows of the cloth that surrounded his face, white glowing eyes peered out at them all. Occasionally he’d catch the glimpse of a pearly-white fang as well.

Fortunately, the few times he’d heard Bad speak, the demon seemed remarkably friendly. That did put Skizz a little at ease.

He wasn’t sure how he was able to convince the others to let him go, rather than inviting somebody else. Philza would have been a good choice, or Doc or Techno. Maybe they sensed his desperation. Maybe Skizz had built up a good rapport. Either way, he wasn’t going to question it. Skizz was going to get on that island if it killed him.

He had to. It was for Top .  

He’d told Impulse where they were going just a few minutes before meeting with everyone in the conference room. Skizz would never forget the look of terror that crossed into his friend’s brown-on-blue eyes, a look of trepidation that Skizz had never seen before. But after Skizz had explained the situation with Tango, Impulse had changed his tune.

Be careful, man, he’d begged. Be so careful. But get Tango that blaze rod, please. He needs to live . 

Impulse had been close to tears. Skizz was starting to pick up weird vibes from his friend, a sense that something bad had gone down between him and Tango that Impulse was desperate to see rectified. He wasn’t going to push, but at some point, he felt he might need to. If only so he could help the two of them resolve whatever it was once Tango got better. 

And he would get better. Skizz would see to that.

“Rune’s on their way,” Chess announced, drawing Skizz out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Chess draw something out of her inventory, then motion to Cleo. “In the meantime, Cleo and I wanted to try something.”

Skizz frowned, straightening and paying attention to the two. Chess held out her hand, to which Cleo placed her own down on top, and then the doctor said to them all, “Don’t freak out, we’re doing science.” Then, without preamble, she drew what looked like a scalpel from her inventory and used it to cut a line down Cleo’s forearm.

Skizz flinched; there were a few sharp intakes of breath, but fortunately nobody lost their cool. It helped that Cleo remained impassive. There was no fuss since she couldn’t feel pain. 

Next, Chess withdrew a potion that glimmered brilliant red; a healing potion. Skizz leaned forward, suddenly realizing what they were testing. Healing potions hadn’t worked when people first showed up from the island. Did they really-?

Chess poured a few drops of the potion on Cleo’s skin, and Skizz whistled in excitement when the wound closed up in seconds.

“Oh my gods!” Xisuma gasped. “Wait, it’s working again!?”

“Not quite,” Chess shook her head, sighing and releasing Cleo’s arm. “It works when the original injuries from the island have healed. Cleo’s head is attached by stitches now and her original injuries are gone, but the detachability is staying. There’s nothing else we can do. Low and behold…” she motioned to the potion in her hand. “We still can’t use them on the other injured players.”

Skizz ground his teeth, feeling rage - hot and heavy - simmer under his skin. The idea that these beings were still screwing over his friends infuriated him. He hoped he got to kick some Watcher butt on this island, although he doubted it. Besides, what could he do against some primordial gods?

“As it is,” Chess moved over to Xisuma and started taking potions from her inventory, dumping them into Xisuma’s arms so he could move them to his own. “Take these. They’ll work on everyone in your group. And Rune-” She paused, her communicator pinging, then beamed. “Actually, they’re here!”

A portal opened a few feet away from her, and Skizz turned to face it expectantly, everyone around him doing the same. 

He expected to see some shoes step through the portal first, or maybe a hand. Instead, Skizz’s blood ran cold as dark, glittering bones - huge bones, larger than any skeleton he’d ever seen - slipped through the portal’s surface. The foot stepped onto the ground with a thud , the foot huge in size, and then led to a knee, then, up the long femur bone. A hand slid through - larger than Doc’s, or Techno’s - and tugged at the edge of the portal like one would hold a door frame. 

Then came the skull. Skizz’s breath caught in his throat as he saw dark, empty eye-sockets, and a terrifying grin of obsidian teeth. The creature wore a strange circlet of silver and gems, an iridescent stone set in the middle of its forehead. The gems glittered as it pulled itself through the portal, bones rattling against each other, letting out a low, slow breath that sent every hair on Skizz’s head standing in horror. He was terrified, truly terrified, frozen in fear as the creature stood to its full height, stooping slightly so its circlet didn’t scrape against the ceiling. Beyond him, Gem had drawn her sword. Bad’s eyes were blazing with white. Cleo’s lips were curled back in a threatening snarl.

But the next thing the skeleton did shocked everybody into holding back any kind of attack. 

“Chess!” The skeleton said, and somehow despite it having no lips or mouth, the words came out clear, albeit with a slight clicking sound as teeth hit each other. Its voice was smooth, soft. Very pleasant on the ears. “It’s good to see you!”

“Rune!” Chess was beaming, moving forward immediately. Skizz stiffened, a shout of warning in his throat as she embraced the thing’s boney chest - wither sickness was no joke! - but there was no sign that Chess felt any sort of pain as the creature hugged her back. “Good trip?”

“Wonderful.” Rune (it really was Rune? This was Rune!?) sounded cheerful. “Phi and BB are holding down the fort for me, you know how they are. I’m so glad I could come here to help.” The skeleton glanced to the side, meeting eyes with Jack. “Jack Manifold!” 

“Rune.” Jack smiled easily, moving forward without any kind of fear. “It’s good to see you again.” He extended a fist for a fistbump, which was returned very carefully by Rune’s much larger, much bonier fist. The physician then pulled the blazeborn in for a hug and once again, there was no sign of wither sickness.

“I’ve heard you’ve been very generous, Jack.” Rune’s voice went soft, compassionate and proud. “Good for you.” 

Jack actually looked embarrassed. “Well, I mean - you’re the one who told me to get on that list, so…”

“So, you’re saving lives.” Skizz didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone sound more like a proud parent. “You’re being a hero, Jack.”

Jacks sputtered, but didn’t formulate more words before Rune was turning to look at the rest of them. Skizz, at this point, was feeling his fear recede rather rapidly. Gem no longer had out her sword. Everyone was a little tense, but not quite terrified like they were before.

“It’s good to meet you all.” Rune greeted them warmly, wiggling long, bony fingers at them. “I’m Rune, attending physician at Belenus Hospital. I guess you could say I’m Chess’s counterpart. I heard you all were heading off on a nether-based expedition of sorts: I’m here to help!” 

Their tone was so earnest, like an excitable puppy. Skizz hoped they didn’t notice how on edge everyone still was - he would feel terrible. Feeling, quite suddenly, like he needed to make this doctor feel comfortable, Skizz strode forward, smile firmly in place and hand held out despite every instinct screaming at him not to. 

“Skizzleman! But you can call me Skizz. We’re absolutely grateful to have your help with this. Thanks for stepping in.” It took every ounce of control in Skizz’s body not to stiffen when those warm, bony fingers touched his hand. But Rune’s handshake was firm, friendly, and when there was no sting and burn of wither sickness, Skizz felt the last of his worries fade away.

It was replaced pretty quickly by guilt. Void, Chess had just said that Rune was showing up, he should have known that this was a player. Clearly, he still had some biases he needed to work on. It was disgusting, really. Skizz had a friend who was a netherborn, someone he knew had encountered this exact kind of reaction from other people. Fear, distrust. How did this make him any better than them?

Especially after Rune had taken time out of their day to get here, to help them get the wildfire rod for Tango. Skizz fought the urge to grimace, not wanting Rune to misinterpret. He really had some things he needed to work on. 

“Xisumavoid.” Xisuma took his place after Skizz moved aside, shoulders relaxed. “Admin of the HC community. Good to meet you.” That seemed to be the indicator everyone needed, because soon they were lining up to shake hands and say hello. Skizz caught sight of Chess’s relaxed posture from across the room, and he felt even guiltier. That sort of reaction to Rune must have been commonplace, then. 

“Wonderful.” Rune clapped their hands together, the sound sending a bony crack around the room, which made everyone jump. Rune immediately shrank down a few inches, hands held up, “Sorry! Sorry, my bad.” 

It’s not, Skizz wanted to say, but Rune was already moving on.

“So, I was told some of the plan, but not all of the plan.” They stepped to the side of the circle, hands folded behind their back. “Chess? Fill me in? I know you need some Nether-based expertise.” 

“Right.” Chess nodded. “As you all heard, this is Rune. They’re my counterpart at Belenus Hospital, which is a Nether-centric facility. Because of this, Rune is both intimately familiar with Nether mobs as well as Nether hybrids. Meaning they’re a top-notch player in this mission to help Tango.” Chess let out a breath, turning to her friend. “Rune, as you heard, I’ve got a blazeborn upstairs who’s running on three-quarters capacity and hasn’t been accepting any transplanted rods.”

“Right, which is odd.” Rune tapped their chin with a finger. “I haven’t seen that happen before. But you said his injury was spurred on by weird, code-related circumstances, right?”

“Correct.”

“That might be why, then.” Rune nodded. “And there was a proposal of using a new mob’s blaze rod as a transplant?”

Chess nodded to Cleo, who stepped forwards to speak. “That’s right. It’s called a Wildfire - basically picture a blaze but ten times as big and ten times as mean. This thing is trouble, but it also burns a lot hotter than any other blaze I’ve seen, so…” Cleo shrugged. Her expression had been oddly neutral all morning, strangely blank in a way that tugged at Skizz’s insides. “It’s the only thing I can think of that will help.”

“Me too,” Chess sighed. “I could have Jessa work on some kind of heating potion but the fact is, Tango’s biology is different from, say, Jack’s. He doesn’t generate blaze rods by the dozen. Those four seem to be incredibly important and the only one’s he’s capable of having, so he can’t operate on three alone and the fourth isn’t available. As we speak, Tango is slowly sliding downhill regarding health. I don’t know how far the Watcher’s odd protection over him will extend to keep him alive. We can assume pretty far based on some of the other patients but…” Chess shook her head. “We can’t depend on it.”

“Understood.” Rune sounded serious now. Professional. They turned to the circle. “Chess not only has me stepping in to assist in Nether-related matters, but the fact of the matter is…” Rune motioned to their whole body. “I’m huge.”

There was a snort - maybe from Gem or Quackity, Skizz wasn’t sure, he was too busy fighting his own grin at the sudden statement. Rune seemed to straighten a little, voice amused when they said, “It’s okay, you can laugh. It’s true! It’s not often you see many players my size, huh? And I pack a mean swing.” Rune mimicked a very over-the-top punch that had giggles spreading out across the room. “I can offer quite a bit of protection, not to mention I can withstand quite a bit of heat alongside Jack.”

“I’ve also been told that someone isn’t allowed to use admin magic.” Rune fixed Xisuma with a hollow-eyed stare that would have been extremely unsettled had it been in any other circumstance. Xisuma groaned, planting a hand against his helmet. “That’s not-”

“Consider me your unofficial babysitter and personal healthcare companion, Xisuma.” Rune’s voice had gone particularly smug sounding, highly amused and laced with giggles. All of it flooded from their open mouth like their spinal column contained some kind of voice box. “Glad to be doing business with you.”

Xisuma just waved a hand wearily. “Sure.”

“So that’s the plan.” Chess stepped in again. “You’ll get onto the island, and Cleo will help lead the way to where the wildfire was last seen. If you don’t find it there, you’ll enter the nether. Once the wildfire is located, you’ll need to kill it, but be careful . Have Jack take the rod to keep it warm on the way back. Keep in contact with me as much as you can.”

“Now you two,” Xisuma cut in, looking at Quackity and Bad. “You two have a separate task. You’re going to check the island to make sure it’s code isn’t spreading or corrupting, and you’re going to check for signs of your missing player. That’s all you will be doing, understand?”

“We understand, Xisuma.” Bad nodded respectfully, eyes gleaming from under his hood. X relaxed a little. “Wonderful.” Glancing back at Chess, he asked, “Is that everything?”

“I think that’s everything.” Chess’s eyes flared bright pink. “It’s time to go.”

“Alright then.” Xisuma murmured. He raised his hand to his communicator, but Rune gently tapped the screen with one finger, saying softly, “Allow me?” Xisuma sighed but nodded, tapping a few times and evidently sending the coordinates over to Rune, who wasted no time in opening up another portal. 

It looked the exact same as every admin portal, without any signs of the horrors that must have been laying beyond. Skizz suddenly felt nervous, glancing at his companions to see that they, too, were tense, eyes flashing and fists clenched tight. 

“Be safe, you guys.” Chess said quietly. “Be careful.”

“Of course.” Skizz tried to sound cheerful. “No need to worry about us, I promise.”

“Right.” Chess sounded skeptical, but she motioned them in. Xisuma went first, slipping through the swirling glow. He was followed by Cleo, Gem, Quackity, Bad, Jack… and then it was Skizz’s turn. 

“I’ll be right behind you,” Rune said, perhaps interpreting his hesitance as fear. They weren’t necessarily wrong. But Skizz wasn’t afraid for his own safety; he was afraid of what he might see. What kind of secrets this island was going to reveal about the lives of his friends over those two months. What kind of trauma he was going to uncover. 

This was for Tango. He couldn’t back out now. Swallowing, Skizz took a step, then another. He felt the portal slip around his skin and send his vision glowing with white. His senses vanished one by one, and he felt weightless.

But then…

Then his feet touched solid ground. 

Chapter Text

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…

Has time passed?

Time… time is moving differently. 

Experiencing time like this… There is a certain…

Novelty?

Yes, novelty to it all.

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

There’s a room surrounding Skizz when he opens his eyes; a messy, mottled room of wood and cobble. He blinks, noting an obvious space to his right that had been walled off with stone, and seeing two messy, unmade beds in close proximity.

The other players were there, looking around quizzically. Notably, Cleo also looked confused, a frown marring her features as she took a few cautious steps around. 

“Have you not been here?” Bad asked her, eyes glowing brightly beneath his hood. Cleo shook her head slowly, but said, “I know the building. It’s the ranch - Tango and Jimmy lived here for a bit. But I haven’t seen it in a while and I don’t remember it looking so… messy.”

“It was like this when Fwhip and I showed up.” Skizz jerked to the side to look at Xisuma, who’s voice had gone remarkably flat. “Jimmy and Tango were in that other room. Tango was already…” Xisuma’s voice trailed off, and Skizz’s heart did a painful spasm in his chest. He jumped when Rune stepped out of the portal behind him, bony feet thumping heavily against the floor. 

“Oh no…” Rune sounded mournful as they looked around. “This is quite depressing.”

“I don’t know what happened.” Cleo’s voice shook slightly, and she clenched her fist. “I- hmmm .” She let out a forceful breath, then spun around and headed towards the door to the outside. “Come on.” 

Skizz watched her go, concerned, sharing a worried glance with Gem. After a moment he said, “Come on, Gemstone,” wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they both maneuvered themselves around the beds and outside. 

The ranch was located in a desert. A warm breeze blew past Skizz’s hair as he surveyed the sand dunes, already feeling toasty despite the morning hour. Bad had taken up a post on a nearby pathway, a strange, ramshackle thing that weaved its way across the sand. The demon’s shadowy robes pillowed in the light wind, surrounded him in a sea of rippling blues and grays. 

Beyond the sand, Skizz could just see the horizon line of a forest - spruce, if the color was anything to go by. Since there was nothing but sand in any other direction, he assumed that was where they needed to go.

“Alright! Some ground rules.” Cleo clapped her hands together, and everyone turned to face her. The zombie hybrid was so obviously tense that Skizz was surprised he didn’t hear her bones creaking when she moved. 

“One: you stay on the path. I don’t care what you need to do to make sure this happens, but you will stay on the path. There are monsters in the ground that will eat you if you walk over them. Rule two-”

“Hang on a second!?” Gem interrupted, crossing her arms together. “I’m sorry, monsters in the ground ?” 

“Fwhip and I ran into one when we first set foot here,” Xisuma already sounded tired. “Yes, they lunge up at you out of the ground.” Skizz felt himself grow pale, suddenly eying the sand with a great deal of nervousness. 

“ Holy Shit ,” Quackity breathed, sounding horrified. Bad muttered a quick, “ language ,” right after, and the response was so sudden and unexpected that Skizz cracked and started laughing, long and hard, unable to quite contain himself. The laughing broke the sudden tension that had fallen over the group and suddenly everyone was giggling, even Cleo was smiling a little. 

“What?” Bad demanded, and that just set Skizz off more. He was amused, but also a bit desperate, clinging onto that laughter because already he was horrified. Monsters in the ground, the sight of the ruined, abandoned ranch… a sense of dread had taken up residence right behind his heart and he doubted he’d be able to shake it for a long time. 

“Rule two ,” Cleo said once the laughing had stopped, which sobered everyone immediately. She seemed unhappy to change the subject, but then her shoulders straightened and her eyes went steely. “No wandering off. Rule three, try not to touch anything, okay? There’s… I don’t know if the Watchers are still paying attention now that the game has ended, but last time we were here, they took great pleasure in making even the most basic things extremely dangerous.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, and when she seemed appeased, Cleo turned back to the path. “Let’s go - this path should lead us straight to the nether patch, but we need to pass through the End first and that’s pretty dangerous.”

“End? Nether patch?” Rune spoke up from the rear. “What do you mean?” They all started walking along the path, Cleo taking the lead.

“I mean that the Watchers decided to throw the dimensions into a blender.” Cleo scowled. “You see the sky?”

Skizz looked up, and instantly felt his legs try to lock up as shock rippled through him. Sure, he’d looked at the horizon earlier, and he’d noticed some weird coloring but he’d just assumed it had to do with weird lighting.

But now that he was focusing, he could see how the red was more than just an odd glare, and the darkness that flickered at the treeline was more void than sky. 

“You’ll see more of what I mean when we get closer.” Cleo’s whole demeanor had changed, her voice calm but her movements indescribably wary, careful and hunted as she lightly walked along the pathway. She had an axe in one hand, the other held out cautiously in front of her like a shield, green eyes flickering every which way as her head turned side to side, scanning. 

The group was silent after that, walking in single file along the pathway, weapons at the ready. Skizz unashamedly held his sword close, palms starting to sweat in ways that had nothing to do with the desert heat. He felt woefully unprepared for everything; what could he do? He wasn’t even a particularly good fighter!

He jumped when a new shape suddenly appeared beside him, looking sideways to see the cloth-ridden form of Bad, who glanced sideways at him with glowing eyes from under his hood. “I could hear you thinking from all the way up at the front of the line.”

Despite everything, Skizz grinned. “What’s that, a fancy demon power?” 

Bad gave a soft chuckle. “No, although you would know that, wouldn’t you?” Before Skizz could reflect on that, a little confused, the demon went on in a sympathetic tone, “I’ve heard a lot about what your friends are going through. That’s got to be hard, being an angel and not being able to heal your Circle. I’m sorry.” 

Skizz stared at him, almost forgetting to keep moving. “What?”

Bad glanced at him again, sounding apologetic. “Sorry, that was kind of forward, huh? I just mean like, I get it. I’m missing someone, too. It’s not nearly as dramatic as it is with your group, but I understand how this has to be terrible.”

“Well, it is.” Skizz said somewhat awkwardly. They’d reached the treeline, dark spruce looming up over them. Skizz dodged a particularly low-hanging branch and then glanced back at Bad, brow furrowed. “But the angel bit…?”

Maybe Bad was just really forward with the pet names? He did overhear the demon calling someone a muffinhead earlier so that very well could have been the case. In fact, Skizz bet that was it, and he was about to tell Bad that it didn’t matter, but the demon said something… interesting, instead.

“Well,” Bad sounded a little embarrassed. “I have to admit, I was kind of surprised you didn’t come over to see me when I showed up. Demon, angel, we’re a rare pair, you know? I’ve only seen one other. But it makes sense that you’d be really overwhelmed with everything going on-”

“Okay, hold on a second.” Rune had stepped ahead of them, so Skizz fully stopped in his tracks and grabbed Bad’s sleeve. “Explain what you’re talking about by angel.”

“What do you mean ?” Bad sounded incredibly confused. He squinted at Skizz, white eyes gleaming, “Do you not-” he paused, then, and his eyes flashed for a moment with bright light. Then they widened, and his mouth dropped open a little to reveal gleaming fangs.

“You don’t know , do you?” Bad said softly, almost in awe. “It’s all hidden - you don’t even know .”

“Know what?” Skizz said, bewildered. 

“That you’re an angel,” Bad said matter-of-factly. Skizz glanced sideways, saw they were in danger of being left behind, and pulled Bad along before someone noticed and yelled at them. As they walked quickly back towards the group, he giggled a little hysterically. “You’re awfully forward with the pick-up lines, buddy.” 

“That’s not what this is!” Bad scowled at him. “Stop making it weird! Don’t you know anything about angels and demons?”

“I know that demons exist, but homie, I’m just a regular human.” Skizz clicked his tongue, slowing his pace so they were close behind the group but far back enough to have a private conversation. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I look and act completely regular. No fancy features, no fancy abilities. Just pure-grade human.”

“But you’re not.” Bad insisted. “Your coding hasn’t manifested properly.”

Skizz scoffed, “That’s impossible.”

“No it isn’t! Come on, haven’t you heard any stories? Any tales about people who woke up one day and started changing?”

Skizz was going to say that no, in fact, he hadn’t, outside of the weird circumstances of Impulse and Scar, but then he hesitated. Skizz had been in just enough life games to get to talk to the hermits quite frequently, and that included Bdubs in Team BEST. The glare hybrid had told him about his experience with hybridity, once.

“It came outta nowhere, ” Bdubs had said while they were getting resources together. “One day I was just a normal guy, and the next, stuff started gettin’ weird. Nights got scary, that sort of thing. My eyes got glowy. Apparently it had to do with Xisuma updating the world code and it unlocked something in my own code, too. ”

“You see?” Bad interpreted Skizz’s silence correctly. “It’s not crazy.”

“How would you know?” Skizz asked sharply. He was starting to feel intensely uncomfortable, not really enjoying the concept that his very code was hiding something from him, that there was something buried in there that nobody had noticed. 

“I’m a demon, Skizz.” Bad’s voice was incredibly kind in the face of Skizz’s discomfort. “We usually find each other, eventually. We’re counterparts. We can sense each other on sight.”

Skizz exhaled unsteadily. The trees were starting to thin, the air getting colder. “But why-”

“ Everyone quiet, ” Cleo hissed from the front of the line, and everyone stopped dead. Suddenly, weird coding was the last thing on Skizz’s mind. 

Cleo turned around, sword drawn. She looked stiff as iron, eyes wide and wary.

“We’re about to enter the End,” Cleo whispered. “Everyone needs to be incredibly careful. The Ender Dragon may be around.” She then turned to Rune and Jack. “Are you two going to be okay with the air?”

“Fortunately, I don’t need air.” Rune said cheerfully. But then, more solemnly, “I will get cold. If you don’t want me rattling apart, we need to move swiftly.” 

“I won’t quite rattle apart, but I do need the air,” Jack winced. “Let’s just move fast.” 

Cleo nodded, then beckoned for everyone to follow once more. She moved at a swift pace, but she crouched slightly, like one would in the Deep Dark, trying to make herself as silent as possible. Everyone copied, although poor Rune still stuck out like a sore thumb, tall and clunky. 

Skizz hadn’t been sure what he’d expected at the sound of the End, but it certainly wasn’t this. His eyes went so wide that they ached upon seeing a giant, gaping chasm in the ground, surrounded by rippled waves of yellow endstone. A few floating islands were hovering in the center.

The air went cold, and piercingly thin. Skizz’s breaths went a bit shallow as the change occurred, lungs aching a little as they adjusted. He knew that players could withstand this kind of air like they could on tall mountains; it was doable, but it got exhausting after a spell. Poor Rune, however, hadn’t been kidding about the cold. Every joint in their skeleton seemed to lock up as the temperature dropped; they kept moving, but each step was so stiff and forced that Skizz swore he could hear their bones creaking like unoiled hinges on a door. Jack wasn’t much better, hissing through his teeth and tucking all of his blaze rods as close to his body as he could. Only a few seconds later his color and light was fading rapidly. They really did need to move.

There was a partial bridge and pathway around the edge of the chasm, and Cleo led them as quickly as she was able, skirting the empty void and sticking to the tree-line. Skizz fought back a scream when, about halfway across, there was a deep rumbling sound from somewhere nearby. 

Cleo froze, true horror crossing her face for the first time, and the sight scared Skizz even more. Everyone froze, pressed against the treeline as the rumbling slowly subsided. Poor Rune was trying their hardest to remain still, but a terrible trembling had taken hold of their bones, causing an awful rattle. On instinct Skizz darted across the bridge, grabbing Jack by one arm. The blazeborn wheezed, skin much paler than usual and breaths coming in little gasps, but didn’t fight him. Skizz then smushed Jack right against Rune’s side, where the skeleton figured out the plan and wrapped their bones around Jack, conserving heat. Skizz tucked himself along Rune’s other side, waiting anxiously.  

The rumbling didn’t come again, although a thin stream of purple smoke started to drift from just beyond the bridge. It struck Skizz that the dragon might have been clinging to the underside of one of the islands, and the thought turned his blood to ice. 

Cleo slowly motioned with her sword for them to follow, and they all tiptoed across the bridge until, after several places along the other side where the grass was returning and the air was growing warmer. Jack let out a shuddering breath as soon as the threshold of the atmosphere broke, sucking in some much needed oxygen and rubbing his arms. “ Fuck me , that’s cold.” 

“It is.” Rune sounded exhausted, ribs still rattling together and bony digits shaking like tree branches in a windstorm. “But we’re out of it now.” 

Skizz himself was shivering a little, but more from fear than anything else. His chest felt strikingly warm after inhaling the cold air for so long. “So what’s next, Clebert?”

Cleo had a weird, faraway look in her eyes as she glanced back at the End, but thankfully she seemed to focus when Skizz spoke. “Now we go to the Nether. This way.” She walked on, leaving the others to straggle behind. Skizz could only hope that, with all the challenges usually held by the Nether, their trek inside would go as well as the trip across the End did.

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They passed through a birch forest next, and then passed the burnt remains of some kind of building. Cleo had tersely declared it a treehouse of some kind, but hadn’t elaborated. Then, a few minutes later, they had entered the Nether, and that was all anyone could focus on.

The Nether appeared first as a scattering of crimson grass, then some teal-and-green, spongy moss. Then the trees started to change, coated in warped vines or fiery, flickering fungi. By the time they started to catch sight of magma slimes through the trees, it was as if they had fully entered the new dimension, with the air now feeling hot and heavy in everyone’s lungs.

Jack and Rune, of course, were in an excellent mood. Their postures had changed, becoming more open, more confident. Jack’s blaze rods swung alongside him to suck up warmth from open fires and lava alike, relaying it back to the blaze hybrid until he positively beamed with light, looking reminiscent of a blaze himself. His hair smoked and crackled like the hottest of embers. 

Rune sighed as they skirted by one of the patches of fire, wandering over and standing on top of the flames without fear. “That feels lovely .” A second later they stiffened, pointing with one long, glittering arm. “Is that a portal?”

Skizz looked up, noticing for the first time that there was an obsidian structure up ahead, shrouded a little in the strange, coppery mist that seemed to form in Nether spaces. Cleo let out a slow breath, “Yeah, that’s… Joel built that. Must’ve been months ago, now.”

“Why build a portal when the Nether was already here?” Xisuma questioned. 

“It wasn’t always like that. After Joel built the portal, the Nether crept through. Even after it was deactivated.” 

Rune took a few steps forward, crossing the space in no time at all due to their long strides. Nobody followed, too worried about stepping into a dangerous spot off the path, but then Cleo sucked in a horrified breath and called out, “Wait! Rune, maybe don’t-”

There was a scream of shock, one that had everyone surging forward to help, dodging sinkholes of lava and tripping on jagged netherrack. Cleo was the first one to Rune’s side, panic written all over her face, only to go completely still upon reaching Rune and the portal.

“What’s going on?” Quackity demanded, but then paused, looked at the portal, and let out a slew of spanish in a disgusted tone. Skizz pushed his way through to look and-

Oh void .

There was a brown substance splashed all over the warped grass around the portal’s base, as well as up the edges of the portal itself. It looked like someone had taken a bucket of paint and simply thrown it haphazardly onto the portal and the ground. But it wasn’t paint, because up close Skizz could smell it, cooking on the heat of the ground and surrounding fires. The smell of copper, of decay, of death. 

That was blood . 

“Why is there so much of it!?” Rune sounded horrified, then enraged. “Who did this!?” 

“The Watchers did.” Cleo’s hands were shaking, fingers flexing then clenching. She pushed some hair out of her face. “Joel- h-he made this portal and-” she paused, something shuttering in her eyes. “Joel, Tango and I went through to check out the other side. When we came back, Joel was the last one through, and the Watchers shut the portal down before he’d fully come through the other side.” 

Skizz’s stomach lurched. Gem actually retched a little, flinching back from the portal as if it had burned her. Tears started to well up in her eyes. “Joel…”

“That’s…” Rune sounded venomous, a kind of anger that Skizz wouldn’t have suspected the wither skeleton was capable of. It was unsettling; would have been terrifying had they not established that Rune was a sweetheart beforehand. “You’ve been dealing with this the entire time?”

“I don’t know what the others had to deal with after I died,” Cleo avoided everyone’s gaze, already heading back towards the path. They had no choice but to follow her. “But based on everyone’s injuries, I bet things only got worse.” 

Skizz, remembering that Cleo had said she was one of the earlier deaths, thought of all their fallen comrades in surgery, of Grian’s fevers and Zed’s burns, Impulse’s change and Etho’s stitches, and of Tango, Tango-

He hated to admit that she was most likely correct in her assessment. 

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The Wildfire appeared a few minutes later. 

It had been remarkably quick. There had been an influx of heat in the air - so hot that even Cleo’s dead skin could sense it, a rise in pressure and heaviness. A sudden tremor had shaken the earth and she went stock-still, motioning for everyone else to freeze. She recognized the signs now.

Cleo had already been afraid. She was doing her best to hide it, and she hadn’t felt this kind of fear when they’d stepped through the portal. But walking around the familiar pathways, knowing that they were all most likely being watched, knowing that further damage had been inflicted on all of her friends after her death… it was horrifying. She hated suggesting this. She hated that they were here.

But it was too late to back away now. 

A light started to grow through the treeline, accompanied by a deep, rattling sound - like smoke and metal, crackling with heat. It hissed like a snake, getting louder each second. 

Cleo’s heart gave a strangled little spasm, spurred into movement for one terrifying moment, and she ushered everyone back, urging them all to hide behind nearby rocks and trees while they waited for the creature to make itself known. It was agonizingly slow, and Cleo almost wished she could have stumbled upon it, sending into the fight immediately. 

Then the trees parted, and the Wildfire slipped through.

It was, somehow, larger than Cleo remembered. Still with its giant rods and shields, blazing with heat and light, ruby eyes glittering and helmet glowing with heat. It seemed a bit calmer than the last time she’d encountered it, no doubt because it hadn’t seen them yet. It would no doubt become enraged at their presence once it realized they were there.

Cleo grabbed a bucket of water from her inventory, ready to throw it as soon as the creature drew close enough. If she’d been human, she would have been sweating profusely, both from the heat and from fear. As it was, her fingers trembled a little around the bucket’s metal surface.

The Wildfire suddenly paused, huffing out a deep, crackling sigh, and its head rotated ninety degrees to stare at something.

Namely, a certain blazeborn named Jack.

Cleo went rigid. This was just like how it was with Tango. She could only pray that Jack wasn’t as stupid and didn’t challenge the bloody thing.

Jack breathed out a curse, locking eyes with the creature and going completely still. Cleo slowly got to her feet, ready to sprint forward. She wasn’t sure what was stopping her from attacking now, while the creature was still. Her feet were locked in place, eyes fixed on the monster and Jack, waiting to see what happened. 

There was a beat of silence, everyone tense and waiting for a fight… but then the Wildfire did something odd. Stooping down, it drew close to Jack and made a series of deep, smoke-ridden sounds that were much warmer than a blaze’s usual throaty rattle. Cleo frowned, confused. It almost sounded… confused. Or concerned. A far cry from the obvious rage it had felt when it had confronted Tango.

Jack tilted his head slightly, a few of his blaze rods moving forward. Cleo tensed again, waiting to see if the Wildfire grew angry and withdrew, but instead it just shifted one of its shields so that its large, blazing hot core could ever-so-gently tap against one of the rods. 

Jack jolted in place as if shocked, and there was a quick intake of breath from someone behind her. Cleo half-raised her bucket. But then Jack sighed, aura lighting up with heat as a transfer took place, murmuring an almost sleepy, “What the hell?” 

The Wildfire drew back, huffing out what sounded like a satisfied breath. Then, without warning, its eyes swept across them all. Cleo stood pinned as crimson eyes - so similar to Tango’s and yet so alien - as the Wildfire silently stared at her. Its blaze rods and shields swirled in lazy circles, heat making the ground shimmer beneath it. It didn’t seem angry. Why wasn’t it angry?

It let out another huff, then without another sound, turned and began drifting away. Cleo stared after it in shock, stunned by the lack of aggression, and was drawn back to the others when Skizz came to stand by her shoulder, looking utterly confused. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know.” Cleo put her bucket back in her inventory, not quite sure what to make of that. “That’s… not how it worked out last time.”

“That’s not blaze-typical behavior at all. ” Rune, pacing back and forth a little beyond the pathway, sounded ecstatic. “Did you see how it displayed almost player-like intelligence? Singling out Jack as kin was to be expected but the way it lowered itself down to his level-”

“I thought you were a doctor, not a zoologist.” Bad sounded amused, eyes squinting. 

“I’m the head physician at a Nether hospital. I need to know my client’s mob-kin.” Rune rubbed their dark, glittering jaw with one bony hand. “That wasn’t normal. We should follow it.”

“We need to follow it anyway to get the rod!” Skizz suddenly sounded upset. “We totally missed that chance! Come on!” Without warning the man took off running, prompting Cleo to sprint after him, fear once again clogging her chest. “ Wait! Skizz, you can't just run off!” 

“At least let me go first, man!” Jack streaked up to join them, heat still making his skin, eyes, and hair glow fiercely. He seemed to have twice as much energy as before, a feat considering how much he’d donated only a day before. “It didn’t seem to mind me-”

“Why didn't it attack the rest of us?” Gem demanded as they sprinted. They slowed upon seeing the Wildfire up ahead, following at a more cautious pace. “Cleo you said last time it was super angry.”

“It was!” Cleo drew her sword again, swinging the tip in restless circles. “I mean, it definitely grew more upset when Tango challenged it. But it was already pretty mad.”

“Can’t believe Tango would try and challenge that thing.” Jack sounded bemused. “Did he have a death wish?”

“No, Tango just… has anger management issues sometimes.” Cleo sighed. “He probably felt threatened - which is fair, since the thing was doing an awful lot of threatening.” 

“Shhhh ,” Rune suddenly hissed, holding out a long arm to stop them in their tracks. “Look.”

Ahead, the Nether patch had smoothed out into a sort of clearing. Peering over Rune’s glittering forearm, Cleo saw that the Wildfire was descending into… a hole? It looked like a giant hole from here.

But the real thing that caught her attention was the blazes.

There must have been at least fifty of them. Scattered around the clearing, they were all working in oddly organized lines, like glowing ants. Some were holding chunks of netherrack in their teeth, others were hammering away at the edges of the hole with their rods. All of them stopped their work and let out hissing sounds as the Wildfire passed, heads dipping. 

“They’re submissive.” Rune breathed. “It’s clearly in a position of authority.”

“Why are they all lined up like that?” Xisuma’s blood-shot eyes - better than they had been a week ago, but still stained red - were bright with curiosity behind his visor. “I’ve never seen that before.” 

“Nothing about this is making sense.”

“Do you think if Jack goes in front, we could follow?” Gem asked. “We really need to go after it, but fighting all of those blazes would get ugly.”

“Maybe? Let me try.” Jack glanced at her, and Cleo nodded. They had to take every chance they could, now. She wasn’t leaving this island without a Wildfire rod in tow, and she doubted that Skizz was, either, judging his tense, uncharacteristically serious expression. 

Jack stepped out from the treeline, glancing warily around at the blazes in front of him. He looked incredibly exposed out on the netherrack, rods spinning quickly around his tense frame. He walked forward, a few feet, a few meters, a bit further, the blazes were starting to take notice-

A few blazes drifted over, and Jack stopped. Cleo grit her teeth. She knew that blazes were very hit or miss when it came to Tango; they would either leave him be or attack him on sight. What would they do with Jack?

The ones that came close eyed him, a few sending blaze rods to intermix with Jack’s in an odd sort of dance that sent heat strobing through both of their auras. When that’s all they seemed to do, Jack glanced back at the group and gave a very cautious sign to come over.

“Let me go first,” Rune said slowly. “I’m another nether mob hybrid, maybe that will ease the way for the rest of you.” Cleo watched as the wither skeleton strode across the clearing, cutting a tall, dark figure against the red stone and flickering light. The blazes eyes’ locked onto them immediately, but they didn’t do anything. Promising. 

“I’ll go next.” Cleo didn’t wait for a reply, getting up from her spot and beginning the walk over. It was horrifically vulnerable out here, knowing she could be seen by anything and everything. She prepared herself for trouble as she drew closer, seeing the blaze catch sight of her. But, after a few seconds of swirling rods and a few slight hisses, the blazes relaxed and didn’t do anything. She motioned for the others to join her.

In fact, by the time it was clear that Jack was accompanied by a group, the blazes didn’t seem to care anymore. As the last person joined Jack in the clearing the blazes had all drifted off, a few giving them a glance but otherwise ignoring them completely. Cleo was, by now, beyond confused. Rune was right - she’d never seen blaze behavior like this before. 

“It could be a trick.” She said as they started making their way towards the edge of the hole in the ground where the Wildfire had descended. “The Watchers might be waiting for us to get into the hole.”

“Right. But what choice do we have?” Skizz said grimly. “We need to get in there.”

“Right, I know that, I just-” Cleo’s voice faltered as they reached the edge, glancing down into the pit.

Except, it wasn’t quite a pit. It was large, and deep, but zig-zagging ramps carrying long lines of blazes created a footpath down. And inside… well, it was almost like a bastion, but only half-made, and the bricks merged into tunnels that stretched out from the pit walls. At the bottom was the Wildfire, surrounded by dozens of blazes. It looked up at them as they peered over the edge, ruby red fixing them with a hot stare, but then it resumed whatever it was doing.

“Are they… building this?” Quackity breathed. “Blazes don’t build things they just sort of… wander.”

“They protect bastions,” Rune was practically shaking with excitement. “That’s all they’ve been known to do.”

“Well they aren’t protecting it very well,” Gem remarked. She’d found the nearest pathway, cautiously watching a blaze drift by only a few feet from her. She was sweating, face flushed from the heat, but her green eyes were sharp and wary. “We’re walking right in.”

“Maybe with Jack around, they don’t see us as a threat. The Wildfire doesn’t seem nervous.” 

“That’s because it's a giant fire monster.” Skizz followed Gem to the path, starting the descent down, and the rest of the group followed. “There’s no reason for it to be scared.” 

“I mean, it is killable.” Cleo made sure everyone was appropriately flattened to the side of the pit wall, far away from the steadily moving line of blazes. A few others were choosing to avoid the pathways entirely and were just floating up the side of the pit to the top. “We all managed to kill one before.”

“Everything’s killable,” Rune said. Cleo had to do a double take when she saw their eyes glowing red, the sight indescribably eerie, only to realize that their fingers were typing on an invisible surface. Admin magic was being used. She glanced at Xisuma and saw him walking very stiffly, fingers clenching a little at his sides. No doubt he wanted to do the same.

“Everything about the code in this area is off.” Rune announced a moment later, as they got closer to the bottom. They put their hands down, the red glow fading from their empty eye sockets. “There are things added to it. If we have time-”

“We don’t have time.” Cleo snapped, suddenly irritated. “We don’t. We need to kill this thing and then leave. I don’t want anyone to be on this island any longer than they have to be.”

Rune raised their hands in surrender, and Cleo felt bad, but only for a moment. They had a job to do. Who cared if things were weird here - they might have been odd, but they were also dangerous . The island had been so much calmer in the beginning, despite the rough start with Scar. They had even been… peaceful. She thought of Ren and Skrunkles and her heart ached.

This island was deceiving. It lulled you into a false sense of security. She wouldn’t let herself fall prey to that a second time.

At the bottom of the pit, the Wildfire had moved on, leaving more blazes. Cleo saw a glow from the end of one of the tunnels, a moving shadow, and called to the others to follow her. Then she ran after the light, speeding down one of the tunnels and hearing the others chase after her.

“Void, it’s hot.” She heard Xisuma wheeze as they went on, and she cast a worried glance back at their admin. He was coated in sweat, movements a little shaky. Being an End hybrid must have been hellish in this environment. Even back on the HC worlds he couldn’t stay in the Nether for long. 

And it was getting hotter. She could feel the heaviness in the air, see it start to glisten on the walls in little shimmering waves. Everyone’s breaths were getting heavier, more desperate. 

The tunnel, fortunately, chose that moment to open up. Although Cleo wasn’t sure she liked what she saw.

It was a cave; tall and wide, but not outrageously so. There was a big pool of lava in the center. On the right, a giant pile of - gods was that meat? Cleo blinked in shock at what must have been a ten-foot-tall pile of dead hoglins and piglins, all charred and bloody. The smell, which she had noticed a bit further into the tunnel, was now incredibly pungent. A thick, heavy smell of meat and smoke. Despite everything, she felt her mouth water, a mix of true hunger and zombie instincts kicking in. 

The Wildfire was here, hovering at the edge of the lava pool. There were more blazes, too, maybe twenty or so. They all looked over at the group when they came in but otherwise ignored them, more focused on the Wildfire, which was doing… something.

Its rods had drawn up close to its core, but they were spinning, growing faster and faster with each cycle. Its shields were close, too, providing a protective barrier. Its eyes seemed a little distant and unfocused, but they blazed with color and heat. Pulsing waves of light and fire seemed to run up and down its spine.

“There’s more blazes coming in,” Bad murmured, and Cleo glanced sideways to see that yes, more were filing in, filling the space. The majority were watching the Wildfire, crackling and thrumming, leaving a little space before the creature. Others were dragging more carcasses into the room and over to the pile, holding the bodies by their teeth or supporting them with their rods. 

“What’s it doing?” Quackity hissed from somewhere behind her. “Why is it flashing like that?”

“I don’t know,” Cleo murmured back. They couldn’t kill it like this - not with so many blazes around. What would it take to get this thing alone ? 

Then, something incredible happened. The Wildfire flashed again, the brightest one yet, and exhaled a long, slow plume of fire. The wave of color and heat settled on the space the other blazes had provided, warping and spinning and- and were those bodies?

Blazes. More blazes, freshly glowing and just a tad bit smaller than the others, crackling and gazing around at all the others. There was a thrum of sound from the Wildfire, like a purr, that ignited all the other creatures into a wave of crackling and spinning as the newcomers were welcomed into the group. Cleo watched, jaw on the floor, as the new blazes were ushered over to the meat pile, where they eagerly started eating. This went on for a few minutes before they stopped and hovered back as the Wildfire came forward to eat its fill as well. Only then, as it retreated, did all the other blazes move forward to partake in the meal.

Cleo watched as the Wildfire floated back, away from the group, and over to the lava pool. As she watched, the mob slowly submerged itself with another thrumming purr, until only its eyes and the top of its helmet could be seen. From there it kept a watchful eye on the others, but otherwise was still. 

Cleo slowly turned to stare at the rest of the group, who were similarly shocked. “Did it just… make more blazes?”

“ Incredible.” Rune had both hands steepled in front of their grinning teeth, muttering to themself. “It’s a mob, but it's also not the same as the others, it's like a boss mob. Like the ender dragon. And it so naturally seems to work with blazes, but this has never been seen before, and blaze behavior has never worked like this before. It’s - it's like the Wildfire is filling a gap, and yet this gap has never been seen to exist before. It’s- Jack-”

Cleo glanced over at Jack to see that a few blazes had surrounded the blazeborn and were actively pushing him towards the meat pile. Jack’s red and blue eyes were filled with both confusion and irritation, and he tried to shoo them away, both with his hands and his blaze rods. “Oh, fuck off . I’m not eating your fucking, half-torched cave meat-”

“Actually, maybe go with them.” Rune suddenly said.

“I’m not gonna-”

“Come on, Jack, this is something previously unheard of.” Rune wheedled. 

“We’re not on a science expedition, Rune!” Cleo snapped, but Jack was already being pushed away by the blazes towards the meat pile, giving her a very confused and helpless look. She groaned and tugged on a lock of hair, starting to feel very out of depth with the whole situation. It was supposed to be in and out - kill the monster, grab the rod, and leave. She didn’t expect this… whatever they’d all just walked in on.

“How are we going to kill it now?” Xisuma sounded a bit breathless from the heat, and when Cleo turned to look she saw the admin popping the cap on a fire res potion. “We can’t fight it while it’s in the lava. We have to draw it out.”

“If we try to fight it here, we’re going to be killed by the blazes immediately.” Bad agreed. “We need to either  get it outside, or we need to draw away the rest of the blazes.”

“Which means we need to get it to think that it’s under attack, but not by us.” Quackity sighed. “Anyone have any ideas for that ?” 

Cleo wracked her brain, vaguely aware of poor Jack getting handed chunks of singed pork over on the other side of the cave. She felt incredibly on edge, knowing that the Wildfire was only a cave-length away, most likely watching them. She had no clue what the hearing was like for them; she hoped it didn’t understand their conversation.

Although, considering all they’d seen today, anything was possible.

“I have an idea.” Gem spoke up, and they all turned to her. Cleo noticed, for the first time, that her butterfly wings had vanished, leaving her small antlers and deer-like ears exposed. Xisuma had said something about lore magic getting stripped away, hadn’t he? 

“We passed through the End dimension on the way here,” Gem continued, casting a wary look at the lava pit. “The dragon was around there. I guarantee you that if we get the dragon over here, the Wildfire will find it a big enough threat to either get out of its little pool and get outside, or at least send the rest of the blazes to handle it.”

“That’s-” Cleo’s voice pitched a little high and she stopped, uncertain and nervous. That was the same dragon that had turned Zed into a redlife, and she remembered the panic of that moment. But she also knew, looking around at her group, that they were much better prepared than they had been before on the island, stripped of all resources and forced to survive. They had proper armor, proper tools. They were hermits . End-busting was a regular occurrence for them all - the dragon wouldn’t be much of a problem. 

“Cleo?” Skizz asked hesitantly, and she realized she’d gone quiet. Shaking herself out of her stupor, she managed to say, “...that could work.” 

“Some people need to stay here though. To avoid raising suspicion.” Rune said. They were typing on an invisible keyboard again. “If it’s alright with you… I’ll stay here. The cold in the End biome left more of a mark on me than I’d realized” They sounded sheepish, embarrassed. 

“You can definitely stay here, Rune.” Bad assured them warmly. “Jack’s also, uh, preoccupied. And it’s probably safest for him to stay here as a neutral player.”

“I’ll go get it.” Gem gripped her sword and gave a strong, self-confident smile. “Who else wants to come with?”

“I’ll go,” Bad said, just as Skizz exclaimed, “Let’s do this!”

“I’ll also go. Flying would probably be helpful.” Quackity grinned at the group, then glanced at Cleo. “Did you want to go or stay here?”

“Well, this one’s stuck here because he’s not supposed to be fighting.” Cleo poked Xisuma in the arm. “Which means I should probably be here to keep an eye on him.” Rune would most likely be enough to keep Xisuma in check. But with them being focused on whatever they were finding in code, Cleo worried that X would find a way to do something sneaky. He wasn’t to be trusted with his own health, apparently. Not after the stories Cleo had been told. 

“Alright then.” Gem straightened. “We’ll let you know before we confront the dragon. I think the goal is for the two big bads to fight each other to the death - until the dragon kills the wildfire or vice versa. At least then the wildfire will be weak, and we can throw water at it or something.” 

“Right.” Cleo’s throat constricted a little, and she swallowed back her nerves. “Stay safe. Don’t be stupid. If things look bad, leave and come back here, or just get to some kind of safety. Don’t step off the path, if you don’t recognize a mob then don’t approach it-”

“Clebert,” Skizz interrupted her, stepping close. He gripped her shoulder in a firm, secure grip. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to be safe. We’ll get that blaze rod and get home without any kind of casualties, alright?”

Cleo looked up at his face and realized that, under his fingers, she was shaking. When had she started doing that? Her heart was beating, too, struggling little things spurred on by fear. 

She nodded, unable to speak, watching as Skizz drew back and left with the others, the group fading away into the tunnel. She stepped back until she was side by side with Xisuma, drawing his tall frame close to her side with one arm. She hated this. Why had she let them go? Why was she letting them run off on this island alone?

“Cleo,” X said softly. “If you want to go with them-”

“And leave you alone with the two occupied nether hybrids? I don’t think so.” Cleo heard Rune snort in amusement, but the wither skeleton didn’t object or correct her. She squeezed Xisuma closer. “You’re stuck with me, X.”  

If the Wildfire chose to go after anyone down here… it would be X, since he wasn’t a nether hybrid. If Cleo left him alone, still exhausted, still drained and unable to fight… no, she would stay. The others were capable fighters. She had to remind herself of that. 

Stay safe. 

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They were running back through the woods again, but with a very concrete goal this time. 

Skizz’s lungs were burning. They were sprinting at full speed, recognizing that time was limited, worrying about the people they’d left behind. It had occurred to Skizz that maybe, just maybe, the Wildfire would change its mind about being passive and decide to attack the others while they were away. 

He almost regretted not staying behind. But, truthfully, this group would need all the help it could get. Killing the ender dragon was one thing; corralling it was another.

Cloth brushed against Skizz’s bare arms as Bad slipped alongside, and Skizz’s brain flashed back to their earlier conversation, before they’d been interrupted.

I have to admit, I was kind of surprised you didn’t come over to see me when I showed up. Demon, angel, we’re a rare pair, you know? I’ve only seen one other. 

Focus, Skizz . That wasn’t something to focus on right now. He could ask X or Fwhip to check his code out later - at the moment, they had a dragon to lure. 

The air started to get thin again. Quackity, who had flown ahead on dusky brown-gray wings with a flash of azure blue, faltered and was forced to land.

“Air’s too thin to fly well.” The avian huffed, keeping pace with them all. “If only Phil was here-”

“We won’t need Phil, we’re pulling the dragon into thicker air.” Gem panted a little. She had kept the lead the entire time, an impressive feat considering how much longer Skizz’s legs were. She paused at the edge of the clearing with the massive pit, ground changing to endstone under her boots. “Here we are.”

Skizz skidded to a halt behind her, resting his arm against a tree. The cold End air blew past his sweaty skin, feeling ice-cold. His lungs wheezed in the thin air. He didn’t see any sign of the dragon, no plume of purple smoke or shifting ebony scales, but he had no doubt that it was here. 

“So… do we just make a noise?” He whispered. 

It felt dumb, and he waited for someone to offer up a better idea, but after a few heartbeats of silence Gem shrugged and glanced up at him. “I guess so. Let me message the others and then, do you want to do the honors?”

Skizz couldn’t help but grin at that, standing straight and moving forward even though every instinct was begging him to stay back. “Sure.”

He crept to the edge of the pit once Gem gave him the go-ahead, glancing around for any other sign of the dragon. Then he planted his feet, inhaled as much of the thin, freezing air as he could, and screamed at the top of his lungs.

“ HHHHEEEEEEEEEYYYYY!!! COME HERE, STUPID!!!” 

Behind him, the other three exploded into fits of laughter, Quackity’s loud, screaming laugh echoing out across the void and bouncing off of the islands. Skizz couldn’t help but giggle himself, wheezing and pressing a hand to his chest as his lungs choked on the thin air. But it felt so good to laugh, and he was glad the others were too. 

The laughter turned to screams when, a moment later, a face appeared directly at the edge of the pit, massive and toothy and snarling. The dragons’ fangs snapped where Skizz’s legs had been just moments before, purple saliva dripping onto the ground. Meanwhile Skizz, who had launched himself straight into Bad behind him, fumbled on the ground in an attempt to get the both of them upright, his heart pounding.

The dragon hadn’t moved, still staring at them with a growl rumbling in its chest. Skizz felt frozen by those heated purple eyes. If they made any sudden moves, it was probably going to shoot dragon’s breath at them, and that would a disaster because they wouldn’t have time to move-

A rock shot right by Skizz’s ear, almost whistling with the speed of the throw, and slammed directly into the dragon’s nose. It reared back, roaring in fury, and before Skizz could scream his own shock and figure out what had happened, somebody had grabbed his hand and was tugging him back. 

“ START RUNNING, BOYS!” Gem was shrieking, a mad grin on her face as she tugged Skizz along, only releasing him when he found his legs and was able to sprint alongside her. 

The chase was on. 

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GeminiTay to ZombieCleo

GeminiTay: We’re about to provoke the dragon

GeminiTay: Be ready

Cleo grimaced, dropping her arm back to her side with a sigh. Beside her, Xisuma was sitting on the ground with his back against the wall. He glanced over at her when she knelt beside him. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked quietly, assessing his frame. His breathing sounded a bit funny through the mask; even if the air inside was good to breathe, the heat outside was clearly wearing on him. He hadn’t taken a second heat resistance potion after the first wore off, claiming they needed to save it. He was probably right.

“I’m fine.” Xisuma shifted, and she saw his bloodshot eyes flicker up to Rune’s still frame, where the doctor was muttering something to themself and still typing away on their admin keyboard. “Hating that I can’t be helping Rune.”

“Chess would have my hide.” Cleo quirked a smile. “And you know Rune wouldn’t let you, anyways.”

“I wouldn’t.” Rune said, startling them both, leaving Cleo to wonder how someone without ears could hear so well. “But actually, Xisuma, I wanted to talk to you about this code. Something is incredibly weird about it.”

“Oh?” X perked up, twisting. Before he could get to his feet, Rune came over and knelt beside them, bony knees clicking on the stone and netherrack floor.  Extending a dark, glittering forearm, Cleo’s eyes grew wide when a fuzzy, indistinct image began to form in front of her eyes. Within seconds it had solidified into a translucent red screen, displaying rows upon rows of odd symbols that gave her a headache if she tried to stare at them too long.

“You can make it visible?” Xisuma sounded surprised. “I didn’t think-”

“Lots of training,” Rune cut him off, and Cleo got the strong impression that if Rune had a real face, they would have been smirking. “It took me many, many years to get as proficient as I am in admin magic. Even now I still can’t do much except look; codewalking is completely out of the question. But visible admin screens were a little trick I was able to teach myself.”

“Impressive.” X mused, shuffling closer to look at the screen. “So what’s the weird thing you’re seeing…?” X’s voice trailed off into silence, leaving Cleo to silently wait and restrain herself from asking too many questions. It became harder with each second that Rune and Xisuma stared quietly at the shifting symbols, but then Xisuma said weakly, “ What?” 

“I know!” Rune sounded incredibly excited. “Isn’t that fascinating?”

“Isn’t what fascinating?” Cleo couldn’t help herself, planting her hands on her hips. “What’s going on?”

“Mob coding typically follows a very strict pattern,” Rune told her, settling against the wall with their long limbs outstretched on the ground. “It’s unique to each mob, but all mobs of that type follow it. It’s a set, behavioral set of rules. But these mobs, despite blazes having been pre-established, follow an almost completely new set of rules.”

“But the base coding is still there,” Xisuma said before Cleo could ask what that meant. “It’s less like their coding has been swapped out and more like it’s grown . But that doesn’t make sense - coding doesn’t normally do that. It evolves, sure, but this is different; it’s not just a change, it's an addition .”

“So… the blazes have more code here than they do back home?” Cleo said, trying to understand. This wasn’t really her area of expertise. “And that doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t.” Rune agreed. “Mostly because the Wildfire’s code is also part of theirs. They’re co-existing mobs. I’ve never seen the Wildfire’s code before this, for obvious reasons, but it matches up perfectly with blazes in an almost symbiotic way. It’s like they were made for each other.”

“So the Watchers made the blazes a guard dog.” Cleo scoffed. “Big deal. It won’t interfere with us once we get off this island.”

“But it’s more than that,” Rune said, again, and Cleo’s irritation started to fade because Rune was so excited . “You don’t understand. These mobs - the Wildfire - we were under the impression that the Watchers created them, right?” Upon them pausing, Cleo nodded, and then they jumped back into it.

“The longer I look at this, the more this doesn’t seem like the case.” Rune said emphatically, gesturing at the screen so hard their fingers rattled together like a maraca. “The coding is too complicated, it's too interwoven with its surroundings. The Wildfire fits perfectly into this setting, like it was always meant to be here.”

“Cleo, remember when we updated the world code on HC-9 and it triggered Bdubs’ hybrid coding?” X asked, sounding excited as well. Cleo could only nod again.

“It’s like that. Bdubs’ glare coding - that was a pre-existing thing. That coding was floating around in the universal code somewhere but the rest of the server hadn’t evolved quite yet to match it. This Wildfire coding - it’s like that glare code. It looks like it was just floating around, waiting to be discovered.”

“Oh.” It struck Cleo very suddenly, the magnitude of what they were discussing. She suddenly felt a little dizzy. “So the Watchers didn’t just… they didn’t make this island out of nothing. They were manipulating the universal code the entire time.”

Hadn’t they found glares on this island?

“Exactly.” Xisuma breathed. “It’s incredible. I didn’t even know that it was possible.”

“Isn’t that awfully dangerous for us , though?” Cleo said hesitantly. She hated to ruin the excitement, but Xisuma’s expression shuttered seconds later, and Rune abruptly straightened.

“That is… rather dangerous for us.” Rune’s voice had gone cold, nervous. Cleo grabbed her axe from her inventory and squeezed the handle, giving her anxious hands something to do. This discovery… it had been incredible at the start. But the reality for them, now, was that Watchers could take the fabric of the universe and just… bend it to their will. They could take abstractions and concepts that hadn’t even been discovered by the modern player and turn them into a reality.

And that was terrifying. 

They were frozen, each struggling to come to terms with this realization. Trying to figure out how this would impact them in the future, what it meant for them going forward. How could they fight something that could manipulate the universe?

Cleo’s communicator pinged. 

GeminiTay to ZombieCleo:

GeminiTay: CLEOCLEOCLEOEFA GET OOUT HER NOW 

GeminiTay: DRAGON DRAGON IS HERE

Cleo’s head snapped up to look at the tunnel at the exact same time a roar echoed through it, blasting rancid air straight into the cave. The cave roof shuddered, sending chips of stone and netherrack to the ground. The blazes, clustered around Jack at the meat pile in the corner, all spun around and hissed, smoking with wildly spinning blaze rods. In the lava pit, the Wildfire snarled, lava spraying from its mouth as it emerged halfway, shifting towards the edge of the pool. 

Cleo looked at X, who was staring back at her with eyes the size of saucers.

“That’s the others.” Cleo breathed. She gripped her axe in a tight grip, waiting for the next sound, waiting to see what the Wildfire would do. 

“Get ready for a fight!”

Chapter Text

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Don’t like it.

What?

Don’t like this . 

We have discovered much.

We are progressing-

But not nearly as fast as we should be.

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Skizz had once, when the Deep Dark was still new to the worlds, spent an entire day sprinting around a private server with Tango trying to dodge wardens. 

It had been pretty intense. Fun, certainly, albeit genuinely terrifying at times, because they hadn’t realized the extent of the warden’s blinding abilities or sonic screams yet. They’d ended the day truly exhausted, ears ringing and heads throbbing, and laughing so hard that they could barely breathe. 

Skizz had also been part of two life series. Traipsing around closed servers plotting to kill the others… that had been pretty crazy. Play-acting with the Red King, especially when that hadn’t turned out to be so playful towards the end, had been wild. Team B.E.S.T. hadn’t exactly been a cakewalk either. 

But despite all of these things, Skizz didn’t think he’d ever felt more overwhelmed, or participated in anything as incredibly chaotic, as sprinting with all of his strength through the woods with a dragon at his back, heading towards a living, breathing fire monster in order to sic the two upon each other. That had to take the cake. 

Gem had apparently messaged Cleo when they’d reached the edge of the nether patch, although she wasn’t sure how coherent her message had been. When they saw the giant hole in the ground that signaled the blazes’ “nest” of sorts, they almost pitched themselves over the edge instead of taking the ramps, tumbling and skidding until they landed in a bloody, bruised heap at the bottom.

Well, except for Quackity, who had taken to the skies as soon as the air pressure allowed. The avian was now screeching bloody murder as he attempted to dodge plumes of poison breath, swooping down low with the long, ebony body of the dragon right on his tail. 

“ INTO THE CAVES!!!” Quackity screamed, shooting into the darkness like a missile. Skizz, aching and still breathing hard from their rush through the woods, had no choice but to yank the others to their feet and rush after him.

Behind them, the dragon was furious . Its body was shorter than the Wildfire in stature, albeit much longer, so Skizz worried that it would be able to easily snake into the tunnel after them. But its massive wings proved to be a problem, the tops slamming into the stone and drawing a pained screech from the creature, who roared its anger into the darkness and clawed vehemently at the tunnel walls. 

Drenched in sweat from the chase, Skizz gasped and panted as they sprinted towards the light at the end of the tunnel, praying that this would be enough to draw the creature out, surely the Wildfire had heard the noise-

A loud, pulsating crackle shook the air, a blast of air so hot it singed Skizz’s eyebrows zipping past them and towards the dragon’s location. It was followed by a throaty rattled, the sound like a giant pair of lungs inhaling smoke and ash and lava before exhaling it in a deep, gurgling sigh. The heat increased again, with Skizz’s vision going blurry as the pressure in the air suddenly increased. Quackity actually crashed into the ground with a squawk of pain, flattened by the rapid increase of heat and heft to the air. 

And then there was a rush, a hiss of a thousand snakes, and Skizz barely had time to adjust to the rapid influx of light before what seemed like hundreds of blazes zipped past him with incredible speed. 

Skizz flattened himself to the edge of the tunnel in an attempt to avoid the rush, mouth open in shock at the blinding, chaotic sight. He’d never seen so many blazes all in one spot, nevermind all driven with such a clear purpose. They seethed and rippled and snarled as they shoved themselves forward, narrowly missing Skizz’s legs with their blazingly hot rods, which were swirling tornadoes of fire. Skizz could feel the exposed skin on his face and arms sizzling; he was going to look properly sunburnt when they got out of here. 

The rush of blazes finally passed, leaving Skizz gasping for air by the cave wall, but upon hearing a furious roar from the dragon beyond, something compelled him to heave his aching and trembling body upright and rush towards the tunnel’s entrance to watch. 

And oh, what a spectacle . 

The dragon was swamped, roaring and hissing in fury as the blazes swarmed it in a giant wave of fire of light. Flames licked at the underside of its wings, its belly, its tail, and with shrieks of pain and scales sizzling with hit, it spat plume after plume of toxic purple vapor at the blazes, eyes alight with rage. The gas had a strange reaction to the blaze’s fire; within seconds the blazes crumpled to the ground upon being hit, flames going out to leave them as a scattered pile of metal. Some of them were able to shake it off, blaze rods weakly lifting themselves off the ground and spinning in lazy, haphazard circles. Others melted away on the spot, leaving their rods scattered across the ground. 

But the dragon wasn’t uninjured. Despite its size and the toxicity of its breath, Skizz could see places where the scales had melted away, leaving dripping purple blood and shiny red burns in their stead. It truly was the battle of the ages. 

“Oh wow ,” Gem, Quackity, and Bad came to stand by him, staring in awe at the fight taking place outside. Dozens of blaze rods were scattered around the open pit, but more blazes were arriving from the other tunnels, which told Skizz that regardless of how strong the ender dragon was, the blazes were going to take the win. 

A furious sounding roar sounded from behind them, back where the Wildfire cave was, and Skizz stiffened as some of the blazes immediately stopped fighting the dragon and spun around to face them. 

“Shit,” Quackity swore, “we need to cover the cave with water. We can’t let them back in!” 

“Well hurry!” Gem shrieked, because suddenly the blazes were streaking forward, some staying behind to fight the dragons while others were hightailing it back towards them. Quackity drew a bucket from his inventory and flew to the mouth of the cave, while Skizz, Gem, and Bad used their buckets to repel the blazes with splashes of water, watching the mobs hiss and crackle in fury as they were burned by the liquid. 

“Anytime now, Quackity!” Bad shouted. Quackity’s wings were a blur as he furiously poured water down the cave’s entrance. There was an odd shiver that rippled through it, and Skizz felt the singed hair on his arms stand on end. He stopped his water-splashing when, to his surprise, water completely covered the entrance of the tunnel… and kept pouring, even after Quackity slipped back inside, shaking his feathers off. 

“There.” Quackity panted. “A little coding means that water is going to run indefinitely. The blazes won’t be able to come back in.” 

“Smart.” Gem breathed. “Now we have to go back to the others before-”

Another roar, louder, and a BOOM that shook the cave and sent everyone stumbling to the ground. There was a scream from the cave, sharp and agonized, and the sound stole Skizz’s breath away.

Without another word, Gem drew her sword and started sprinting back towards the cave, the others right behind her. Skizz was starting to feel dizzy; all the running in the heat wasn’t doing him any favors. But they were so close - they just had to fight a mob, that was it! He could handle one little mob fight, right?

The ground shook again, and an awful metallic scraping sound - like iron striking stone - screeched through the tunnel. The heat was growing heavier, the light stronger. The Wildfire was clearly under attack - it was fighting back - and they had to get there to help. 

“We’re coming!” Skizz shouted down the tunnel, hoping the others would hear. 

They stumbled into the cave to discover an absolute warzone. 

The Wildfire was out of the lava, still dripping with it in places, shields whirring around it at dizzying speeds. Strange shards of glowing metal were scattered around the cave floor, some actually embedded in the stone and netherrack walls. The heat was unbearable; Skizz actually felt nauseous, felt sweat trickling down his back. The world tilted a little before his eyes. 

But before he could address the states of anyone, the Wildfire noticed them entering the cave, head swinging around to glare at them. Skizz met its eyes, and he froze instantly.

The pure, unfiltered rage in those crimson eyes caught him off guard, stealing the air from his lungs more than even the heat could.

Because Skizz had seen that expression before, just on a very different face. 

But before he could dwell on that, the Wildfire screamed at them, the sound booming and loud and ferocious and crackling like the hottest of fires. It’s shields raised, then slammed into the ground, the force bringing Skizz to his knees. 

And before he could do anything, the shields fractured, sending shards of blazing hot metal straight at Skizz’s face. 

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The Wildfire had lifted itself partially from its lava pool when it sent out its swarms of blazes. Cleo had watched, ready to fight, tense as coiled wire, as they all rushed out of the room. This was it - the big moment. She had no idea where the others were, but she hoped they wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the onslaught of blazes. 

“Are you all ready?” She asked the others, feeling her organs do funny little dances in her chest and torso. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so scared.

“Ready.” Jack said firmly. He’d run over to her once the rush had occurred, rods spinning wildly around his head. “We still have some blazes here to fight, though.”

A few of the smaller blazes had stayed behind, presumably as a kind of guard. Cleo wasn’t sure if the Wildfire realized what was going on yet, or that they were a threat. But the minute they started attacking…

“I can take care of the blazes,” Rune said firmly, prompting everyone to look at them. They stood tall, their stance having shifted to something strong and steady, and once again, they looked terrifying. “When I attack something intentionally, they get wither sickness. That should make it pretty easy to take care of them.” They paused though, “I can’t attack the Wildfire. I don’t want to accidentally poison the rod.” 

Xisuma sucked in a breath through his teeth, the sound wheezy and rough. The heat was really starting to weigh on him; Cleo could see minute shivers running up and down every muscle in the admin’s body. “Definitely stick to fighting the blazes then.”

There was a distant roar from outside, and the Wildfire growled, the sound rough and crackling. It raised itself up a bit further from the lava, almost out of the pool entirely, clearly preparing itself to go fight. They couldn’t let that happen.

“Right.” Cleo spun around, gripping Xisuma by the shoulders. “Don’t you dare think about stepping in. Stay back with your water and potions, and aid us as needed, but you’re not fighting. Rune, you said you’re handling the blazes. Jack, this means that until the others get here, you and I are going to have to handle the Wildfire.”

“Right, easy enough.” Jack said sarcastically, but he drew a sword. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

Cleo grabbed her sword as well, spinning in place. There was another roar from outside, and now the Wildfire seemed properly angry, sharp teeth bared and ruby eyes blazing with inner fire as it started to move towards the cave entrance, the other blazes flanking it like guards.

It never reached the tunnel.

Cleo lunged forward, one of her water buckets aiming towards the lava pool at the same time as Rune slipped towards the blazes in a blur of black and glitter. The first blaze let out a wail that quickly merged into a death rattle, black smoke wisping up from its rods, and the Wildfire stopped dead in its tracks with an unholy snarl, eyes fixing on them all for the first time. Its shields flashed with heat, and it raised them high in the air only to screech in agony when Jack, elbow-length leather gloves on his hands, splashed another bucket of water at it. There was an awful hiss and creaking of metal when the water landed, and the Wildfire spun around towards its lava pit… only to find it completely coated with obsidian. Cleo’s water had taken away its regenerative heat source. 

As predicted, this made the creature very, very angry.

With a wail that rattled Cleo’s skull, the creature pounded its shields into the cave floor, hard enough to cause chips of stone and netherrack to fly into the air. Everyone stumbled, but Cleo - who had predicted the move from the first lift of those shields - stayed on her feet. Unfortunately, both Jack and Rune were knocked down, and while Rune’s strong bones and height allowed them to continue fighting from their new position, Jack was practically laid flat on his back. 

And before the blazeborn could get to his feet, the Wildfire did another attack - one that Cleo was unfortunately very familiar with - and sprayed them both with fire and shards of metal.

The fire, of course, did not harm. Rune didn’t change at all and Jack’s clothes were only left singed and set alight at the edges. But while the shards glanced off of Rune’s abnormally hard bones, leaving just nicked and scratches, one buried itself deep in Jack’s shoulder, causing the man to let out a scream of pain as he was knocked back down. 

“Jack, I’m coming!” Xisuma shouted out, rushing to the blazeborn’s aid with potions. The Wildfire snarled at the sight, fully preparing to shoot another onslaught, but Cleo wasn’t going to let it land another blow. Tearing a fire resistance potion from her inventory and gulping it down, she darted between the creature and the other players, 

The last time she’d fought the Wildfire, she’d been taken out of the fight because of her particularly flammable skin. Not this time. This time, when the Wildfire tried to spit fire at her, she just laughed, feeling the heat wash over her in strikingly potent waves of sensation. The kind of heat that had previously turned her to kindling wouldn’t faze her this time. 

With the creature’s attention on her, Cleo wasted no time speeding forward and stabbing her sword into one of the creature’s shields which, while strong, were organic in nature and weren’t as hard as iron. Her sword dug right in, and despite beginning to heat up, she was able to wrench it back and forth enough to create a crack. 

She yelped a second later when the Wildfire spun its shields, sending her flying backwards into one of the cave walls. Something at her back went crack as she hit the wall, and based on how she struggled to stand, she doubted it was the stone. But it would heal, so she fought her way upright, growling in frustration at how she’d lost her sword to the Wildfire’s shield.

She paused for a moment, noticing the appearance of new faces at the cave entrance. Skizz came into view, skin reddened and sweat dripping from his hair. His eyes went wide at the sight of the cave and the fighting, and Cleo went rigid alongside him as the Wildfire took notice, head swinging around to glare at the newcomers. 

It pounded the floor, screeching in rage, and fired more shards. At Skizz, who had stumbled to his knees, completely vulnerable. Rune was too far away, Xisuma was tending to Jack.

Cleo couldn’t get their in time.

She watched, frozen in horror, a scream building in her throat. That shard was going to split Skizz’s head open. It was going to kill him, Cleo was going to have to see his body slumped across the cave floor, blood spreading in a pool. They were going to have to bury him here, they were going to have to bury Skizz-

Bad emerged from the gloom like an avenging- well, an avenging demon. Black and blue cloak spread wide, he swung himself directly in front of Skizz, grunting as two of the shards embedded themselves directly into the cloth and - presumably - Bad’s body. Skizz screamed out in horror as the demon fell to his knees… but then Bad, without missing a beat, wrenched the shards clean out of his system. In a matter of seconds the demon was back on his feet, the edges of the blaze shards dripping and steaming with blood. Without giving any sort of indication that the shards were hurting his hands to touch, the demon proceeded to fling them straight back at the Wildfire, one slamming into the shield… while the other sailed straight between the fiery barriers and scraped against the Wildfire’s inner core. 

It was an impressive move, especially since Bad was still leaking oddly crimson blood. But the part that took Cleo aback was how the wounds left by the returned shards seemed to sizzle even against the Wildfire’s incredibly hot metal, and the creature recoiled with a wail, clearly in pain. Strangely colored smoke coiled away from the wounds, a dark purple, which Cleo found oddly familiar.

She couldn’t dwell on it, because Skizz had grabbed Bad and pulled him away from another onslaught of fire and metal, and she had to refocus. Quackity had grabbed a bow and was shooting arrows from the ceiling, prompting the Wildfire to aim upwards, only for Gem and Jack - who was newly healed by Xisuma - to cut underneath with their swords. Focusing downwards on them only allowed Cleo to splash water on it from behind, and when it turned towards her, Skizz and Bad had their own water to pour from behind.

It was incredibly chaotic, and messy, and had this been on any other world, in any other circumstance, Cleo might have found it fun. But the stakes were too high on this island, and the prize was too precious. Her face set in grim determination, Cleo hacked and slashed and stabbed, throwing water, sliding on the floor to avoid hits. At some point her potion of fire resistance ran out and she found parts of her limbs alight, but Xisuma was there to splash her with healing and re-grant her fire res once again. Rune’s long limbs quickly dealt with the blazes that had been there and kept at bay any new ones the Wildfire tried to create, which became scarcer and scarcer as it was overrun. 

It wasn’t like that first fight. Cleo knew what she was up against, and there were so many of them now. There was no time for uncertainty. One by one, the Wildfire’s shields broke, and the Wildfire grew paler, grew slower. The occasional cry of pain from the players still rang out whenever the fire and metal grew too close, but when an injured player stepped out to heal, a new one stepped in. 

In the end, it was Gem who cast the final blow. The Wildfire was bare and vulnerable; a skull on a spine, dimly glowing, clearly injured and weak. It was making strange whining sounds from deep in its throat, the sound triggering an odd kind of nostalgia that pulsed in Cleo’s chest, but it didn’t last long. They needed this thing to die, and so Cleo felt no guilt when Gem rushed forward, limbs bright red from blood and burns, and with a scream born of adrenaline, stabbed her sword straight through the Wildfire’s skull directly up under its chin.

There was a rasping, crackling gurgle, and the Wildfire’s pale eyes went gray and lifeless. It fell to the ground, almost crushing Gem with its skull, metal bones losing some of their glow. There was a heartbeat where the body lay still, and Cleo’s hyperactive mind suddenly panicked at the prospect of this thing not leaving behind a rod, when the skull and helmet then melted away. The spine warped, twisted… and suddenly there were blaze rods, dozens of them, all of them much larger than any normal rods from a regular blaze. 

And then it was quiet, the cave silent except for everyone’s heaving breaths and the quiet crackle that came from some netherrack chunks that had been set alight by the Wildfire’s attack. 

“Holy fuck ,” Jack swore weakly, sinking to his knees. The Wildfire had been particularly focused on him for a lot of its attacks, and he’d been injured more than the others. There was only so much that potions could do, and he was still bloody and bruised, rods hanging close to his body and spinning sluggishly. “We did it.”

“We did it.” Xisuma wheezed. The admin was shaking from head to toe, no doubt exhausted from running around in all the heat. “Rune, can you grab the rod?” 

“Not sure you want me to touch it right now.” Even Rune sounded exhausted, raising one bony hand to reveal wisps of dark smoke still coiling off of it. “I need to shake this off before I touch anything.” 

“I got it,” Jack said, pulling himself back upright with a groan. Bad, swaddled up in his robes, moved forward to help assist him over to the rod, the rest looking on with exhausted, but hopeful eyes. 

Jack’s rods moved away from his torso, reaching out towards the nearest rod, which was laying still on the ground still glowing with heat. The minute one of Jack’s rods touched it he jerked, a whole body flinch that had Bad gripping him by the shoulders. The blazeborn’s eyes flashed with blinding light, blue and red glowing so brightly they might as well have been flames themselves, and his hair burst into a renewed sizzling glow. “ Holy-”

Bad took a step back as the rod lifted upright and settled into Jack’s orbit, immediately sending light and heat pulsating throughout all of his other rods as well. In a matter of seconds Jack looked revitalized, glowing with light, a shocked expression fixed on his flushed face as he stared at the rod in awe, which was maybe three times the length of his other ones. 

“It’s so hot ,” Jack gasped out, sounding overwhelmed. Cleo’s eyes widened in shock as his feet abruptly left the ground, leaving him yelping and struggling to regain his balance as he actually floated upwards by a few inches, “ WHAT?”

“That’s a powerful blaze rod.” Skizz was beaming, hope and excitement rendering his blue eyes almost as bright as Jack’s. “That’s going to help Tango out for sure .” 

“Then we need to go back.” Now that Cleo saw they’d attained the blaze rod, she found herself only able to focus on leaving. She’d celebrate their victory once they were back in the hospital and that rod was fixed firmly in Tango’s chest. 

“Should we grab another one? Just in case?” Gem asked wearily. 

“I don’t think I can handle another one, I’m not gonna lie.” Jack was still confusedly tilting in the air, flush with heat and light and slowly spinning in a circle as he struggled to orient himself. “So unless someone else wants to just chug potions and have a go at it…?” 

“We should just leave.” Everything in Cleo’s soul was screaming at them to leave, leave now, before the Watchers caught wind of their victory and tried to ruin it for them. An increasingly potent sense of desperation was creeping up her chest and throat, making it difficult to breathe. “We’ve got what we’ve come for, yeah? So let's get out of here.”

Some part of her panic must have leaked through, because those closest to her give her matching expressions of sympathy. 

“We’re going, Cleo.” Xisuma rasps. He reaches out to touch her arm, but the way his fingers are shaking make it almost feel like he’s using her for support. “We can go now.”

“Good.” Cleo breathes, and her eyes feel itchy and achy in a way she doesn’t like. Swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat, she moved to the front of the group and starts heading towards the tunnel, refusing to look behind her to see the faces she knows the others are making. She doesn’t need sympathy, she doesn’t need compassion, what she needs is to leave . 

The others fall in behind her. It took Jack a second to figure out how to move hovering off the ground like this, but he eventually learns how to spin his blazerods in just the right way to move him forward, like an actual blaze. Another time, Cleo suspects there would have been more questions about that development, but everyone is too tired, too anxious to get their cargo back to the hospital. The desire to get off of this island was becoming a physical ache, a pain that Cleo wasn’t used to, like some of the heavy numbness that had plagued her since stepping foot here was wearing off to reveal raw, aching wounds. Zombie hybrids weren’t supposed to feel pain like this. 

There’s water at the end of the tunnel and Quackity curses, telling everyone to hold off while he slips outside to check on the status of the fighting. That was right - there was a boss fight going on just beyond the tunnels, dragon versus blazes. The stricken look on Quackity’s face when he slips back inside after disabling the water, accompanied by the lack of roaring from outside, tell her all she needs to know about who won.

The middle of the pit is a mess when they step outside - or in Jack’s case, float. There are scattered blazes along the walls, but it’s empty in the middle except for streams of green-gold xp magic and piles of blaze rods. The blazes that are outside seem dazed; they stumble around without purpose, floating in little clusters. 

Much more typical blaze behavior, Cleo can’t help but notice.

“They’re lost without their queen,” Rune murmurs, noticing the same thing. “Further proof that they were originally meant to coexist with the Wildfire.”

“What?” Bad asks, sounding confused. 

“We discovered something kind of interesting while waiting for you all to bring the dragon back,” Rune went on, since Cleo was too focused on leaving and X was too out of breath to speak. “The Watchers didn’t make these mobs from scratch in order to torment the players on the island. This code was pre-existing; the Watchers just manipulated it and solidified it here. Which means that the Wildfire has a natural place as a leader of blazes, which explains why they are so dazed now without one nearby. Their previously normal behavior is actually due to them lacking a queen.”

“That’s… a lot to take in.” Skizz blew out a slow breath. “You’re telling me that we could have had Wildfires on our normal worlds this entire time?” 

“Things didn’t work out that way, but it was a possibility.” Rune agreed. In a more serious tone they said, “This means, of course, that we have to take into account that the Watchers can manipulate universal code to their will.”

“Dear void,” Gem scoffed. “Just what we needed.” 

“I wonder why they haven’t interfered at all,” Quackity mused, sounding suspicious, and Cleo was stiffening and spinning around before she could stop herself.

“Don’t say that!” She cried. “Do you want them to cause more trouble!?” 

Quackity actually jumped a little at her tone, feathers fluffing up. “I’m not-”

“You’re not thinking!” Cleo spat, surprising herself at the anger that was swelling up in her chest. “They can see and hear everything, do you realize that? Do you realize what you might have just started!?” 

“Cleo.” She jumped a little when Xisuma, sounding stronger and firmer than he had since the entire time they’d spent in the nether patch, appeared in front of her. He looked terrible under his visor; he’d tinted it, she presumed on purpose, but she could still see dark streams of what must have been blood leaking from his eyes. “Settle for a second. Focus on your surroundings.”

“I don’t need to-”

“ Cleo ,” Xisuma said more firmly and she shut her mouth, quaking inside. She tried to focus on the ground under her feet, on the smell of the smoke and metal around her, a particularly heavy pressure against her skin that she knew accompanied the nether atmosphere. Her eyes burned, a distant sensation that she knew meant tears weren’t far off, and she clenched her jaw against it. 

Not now, not here.

“We’re going home.” Xisuma said softly. He glanced at Quackity and Bad. “You two know what you’re doing?”

“Yeah.” Quackity’s voice is quieter, more somber. He sounds apologetic. “Yeah we do.”

“And you know the time limit? And you’ll keep in contact every twenty minutes?”

“Of course.” Bad nodded. “We’re going to be smart about this, Xisuma.”

“Right.” Xisuma sighed, then turned back to Cleo, who wanted to speak but found it was all she could do to keep herself from bursting into tears or screaming. “We’re going home, Cleo. Rune?”

“I’m here.” Rune put a gentle hand on her shoulder as they approached, and the sensation was just foreign enough that Cleo was able to latch onto it, focus on that instead of the images that were threatening to break through and haunt her. She could taste fire, she could hear screams, she could see blood… but the sensation of bones against her shoulder was one she hadn’t faced before. 

Rune used their free hand to type on their admin keyboard, and a portal opened up in front of them. The sight was a balm to Cleo’s feverish thoughts; that was a doorway, a way out. She felt shaky, but she let Rune lead her forward, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Jack was right behind with Wildfire rod in tow. 

She wasn’t trapped. She wasn’t dead. Nobody else was dead, either.

There was an exit, one that she stepped through. 

And Cleo left the island, for the first time, on her own two feet. 

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Jimmy was watching Tango die for a second time. 

That was an objective truth. He hadn’t left Tango’s side for a single moment since the others had gone back to the island, so he’d been present for every moment of his rancher’s slow and steady decline. He’d watched as Tango’s already ashen skin had turned even paler, until he looked less like a person and more like a kind of doll, waxen and lifeless. The veins under the skin had grown even darker, his temperature dropping even lower. Even the ventilator seemed to be struggling, every breath coming more labored than the one before it. 

Jimmy was almost numb to it all - almost, not fully. It was a sickening sense of deja vu that was trapping him to his chair, preventing him from moving a muscle. It was Tango, intubated and pale. It was Tango, covered in blankets and shaking in pain as cracks tore through his skin, as his skin darkened and fingers cracked and fell from his hand. His rancher, shaking, metal twisting and tearing apart in his chest. His love, still as the grave, hanging on to life by a thread. 

Jimmy just had to bear it, helpless a second time over, stomach churning and skin burning from all the fire res potions he’d consumed over a matter of hours. They were starting to run low, but Jimmy couldn’t bring himself to go ask for more. If they failed, they failed. He’d weather the heat, just as Tango had weathered the pain. He would not move from this spot. 

But Tango was dying, so Jimmy got to see the decay in all of its sickening glory, feeling a countdown tick away in the back of his head. Wondering when the machinery next to him would erupt into screaming wails, mourning for a heart that finally stopped beating. 

He couldn’t bear the sound of it beeping, nor could he stand the rasping hiss of the ventilator, so he filled the room with his own sounds. Trills and twitters, singing to soothe his rancher in case he somehow was scared deep in a dreamworld. Whispers of affection, telling Tango he loved him, he was waiting for him, he wouldn’t be alone. Telling him to fight, to hang on just a little longer. Soon, Jimmy told him over and over. Soon, they’ll be back soon .

He had no way of knowing if that was true. 

Chess came in once, to check on Tango’s vitals. She greeted Jimmy but otherwise didn’t say a word, for which Jimmy was grateful, because he couldn’t stand to be lied to at that moment. The dimming of her eyes and the gentle slump of her shoulders told him all he needed to know. 

She left, and he resumed his singing and whispers of devotion, like his voice could be an anchor that would lead Tango back to his side, alive and well. It was a dream - Tango wasn’t whole in so many ways, and he wouldn’t be well for… 

Jimmy didn’t know if he ever would be. How much torment could one person stand? 

There was a sound from down the hallway outside, and Jimmy’s ear-feathers twitched, rousing him from his state of mourning. He raised his head a little, dazedly taking in the voices, the sound of running, the sound of running growing closer. 

And Jimmy moved for the first time that day, getting to his feet with a pounding heart as the door to Tango’s room burst open one more time. 

Multiple people strode into the room, ones that Jimmy recognized and others that he didn’t. There was Chess, there was Q. He could see Xisuma, and a blazeborn that he briefly knew to be Jack Manifold, a man he owed a great debt for donating so much to Tango. 

And looming in the back, dark and ominous, was a skeleton. 

Jimmy couldn’t help himself from flinching back, wings instinctively mantling themselves over Tango’s bed, because those were dangerous . Why was one here? Why was nobody else afraid? But then he saw that the skeleton was holding something in its bony hands, something long and gold and glittering, and Chess was speaking.

“Jimmy, it’s alright.” The doctor was saying. Her voice was tense, her words rushed. “Rune’s a doctor from a nether hospital. They have the blaze rod for Tango.”

They were back . 

“Y-you actually have it!?” Jimmy’s voice was high pitched with shock and worry, and he struggled to get his wings to relax and fold against his back. “You’re back from the island?”

“We’re back, Jimmy.” Xisuma sounded exhausted, leaning against the doorframe to Tango’s room like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “We made it. Tango’s going to be okay.”

“We’re hoping things stabilize as soon as we get that rod into him,” Q was already in full surgeon dress, with a cab holding back their dark hair and gloves on their hands. “I need everyone except Rune and Chess to leave the room.”

Jimmy’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach, wings mantling again. “I want to stay here.” 

Chess sighed, and although she sounded sympathetic, there was a definite undertone of irritation in her words. “Jimmy, I know you want to be here but we need space and we need to focus.”

“Please don’t make me leave.” Jimmy’s words came out more as a whimper, breath starting to catch in his throat. “I-I can’t- what if he doesn’t make it?”

“He’s going to be okay, Jimmy.” The skeleton - Rune - spoke gently, startling Jimmy with a voice that was soothing and soft. Comforting. “We’re going to do everything we can to help him. You’ll be helping him too if you stay outside while we work. You can see him as soon as we’re done.”

Jimmy bit his lip, fighting back trembling, hysterical breaths that were threatening to tip him over the edge. He glanced at Tango, at his death-like state, and refocused on the blaze rod in Rune’s hands. This was what they needed, he tried to tell himself. This was going to save Tango’s life. 

If only he could get himself to move . 

“Jimmy?” A new voice reached his ears, and Jimmy glanced at the door in shock to see Scott appear, turquoise hair pulled back in multicolored clips, expression soft and tender. The sight of it brought Jimmy close to tears, because although he knew that what he’d once had with Scott was over, he knew that Scott was still a friend. A very good, very old friend, and that was something he needed right now.

Scott made a very gentle gesture with his hand, a wave to approach, and Jimmy was pulled as if by magic. It was like walking through a bog. Jimmy had to unstick his hand from Tango’s bedrail, force himself on legs made of iron over to the door, where Scott gently wrapped an arm around his shoulders and maneuvered him out of the room and into the hallway. Jimmy couldn’t help but twist, spinning to look over his shoulder and wings as the door slammed shut, knowing that whatever was happening inside was going to determine Tango’s fate. Panicked trills started to make their way out of his throat, chest heaving, but Scott hushed him with gentle croons, rubbing one hand along his arm and shoulder, walking close and slow at a steady pace. He murmured reassurances the entire time, telling Jimmy he was doing so well, just a bit further, Tango was going to be okay. 

It only struck Jimmy, once they were sitting down in the lobby on one of the couches and his breathing started to settle, how much Scott was doing for him right now. How much it must have been costing him to promise Jimmy things about Tango’s safety, considering what they used to be and how it all ended. 

It just added another crack in Jimmy’s bruised, broken, guilt-ridden heart. 

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve any of it.

But he couldn’t leave. He needed the closeness; Scott’s touch wasn’t foreign, his voice was a comfort. Jimmy wasn’t strong enough to push it away. 

So he curled into Scott’s side, letting the elf smooth at his hair and feathers with delicate touches, murmuring assurances in lilting tones. He ignores the fact that he and Scott haven’t spoken about them since That Day, and that they haven’t been so close since That Day, either. He just closes his eyes and lets himself be held, because right now, that’s all he’s able to do.

That, and feverishly hope that whatever was going on in Tango’s room was going to bring his rancher back. Because Jimmy was so weak, and losing Tango might be the thing to finally end him. 

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Rune had been told about the surgery before the expedition to the island had even taken place. As such, when they jumped through the portal and Rune was able to safely grab hold of the blaze rod without poisoning it (or burning their hand, which for once felt like a possibility with how blindingly hot it was) they were confident that supplies were ready and they could get to saving Tango as quickly as possible.

Having hospital acquaintances on speed dial was truly handy.

They were halted only by the need to get the canary avian out of Tango’s room, something that would have tugged at Rune’s heartstrings had they possessed any organs. They hated this part of being a doctor; saving lives took priority, of course, but the heartache that surrounded everyone, the desperation to stay close and the obligation to step in between loved ones… Rune hated it.

But it had to be done, and Rune told themself as the door to Tango’s room was shut and they were accompanied by Q and Chess to sanitize their hands and prepare the necessary equipment that it was all necessary. Things would turn out alright. 

A doctor was required to be an optimist, after all. 

“We’re going to have to use some specialized tools,” Rune informed them. On the other side of the room, Q and Chess were washing up; Rune fortunately had enough control over their bone marrow to simply heat their hands to a temperature that killed any bacteria, before slipping on the specially made gloves they carried around in their inventory. “I’ve contacted one of my staff to be on standby.”

“Were we using the wrong tools the entire time?” Chess’s head snapped up to look at them in alarm. “Tango’s the only blazeborn we’ve operated on.”

“Based on the scans you sent me before I came over, you did what you could,” Rune assured, typing the coordinates of Belanus into their communicator. A portal appeared, and they held out an arm as a signal to wait while leaning their upper body through the portal.

Their vision whited out, not able to stabilize since they technically hadn’t crossed into a different world. But soundwaves traveled, so Rune called out, “BB, head on through when you can, please.” 

“I’m coming through,” came the response, soft and quiet. Rune leaned back through, stepping aside as BB floated through, silvery skin flickering a little and hair wafting behind them in clouds of white. They were carrying a tray of sterilized tools, once that Rune knew worked best when performing a blazeborn-related surgery, and they delivered them neatly on the closest operating table. 

“I hope this works out,” BB told all of the doctors, mournful eyes surveying Tango’s still, pale frame. “I’ll be waiting to see if you need anything else.” 

“Thank you,” Q nodded, checking to make sure their mask and hairnet was in place. “We may need your help again if things take a turn.” 

“I’m sure they won’t.” BB blinked, silvery tears leaking down their face. As always, they dissolved the minute they fell, leaving soft vapor that joined the natural mist around their head and shoulders. “But I am ready if they do.”

“Thanks for holding down the fort, BB.” Rune murmured as they turned to go back through the portal, getting rewarded by a tiny, but sincere smile before the ghast hybrid drifted back through. The minute the portal closed, Rune turned to the other doctors. “Alright - I’ve been given quick briefings, but explain this to me fully, and quickly. We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Right. Essentially, the patient came into the hospital with severe code damage that was causing fractures and lacerations all over his body, in particular his left arm.” Q began, speeding over to Tango’s bedside and removing the blankets and heating pads. A few moments later they were cutting open Tango’s patient gown, revealing the bandages underneath. “Another party stepped in to heal the wounds to his code, resulting in the scarring, but we were forced to remove his arm due to the extensive damage. The patient also was suffering from four wholly fractured blaze rods.”

Rune felt a chill shoot through all of their bones, rattling their ribs together. They’d noticed that all of Tango’s external blaze rods were nowhere to be found, no doubt contributing to his ghastly coloration. “But the inner ones are still intact?”

Chess, who’d been adjusting Tango’s superheated IV, paused to look at them. “No, what we’re saying is that all four were completely shattered on the inside. We had to piece them together from scratch.”

“I don’t understand.” Rune shook their head. “So you’re saying Tango had four inner blaze rods that were broken. Where are the rest of them?”

“The rest of them?” Q frowned.

“Blazeborns on average have six to twelve,” Rune said slowly. “Surely you’ve treated multiple blazeborns before?”

“Tango’s been the only one.” Q blinked. “And he’s only ever had four.” 

“But that’s impossible.” Rune gasped. “Four blazerods on a blazeborn is usually a call for emergency transplants. Are you certain Tango doesn’t have others that he’s missing externally? Or even others in different parts of his body?”

“I’ve taken X-rays of Tango before for different wounds, and he’s only ever had the four. They’ve been more than enough to keep him at full health.” Chess sounded dumbfounded, even as she expertly made sure all of the machinery keeping Tango alive was performing as needed and kept out of the way of Q’s movements, which now consisted of sanitizing the raw, barely-healed wounds of a previous surgery. “Maybe he’s just an anomaly.”

“Evidently.” Something didn’t feel right about this whole situation, but Rune couldn’t dwell on it now. They grabbed the table of nether-based tools and pulled it closer, watching as Q grabbed a scalpel and began cutting back through the sutures and scarring. “So, the patient’s blazerods were broken.”

“Yes. We had to retrieve all of the individual shards and piece them back together rather haphazardly.” Q abruptly sounded quite tired. “We used lava to encourage the rods to meld back together. We managed to get all four relatively stable after a few days of active surgery, but one of the rods shattered again soon after and this time we couldn’t salvage the pieces. Hence needing a transplant.”

“And the normally acceptable substitutes didn’t work,” Chess added. “We tried a normal blaze rod, and Tango’s body rejected it immediately. Jack’s rod - which we need to remove before putting the new one in - was hardly any better. That’s why the island mission was needed.”

“I see.” Rune couldn’t even imagine how stressful things must have been, and they abruptly felt quite guilty. “Chess, if you need help with nether-type surgeries, all you need to do is ask. I have the tools that would have made this so much easier for you.” With a ghost of a smile in their voice, they added, “We went to school together, you know you can rely on me.” 

Chess’s eyes dimmed, but her tone was fond. “You had tools for this the entire time? I should have asked.”

“That’s what I have here.” Rune gestured to the supplies beside them. “Filing materials, a heated blaze rod substitute to keep the patient’s temperature up while we remove rods, rod cement… that would have cut the time down by a few days, I think.”

“I think it would have too.” Q sighed. “Nothing we can do about it now. We need to get moving - Tango’s vitals are still falling.” 

With careful, practiced hands, Q drew back the left side of Tango’s chest. With the cut to the sternum and ribs still fresh, the bones came willingly, drawing back a perfectly cut section of tissue that revealed Tango’s heart and, to Rune’s surprise, four blaze rods. They’d never seen rods positioned in such a way before. 

It was clear, just by looking, that the rod substitute was a bust. Jack’s blaze rod was practically dead, a dull grey color that, unfortunately, was only a little duller than the other three rods, which were each the color of bile. Rune held out a hand, not touching, and shivered when they realized they couldn’t feel any heat radiating from the rods at all. 

“This is worse than I’d realized,” Rune whispered. “Quick - I’m going to get two substitutes turned on. The minute they’re ready, I need Q to remove Jack’s rod and one of Tango’s so we can measure it and start filing the wildfire rod to a proper size.”

“Understood.” Q stood ready while Rune activated the fake rods, which were  collapsable things made of warped vine fibers and fueled by magma slime. A special mix of science and coding meant it could reach strikingly hot temperatures and could adjust in size by a few inches, perfect for a fake rod since rod sizes tended to vary based on the patient. 

Tango’s, for instance, were remarkably small. Rune still couldn’t believe they ever were able to generate enough heat to keep a blazeborn healthy. And how on earth were they able to draw in excess heat if the only ones Tango had were inside his body? Where were they able to get that heat without sucking it away from Tango’s own flesh?

“Now, Q.” Rune commanded, both fake rods forward at the same time that Q plunged their hand expertly into the slight cavity underneath Jack’s rod and removed it completely, quickly following by grabbing one of Tango’s. The fake rods slipped into their designated spots a heartbeat later, glowing brightly against the blazeborn’s dull, dying insides. 

“Chess, keep an eye on Tango’s vitals. His temperature should hopefully rise a little, but at the very least it should stay steady now.” Rune wasn’t entirely sure when they’d assumed control of this surgery, but neither of the other two doctors were testing them on it. “Q, bring the rod here.”

There was a very particular kind of tool that allowed doctors at Belenus to measure and then replicate the exact dimensions of a patient’s blaze rods. BB had been kind enough to bring one over; now Rune held it aloft, letting Jack slip Tango’s rod into the measuring side. Automatically the tool clamped shut, analyzing the rod’s width, depth, and length. The numbers appeared on the screen up front, while the other half of the tool opened up wide, ready for the larger rod to be put in place. 

“You still have plenty of fire res left, correct?” Rune asked, and Q nodded. “Good, hold this while I grab the wildfire rod.” They’d placed the rod in their inventory, a strange sensation burning deep inside their code. It was certainly a potent rod, hotter than any blaze rod they’d dealt with before. They waited for Q to assume their previous position before drawing out the wildfire rod, placing it into the tool’s hold. It was almost too big for the clamps to latch on to.

“Good, now stand back.” Rune took the filer and placed it on the ground, the tool’s legs keeping it from losing its sterile properties. Immediately the machine sprang to action, razor sharp blades sliding around the rod in all directions, cutting it shorter and thinner. Golden blaze powder sprinkled across the ground like fiery snow,  glittering in the pale hospital lights. The rod shrunk at remarkably fast speeds, until the machine finally turned off a few minutes later to reveal two identically sized rods; one dull and sickly, and one blazing like a star.

“That’s amazing.” Chess breathed from her place besides Tango. “Remind me to never skimp out on emailing you again, Rune.”

“I’ll make sure some of these tools are delivered to you once this is done, Chess.” Rune said warmly. They watched Q take up their place at Tango’s side while they lifted up the filer, carefully drawing Tango’s old blaze rod out with one hand and then removing the new, healthy one with the other. 

“I’m just going to check that my wither poison hasn’t touched it in any way before we begin,” Rune murmured, drawing out a little admin magic to coil around the two rods, showing the strands of code behind eyeless sockets. “It’s incredibly unlikely since I wasn’t holding it until my bones stopped leaking it, but you never know-”

Rune went silent and still. The others immediately noticed. “What’s wrong?”

Rune opened their mouth, then hesitated. “I don’t think anything is… wrong.” They studied the coding for a few more seconds, then asked, “You said Tango was a blaze hybrid?”

Q frowned. “As far as we were aware. Xisuma said so.” 

“Can you please bring Jack’s rod over here as well?” 

“Is everything alright, Rune?” Chess sounded concerned, watching with bright pink eyes (when did Chess get pink lenses?) as Q walked over to grab Jack’s rod from where they set it on an empty table, useless and dead. But dead as it might be, it still contained important coding information that Rune needed to study, and they carefully scanned all three of the rod’s coding once Q held it up beside the other two. 

“I think,” Rune found themselves growing more excited by the second, their academic mind latching onto the thrill of a new discovery. “I think that your patient isn’t necessarily a blazeborn, Chess.” 

“What?” Chess said, shocked. “What do you mean?”

“Well unless I’m suddenly an idiot who doesn’t know how to read code, Tango’s rod has a lot more in common with this wildfire rod than it does to Jack’s blazeborn rod.” Rune mused. “A lot more. And didn’t you say he rejected both the blaze rod as well as Jack’s?”

The dots were being connected, even as Chess went quiet in contemplative thought, extending her hand wordlessly to examine some of the rods on her own. Rune handed all three over in turn, letting her examine them on her own, eyes glowing brightly as her admin magic took effect. 

“Incredible.” Chess breathed. “Well… this is actually really good news, then, because this means we’ve found the closest rod in compatibility to Tango’s own. If you’re right about this, Rune, then things will either take a dramatic turn for the better, or something very weird is about to happen that neither of us predicted.”

“Considering the third option is death,” Q said flatly, with a rather pointed look towards Tango’s open chest cavity, “I’d say it’s worth the risk.” 

“Right.” Rune shook themselves out of academic mode for the moment. Tango’s life was in their hands. “Then let’s get this done.” 

Tango’s third rod was slipped back into place, nestled neatly alongside his heart. The last fake rod was removed, and with bated breath, all the doctors watched as Rune gently maneuvered the wildfire rod into the open cavity, watching it neatly settle into place like a puzzle piece. 

The results were immediate, and dramatic. 

The closest to blaze rods in proximity to the wildfire rod jumped in color within seconds, going from dull, pasty yellow to a much shinier gold. There was a loud beep from one of Tango’s machines as his temperature rose five degrees within the span of a heartbeat, and then started to rise some more. His heart began to beat a little quick, his blood pressure rose, everything seemed to grow brighter . 

It was like watching a dead person come back to life.

“Oh void.” Chess breathed. “He’s- that’s too fast. He’s going to go into shock.”

“Rune, go turn down the room temperature.” Q snapped, already trying to reposition Tango’s flesh so they could seal up his ribs and stitch him back together. Increased bloodflow meant that the surgery site was becoming a mess rather quickly, and Rune could see what Chess meant; just like any patient with hypothermia, raising their temperature too quickly could be extremely dangerous. Tango, who had laid for days in a state of near-death, was certainly no exception. 

The temperature steadily dropped to a much more reasonable one hundred and twenty degrees while Chess and Q did their best to get Tango’s body patched up before it went into some state of shock. It certainly was looking a bit sketchy; Tango’s face, which had been gray as cement only minutes before, was now pale but with a surprisingly bright flush at his cheeks, which only served to make the poor blazeborn look feverish and ill. His heartrate was still rising, as was his temperature, now sitting at something closer to a regular human’s. It was a remarkable show of progress considering they’d introduced the wildfire rod mere minutes before. 

“This is insane.” Chess was panting a little, but it sounded more from nerves and excitement than anything else. “This is - Rune, what you discovered-”

“I can tell you more about it later.” Rune felt a bit shaken themself. They certainly hadn’t expected that kind of reaction. “I think we can say that Xisuma and the hermits are going to be given quite the surprise.” 

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Once the doctors slipped into Tango’s blindingly hot room and shut the door, taking the wildfire rod with them, the wait began.

Xisuma was getting awfully tired of waiting in hospital hallways.

There was still a crowd hanging around him. Jimmy had left with Scott, pulled away for his own state of mind. But Skizz was pacing back and forth, back and forth, hands balled into fists at his side and a look of potent dread stretched across his face. Cleo was there, looking more anxious than Xisuma had ever seen her, leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. Gem had stayed as well, sword still drawn and tapping against the tile floor. 

Xisuma was sitting, because he simply did not have the strength to stand. He’d thought that he was getting better, that the forced bedrest was enough to keep him steady for the entire island trip. He hadn’t done any admin magic, he hadn’t even participated in the fighting! But running around in the heat had completely worn him out; he could feel tremors of exhaustion still running rampant through every limb.

But he wasn’t going to leave this hallway until he heard that Tango was okay.

It was disgustingly hot, still. Not quite enough to warrant potions like going inside the room did, but enough that it rivaled the heat of the nether patch. Xisuma had his helmet leaned against the back wall, growing dizzier with every passing moment. The door to Tango’s room was blurring if he didn’t blink frequently, and although the air filtering through his helmet remained cool, the rest of him was bogged down by heat and sweat. Skizz and Gem were shining with it, wiping it off of their pink, burnt faces. Only Cleo was unaffected, but her hair was dull and lank, the only sign of how high the temperature was. 

They were stuck in a bubble. Time didn’t seem to pass at all while they waited.

But sometime later, Xisuma slowly started to notice a change. The temperature was dropping. 

“You feel that?” He rasped. He winced at the sound of his own voice, harsher and weaker than he’d expected. Skizz paused in his pacing, then extended one arm and waved it in the air a little. “Is it getting… cooler?”

“The temperature’s dropping.” Gem agreed. “I feel it too.” 

“Is that bad?” Skizz fretted. “What does that mean? Are they dropping the temperature or is that a malfunction?” 

Xisuma’s heart seized in his chest. That was a good question… what if the thermostat in Tango’s room, which was keeping it blindingly hot just to keep his hermit alive , had failed? Was the cold going to be the finishing blow?

Xisuma didn’t get much time to dwell on it before the door to Tango’s room opened.

Immediately, he shot to his feet. Or at least, he tried to, but he only made it a few feet up before he faltered and fell to his knees. Immediately Cleo was at his side, helping pull him upright while he wheezed out a thank you. She kept him steady while Chess came out of the room, glistening in sweat and breathing a little heavily through the mask.

But her eyes weren’t dull, that was something Xisuma noticed right away. They weren’t dull, they weren’t sad, they were luminous .

“Well.” Chess said, and the tone found in that one syllable almost gave X the strength to stand on his own two feet without help. “You all did something amazing finding that wildfire rod. As far as we can tell, that did the trick. Tango’s going to get better.”

“ YEAH BABY!!” Skizz practically exploded into screams of happiness, jumping up and down and pumping his fist, grabbing the closest person to him - which happened to be Gem - and swinging her around in dizzying circles while he whooped in excitement. Cleo let out a choked sound that might have been a sob, might have been a laugh. Xisuma felt like he could have flown into the air had Cleo let go of his shoulders. 

“You mean it?” He croaked, feeling fragile hope blossom in his chest. “That did it? The rod finally took?”

“It did.” Rune stuck their head over Chess’s shoulder, face as empty and impassive as ever but voice glowing with warmth and satisfaction. “It was a close call, I won’t lie. He was hanging on by a thread. But the rod did wonders; his temperature is already fifteen degrees higher than it was before.”

“ Wow ,” Gem gasped, staggering a little after getting spun in circles. She braced herself against the wall and stared at the doctors in awe. “That fast?”

“Faster than we could have imagined.” Chess nodded. “Almost a little too fast. We’re going to have him in isolation for a bit, just so we can monitor him and give him a chance to rest completely undisturbed. But so long as nothing goes wrong in the next twenty-four hours, we’ll be able to move him to a recovery room and just let his body heal.” 

“Thank the void .” Skizz was crying now, mania swinging down straight to grateful tears that poured down the man’s face. He frantically was trying to wipe them away but they just kept coming. “I c-can’t- you really - thank you .”

“Thank you ,” Chess said softly. “I know the trip was dangerous. But it was worth it.” Her eyes then drifted up and pinned themselves on Xisuma, glowing a bit brighter. “Xisuma, you and I need to have a quick chat. You also need to lay down and get some fluids.” 

“He does, he can hardly stand,” Cleo confirmed before Xisuma could say anything, gently pushing X forward so he stumbled directly into Chess’s capable hands. “Go on, X. We’ll tell the others that Tango’s going to be okay.”

“Good.” Xisuma blinked back his own tears, then remembered something quite important. Glancing down at his communicator, he was relieved to see that Quackity and Bad had already completed their first check in.

“Cleo, I’m sharing with you this chat with Quackity and Bad,” Xisuma told her, transmitting the chat over to her communicator with shaky fingers. “They need to check in every twenty minutes.”

“Understood.” Cleo nodded, eyes brighter than he’d seen them since they got on that cursed island. “Just go take care of yourself, X.”

“He’ll be okay,” Chess was already steering Xisuma away from Tango’s room, down the hallway where it was quieter and cooler. “You didn’t fight or use admin magic at all, did you X?”

“I honestly think I wouldn’t be walking if I was,” Xisuma rasped back, feeling the world around him tremble and quake as he tried to keep his balance. Chess eventually ducked him down a different branch of the hallway and into a room he recognized now as an End room by the dark walls and dim lighting. She promptly led him to the hospital bed in the center and had him lay down, then sealed the room tight. 

“Alright, lets see how bad it got,” Chess murmured, removing her mask and then helping him take his helmet off when his fingers shook too badly to make it easy. Xisuma all but gasped as the fresh air hit his lungs; there was something not quite right about his helmet’s air in comparison. Or perhaps the nether atmosphere had tainted it in some way.

Chess hummed to herself as she leaned over him, examining his face and eyes with gentle fingers. “Not much bleeding this time, that’s good.”

“Right, only a little bleeding.” Xisuma couldn’t help but grin a little. He hadn’t even noticed it, but sure enough, when she grabbed a soft cloth and some cold water, wiping underneath his eyes revealed red stains. 

“I’m going to give you an IV, because you’re definitely dehydrated and probably shouldn’t be putting too much water in your stomach,” Chess said, already standing to get her materials. “But I also wanted to talk to you about Tango a bit while we're here.”

Xisuma blanched, feeling dizzy for reasons other than fatigue and dehydration. “What’s wrong with Tango?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Chess said soothingly, dragging an IV pole over and setting up a saline drip. “Rune and I just noticed some interesting things about his blaze rods and code while we were working. How long have you known Tango, X?” 

“For years. Why?” Xisuma asked, bewildered. 

“And you’ve known him to be a blazeborn that entire time?”

“What else could he be?”

“Well, when Rune was checking to make sure the wildfire rod was still healthy, they noticed quite a few striking similarities between the wildfire rod and Tango’s rod,” Chess informed him, and Xisuma blinked at her dumbly. “What?”

“Tango’s coding matches a Wildfire a lot more than a blaze, X.” Chess sanitized the inside of his arm, talking steady as she slipped the needle in, which made Xisuma wince and look away. “I did a comparison between Tango’s rod, the wildfire rod, and Jack’s rod all at the same time; despite everyone assuming Tango’s just a regular blazeborn, his rod matched the Wildfire’s a lot more than it did Jack’s, a fellow blazeborn.”

“That’s…” Xisuma’s mind was racing, thinking back to all the things he knew about Tango, all the little quirks, and comparing them to the hulking, monstrous thing they’d had to fight today. “That’s a little crazy.” 

“I can only imagine,” Chess said wryly, making sure the tube wasn’t tangled and that Xisuma’s arm was properly in place before stepping away and sitting herself at the foot of the bed. “Tell me more about the Wildfire. Does this make sense to you?”

“Well,” Xisuma hesitated, still thinking. “It was… huge. At least ten times the size of other blazes. And it was clearly dominant - we learned some absolutely insane things about code there, Chess, the Watchers are terrifying - and once it was threatened it was extremely aggressive. Like-” Xisuma paused again, thinking back to the look in the Wildfire’s eyes, pure rage, something terrifying and uncontrollable.

Then he thought about Tango, to practically identical crimson eyes filled with fury, so bright and so intense that the blazeborn had confessed to him multiple times that he was terrified of snapping one day and hurting someone. Even to the point of asking Xisuma if he’d made the right choice of letting Tango into hermitcraft. 

And then he thought about the four shields around the Wildfire’s searingly hot core, and the four rods that were nestled around Tango’s heart, keeping him warm. He thought about all the times he’d seen Tango gleefully splash or bathe in lava, and then about how the Wildfire had submerged itself in the center of its cave. 

It all… made sense.

And this wouldn’t be the first time that coding turned out to be tricky and deceptive. Bdubs was a testament to that, with a mob that also was supposedly composed of metaphysical coding. 

“Well… that actually makes a lot of sense.” Xisuma leaned back against the bed’s pillows, running the hand that wasn’t hooked up to the IV through his hair, grimacing at how it was clumped together with sweat. “The behavior matches up. Cleo told me that when they were on the island the first time, Tango challenged the Wildfire, resulting in a firefight. We expected it to have issues with Jack but it didn’t seem to care one way or another about him. If Tango really is a Wildfire hybrid, then it makes sense why the two would immediately feel threatened by the other’s presence.” 

“And why the Wildfire wouldn’t care about Jack, which it must have seen as subordinate and therefore not an issue,” Chess nodded. “I guess this clears it all up.”

“This shouldn’t change anything, right?” Xisuma suddenly felt rather worried. “Tango has enough he has to deal with.”

“It shouldn’t. Tango’s still the same hybrid he’s always been, nothing’s changed except our awareness of it.” 

“Well, that’s good news at least.” Xisuma let out a slow breath. “I’ll have to let the others know at some point. Or, or maybe I should wait and tell Tango first, just so he knows. He has the right to know before anyone else.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Chess said seriously. “It’s his coding, first and foremost. But truth be told, X,” she patted his knee. “What kind of hybrid he is is the last thing Tango should be focused on when he wakes up.” 

“You’re right.” Xisuma closed his dry, aching eyes. He already felt less dizzy; the saline drip was working wonders. “You’re exactly right.” 

“Of course I am.” Chess sounded smug. He was going to snipe something witty back at her, because he truly was feeling a bit better, when X’s communicator pinged again. He frowned, had it been twenty minutes already? 

Xisuma opened his eyes and glanced down, then stiffened in immediate terror. 

Quackity to Xisumavoid, Badboyhalo, ZombieCleo

Quackity: WE MIGHTBE COMING BACK SOONER THAN EXOECTED

Chapter Text

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We must be patient.

That is what those of us beyond say.

They are not here.

They are.

But not in the way we are here.

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Demons had been associated, for nearly as long as they had existed as a race, with the soul. 

Demons can read your soul, and therefore your thoughts, some players would say. Others were firm believers that demons, if you met their gaze, would steal your soul, rendering you as empty as a zombie. One particularly overzealous group of players had actually bought into this myth, hunting down demons as the “creators of zombies” and trying to communicate with the mobs as a way of “getting through to their player souls.” 

It wasn’t just human players, either; hybrids were just as guilty. Despite sharing the trait of being non-human, it was hard to identify with a creature who had no mob-kin. Demons were unique, they were “other.” The desire to fear “otherness” was very prominent among all sentient beings. And, since they shared neither the radiant Goodness that seemed to thrive amongst angels or the particular grace that accompanied elves, demons faced the brunt of this fear. 

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, especially when much of the gossip surrounding demons and souls contained a kernel of truth: nobody could intuitively work with soul coding as much as a demon could. Nobody knew quite why. Soul-code, which pertained to the deepest, most intimate parts of a player’s coding, was a taboo subject among most aside from professional doctors who dealt with code-related maladies. And yet, somehow, demons could slice straight through a player’s layers of code and hit the center of their very being with little effort. 

Most demons, of course, knew instinctively that this was incredibly invasive. The ones who didn’t quickly learned. A few rogues who recklessly used this ability for power, status, or crime were arrested and put on trial. It was considered one of the highest ranking crimes across the entire universe. But the fact that demons could commit this particular crime with such ease, whenever they felt like it, did not help ease tensions between them and other races in the slightest. 

Bad, like most demons, did not take any of it personally. They could be a remarkably laid back bunch, despite their often unnerving appearance. Bad, especially, had been graced with a particularly frightening look, so he’d learned to roll with adversity quite early on. He’d studied up on soul-code, learned how to control his own abilities until they were expertly wielded tools, and kept his soul-touching claws to himself.

That is, until Foolish came around. 

Soulmates were practically unheard of in any world or any dimension. The concept that two beings would willingly consent to having their souls irreversibly intertwined was laughable to most. The risks seemed too high. The fact that it could not be undone was a price too high for most. But Bad and Foolish had already known each other for centuries at that point and knew each other so well that, like slipping on wedding bands, the soulbond seemed almost a formality. A simple sealing of a bond that had already existed between them for hundreds of years. They had no desire to ever split from each other for long, and the bond would be a reassurance for the times when they were. 

The bond broke in the middle of a Tuesday. 

Bad could remember it with all the vivid detail of a cherished photograph, although this memory contained nothing but fear and sorrow. He’d been taking a walk, getting a much needed breather from Dapper and Leo who, while he loved them very much, were driving him up a wall. Sometimes Dapper’s antics were too much even for Bad, and Leo took an awful sort of glee in helping him follow through. They were a force to be reckoned with. 

The snapping of the soulbond came without warning. One minute Bad had been slipping past a tree, humming to himself, wondering what those kids were up to while simultaneously appreciating his distance from it. The next, his knees had been pressed against the dirt, one hand propping him upright while the other clutched tightly at his chest. The pain had occurred so suddenly and so sharply that, over the sound of his retching and panicked breaths, Bad feverishly wondered if he’d suddenly had a heart attack. 

But when the world had stopped spinning and the pain had faded enough for him to think clearly, Bad had realized that there was a hollowness inside of him that hadn’t been there before. Something had reached in, grabbed a vital piece of his code, and ripped it out without mercy. 

Foolish’s soulbond. 

Bad had scrambled to get to his feet, stumbling and leaning against the nearest tree trunk when the pain spiked again and left him shaking. The panic that had consumed him felt unholy; he was running as soon as his body could manage it, single-mindedly heading straight towards the familiar, spiraling dragon he could barely see on the horizon. 

A smarter demon would have checked his communicator for some kind of news, or reached out to his admin immediately. But Bad was so caught up in his frenzied panic that he sprinted straight to the dragon without stopping, almost collapsing again once he stood inside of Foolish’s base, spinning in circles and fighting back tears. 

Foolish!? He’d cried out, frantically listening for a familiar voice, the familiar slide of scaly skin along the stairs or floor. Foolish are you back!? FOOLISH!

No-one had answered. Bad had sunk to his knees again at the bottom of the stairs, clutching at his robe-covered chest with shaking hands. 

In their thousands of years of having the soulbond, Bad had felt it break precisely once before. Even then, he still hadn’t fully recognized the feeling until later, because he’d been possessed at the time. Standing in a crimson room with walls coated in lava, he’d hardly been aware of what was happening, too caught up in the horror of feeling another being’s code slide alongside his own and control his every movement, even his voice . 

He’d felt something, though. A pain that had sliced through all of the chaos, leaving him breathless for just a moment. It had faded moments later when the Egg had drawn him back under its spell, but later, when Bad had finally broken free, he’d known exactly what that was. 

Foolish couldn’t die. Not in the same way that players couldn’t die, respawning once they took the damage needed to slay them. Foolish’s wounds, upon reaching a critical point, simply healed themselves again in an explosive flurry of green and gold. There was no respawn, no sleeping in beds to anchor himself in case of a mining accident. Foolish could take everything and anything thrown at him and bounce back with nothing more than a little fatigue to show for it. 

But at the Red Banquet, that invulnerability had been broken. For the first time in his entire life, Foolish had truly died. Death had broken the soulbond for just a few seconds. For both parties involved, it remained one of the scariest moments of their entire existence.

Now, the soulbond had snapped again, which meant Foolish had somehow managed to die. But instead of reviving itself after a few seconds as it had done after the Red Banquet, the soulbond was staying in shattered pieces. 

Which meant Foolish was gone. 

No, Bad had wheezed, tears finally spilling over his cheeks. He’d banished the thought immediately. Foolish had just gone away for a few days to run an errand of some kind, it hadn’t been anything dangerous. Surely Foolish hadn’t lied to them all to do something dangerous. Surely it was a mistake. 

He’d contacted Quackity quickly afterwards, and the search began. Because there was no possible way that Foolish was gone. 

Months passed. It had been three months since Foolish’s disappearance when Quackity had gotten Xisuma’s request to search for his missing players. Another month had gone by until Bad received the notice he could come join Quackity to search the island the others had been held captive on. Four months total that Bad had been living with a gaping hole in his code where the soulbond should have been tethered. Four months since Foolish had disappeared. 

It had been an incredibly long, incredibly difficult four months. At first, Bad had gone searching himself, leaving Dapper and Leo to servermates while he jumped from world to world, server to server. He’d scoured some of the busiest public world’s and also some of the quietest, some of the largest and the smallest. He’d fought his way out of sketchy, underground bars and he’d pestered law enforcement on luxury worlds with seedy underbellies. Who knew what someone might want to do with someone as special as Foolish, for either his abilities or his looks? 

There was absolutely no sign. No mentions, no memories. He’d visited old friends in the Valorant world, like Valkyrie and Sykkuno, but they’d had no clue. They were worried, however. Tina especially, being a fellow demon who knew about the soulbond, had fussed over him and vowed to do her part to track Foolish down. 

But the weeks passed, and hope dwindled as there remained to be no clues. Bad had been so desperate that he’d even fought past the universal warnings surrounding the DSMP, the place where Dream had set up his self-imposed exile once the terrible events of that server had ended. The former admin had been absolutely no help, flatly telling Bad that Foolish hadn’t been on the server since their world had been abandoned. The soulbond remained empty and aching. Bad had left and had no intentions of ever going back. 

This island was Bad’s last hope. He didn’t know where else to look, and he wasn’t sure what else to do. With Foolish gone for so long and it looking more and more like the man had simply vanished into thin air, there was only one reality left that made sense, and Bad fervently wanted to deny its existence. 

There will be clues here, he told himself desperately, watching as the other players - aside from Quackity - vanished through a portal that led back to Apollo-1. We’ll find something here. We have to. 

Because if they didn’t, Bad would have to face the conclusion that Foolish had done this to himself. He’d have to go back to QSMP and explain to his daughter that her papa had decided to leave and never, ever come back. Bad didn’t want to try and explain something like suicide to Leo. 

And he didn’t want to face a life without his best friend. 

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“Where do we start?” After the portal back to Apollo-1 had closed, Bad and Quackity were alone, standing in the middle of the Wildfire-crafted pit. Most of the blazes had drifted off, and so they found themselves the only living things for quite some distance. It struck Quackity that they had quite a bit of ground to cover. They only had until the end of the day, as Xisuma had forbidden them to still be on the island once night fell and mobs started spawning in earnest. The only places they’d touched during the rescue mission had been primarily the forest pathway, the End section of the island, and a brief stint in the desert. Everywhere else was uncharted territory. 

Bad looked around at the pit, when started towards the long, ramp-like section that led upwards towards the rest of the nether patch. “Well, according to the soulbond, Foolish isn’t down here. Can you check just in case? Then I’m thinking we start from the top and head down. 

Right, the mountains. Quackity had caught sight of them as he’d been flying full-speed away from the dragon. Shaking off an involuntary shiver at the memory, he allowed his consciousness to briefly pull away from his body, casting out his awareness to search for Foolish’s coding. 

While he saw Bad’s - stormy, anxious, hurting - and plenty of the fiery splotches that indicated the blazes, he didn’t see any sight of Foolish’s glittering gold code. Sighing, he settled himself back in his body. “He’s not down here.”

“Right.” Bad sighed, then his robes rippled and his eyes brightened. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not here. Let’s just get to the top of the mountain and do a full sweep from there.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Quackity tried to give the demon an encouraging smile. Everyone who’d known that Foolish was missing had suffered these last several months, but Quackity knew it had hit Bad particularly hard, especially because of the soulbond. The demon had never said it, but Quackity knew him well enough to know that he was in pain, and more than just emotional pain at that. He hoped they’d be able to repair it soon. 

The duo trekked up and out of the pit, following the pathway until it crossed the threshold into green grass again, leaving the heat of the Nether behind. The sun-warmed forest wasn’t exactly cool, but Quackity relished the temperature change anyway, flaring his wings and spreading his feathers in an effort to vent some heat. Every inch of his skin felt tender and hot, no doubt burnt a little by being exposed to so much flame. He was grateful that only a few of his feathers had gotten singed. 

Bad walked alongside him, silent and brooding. Quackity fought the urge to grimace at the sight of those blue and black robes; the color didn’t look right on Bad, whom he’d always associated with red. People said black was the coloring of mourning, but on Bad, it was blue. “I saw that you took a few shots from the Wildfire. Are you healing properly?” 

“What? Oh, yeah.” Bad patted the front of his robes with a dark-clawed hand. “No issues with healing code at all. My energy’s a bit low, but it’s rebuilding. You know me, Quackity, I’m sturdy.”

Quackity smiled, “I know. Just checking.” 

Bad returned his smile with a sharp-fanged grin, but then turned away, smile fading and face hidden in the folds of his hood. The air turned solemn, and Quackity refocused on the path, knowing they had to stay sharp in order to make sure they followed the right one to the mountains. Neither he nor Bad spoke for a long time. 

They took a left at a fork in the path, following it closer to where the tops of the mountains loomed above the trees. They passed what looked like a deserted cabin in the woods, with a strange pit dug straight in front of the door. Later, the trees thinned, and they were replaced with tall grasses and wildflowers. 

The duo emerged from the forest to find themselves at the beginning of a large plain, strikingly open after being underneath trees or caves for so long. Quackity’s wings ached to carry him up into the open sky, even more so when a cool breeze swept through his feathers, but he folded them tight and kept his feet on the ground. Although Bad had his own wings of sorts when he wanted to, they weren’t enough to carry him up to the mountain. Quackity would stay here. 

Glancing at the sun once they were halfway across the plain, Quackity paused for a moment so he could type a quick check-in message to Xisuma on his communicator. He had just finished sending it when Bad let out a short, quiet gasp. Immediately on alert, Quackity’s wings raised and he prepared to grab his word, only to relax when he saw what had grabbed Bad’s attention.

“Oh look at you ,” Bad sounded delighted, standing on the very edge of the platform in order to peer at a very yellow cow that had made its way through the tall grass. Quackity could see that it had little flowers - buttercups - growing along its spine reminiscent of a mooshroom’s mushrooms. What did that make this cow, then? Flower cow? Buttercup calf? 

“You’re adorable,” Bad was cooing, gently making little come closer motions with his hands. “Come here, cutie, it’s okay.” The demon grabbed the closest flower he could reach without stepping off the path, holding it aloft for the cow to see. The flower cow looked at the demon with dark, big eyes, then delicately picked its way over in Bad’s direction. 

It looked like it would reach the flower, that Bad would get to gently pet the creature’s soft forelock. But only a foot away from the pathway, the cow suddenly sank into the ground in an abrupt, lurching movement. There was a horrific sound - a squeal of agony overshadowed by an awful crunching, tearing noise. A spray of blood splattered the grass, Bad’s flower, and the bottom of his robes with scarlet. 

There was another wail of agony from the cow, and then before Bad or Quackity could do anything, it was gone. Swallowed into the earth with only smears of blood and a row of sharp, closed teeth to show for it. 

“Oh my gods,” Bad took a step back, voice choked with utter horror. “Oh my- what-?”

“We’re leaving.” Quackity grabbed the edge of Bad’s robe and started walking, legs shaking so hard he couldn’t quite manage a straight line. His heart was slamming against his ribs so hard it felt it might burst straight out, and he was sick to his stomach. Void .

They’d been warned about those creatures, Quackity remembered that. It had been one of the first things that Cleo had warned them all about when they’d stepped out into the desert sun. But to actually see a monster in the ground, practically invisible, drag an unsuspecting creature down into its gaping jaws…

Quackity could still hear the yellow cow screaming. 

Bad was breathing hard, but he stayed quiet as they made their way through the rest of the plains. The elevation started to climb, the landscape growing rocky and with scarcer plant life. The temperature started to drop. They walked upwards, and then they climbed as the path gained stairs and grew steeper. 

Climbing mountains was, Quackity reflected about halfway up, one of his newfound least favorite activities. The urge to simply kick off from the path and fly to the top was incredibly strong. Once, Bad even suggested that he do so, acknowledging that he was slowing them both down. Maybe Quackity would have agreed to it earlier.

But after seeing that thing in the ground? There wasn’t a chance in hell that Quackity would leave any player of his alone. 

The air grew colder, and the sky grew pale. The surrounding brushland was now lightly dusted in a layer of snow. Quackity could see his breath appearing as a faint mist in front of his face, and he fluffed his feathers as much as he could, cocooning them around his shoulders. Although he knew those robes weren’t exactly a fashion choice, Quackity still envied Bad and the thick clothes he was constantly draped in. Surely the demon was a lot warmer than he was. 

Just when the cold was starting to grow bitter and Quackity could feel the subtle change in the air’s thickness, the pathway began to level out. He and Bad, wheezing from exertion, paused as soon as the path became somewhat flat. Quackity needed a breather; he knew they were pressed for time, but he doubted he’d be able to be very productive for a few minutes. 

Sitting down on a very cold rock and puffing out plumes of vapor, Quackity gasped, “Feel anything?”

Bad, somehow sitting on the ground in a cross legged position despite the thin layer of snow, shook his head. Quackity’s wingtips drooped, only to jerk upwards as he tried to keep his delicate primaries from getting wet. He looked ahead, expecting to see the pathway continue on into the mountains proper, and frowned when he saw something else. “Is that a house?”

Bad glanced over at his words, and Quackity pointed. Several yards away, nestled in the divot between two small mountain peaks, looked like a little cottage. It had been well hidden; the creator must have been a master at camouflage, since Quackity’s eyes had skimmed right over it a few times before finally noticing the out-of-place color of the oak door. After that, the rest of the building’s shape took form, small and confined and - strangely enough - coated in ice, which had only furthered to its invisibility. 

Bad got to his feet, prompting Quackity to follow him over to the cottage. About halfway over to it, Quackity paused, suddenly feeling quite on edge. He glanced around the surrounding area; the flat yard of stone and snow before the drop-off of the mountainside, the larger peaks that surrounded them like a cage. He didn’t see anything, so he hoped he was just being paranoid and continued after Bad. 

The demon had reached for the door, only to pause. When Quackity approached, Bad soundlessly motioned to the side, along the wall of the house. Quackity followed the movement and flinched when he saw a gravestone positioned along the side of the house. So this was someone’s place of death. 

He quickly averted his eyes, not wishing to see what was written. In the end, the death didn’t matter, because all of Xisuma’s players were back on Apollo-1. He watched and waited while Bad fumbled with the doorknob, trying and failing to open a door that had clearly been iced shut. It took both of them to finally force it open, leaving them with aching shoulders and wet-patches along their sides. 

Inside, the cottage’s main room held mostly beds and a fireplace. The covers on the beds were messy; one had blankets practically dragging on the floor, as if someone had stumbled out of it in a hurry and had nearly taken the bedding with them. The fireplace had long gone cold, but Quackity noticed curious black marks along the leftmost wall, streaking outwards in a type of radius. When he approached, his blood ran cold upon seeing that they were scorch marks. 

Something had been burned here, and badly, going by the blackened floorboards beneath the spot as well. 

“Any clues?” He called to Bad, who had gone to investigate other rooms. The demon’s voice was tangibly irritated when he called back, “No, just an empty room with a chair and then a kitchen. There’s nothing else here. I don’t sense Foolish.” 

“I’ll check.” Quackity tried to shut down the hopelessness that came washing in like high tide, threatening to drown him. He’d come too far, surely, to give up now. Quackity left his body once again, scanning the cottage and the surrounding mountain area to see if he could get any sort of glimpse of code. 

He didn’t see Foolish. 

He did see something different. Something new. 

Immediately, Quackity flashed back to his body. “Bad, something’s outside.” 

“What?” Bad’s eyes flashed, and he rushed to the door, “Is it some kind of animal or-”

SMASH. 

“OH MY GOSH!” Bad reared back from the door with a screech of shock as something blue slammed into the doorframe where his face had been just seconds before. It shattered upon impact, scattering into pieces all around the room. Chest heaving, Quackity instinctively reached down to grab a shard that had skittered to a stop at his feet. 

It was cold and wet. Despite its unnatural color…

“It’s ice!” He gasped. “Bad, that was-”

“ It’s back!” Bad shot away from the door just as another, larger chunk of ice flew towards them. This time it missed the doorframe, but it sailed straight through the door and shattered against the wall that contained the scorch marks. The wood was cracked and splintered where it had struck. 

“What the hell is that!?” Quackity demanded, afraid to get too close but also needing to see whatever was flinging ice at them. He peeked through the door, daring to put his face in range of the ice, and met a frigid red gaze set under heavy brows and grey-toned skin. Shocked by the sudden appearance of a humanoid face, Quackity didn’t quite move fast enough, and when the next chunk of ice was sent his way it clipped one of his wings and shoulders, sending him spinning to the ground. 

“ FUCK ,” Quackity spat, waves of pain shooting through both limbs. Bad was immediately there to help him up, thankfully refraining from speaking the “language!” that was no doubt on the tip of his tongue. “Is that a player!?” 

“I don’t think so,” Bad, in a show of demonic strength, kicked one of the nearest beds forward so that it skidded across the floor and sat parallel to the doorframe, blocking it somewhat. “It hadn’t said a thing, and we were the only ones on the player list when I checked. I think it's some kind of mob.” 

“What, like some kind of ice-wielding evil villager!?” Quackity shrieked when a slab of ice crashed into the bed and broke it in half. “We have to leave .”

Without ceremony, Quackity grabbed Bad by the back of his robes and started dragging him towards one of the nearest side-rooms, hoping they could break out through a window. “We need to leave, we’re going to be boxed in. If we can just get down the mountain and regroup-”

Ice slipped into the room like a new carpet, coating the floor. Bad shouted and shoved Quackity forward, but the demon’s feet got stuck to the floor. Spinning in shock, Quackity watched as Bad forcefully broke his boots free from the ice, planted them firmly, and braced himself against the silhouette of blue and black and red that loomed in the doorway. 

“Make us an exit!” Bad demanded, grabbing his sword and clearly preparing himself for a fight. “Get the wall open!” 

Quackity turned his attention towards the wall and window, readying himself to break it down, but paused to write a super rushed, frantic message in his communicator to Xisuma. He could already hear Bad and the mob fighting behind him, and they had no experience with these things. It was better to be safe than sorry and assume they might have to make a hasty getaway. 

He didn’t want to. They still didn’t know if there were any clues about Foolish on this island. But they also didn’t know if the respawn code had been tampered with on this island, either. As an admin, Quackity couldn’t take that chance. 

“ QUACKITY I NEED AN EXIT NOW!” Bad screamed, and Quackity’s body lurched into motion, whipping out an axe to shatter the glass window and break down the wooden wall. A heartbeat later Bad had thrown himself outside and into the snow, hissing in pain. Sizzling blood dripped onto the white ground, which Quackity carefully avoided as he stepped outside after the demon. Fortunately, when the mob stumbled out after them, Quackity could see that not only had Bad been able to score some blows, but his toxic blood was also harming the mob. Great patches of skin had been eaten away at, and wisps of purplish smoke were whisked away from the creature’s wounds by the mountain wind. 

“It’s gotta be close to dying,” Bad panted. There was ice clustered at the edges of his robes, frost slipping up along his sleeves. One of his horns was completely encased. “I’ve stabbed it more than once.”

The mob scowled at them, blood-red eyes burning with anger. Its own blood, thick and blue, was leaking all over the ground, leaving the snow an oddly pretty mix of two primary colors. Bad was right, it was slouching, paler than before, swaying ever so slightly. 

Quackity readied his axe, keeping his wings folded tight to avoid getting blown around by the mountain winds. He then lunged forward, swiping low with his axe and readying himself for a chunk of ice that might get thrown in his direction. He was right to worry; the blow came straight for his face, and he cried out when - although he avoided the blow to the head by ducking - it slammed into his ribs with an audible crack . 

But his attack was successful; the axe hit the mob’s legs, sending it crashing to the ground with a screech as blue blood splattered across the snow and ice. When Quackity fell a heartbeat later, swearing as the fall jarred his throbbing ribs, Bad slipped alongside the downed creature and embedded his sword straight through its skull.

With a sharp, gurgling moan, the mob died near instantly, a tidal wave of blue spreading out from its head before its body slowly disintegrated. It left behind a rush of green-blue XP magic that swirled around the two players, but aside from that, all that remained was the blood. 

“Well.” Bad sounded more than a little exhausted, and there was a stutter in his voice from the sharp chill in the air. “Th-that was something alright. Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Quackity gritted his teeth and forced himself upright, feeling the pain in his chest lessen as it slowly healed. It was leaving him drained, however, so he drew some trail mix - because Quackity wasn’t a savage who carried around straight bread and steak like some people - out of his inventory to snack on. He threw another bag to Bad. “That was a close one.”

“A little too close.” Bad took a bite of his trail mix, white fangs flashing against the darkness inside his hood. “I’d tell Xisuma we’re okay by the way, so that he doesn’t freak out.”

“Oh, shit.” Quackity blanched, glancing down at his communicator. He winced when he saw that, during the fight, he’d missed at least three calls. Xisuma’s chat with him was flooded with texts of do you need help???

Quackity to Xisumavoid:

Quackity: We’re okay. Scary mob showed up but we’re fine now

Xisumavoid: Was it a hunger????

Quackity: No creepy villager thing that throws giant chunks of ice. 

Quackity: Its dead now

Xisumavoid: Where did you find it?

Quackity: Mountains

There was a pause in responses, just long enough that Quackity started to feel somewhat concerned, but then X got back to him.

Xisumavoid: Got it. Wrap things up if you can, that was too close.

Quackity: Believe me, X, I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to be.

“Alright.” Quackity put his communicator down. “Still no sign of Foolish?”

“Nothing.” Bad shook his head. 

“Then let's move on.”

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They searched every square inch of that island, and there was no sign of Foolish. 

After the mountains, they scoured the gravelly beach behind them, even daring to take a boat out onto the ocean only to scurry back to shore when Quackity stumbled across a strange presence in his codewalking. They traipsed through a spooky mangrove forest that seemed to change shape as they moved, then traversed across the plains again. They skirted around a section of pathway in the spruce woods that was scorched, torn, and splashed in blood, and then they fully searched the desert from tip to tip. 

Finally, they ended back up in the birch woods, where they took great care to avoid both the nether patch and the pit into the void where the dragon had been. Both were rather exhausted at this point, not to mention desperate because despite all of their searching, there remained no sign of Foolish. 

“He has to be here.” Bad sounded like he was right on the verge of tears, and Quackity's heart ached. He tried to focus on the task at hand, which involved bridging between floating islands in an effort to get to the next beach since he couldn’t fly with the air so thin. “He has to be. I’ve looked pretty much everywhere I can think of outside of here.” 

“We still have a little more island.” Quackity tried to sound hopeful, but even he could acknowledge that his tone was more desperate than that. “Maybe there's a clue at this last beach.”

“Right.” Bad let out a shuddering sigh. The demon had his robes wrapped up tightly around his body to ward off the chill brought on by the void and low oxygen. “Right. There’s still a chance.” 

Quackity finished off his latest bridge, spun, prepared himself to make another, then paused. 

The next island was different from the others. It wasn’t the biggest, but unlike any of the islands he’d seen, this one had lumps of stone on its surface. Headstones. 

“Is that… a graveyard?” Bad whispered. 

It was a graveyard. Quackity tentatively worked his way over to it, heart picking up speed in his chest, sweat breaking out across his skin as nerves tumbled together in his stomach. The names started to get into focus as he drew closer, drawing a few anxious vocalizations from his throat. 

Keralis. Ren. Cleo. Grian. Bdubs. The graves had been dug up, no doubt when Xisuma and Jimmy had to retrieve the bodies. Staring at the empty graves, Quackity felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Void , they really had been dead. 

“He’s not here.” Quackity turned and saw Bad staring at the graves with dull white eyes. The edges of his hood, the ones that flickered and waved close to his face, were damp. The demon sniffled. “I’ve checked the whole island. He’s not here.” 

Quackity closed his eyes, despair turning his knees to jelly, and sank to the ground. There was a thump when Bad fell to his knees behind him, a muffled sob working its way past cloth and shadow.

Death was in the air. With such a tangible reminder of it being so close, all Quackity could think about was Foolish, his disappearance, and a reality that he’d been desperately trying to not entertain. The broken soulbond was damning, but surely there was another explanation. Surely they’d missed something. 

Bad had searched everywhere, even the DSMP itself. If he, the other half of the soulbond, hadn’t found anything…

“Why wouldn’t he say something , the idiot .” Bad rasped, voice like broken glass. “How could I not know? We’re linked , I should have felt something !” 

“Foolish’s code has always been weird, Bad.” Quackity said tiredly. His eyes burned; moisture threatened to spill out from behind his closed eyes, and he had to clench his jaw to fight for control before he spoke again. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“He’s never been like that.” Bad had never sounded so lost. “He’s never- not in thousands of years. Thousands, Quackity!” 

“Everyone has to have a breaking point, Bad.”

“B-but, but Leo . Surely not even with her around-”

“He’s gone .” Quackity snapped, eyes flashing open to stare at the demon. Bad’s mouth shut and his eyes narrowed into angry white slits. “You don’t know that.”

“Your soulbond is broken.” Quackity said quietly. “We’ve searched for months. You’ve scoured every available location you could think of, and not only have you not found Foolish, you haven’t found any clues of his existence anywhere . He left the server and then he vanished, Bad. Tell me that doesn’t sound like he…” Quackity hesitated, then forced out, “tell me that doesn’t sound like he faded.” 

Bad flinched back at the word, cloth-like wings detaching themselves from the rest of his robes and raising somewhat. Quackity could imagine the demon’s feathers being ruffled if he’d had any. 

“He’d never…” Bad’s voice flickered, faded. Tears filled his eyes, and he pressed a hand to his mouth, a horrible kind of scream escaping him and getting muffled by clawed fingers. Quackity’s own heart shattered under the weight of acceptance, and under the watchful eyes of the headstones he drew closer and wrapped his arms around the demon, letting his friend break down and sob into his shoulder. 

Foolish was the last person he’d ever expect to fade. It took a serious kind of acceptance to do so, a realization that a player no longer wanted to live and was ready to fade away from existence. Normally a player’s survival instinct, even if they were severely depressed, kept this process from happening until it was truly dire. Most players who faded were happy to do so. 

Foolish had never, ever shown signs of wanting to fade. Despite his age, the totem hybrid had always seemed youthful and full of life. Excited by the prospect of new builds, new worlds to explore, new people to meet. He’d been a passionate father to Leo and a great friend of many, and Quackity couldn’t imagine him in a million years deciding to simply leave the server and give up . 

But this was the only option left to them. With months of hopeless searching under their belts and with a broken soulbond as evidence - a soulbond that had only broken once under the circumstance of death - then it was now the most plausible explanation for Foolish’s absence, however shocking and seemed. 

Vision blurred and hands trembling, Quackity shifted so Bad could still be supported by his wings and shoulder, reaching for his communicator once more. 

Quackity to Xisumavoid:

Quackity: First part of our trip here is done. Foolish isn’t here. 

Quackity: He’s gone. 

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Although their main priority while staying behind was to search for Foolish, Quackity had also promised to do one more thing. 

They needed to get it over with soon, too, because the sun was starting to get low on the horizon. Quackity had promised to be back on either Apollo-1 or EM-2 before sunset. 

He needed to check the island’s code, and the watcher-created border around it, to make sure it wasn’t spreading. A place like this needed to stay isolated. The last thing they needed was for it to spread like some kind of virus. 

Bad was still at his side, clutching at the front of his robes with both hands and staring blankly into the distance, breaths still shaky and eyes still wet. Keeping one wing carefully curved around the demon’s shoulders, Quackity allowed himself to float out of his body, seeing the world with code-oriented eyes so he could best scan the island.

Seeing it as a whole was remarkably different from being single minded and scanning solely for Foolish’s code. The island was buzzing; a strange mix of regular code mixed with new, foreign strands that Quackity only barely recognized from their escapades here. Uneasy, but not alarmed, he withdrew his sight just a little bit further, then a bit further, zooming out to get a better picture.

The island was contained, but the ocean was still under Watcher jurisdiction. When Quackity withdrew even further, he started looking around to see where the walls were, so he didn’t touch them. He’d heard from Xisuma that Tango had touched them before and it hadn’t exactly worked out for him. 

But instead of finding walls, Quackity found something else, something that shook him down to his core and sent him streaking back to his body, jolting in place with a gasp that startled Bad out of his grief. 

There were no walls, but there was Watcher coding everywhere .

Not concentrated. Quackity had fought those monsters, and he didn’t see them up in the void surrounding the world. But he did see familiar traces of their coding interwoven into that of the universal code, slipping between familiar notes he’d seen a million times before. Long ago, he wouldn’t have even recognized they were there, because he wouldn’t have known what to look for. But now, after having faced them for the past few months…

“What’s wrong?” Bad asked weakly, but Quackity’s ears were ringing. He jumped fully into codespace a heartbeat later, streaking up and out of the server completely and focusing all of his attention on the universal code surrounding the world.

There they were. Watcher coding in every single place he cared to look. He sent his incorporeal form far out into the reaches of the universe and couldn’t find a single place where he didn’t see the Watcher’s touch. 

They didn’t come to a place to make a world. They were already here, amidst all the building blocks, weaving them into place. It would have been effortless. This would have barely been a second thought to them. Quackity would have been shaking had he been in his physical form. How could they fight something that was woven into the fabric of the universe? How could they fight gods ?!

“Quackity!” He was thrown back into his physical body again, gasping for air as a renewed sense of panic tightened its iron grip over his lungs. Bad was facing him, hands on his shoulders, white eyes wide with worry. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” 

No, Quackity wanted to say, but he couldn’t speak right. We’re not okay. We are so fucking not okay. He shook his head, struggling to find his words. 

“Th-they’re everywhere,” he ended up stammering. “The Watchers. We thought they just appeared and made this place but they didn’t need to appear in the first place. They exist everywhere .”

“What does that mean?” Bad leaned back a little, sounding unnerved. “The Watchers are… they’re here?”

“No, but- but yes.” Quackity stood in a sudden, lurching motion. His stomach was churning, palms sweat. He restlessly flared his wings and took a few quick strides from one end of the floating island to the other, avoiding looking at the empty graves and headstones. “It’s like what Rune said, about the other mobs existing in the universal code. They weren’t created by the Watchers, they already were there, they just didn’t have a physical form. The Watchers are the same way. They didn’t have to show up to this place in the universe to make this island. Their coding exists within the universal code. They are one of the ingredients.”

“Oh my gosh,” Bad breathed. “That means they’ve been seeing everything. The Watchers isn’t just a name, that’s their identity . If they really are everywhere-”

“We’re not safe.” Quackity whispered. “We need to go back. We have to tell Xisuma and really check to see if this is true. We didn’t know it before, but now that we do… Xisuma and everyone else needs to be informed.”

“Right.” Bad stood as well, pushing back a lock of shadowy, jet-black hair that escaped from the folds of his hood. “Everyone should know. And… and Foolish?”

Quackity swallowed as a sharp pain struck his chest, grief hurting like a physical blow. “We need to tell everyone and then… then we need to go home and tell Leo and the others. So we can start planning a memorial.” 

“Okay.” Bad heaved a shuddering breath, wheezing a little as the thin air finally started to get to him. “One thing at a time. Let's go.”

Quackity brought up his communicator again, letting Xisuma know that he and Bad were finally leaving the island with news to share. He shuddered at the realization that the Watchers probably were seeing everything that they did, at every moment. He’d know they’d been called that for a reason but it was only now that he understood how true it was. 

The portal opened, and Quackity motioned for Bad to go through first, watching as the demon vanished into the swirling light. And then Quackity - shaken, grieving, terrified - stepped through as well, leaving the island behind for good.

Chapter Text

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Well get used to it. 

This is new for us all. 

We have learned much.

But there is more for us to discover. 

Yes, but we mustn't rush things.

The best games…

Are ones with proper setup.

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“How is he?”

“Stable, for the most part. He was pretty wounded, but we’ve been on top of all the stitches and dressing changes. So long as we keep being diligent, I don’t think there will be too much of a risk to his recovery.”

“Good.” Hubble ran a finger along the outside of their mask, studying the prone figure in front of them with pink, narrowed eyes. Etho had been in the ICU - alongside the other players Zedaph, Scar, and Bdubs - for the past ten days or so. The man had been brought in to them absolutely in shreds; entire body riddled with gruesome slashes and puncture wounds, not to mention a few broken bones and some major bruising. There had been a few burns, but those were more minor, and while his lungs were slightly inflamed from what seemed to be traces of dragon breath, it wasn’t something to be too worried about. The main risks were infection and blood loss which, if they continued to do everything right, would not be an issue.

“When do we think we can move him to the more regular patient ward?” Vivi asked them. “The creeper- uh, well, the creeper-goat-cyborg player has been asking a lot about Etho. And Bdubs, for that matter. And there have been others.”

“Well, Etho can probably get moved once his wounds have closed up a bit more,” Hubble thought back to their list of player wounds, mapping out the healing progression of each. “The one at his jaw is probably the worst regarding infection risk because he’ll be moving it around once he wakes up, just on instinct. He hasn’t woken up yet, right?”

“Not yet.” Vivi shook her head. “He’s definitely moving closer to sleeping rather than unconsciousness, though.”

“Good.” Hubble nodded approvingly. “Once the laceration at his jaw has healed a bit more, we’ll move him over. But we can’t move Bdubs.”

Vivi visibly wilted. “Is it… still that bad?”

Hubble sighed, finishing their changing of Etho’s last bandage and stepping back. “I’ll put it this way. When Q got back from his break after the blazeborn got that new rod, he immediately went straight to Bdubs’ room and I don’t think he’s left yet. It’s been at least six hours.”

Vivi groaned and closed her eyes, thumping her wings lightly against the wall behind her. “Bad then, okay.”

“It’s all because of the weird coding.” Hubble signaled for Vivi to exit before them and then followed suit, leaving the sterile environment of Etho’s room before removing their gloves and protective gear to store in their inventory. The lights were harsh and the air felt dry on their frills; they’d need to hydrate sometime soon. “If Bdubs were in any other situation, we would have done an enforced respawn by now. But because he’s being held in this weird suspended state - not quite dead but not quite alive, either - Chess doesn’t want to mess with respawn coding.”

“And she’s right.” Vivi fretted. “He’s so fragile right now - did you hear what Q said? He has at least four ruptured organs - four. ”

“They’re working on surgery for that.” Hubble prided themself on staying cool in tense situations; truthfully, the details of Bdubs’ condition were terrifying, but nobody but the doctors needed to know that and they planned on keeping it that way. “Eventually, we’ll make headway. I have faith in Q for that.” 

“Right.” Vivi nodded rapidly. “Right, we have to trust Q to handle this.” She checked her watch. “I need to head off to the burn patient’s room. You’re heading to Grian next, right?”

“Yeah I am; I need to check his lungs again. And the burn patient… Zedaph?” Hubble wracked their brain for the name. “How’s that going?”

“It’s…. Going.” Vivi grimaced. “Mostly we’ve been trying to keep him hydrated and safe from infection. Once he’s a little more stable we’re going to start doing skin grafts. But they’ve found that the vibrations from my purring help keep him steady and calm when they change the dressings; he’s pretty anxious even while unconscious, so he keeps twitching around.” 

Hubble chewed on the inside of their cheek thoughtfully. “Let me know if anything changes. We might have to change his sedative if it isn't keeping him under properly. He’s in no condition to be moving.”

“Roger that.” Vivi tapped the spikes of her tail against the ground in an affirming rattle, then turned on one booted heel and began her trek to the burn unit. “See you, Hubble.” 

“Bye, Vivi.” Hubble watched her go and then resumed their walk to the elevator, which would take them down a floor to Grian’s room. The avian had been steadily regaining lucidity since those first couple of feverish awakenings, getting to the point where he was starting to become a bit of a nuisance. When his attention wasn’t being taken up by visitors - primarily Jimmy, Xisuma, a tall man with a mustache, and a moth hybrid - then he had been asking non-stop about one of their other patients. That, and he’d also tried multiple times to wheedle a nurse into letting him get into a wheelchair and leave the room.

This was, for multiple reasons, a bad idea, not least because Scar was still in critical condition and could not have any visitors. Grian himself, although healing, was still quite fragile. He coughed every other word and was still running a low-grade fever, although the black residue from the wither sickness had retreated almost completely to taint just the whites of his eyes and the flesh around the healing arrow wound in his shoulder. 

Hubble blinked and found themself standing before said trouble-patient’s door, steeling themself for a tirade of questions when they went in. They knew that Grian had just gotten back from an incredibly traumatic experience, and that he was hurting, uncomfortable, and irritated. They knew that… but that didn’t stop themself from getting frustrated. 

Don’t show any of it, Hubble told themself firmly. You’re happy to serve. You’re happy to be here, make sure you act like it .

Hubble opened the door, already a bit tense, and then relaxed when they saw that Grian wasn’t alone in the room. The mustachioed man was with him, folding his tall frame somewhat awkwardly into a hospital chair that didn’t quite raise him far enough off the floor. Grian himself looked antsy, but aside from giving Hubble a quick once-over and a raspy hi didn’t say a word. 

“Hello you two,” Hubble walked into the room and shut the door, flicking their frills a little in greeting. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name…?”

“Mumbo.” The man’s dark eyes squinted up in a smile, and he reached out a long arm to shake Hubble’s hand, squeezing just a little too lightly and letting go a tad too quickly. “It’s not an inconvenience for me to be here, is it? Because I can leave if I need to.” 

“Of course not.” Hubble sat down on the other side of Grian’s hospital bed, setting up a dressing tray. “Unless Grian wants you to.”

“Definitely not.” Grian blinked sluggishly at Mumbo and reached out with a shaky hand. This time, the grip was not awkward at all, and Mumbo didn’t let go. “‘Course you can stay.”

“Lovely.” Mumbo sounded audibly relieved. 

“I do have to change his bandage, though.” Hubble informed the duo. “It shouldn’t be too graphic because the wound is healing nicely, but it is discolored due to the wither poison. You should probably know.”

“Oh, uh.” Mumbo went a bit pale, an impressive feat considering his already vampiric skintone. “Th-that’s fine. I’ve seen quite a bit of blood in my time. Won’t be a problem.”

“Mumbo you barely lasted in Last Life,” Grian didn’t move as Hubble started to shift his hospital gown to access the bandages beneath, eyes fixed on Mumbo. Dressing changes always were painful, and although Hubble had asked before, they knew Grian didn’t want an increase in pain medication. “You have to ask me to take out your splinters.” 

“Well this injury isn’t on me , now is it, mate?” Mumbo huffed, but his eyes were carefully avoiding Grian’s shoulder. “Besides, I held my own in Last Life! I dyed my mustache red! And I didn’t die first.”

“Right, but that’s because-” Grian abruptly went quiet, shutting down almost completely. Hubble paused, sensing the sudden tension beneath the avian’s skin. “Grian? Do you need a moment?” 

The avian blinked, then slowly shook his head. But he didn’t speak again, choosing instead to stare down at the blankets, ear feathers perked and wings stiff behind him. Beside him, Mumbo’s expression had gone soft and sad, and he didn’t speak again. 

Keeping a careful eye on their patient’s state, Hubble did their best to gently remove the soiled bandages and run a keen eye over Grian’s wound. To their satisfaction it was a little smaller than before, only slightly inflamed. The dark tendril-like markings around the wound were continuing to recede, only extending a few inches beyond the wound. Hubble carefully cleansed it and rewrapped it, satisfied with the healing process.

“How’s Scar?” Grian asked quietly, and Hubble’s hands stilled. Mumbo’s eyes immediately darted up to look at Hubble’s face, anxiety written all over the man’s face.

“A little better.” Hubble resumed their task. “A lot of the dangerous bone breakages have been reset. We’ve had to stick quite a lot of pins and other metal work alongside the breaks to make sure they heal properly. Some of that will get removed in time, probably as soon as we can use healing potions on him. Others are permanent.” Hubble didn’t mention that some of the breaks were so severe that they were never going to be able to heal properly. Grian already had been briefed on Scar’s condition. 

“I want to see him.” There it was. Hubble sighed and briefly closed their eyes. “Grian-”

‘I want ,” Grian’s voice was sharp and angry, “to see him.” 

“Grian, bud, you know you can’t yet.’ Mumbo’s voice wavered slightly. 

“It would be dangerous for both you and him if you were to see him right now.” Hubble met the avian’s dark gaze head on. “I promise you, you will get to see him within a few days. But for now, you both need rest.”

It was clear that Grian didn’t want to listen to them, and Hubble wasn’t so heartless as to see that the separation was causing a great deal of distress. But Hubble’s concern came for patients’ health first and foremost, so they stood once they had finished wrapping Grian’s shoulder, putting the dressing materials away. 

“I’ll make sure a nurse brings food and water soon,” Hubble told the duo. They glanced at Mumbo, “You’ll make sure he eats it?” The man blinked, but then straightened and nodded. “Absolutely.” Beside him, Grian scoffed and stared at his blankets, hands clenched into fists. 

“Good.” Hubble nodded, then said more gently, “Hang in there, Grian.” 

The avian didn’t reply. Hubble took their leave. 

The guilt started to sink in when they stepped into the hallway, because their communicator went off soon after they shut the door to Grian’s room.

DocCheshire to HubbleBubble:

DocCheshire: Cub’s doing his vex thing in here. Meet me outside Scar’s room?

HubbleBubble: Sure.

Hubble headed to the elevators again, preparing to go down to the intensive care ward. They hadn’t been lying when they said it would be bad for Grian to see Scar. The only reason Cub was allowed was because he had some kind of vex magic that seemed to be good for Scar’s condition when he was exposed to it. Even still, Hubble knew that the avian probably shouldn’t be privy to that information, because he would no doubt cry hypocrisy and demand to see the man.

But that was a problem for another time. 

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Chess was a professional. She never let outsiders deal with her patients, because not only was that incredibly stupid, but she was a little protective at heart. She wasn’t just a doctor, she was an admin, and any patient that entered her domain automatically became a ward. Xisuma understood how it felt. Nobody would lay a finger on an admin’s ward without their consent, or things got ugly. 

But somehow, despite this, the hermit known as Cubfan had managed to wiggle his way into the regular workings of the hospital staff, and she had no idea how.

It started with the potions. Nobody knew how Cub ended up down in the labs, but Jessa had always been a sucker for good, smart company. Cub certainly was intelligent; the man had a genius level intellect that was apparently applied most commonly to astrophysics and pyrotechnics, but he was no stranger to chemistry and biology as well. By the time Chess had been made aware of the man’s presence in the labs, Jessa was well and truly on his side and vouched for him being able to stay. 

After that it was the management staff; HR and the likes. Her staff knew that patient confidentiality was vital so nothing too personal ever got shared, but within a couple days Cub somehow knew the inner workings of her hospital inside and out. He’d helped Sky and Echo out on more than one occasion with computer work. He showed up at odd times, never seemed to have a consistent sleeping or eating schedule, and knew a little more about the hospital every time he appeared. The presence of the vex hybrid only seemed to spread, with only the true health aspect going untouched because thankfully , the hermit knew what buttons not to push. 

It had been upsetting at first. Chess didn’t like people meddling with her stuff. But she wasn’t unreasonable, and although she’d warned Xisuma that she wouldn’t be lenient if she caught Cub crossing any boundaries, she hadn’t thrown the man out or blocked him from server access. 

Which led to her situation now: Cub had, remarkably, weaseled his way into getting to see Scar. Not only that, but he was actively using magic on her patient. Why was Cub allowed to do this? Because the magic seemed to be helping, at least a little. How had he gotten the permission to try? Chess still wasn’t sure. 

She didn’t question it. As she paused by the door to Scar’s room, watching the scene inside, she found herself at a bit of a loss. She knew nothing about this kind of hybrid status for the two because getting cursed into hybridity was unheard of. She had absolutely no idea what Cub was doing by revealing his glowing wings, so different from Scar’s yet so similar, and placing glowing blue hands on Scar’s chest and forehead. Yet the monitors showed a smooth and steady pulse, strong brain activity, and good oxygen levels. Against all instinct, she allowed it. 

For now. She still wasn’t against kicking the man from the server if needed. 

A gentle rap on the door brought Chess back to her senses, and she slipped it open before stepping halfway between the frame. Keeping a bit of voidkind awareness on the hybrids inside the room, she turned to face Hubble. “How’s Grian?”

“Angry that he can’t see Scar, but recovering nicely.” Hubble’s lips quirked in the smallest of smiles. “Scar?”

“He’s got a long way to go.” Chess pursed her lips under her mask. “We’ve solved a lot of the broken bone issues but his joints are still incredibly damaged, especially in his legs and wings. I’ve been thinking about going to see Sandro.”

“Oh, for wing braces?” Hubble perked up at that. 

“Yeah, and probably a wheelchair. I was thinking about leg braces but I’m not sure he’ll even recover well enough for that.” Chess sighed. “It’s going to be an incredibly difficult recovery. Not to mention a dramatic lifestyle change.” 

“He’s alive.” Hubble reminded her quietly. “He’s alive, and he’ll regain some mobility. He has a group of incredibly caring friends. If everyone around him believes he’ll go on to live a full life, he can believe that too.”

Chess hummed in agreement, then glanced back inside the room. Hubble gave a small snort. “Still don’t fully trust him?”

“Can you blame me?”

“Not in the slightest.” Hubble shuffled by her and into Scar’s room, readjusting their mask. “I’ll keep an eye on them while you go talk to Sandro.”

“Thanks, Hubble.” Chess patted the axolotl hybrid on the shoulder before taking her leave, knowing that Scar was in good hands under Hubble’s watchful eye. 

The orthopedics wing of the hospital was on the other side of the building, so she had to traverse the stretch of the lobby and go down a level before she reached it. There were patient rooms of course; exam rooms and operating rooms as well. But she was heading to the workshop, where most of the slings, prostheses, and mobility aids were kept and tinkered with. 

“Sandro?” Chess found the door and its duct-taped, cheesy photo of the individual in question smiling brightly at the camera. She rapped on it a few times with her knuckles then stepped back, waiting. The label hanging off of a thumbtack in the door said “open” but Chess had long learned that Sandro forgot to change it when he went out. She’d message him if he wasn’t in the workshop. 

Fortunately, she heard the sound of moving items and rolling wheels a heartbeat later, giving the occupational therapist a wave when he opened the door. “Hey. Have a minute? I need to talk to you about a patient.”

“Hi Chess.” Sandro smiled at her. He had redstone dust coating his green skin and tinting his brown curls, encrusting onto the goggles perched on his head, and even more stained his white collared shirt. Why Sandro thought it was a good idea to wear white when he worked with redstone, Chess hadn’t been able to figure out. She wondered if he paid a fortune with his water bill. “Come on in. It’s a bit of a mess, but that’s nothing new.”

“Of course,” Chess smirked, following the turtle hybrid as he wheeled himself back into the workshop. It was a fun space, albeit a bit chaotic; Chess certainly wasn’t one to judge with the state of her office. Finished prosthetic limbs hung from hooks on the ceiling or were stored on shelves. The first room housed a giant table currently covered in bits of machinery and redstone, no doubt his current project. Different sized crutches, walkers, rollators, canes, and wheelchairs were stashed in a second room that also contained machinery like hoyer lifts and their accompanying slings. A big storage room beyond that held even more supplies; foam padding, wraps, and different types of boots and braces. 

Sandro parked his wheelchair against the edge of the work table and in one swooping movement shoved a bunch of parts and redstone to the side, clearing a space. Chess watched, bemused, as redstone dust floated up into the air and settled even more on the man’s form and chair. He then grabbed a very red-stained notebook from his inventory, plopped it down on the cleared space in front of him, and readied a pen. 

“So.” Sandro looked up at her expectantly. “What does the patient need? Should I get an appointment scheduled?”

“He’ll definitely need an appointment, but we’re not sure when he’s going to be fit to come down here.” Chess told him. “He was in an… accident, so to speak. The majority of the bones in his body were badly broken.”

Sandro had been in the middle of writing “potential appointment?” when he paused, looking up at her again with a very different expression. “Oh. So this… you’re going to need a lot from me then, is what I’m hearing? What has been damaged the most?”

“Legs. He’s definitely going to need therapy for movement - so he’ll be working with Leo as well. A wheelchair is definitely on the table for a while, maybe braces if we’re being optimistic.” She waited for Sandro to jot that all down, then continued. “I’ll have to grab casting supplies from you before anything else. But also, his wings are badly damaged. He’s going to need permanent braces for those.”

Sandro winced. “Poor guy. How’s he taking it?”

“He hasn’t woken up yet.” Chess said quietly.

Sandro sighed, but wrote down wing braces on his notepad. “I’ll need measurements. Preferably I can do that myself. Are his wings avian or something like a bat or phantom?”

“He’s a vex hybrid,” Chess told him, and Sandro’s eyes went wide in surprise. “Wings look to be similar to a bat’s, or Vivi’s. They’re small enough that they don’t allow him flight but he still won’t be able to hold them upright without a great deal of pain.”

“So they need to be kept still and upright.” Sandro nodded. “I’ll talk to Vivi about planning something out - she’s helped me before. Anything else you needed?”

“Nothing crazy, mostly stuff to keep his joints stable.” Chess clapped her hands together and watched redstone dust swirl around them in the hazy light of the workshop. Thank void for her mask filter. “You should probably be wearing a mask, Sandro. What have I told you about vacuuming this place every couple of days?”

Sandro pouted. “Chess…”

“ Vacuum ,” Chess deliberately raised the glow from her eyes to make a point. “I’ve seen you do it. You have no excuse to be breathing all of this in. Either vacuum or wear a mask.” 

Sandro made a face, but sighed. “ Fine . Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s it.” Chess chuckled, dusting off her coat and heading for the door. “Thank you, Sandro.”

“Anytime, Chess.”

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“Lizzie.” Fwhip stepped into the room and shut the door as quietly as possible behind him. “We should talk.” 

The pink-haired emperor didn’t respond to him, unmoving in her vigil beside Joel’s beside. The lore magic that had kept her cat-like shape had dissipated after being away from the Empires server for so long, meaning her pale, grey-toned skin was on display. Pink hair hunk lank and greasy from days without showering. Both her hands held onto one of Joel’s. From her hunched position at his side, almost kneeling while somehow still sitting, it looked like she was praying. 

“Lizzie.” Fwhip came forward to sit beside her, his heart raw and weeping. “I think you need to take a break.” 

She still didn’t speak, and she didn’t move; she was a devoted statue at her husband’s bedside. Fwhip sighed, casting a mournful look at Joel’s slack, still face. His body was recovering well; his wing was mending, as was the stab wound, and the lightning burns were slowly healing into dark, feathery scars. But his code was frazzled as was his mind; the coma was still here. 

Fwhip wished Joel would wake up, if only because he’d be sure to pull Lizzie out of whatever state of shock she’d landed herself in. 

He also really wanted to talk to his ward - and his friend - again. 

“It doesn’t have to be for long,” Fwhip tried again. “Going home for a bit to shower and rest and have some food would be good for you. Then you can come back. I’ve already sent Jimmy home with Sausage. Xisuma’s working on Cleo.” It had been a grueling process. Jimmy, despite Tango’s improved state, had only gotten twitchier, and it had taken both his, Scott’s, and Sausage’s combined efforts to get him out of the hospital. Cleo, who had almost taken Chess’s arm off when the voidkind had walked into the room unannounced one time, had understood a bit better and left of her own volition. Not without threatening a multitude of hermits into giving her information, however. 

There was still no response from Lizzie. Fwhip was starting to panic. 

“Lizze, Joel wouldn’t want-”

“ Don’t ,” Lizzie hissed at him, facing him for the first time. Fwhip’s mouth snapped shut, and his stomach sank to his toes at the sight of her ashen skin. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and streaks of mascara had dried on her cheeks without having been wiped away. 

She looked ill. She looked desperate. Most of all, she looked heartbreakingly lonely. 

Fwhip didn’t want to upset her, but he needed to step in; this was going too far. Meeting her gaze squarely he said slowly, “Joel wouldn’t want this.” 

“If I was the one lying there, he’d be doing the same.” Lizzie snapped. “I can’t leave.” 

“You’re right, he would. Can you honestly tell me that you’d want him to sit here day in and day out? That you’d rather he wasted away in this room instead of taking care of himself?” 

Lizzie’s blue eyes burned, but she was quiet. 

“I’d tell him the same thing I’m telling you.” Fwhip reached out and laid a gentle hand on top of Joel’s. “I’d say that what he’s doing is helping nobody, and harming both of you. I’d say that you’d wake up appalled by his state and that would not be conducive to you getting better. I’d also tell him that he has friends who would sit here and keep watch, that he has a child he should see, and that you’d need him at his best when you woke up.” 

Fresh tears had formed in Lizzie’s eyes, brimming in crystal blue but not yet falling. She choked on her next breath, removing one of her hands from Joel’s in order to cover her mouth. Bringing her legs up onto the chair, she curled into herself, the perfect picture of misery. 

“What i-if he dies when I leave?” Lizzie sobbed. “Wh-what if h-his heart fails, o-or the Watchers come back-”

“I will stay here to watch him.” Fwhip promised her. “If the Watchers come back, I’ll fight them with everything I have.”

He didn’t tell her what he’d learned from Quackity and Bad upon their return; that it was impossible to escape the Watchers, because they were a part of everything. He still didn’t know what to do with this information other than accept it, because there was no way to fight it. 

But he’d do everything in his power to keep them from touching Joel again. He wasn’t lying when he said that.

“We’ll have shifts.” Fwhip went on. “We’ll make sure he’s never unattended. And again, of course you can come back and see him. I just want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself, too.”

Lizzie sniffed and wiped her face, then nodded. Wordlessly Fwhip extended one of his arms in offer of a hug, which she accepted, leaning into his side and letting him wrap his arms around her. He rubbed her back soothingly, but his eyes were on Joel. 

Please come back soon, Joel. We need you here. 

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“Now really isn’t a good time, Celeste.” Q scanned the reports in front of them on their laptop. 

“It’s never a good time with you. Seriously, Q, do you EVER take breaks? ”

“I took one yesterday when Chess booted me out of the hospital,” Q said wryly. They clicked their tongue in frustration at the glare hybrid’s most recent biometrics; if he wasn’t already the next trouble patient, he certainly would be now. “What gave her the right to do that to her head surgeon?”

“ Being the hospital’s owner and your admin.” Celeste’s voice was filled with laughter. “You know this .”

“It’s annoying.” Q grumped. “I’ve been her top surgeon for more than a hundred years, you would think-”

“ -that she knows you know your limits, you’ll be responsible, blah blah blah” Q could picture Celeste waving one hand about dismissively. “ Get over it, Q. You know she just wants what's best for you.”

Q rolled their eyes. “It’s the same with all voidkind, I swear. The HC admin is just as bad. Mother hens, all of them.” 

“ We’d all be dead in a ditch somewhere without her. I know I definitely wouldn’t have gotten my doctorate without her help. ” 

Q softened just slightly, and only for a moment, before they refocused. “I need to focus. I’ve got three patients I’m responsible for at the moment.” 

“ You know, if you hired more staff-”

“Normally, potions make it so we don’t need more staff. This is a special circumstance.”

Celeste was quiet for a moment. Q could imagine her thinking hard, biting down on one glossy lip. “ What… happened to your patients, Q?”

Q hesitated. “I don’t know if I can adequately explain right now. Are you free for coffee sometime in the next week or so? If Chess and Rune are available, we can all meet up and talk about this. It will impact more than just our patients.”

“ That’s enigmatic. ” Celeste gave a nervous chuckle. “Sure. Just keep me posted on what day works best.”

“Of course. I need to go - take care, Celeste. Thanks for calling.”

“ Take care of yourself, Q.”  

After Celeste hung up, Q refocused on the reports, only to find they were growing restless. With a sigh, they got up and stretched, adjusting their scrubs before heading back out into the hospital.

With Tango being newly stable, Q now had three other patients they were trying to split their focus on: Zedaph, Keralis, and Bdubs. Keralis was the closest to waking up and beginning a more active recovery; the stab wounds had been stitched and closed, and the bites had been bandaged. The missing eye had been operated on a few days prior and was clean and infection-free. They would need to sit down with the man and discuss prosthesis as soon as he was awake, since it would be necessary in order to keep the eye cavity from collapsing or healing badly, but they were waiting for him to regain consciousness for that. 

Zedaph would be getting treatment for his burns for months, if potions did not regain their function soon. Q had been in there just a few hours prior, helping to remove dead skin tissue. Considering how extensive the burns had been, this was a long and tedious process and had to be redone every few days. Fortunately, the dead tissue was finally lessening in some areas, so they could do skin grafts. But the healing process would be an extremely long and painful one. 

Q wondered how on earth the burns could have occurred. They doubted, knowing what they did about the island and the players’ circumstances, that Zedaph was choosing to stand in a fire. 

The final patient, and the one Q was struggling most with, was Bdubs. Players did not survive a stalagmite to the stomach and the resulting organ damage and blood loss. But the little glare hybrid was suspended; not dying, not respawning, not healing very well. Q had worked to remove bits of the stalagmite pieces at a time, and had done their best to sew up Bdubs’ organs, but big portions of them had been utterly destroyed and would not grow back without potions. If Bdubs woke up in this state, it would require some changes to his diet and it would be another very long recovery. 

It made Q angry to think about so much damage, especially because this wasn’t due to a series of freak accidents, but had been orchestrated by higher beings who wanted nothing more than to cause pain. Q did not know much about the universe and its mechanics, but the concept of such cruel overlords made them feel sick. 

But this was why they became a doctor. If the world was going to be cruel, then Q would hold up a middle finger and fight back against such cruelty. There were far worse things in life than to devote oneself to making things better for those who suffer. 

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Tango’s room was a much more reasonable temperature now that he could self-regulate. There was no longer a need for such close attention, which meant the blazeborn had been moved to a more typical and comfortable patient room. He still got quite a few visitors, all who were delighted to see more color in the hermit’s face, and to see that all he needed was an oxygen mask and not a ventilator. 

There was one person who had yet to visit, but that changed today when they slipped into Tango’s room, quietly shutting the door and padding to the nearest chair. They sat still for a moment, then spoke aloud, voice quiet in the still room.

“I know we don’t really talk much,” the figure said. “And I know you probably wouldn’t consider us friends. You’d probably be a bit confused if you saw it was me in here.”

The figure took a book out of their inventory, smoothing a hand over the shiny red cover. “You probably don’t know this, but I owe you. You made Jimmy happy in ways I never could. You listened to him. You made sure he felt valued. You did all the things that I didn’t.”

“Thank you for that.” They whispered. “I wanted to hate you for stealing him away, but I could never hate someone who makes Jimmy so happy.”

Scott cleared his throat after that, opening the book to its first page. “Anyways, you definitely know all of this already, or if you don’t, you won’t remember it when you wake up. But just in case you can hear and you’re bored…” Scott read the title of the book out loud. “‘Theoretical Applications of Redstone in The Nether.’ Seems like something you’d be interested in. I definitely won’t make heads or tails out of this but that’s okay.” 

Scott crossed one leg over the other, made himself comfortable in his chair, and read out loud for the next three hours in the quiet warmth of Tango’s room. 

Chapter Text

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It is strange.

We hold just as much power as before.

And yet…

Something is preventing us from moving outward.

Since we cannot go outward….

We must continue our research inward.

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If Ren had gotten this kind of throat injury a year prior, he would have been devastated. 

Ren had always been a talker. He loved waxing poetic about practically anything ; dramatics were his bread and butter. Whether it involved funny accents, music, poetry, or anything in between, Ren utilized his voice to the fullest. Being stifled like this would have been absolute hell.

But Ren had done nothing but use his voice for evil since stepping foot on that island. He really should have been more careful; the universe, the Watchers, or whoever was out there had given him plenty of warning. Third Life was the start of it, but King Ren on HC-9 should have taught him a lesson. Ren was too dangerous to be on Red. 

His tongue had led Keralis straight to his death. His lips had spat insults at Scar and threatened his friends. His teeth had ripped into Bdubs’ throat and torn flesh from his former Hand’s limbs. 

Truthfully, Ren wasn’t that concerned with his forced silence. Maybe speech was a gift he didn’t deserve. 

It had been several days since he’d first woken up in the hospital. His wounds, according to the doctors, were steadily healing. Swallowing still hurt, as did any whines or growls that slipped through without his permission, but breathing was no longer an issue for him. He no longer tried to speak, but let himself breathe, write, and try to acclimate to the silence he offered when others spoke to him. 

And Ren did have quite a few visitors. He’d been a little surprised, and more than a little frightened; hadn’t they heard about what happened to Keralis? Didn’t they know what he’d done ? Every time someone passed through his door he’d flinch back, and frantic whines would build in his tortured throat at the sight of any familiar hermit. He was plagued with what-ifs : what if they were only treating him so kindly because they didn’t understand the full extent of his crimes? What if this was a trick? What if, someday, the other shoe would drop, and they would all turn on him?

But Doc had shown up time and time again, never loud, never aggressive. Every time he visited he ended by giving Ren a huge, furry hug, drowning him in the scent of gunpowder and overwhelming warmth. Then, Martyn had showed up, the sight of his former Hand causing Ren’s eyes to fill with tears. His kindness felt even less deserved, because of what he’d done to Keralis. But Martyn had been nothing but kind and gentle.

Xisuma came after a few days, and that had terrified Ren so much that Vivi had been forced to stay in the room, purring her soft, calming song. The idea that his admin would be disappointed in him was incredibly potent. Upon learning that Xisuma would visit, Ren had been plagued with the thought that maybe his admin would demand that Ren stop being a hermit. But instead, the voidkind - carrying with him the scent of blood, desperation, and bone-deep exhaustion - had merely come inside, slumped down in a chair next to him, and after making sure Ren was okay with it, wrapped him up in another hug. 

I know about Keralis, Xisuma had murmured to him afterward, and Ren had stiffened, fur bristling. He’d relaxed a few moments later when X continued with, and I know it’s not your fault. Nobody blames you, Ren. Everything is okay .

It was nice to hear, even if they were wrong. Of course it was Ren’s fault. How could it be anyone else’s?

The last person to visit him, after nearly a week in the hospital, had been Cleo. 

The sight of somebody else on the island had been nothing short of exhilarating. Ren hadn’t been unable to keep his tail from smacking the sides of the bed, eagerly breathing in her scent, torn between writing down questions on his pad of paper and reaching out to hug her. 

She’d hesitated, but only for a moment, coming in to surround him in an embrace before Ren could grow nervous about making her uncomfortable. She seemed… okay, but the scent of anxiety followed her around like a cloud. She didn’t look much different, but the nose never lied. Cleo was remarkably nervous. 

He carefully reached for his notepad after they let go, scribbling out, What happened on the island after I died? Are you okay?

Cleo looked down at the notepad, and something in her forest green eyes went hard. The scent of anxiety, fear, maybe a little anger grew stronger, and Ren couldn’t stop himself from flinching back, ears flattening themselves to the side of his head. 

Of course, Cleo noticed, and she sighed. “It… wasn’t great. Pretty much everyone else died in some way. A lot of the others are recovering in other rooms.” She sat down on the chair next to his bed, hand comfortingly settling on his forearm. “I’m glad you’re okay, though.” 

Ren watched her warily, having noticed that she hadn’t answered his second question. He swallowed painfully, wincing, and wondered if he should ask what kind of deaths the others had faced. Had it been from another red name? Nobody else had been red when he’d died. 

They’d fallen into an awkward silence. Ren wasn’t sure what else to say or ask, and her scent in juxtaposition with her calm and steady demeanor was making him nervous. Cleo very clearly wasn’t okay, but she was hiding it so well. That was par for the course with Cleo… but what was making her so anxious?

What had happened ?

Ren was about to ask about the others, when his eye caught something shiny. Around Cleo’s neck was a shiny silver line, like metal. At first he thought it might have been a necklace, but then he saw that it had been sewn into her skin, biting deeply into the green-gray flesh of her neck. Horrified, Ren frantically grabbed his pencil again. Your neck????

Cleo touched the metal with one hand, and an odd smile crossed her face. “Consequence of my death. The damage is lingering because the Watchers are bloody bastards who won’t let us heal properly.” The words were indescribably bitter. 

Ren hesitated, then wrote, How did it happen?

Cleo went silent long enough that Ren had just started to regret asking before she replied. “It doesn’t matter.” 

She’d then stood, rather abruptly, telling him that she was glad he was okay before leaving the room. Ren watched her go, crestfallen, confused, and worried. 

For the first time, it had really struck him that he had been one of the first to die. He had no idea what had happened after he was gone, or what the others had suffered. Every single person who had come to visit him had been stressed, but so far the sour tang of fear had come the most from Xisuma, their admin, and Cleo. All signs of some sort of hidden trauma pertaining to that island and everyone’s recovery. 

Ren curled his claws inwards, clutching at the hospital blankets at his legs. He’d never, ever hope that he could have lasted longer on that island, because he didn’t deserve to after what happened to Keralis. But now… now he was wondering if by dying so soon, he’d inadvertently cheated his way out of the torments the others had suffered from. 

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The day after Cleo had visited, Ren met a new doctor. 

Her name was Faye, a sheep hybrid from the looks of it. Tall, dark-skinned, and with puffy white and pink hair pinned back in two buns. Pink eyes with horizontal pupils fixed on him as she entered, and Ren felt his ears flick back just a little out of nervousness. Sheep hybrid… wolf hybrid… what if he scared her off in some way?

But she strode straight up to his bedside with a soft, barely-there smile, raising a hand for him to shake. There was no fear in her firm grip.

“Hello, Ren.” The doctor said, “My name is Faye; I’ve been assigned to be your speech therapist while you recover.”

Oh, so that was why he was seeing her now. She smelled like lavender and some kind of herb that he couldn’t identify; sweet and a bit tangy. He gave her a tight-lipped smile, careful not to show his teeth just in case, and squeezed her hand a little. 

Afterwards, he reached for his notepad. Is my throat recovered enough?

“Not quite. Do you mind if I sit?” Ren shook his head, watching as she seated herself gracefully and then turned all her attention on him. Her face was now impassive, the smile gone, but he didn’t get the impression that she was unhappy or worried. Rather, she seemed extraordinarily calm. 

“Your throat still needs some time to heal,” Faye told him. “It’s healing well, so I thought I’d introduce myself and discuss some exercises and a course of action for the future. But you still have about another week before we’re going to try anything. Does that make sense and sound okay to you?”

Ren nodded slowly, his neck burning at the motion. The bandage changing process was extraordinarily uncomfortable but the pain medication he was given afterwards helped dull it. Right now, he was due to have them changed in a few hours if he timed it properly, and the pain meds were wearing off.

“Wonderful.” Faye grabbed a notepad from her inventory and flipped it open, pulling out a bright pink, sparkly pen. It lifted Ren’s spirits to see; despite Faye’s calm, neutral expression and quiet demeanor, she was wearing pink scrubs and clearly loved to express herself through glitter if the pen and her sparkly scrunchies were anything to go by. 

“We’ll start with simply practicing breathing exercises,” Faye began. “I know you are breathing just fine right now, but speech requires different types of breath control that can put strain on your neck and throat. We’ll probably spend some time holding your breath for various lengths of time, as well as doing some tension and release exercises for your neck. Make sense so far?” When Ren nodded again, she continued. 

“There is also focus on different types of sounds, like trilling, humming, and in your case focusing on the depth and pitch of whining, growling, and maybe even howling. It might sound silly, but it’s all very important for strengthening your vocal chords so you can speak regularly again.”

Ren felt himself bristle ever so slightly at the prospect of intentionally growling or, even worse, howling. He briefly thought back to the last time he howled; on the island, celebrating death and destruction. He shuddered. 

Howling was supposed to be a vocalization of pure passion; excitement, happiness, exhilaration. The Red King had turned it into a sound of danger and destruction. It wouldn’t feel right to use it again. 

Faye caught the motion, and somehow without her expression changing much, her whole demeanor softened. “I promise you, all of these things are very normal for you to do, Ren. Regardless of how they were utilized during your past experience.” 

Ren pursed his lips, then stared at his blankets. He wasn’t sure what to say. How could he explain to her that so much of his voice had been used for harming others? That the concept of speaking normally felt downright dangerous? 

“Everyone deserves a voice, Ren.” Faye said quietly, and Ren looked up at her, shocked that she could read him so easily. Her pink eyes twinkled, “It’s what I do. People are easier to read than most realize. That being said, voices are beautiful things.” She stood again. “I’ll leave you to rest; I think someone is going to come in and change your bandages again. But, for now, think about the lessons I’ve mentioned. I’ll leave you my communicator number so you can ask me any questions.” She took a moment to send Ren a message, a quick “hi” that opened the channel of communication between them. 

Afterwards, Ren rested in bed and waited for the next bandage change, trying not to think too much about the growing pain in his neck. He ran over Faye’s words in his mind, rolling them over and over in his brain like one would smooth a polished riverstone between their hands. 

Everyone deserves a voice , she’d said. Ren believed that wholeheartedly, and he’d support it wholeheartedly, too. But it was hard to apply things like that to himself after what he’d said, and what he’d done. 

Sighing, and wincing, Ren leaned his head against his pillows and closed his eyes, dreading the upcoming bandage change and, to some extent, dreading the time the pain faded enough for the vocal exercises to start. Maybe he could just… not speak, once the exercises were over. Maybe that was the safest course of action. If the Red King was still in there somewhere, removing speech from the equation would be one of the greatest ways to stop him. 

After all, words were what led to Keralis’s misplaced faith in him in the first place. Ren couldn’t let anything else like that ever happen again. 

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Consuming any kind of food was now one of Ren’s least favorite activities. It wasn’t the doctors’ fault; it wasn’t like he could chew or swallow anything solid, anyways, but he still needed nutrients. So he’d been drinking thick, viscous, protein-packed smoothies for the past week, and he was starting to grow remarkably tired of it.

He shouldn’t complain. With every day that passed the act of swallowing became just a tiny bit less painful. The smoothies didn’t taste that bad. At least they hadn’t ground up any kind of actual meat for him to suck down. 

Even still, Ren didn’t love them. He was halfway through a pink-ish smoothie that tasted like chalky strawberries, pausing every few swallows to weather the fresh pain in his neck, when there was a hesitant, quiet knock on his door. Ren froze mid-sip, choking down a mouthful of smoothie before reaching over and tapping the little bell next to his hospital bed. There was a sign that someone -  maybe False? - had left on the door explaining that the bell mean’t “come in!”

The door opened, and upon first glance, Ren fully did not recognize the newcomer. Slate-gray skin, strange brown-on-blue eyes, and brown hair interspersed with shots of sea-green made an appearance on a figure that stood strangely tense and awkward in a hospital gown. But when Ren breathed in, he caught the scent of brine, seaweed, and… and something familiar…

Ren looked at the figure, really looked , and recognized him just as the true scent of the individual hit. 

“Impulse!?” He cried, or at least he would have, but what came out instead was a strangled squeak and a painful bout of coughing. When he recovered Impulse was halfway across the room, but Ren had already grabbed his notepad and was frantically writing.

WHAT HAPPENED????? He thrust the notepad up at Impulse to show the man, eyes huge and jaw painfully dropped in utter shock. He knew it must have been rude but he could not stop staring, eyes swiping up and down Impulse’s form to take in the changes. With his friend much closer, he could see how Impulse’s gray skin was damp, and encrusted with what looked like small shells and barnacles. The green in his hair was a wholly different texture and might have actually been seaweed. 

Impulse’s shoulders hunched up to his neck and he huffed out a strangely wheezing sigh, drawing Ren’s attention to a new trio of gills on each side of his neck that flared at the exhale. “It’s… a long story.”

Ren stared at him, then slowly leaned over and pointed to the chair next to his bed. An awful kind of dread filled the pit of his stomach when he caught whiffs of fear, tainted as it was by the new scent of salty ocean water that floated around Impulse like a cloud. There was also a sweet, musky scent that made Ren’s nose curl ever so slightly. He recognized it, but it took him a second to place it: dead flesh, like what surrounded Cleo. 

Ren carefully wrote a new word down on his notepad. Explain?

“I…” Impulse clenched his jaw, and Ren trembled a little at the visible shudder that swept through his friend. The scent of fear grew stronger, and Ren’s ears flattened in sadness and concern when Impulse covered his face with newly gray hands. 

It only lasted for a moment, before Ren could think of something to do to help comfort the hermit, Impulse tore his hands away and placed them on the railing of Ren’s bed, staring intently at him with eyes like rocks against an ocean. 

“I-I can only be here for a little while before they have to rehydrate my skin again,” Impulse stammered, clutching at the railing even tighter. “But I had to talk to you. I heard you were awake, and I-I know that when people woke up they did so pretty much with the memories of after they’d died on the island…”

Ren felt his face go blank as the memory of his death, and subsequent reawakening, swept over him. Claws biting into his palms, he nodded very slowly, trying not to let the other hermit see how much his heart had just started to ache. He forced images of Keralis’s bloodstained, torn body out of his mind, trying to refocus on Impulse.

“I remember how you died.” Impulse’s chest did a strange, hitching motion, and Ren suddenly realized he couldn’t hear his friend’s heartbeat, which sent him into a brief moment of panic before he remembered that Cleo was the exact same. “I was there. I saw the whole thing.”

Ren’s hands jerked out to grab onto Impulse’s forearms before he could stop himself, staring wide-eyed at the other man’s distressed face. Impulse… had been there? On the beach? Had he watched the whole thing? Had he seen Ren holding Keralis’s broken body? 

“I saw everything , I-” Impulse’s voice broke off and he turned away, huffing out a sharp, agonized breath through clenched teeth before refocusing on Ren with glistening eyes. “I saw Keralis after he died. Ren, I know how bad you felt, but it wasn’t your fault.” 

Ren’s ears flattened again, fur bristling, and he swallowed back an instinctual growl. As it was, he found himself avoiding Impulse’s eyes, and flinched in surprise when the other hermit turned the tables around and ended up gripping Ren’s hands in his own. 

“Ren, please tell me you still don't feel like you deserve to die.” Impulse pleaded, and Ren’s head snapped back around to stare at him in shock. “I know that’s what happened, I watched you at the end. I watched you stop fighting, and I tried to stop it, but I don’t think you heard me and- Ren please, it wasn’t your fault.” Impulse’s voice had started shaking, tears welling up and spilling down over his gray, craggy cheeks. “It wasn’t. You didn’t deserve to die. You don’t . Please tell me you don’t still think that.”

Ren was still trying to process everything he was hearing, realizing the enormity of Impulse’s feelings in that moment. Impulse was crying in earnest now, chest doing those strange, aborted breaths that he’d recognized from Cleo’s rare moments of anger and sadness. He was sad. He was panicking, because he thought that Ren, having awoken right after his, well, his suicide , was still in that mindset. 

Am I? Ren couldn’t help but wonder, floating away from himself a little even as he squeezed Impulse’s hands. He forced himself to think back on that moment, kneeling on the beach hearing phantoms scream overhead. He then grimaced, and met Impulse’s panicked, teary gaze. 

No, he didn’t feel like that anymore. He still knew what happened was his fault, that would never change. But Keralis was back now, and what had happened wasn’t an active desire for death, just a lack of self-preservation. Ren wasn’t seeking out oblivion anymore. He just wanted to see Keralis and his friends be okay. 

Slowly, Ren dislodged one of his hands from Impulse’s and rested it on his friend’s shoulder. Impulse’s eyes snapped to attention on his own. Carefully, Ren shook his head, twinges of pain sliding up and down his throat and neck at the motion. He then reached down, grabbed his notebook, and displayed to his friend, No, I’m not suicidal. Those feelings didn’t carry over. 

“Oh thank the void,” Impulse choked on a sob, curling in on himself, and something in Ren’s chest cracked a little. Without thinking too much he opened his arms, giving Impulse a clear opening. His friend took it without hesitation, crashing into him just a little too hard, prompting sharp pains to ricochet up and down Ren’s spine from the wounds in his neck. But Ren buried his face into Impulse’s shoulder, fighting back his own tears as the hermit started crying in earnest, chest jumping and shuddering. It was strange, feeling the cool, damp weight of Impulse’s arms around him, but the scent of his friend was still there, and the familiar strength of him was comforting. 

“ Don’t ever do that again ,” Impulse hissed at him, air slipping both from his mouth and from his gills, which gave his voice an odd resonance. “Please Ren. Don’t give up. Don’t do that. You can’t- I-I can’t see you like-”

Ren squeezed the other man tighter, shutting his eyes tight and letting the aching, cracking thing in his chest spread into remorse. 

I’m sorry . For the first time since waking up, Ren wished he could speak. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see. I’m not like that anymore. You won’t have to watch that again.  

Of course, Ren couldn’t say this aloud, and Impulse couldn’t read minds. So Ren just clung to Impulse like a limpet, eyes and throat burning with a pain separate from his injuries, and let himself grieve because of his friend’s suffering. Impulse, in return, held him like he was afraid Ren would slip away into nothingness the minute he loosened his grasp, continuing to shudder and cry. 

The two of them rocked back and forth on the bed for a long time, until tears ran dry and some of the desperate fear subsided. When Impulse could bear to let Ren go, the first thing he did was grab his notepad. 

I won’t leave, he wrote, underlining it multiple times. Then, for good measure, he added shakily, I’m sorry you had to see. I’ll never give up again . 

Impulse’s eyes brightened in a teal flash of light. He looked exhausted, grey skin much drier than before, which was probably a bad sign. But he sniffed, wiped his eyes, and in a trembling voice demanded, “You tell someone if you feel like that again, Ren.” 

I promise , Ren wrote, managing to give his friend a small, fragile smile. It became a little more genuine when Impulse tearfully smiled back. 

A gentle knock on the door caused them both to look away, with Ren reaching over to tap his bell again. Hubble stepped into the room a moment later, looking as professionally put together as always, with frills flared and scrubs neat and without a single crease.

“Impulse! I’m glad to see you’re walking around,” They said, nodding approvingly at him. Their eyes narrowed a second later. “Although, you’re looking a bit dried out. I’m sorry to do this to you, but you should head back to your room soon.”

“I was going to in a few minutes.” Impulse croaked, then cleared his throat. With another person in the room, Ren watched in concern as he seemed to fold in on himself, arms crossed and back slightly hunched. “Did you come to change Ren’s bandages?”

“No, he’s not due for that until tomorrow.” Hubble shook their head. “Actually, I came because Ren requested I give him updates on Keralis’s condition.” 

A bolt of lightning seemed to strike Ren directly in the chest, causing his heart to flutter and a jolt to streak down his spine. He sat as upright as he could, ears pricked, all attention on Hubble even as nervous energy coiled in his limbs and fear made his stomach churn. Beside him, Impulse sucked in a breath and then wheezed, coughing a little before his chest resettled into stillness. “A-and?”

“He’s awake,” Hubble informed them, tone somewhat wary. “Awake and talking, which is a very good sign. We’ve made sure to have him on the appropriate medication and he’s been able to drink some water.”

“Oh my gosh.” Impulse breathed, and a strangled sound escaped Ren’s throat. “Can… can we see him?”

At this Hubble paused, the atmosphere in the room suddenly going from elatedness to uneasiness in a heartbeat. 

“Keralis is… open to seeing visitors,” Hubble said slowly, while Ren’s tail started to wag behind him. “He’s a bit jumpy, but he’s said he’s comfortable seeing people. However,” Hubble added, just as Ren’s heart threatened to burst from his chest. “He gave us one condition upon waking up.”

“What is it?” Impulse suddenly sounded fearful, and Ren’s ears flattened once again, tail stilling. “Is he okay?” 

“Keralis has agreed to talk with and meet with people,” Hubble said slowly, then gave Ren a sympathetic glance, “as long as Ren isn’t among them.” 

Chapter Text

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Fascinating.

We know code.

But seeing it like this is different.

It moves in unfamiliar ways.

Ways in which it does not with us.

New and exciting ways.

Hateful and disgusting ways.

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I relieve ye of your station.

That was one of the last things Keralis could remember in any coherent detail. After that, things grew muddy, clouded with fear and pain. He remembered pleading with Ren to stop, trying to fight off not just a sword, but teeth and claws as well. He vividly can recall Ren ignoring those please. 

The sensation of dying was another thing that stuck out to him. Of course, Keralis had died before - who hadn’t as a hermit? Death games were common, so the loss of strength was familiar to him, the sensation of fading. But rather than a slight and gradual drifting off, with the wound being a dull ache, this sleep felt heavier, more final. Under all of the agony, Keralis can recall a deep seated panic: something about this death was wrong . 

He was on red, his final death. What would happen to him now? Would he ever wake up?

At one point, Keralis thought that maybe he had died, that the sudden feeling of nothingness meant that he’d succumbed to his injuries… but no. The pain had resurfaced a moment later, just as brutal as before. 

And The King was still there, latched on to him, breathing down his neck. Keralis had struggled as much as he could, trying to scream, unable to process anything beyond pain and panic and help me! 

When it faded again, the second time felt real. Somehow, however, it did not feel as final. That did not make it any less frightening. 

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Upon awakening, Keralis had three major realizations. 

The first was that the pain was significantly less than before. Rather than waking in blinding agony, Keralis was met with soft, hazy aches; very much present, but not nearly as sharp. The second realization, after a brief moment of panic that resulted in him struggling to sit up and open his eyes, was that he was not alone. The minute he moved, a soft whimper escaping him as the action caused some of the soft achiness to grow into genuine pain, he was met with a whispered, “It’s okay. It’s okay, Keralis, you’re safe.” 

That was… not Ren. Not the Red King. Nor was it a voice that Keralis had heard in a long time, not even when they were back on EM-2 after being trapped there. That… that was…

“Pr’n’ss?” The word came out strangled, garbled, more a hiss than actual speech. But Xb huffed out a watery laugh, recognizing it immediately. “Yeah, it’s me, Keralis. Hold on, let me get you some water.” 

There was noise as Xb moved away, and Keralis took that time to finally situate himself, groaning a little through a very dry mouth. Now that more awareness was coming back to him, the fear was as well. Where was he? Xb was here… but was it a trick? Was he safe? 

He’d been promised safety once before… and that had turned out to be a terrifying lie. 

His eyes wouldn’t open properly, stuck together with grit and glue. He scowled at the realization, reaching up to try and rub at them, but somebody caught his hand before he could. Immediately Keralis seized up, images of claws and teeth and blood staining the inside of his head, but before he could give too fully into the panic, Xb’s voice was back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His friend sounded panicked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. But you’re not supposed to mess with your face. Just, give it a second.”

Breathing hard and incredibly aware of every touch, every breath of Xb so close to him, Keralis tried to open his eyes again. It took far too much effort, and he trembled when he realized that whatever medication he was on was causing some serious vision issues. But the fuzzy image of his friend slowly swam into view, the sight of him causing tears to start sliding down his face. 

“I brought water,” Xb said gently, maneuvering a cup close to Keralis’s hand and helping him wrap his trembling fingers around it. He didn’t let go, helping Keralis take a sip, which turned into many when he realized how good the water felt in his mouth and throat. 

Despite that, Keralis’s attention wasn’t really on the water. Whatever pain meds were messing with his eyes were causing a massive blind spot on his right. It had him incredibly on edge, head spinning as he blinked and tried to look around the room in every direction at once. He was in a hospital room, it seemed. One door, small room, a window somewhere behind him if the light coming in was anything to go by. It would be hard to fight in here if he had to, both because he was bedridden and also because of the space. Or, or would Xb need to protect himself from him ? 

“Keralis?” Xb sounded concerned, and Keralis shook himself. He… he didn’t have to think like that, did he? Because he wasn't there anymore.

The realization shocked him. He wasn’t there .

“I’m out?” Keralis rasped, eye locking onto Xb’s face. His friend looked… ill. Pale, thinner than he had seen him before. He needed a haircut. But genuine joy lit up his aquamarine eyes upon hearing Keralis’s question. 

“You’re out.” Xb nodded, blinking back his own tears. “We’ve got you.”

“But-” Keralis clammed up, whole body starting to tremble when he thought of his… confrontation with Ren. He’d thought he’d died. That had been it. But he hadn’t, had he? He must not have - their friends must have gotten through to come rescue them all before that could happen. 

“You saved us?” Keralis whispered, a fragile hope sparking in his chest. “You- you found the island?” He blinked again and shook his head, frustrated that the blindspot in his vision was causing him to panic on the inside when he wanted to be happy . On impulse he reached up, planning on rubbing his eye, and before he could react to Xb’s sharp intake of breath and hurried, “Wait-”, his hands touched bandages. 

Immediately, Keralis wasn’t in a hospital, but in a forest. 

“My liege, stop!” Keralis was screaming at him, sword frantically trying to block the Red King’s. “We’re both Red! You can’t, this isn’t-” 

He was cut off by a deep, animalistic growl, Ren surging forward and hitting Keralis’s sword with such force that it was sent flying out of his hand. In seconds, the wolf’s sword had slashed a deep cut into Keralis’s side, sending him crashing to the ground in a cry of pain. 

And then Ren was on him, biting, tearing, ripping. Keralis was begging with him to stop, let him go, to GET OFF, but he wasn’t listening, he just kept tearing and tearing and-

Claws, on his face, slicing at his eye, RIPPING AT HIM-

“Hey, hey, I need you to breathe.” That wasn’t Xb. Keralis reared back, gasping, vision whiting out and fuzzy with that damned blind spot . What was wrong with his face? Why couldn’t he see? What had Ren done to him!?

“It’s okay.” There was a blob of color in front of him, carefully within his range of vision, gray, white, pink, and yellow. A player? He shrank away from them, throat tight, chest heaving. 

“You’re safe, Keralis.” The player said gently. “You’re in the hospital, nobody here is going to hurt you.” 

I have the experience to keep ye safe . 

Keralis shook his head and buried his face in his knees, curling up. Pain lanced through him, but he didn’t care, he needed to hide. He wasn’t safe, he wasn’t safe, he’d been promised that before-

“Keralis?”

He went still. 

Like how Xb had proved to be a soothing balm - at least, until the fear had started to take over once again - this voice was too. Light, a little posh, gentle, so so worried. 

There were whispers, and then shifting sounds, as if people were rearranging themselves. Then a faint hum appeared to his left, a sound Keralis knew from many hugs and several nights cuddled up in the same bed when either one of them needed some company. It was the sound of Xisuma’s helmet, the mechanics whirring inside to filter the air. 

A surge of both affection and desperation filled his chest until it was painful, and Keralis slowly raised his head, catching sight of the familiar gray helmet and purple visor. 

“Sheshwammy.” He whispered. Xisuma’s eyes were ringed with shadows and bloodshot even through the visor, but they crinkled at the sound of the nickname. “Hi Keralis.” 

Something cracked in Keralis’s chest, a release of pressure that was as blissful as it was painful. Within seconds he’d gone from curling up in a ball to reaching out desperately, grabbing at any point of Xisuma that he could reach. A strangled, keening cry escaped his throat, and he sobbed when Xisuma responded to his silent request, moving closer and closer until he was halfway up on the bed and into Keralis’s arms. 

The helmet got in the way, rigid metal and glass where Keralis wanted to bury his face into the crook of Xisuma’s neck. He tried not to let that hurt him, because he knew that the helmet was necessary, but that didn’t stop his heart from doing a funny little twist in his chest when the seal to that helmet hissed and the metal fell away. Someone from behind Xisuma made an aborted sound, like they were about to say something but stopped. Keralis didn’t care, he was too busy latching onto Xisuma like a limpet and tucking his head against the admin’s shoulder, crying his eyes out. 

Xisuma was crying too, he realized dazedly. He could feel warmth dripping onto the back of his neck, and X’s chest hitched beneath him, shuddering whenever the admin let out sobbing breaths of his own. 

The two were clinging to each other, relief and desperation mingling with anguish and pain. I missed you , Keralis wanted to wail. I missed you so much . He blearily looked around from beyond Xisuma’s shoulder, met Xb’s stricken gaze, and shakily lifted one hand in a silent invitation. 

Lips trembling in a broken smile, Xb moved forward to join the hug, being careful not to approach from the blind spot on Keralis’s right side. He had to get there eventually, so Keralis closed his eyes, pretending that everything was okay. He stiffened when he felt Xb’s arms slide around his aching middle from that side, but then relaxed into the added embrace. 

Two of his best friends on both sides, surrounding him. That was real safety. 

The hug wasn’t long enough; feeling comfort for the first time after weeks of hell, Keralis never wanted to leave. But he knew it couldn’t last forever; reality reared its ugly head when Xisuma’s ragged breathing changed from something born of grief to something much harsher. 

“Xisuma,” The player from before said quietly, her tone both sympathetic and calm. “You’ve got to put your helmet back on, X.” 

“A few more minutes.” Xisuma wheezed. He held Keralis just a tiny bit tighter, but he could hear how the admin’s lungs seized for a brief second upon his next inhale. “Just… wait.” 

The player sighed, but went silent, leaving the trio to sit there in silence for a little longer. Keralis could hear his heartbeat slowing, and could feel each breath become a bit easier. The panic withdrew into exhaustion and the pain was settling the longer he held still. 

If he could just… pretend, for a moment, that nothing bad had happened. That he’d nabbed Xb and Xisuma from their projects on HC-9 and had dragged them all into a pile of blankets and pillows, curling up together to rest and watch movies. 

But Xisuma, in this fantasy, would be sleepy and pliant against him, not struggling for breath. The sounds of his admin’s increasingly strained inhales pulled Keralis out of that dreamworld. 

“Sheshwam,” Keralis ended up rasping. “You should put your helmet on.” 

“D-damn… that… helmet.” Xisuma ground out, pressing his own head down closer to Keralis’s shoulder. He could feel every ragged exhale against his side, could feel Xisuma’s abdominal muscles constricting painfully with each labored breath. Anxiety started to creep back in, and he pulled away, as much as it hurt him.

“Xisuma.” Using the admin’s real name forced X to look at him properly. From this angle, Keralis could see the doctor’s strained expression from over Xisuma’s shoulder, clearly holding herself back from forcefully putting X’s helmet back on. 

“Thank you, Sheshwam, but put the helmet back on.” Keralis balled his hands into his sheets to keep his fingers from trembling. Now that he was calmer, Xisuma’s sickness was much more obvious to him; gray-toned skin and shadowed eyes that spoke of a long, long time without sleep. He looked thinner, too, and there were red rings around his irises. What had happened to his admin in the weeks that they were away!? 

Xisuma coughed, shuddered, then finally put the helmet back over his head. Despite hating how his friend’s face was hidden, the hiss of the seal locking back in place and Xisuma’s first clear breath eased some of the remaining tension in Keralis’s shoulders. 

“Thank you,” The doctor breathed, coming over to rub X’s shoulder comfortingly. “My name is Dr. Chess, Keralis. I’m so glad to see you awake.” Keralis blinked at that, nodding. It was a bit rude to not say something like “nice to meet you,” but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say pleasantries at the moment. He clenched his fingers around the sheets again and Xb shifted a tiny bit closer, wrapping one arm gently but securely around his back. The touch was grounding, allowing Keralis to risk asking about their situation. “H-how long have we been back?” 

Chess’s eyes, glowing through pink lenses, brightened a little. “You’ve been in the hospital for a little over a week - about ten days in total.” 

Keralis huffed out a breath, fighting the urge to reach up and mess with the bandages around his bad eye. A flash of claws flickered into existence whenever he thought about it, so he tried to ignore the blind spot as much as he could. Glancing back up at Xisuma, his heart ached when he remembered what the admin looked like under his helmet. “You did not take care of yourself very well while we were gone, Sheshwammy.” 

The admin let out some kind of strangled sound, one hand coming to squeeze gently at Keralis’s ankle under the sheets. When he spoke, his voice was wet. “Don’t worry about me right now, Keralis.” 

“I-It’s just some scratches, right?” Keralis tried to say, a lump forming in the back of his throat. His blood started to run cold, and he wrapped an arm around his aching middle, feeling more bandages. “Just… just scratches.” And bites, his brain screamed at him . Teeth marks, where Ren-

“About that.” Chess’s words were spoken slowly, carefully. “You mostly suffered from lacerations and a few… puncture wounds -” at this, Keralis flinched again. “-but there is one other wound that required a great deal of attention. That is your eye.” She came to sit down next to his bed, and when she spoke again, her voice was soft and gentle. “I’m afraid that when you came in, your right eye was incredibly damaged. Due to some unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances, potions don’t work on you or your friends, so we were forced to operate and… remove the eye.” 

Keralis blinked his good eye at her, and everything around him went a bit fuzzy. “You… what?” Xb pressed up against him more firmly, and Keralis subconsciously leaned away from the touch as every muscle in his body seemed to lock up, heartbeat beginning to pound in his ears. “You… you had to…”

“There was no way we could save it.” Chess said softly. “I am so sorry.” 

Keralis had always loved his eyes. He knew that some people thought they were a little big, but that was partially why he loved them so- they were bright, and he liked the color, and he liked how his friends joked about them and complimented them. They were, in his opinion, the most recognizable part of his face, and he’d worked those big eyes into his identity as a person. Now one of them was just… gone? Destroyed? 

“No.” Keralis whimpered, hand reaching up to shakily touch the bandages again. He saw Xisuma raise one hand as if to stop him and flinched back, breathing shakily. “No, no it can’t be gone .” 

“Keralis…” Xb murmured, voice filled with sympathy, and he shook his head in response. He’d known that there had to be some kind of damage, he’d felt it , but to have it be gone?  

“You can’t fix it?” Keralis almost didn’t recognize his own voice for how broken it sounded. “You can’t do anything?”

“No.” Chess said quietly. “We have to get you fitted for a prosthetic at some point, so we can make it something that closely resembles your original eye if you’d like, but we had to remove your original one fully. It had suffered too much damage.” 

Keralis opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He ended up just staring down at his blankets again, stunned into stillness, hardly able to feel himself breathing. 

Chess said something again, but her words didn’t really register to him. At some point she shifted and moved away, and spoke again before leaving the room. Xisuma moved to take her place at the chair, and then all fell still. 

It was another moment of timelessness, but this wasn’t a comfort. This was a void; this was what it meant to be numb. There was nothing. No cold, no heat, no pain, just Keralis’s brain spinning itself in circles as it tried to come to terms with the reality that Ren had torn apart his face. That he would never again see out of his right eye. That the darkness on that side would plague him forever . 

His memories floated back to him a little at a time; he remembered the good times on that island, but also all the deaths. He felt himself get sucked into the darkness of a cold ocean and remembered the confusion when he’d respawned, seeing Grian recoil from him and sadly tell him that no, they could no longer be teammates. 

His stomach twisted when he remembered, vividly, grabbing Scar and holding him fast so Ren could approach for a kill. It hadn’t just been Ren who had been red, after all. Keralis was guilty of bloodshed as well. 

He thought of a glare and winced, remembering its pained scream. But even that was overshadowed by the awful gurgle of Bdubs getting his throat torn out a moment later. 

It hadn’t just been him on that island. If they’d been rescued… maybe the others were around. Would they want to see him, after the things he’d done on red?

Would… would Ren be here as well?

“Keralis?” Xb murmured, and he blinked, coming back to himself a little. He realized he’d been clutching at the wound on his side, hard enough that Xb’s arm had hooked around his own in preparation of stopping him from going further. His friend had a shakiness to his voice that Keralis wasn’t used to hearing; it drew him even further out of his stupor, although he still felt oddly numb. 

“Is… did you find the others, too?” Keralis’s voice sounded like it came from far away. He couldn’t see Xb, but he felt too out of it to really care at that moment. Instead, he let the familiar green and grey of Xisuma’s usual armor fill the left side of his vision. “You rescued them as well?

“Yes.” Xisuma responded slowly, after a pause. “We did.” 

“Can… can I see some of them?” 

Don’t ask me why not all. Don’t make me think of it, Sheshwam. 

“There are a lot of hermits who would love to see you, Keralis.” Xisuma shifted in his seat. “But only a few from the island can. You… you weren’t the only one who was hurt.”

Slowly, Keralis found his head lifting and turning, looking fully at his admin with his good eye. For the first time in the last little while, a proper emotion stirred in the pit of his stomach. “What happened to the others?” 

Did Ren go after them, too?

“Well.” Xisuma sounded genuinely at a loss for how to continue on. “Do you… do you remember what happened to you?” 

Electricity seemed to crackle up along his spine, and Keralis hunched his shoulders, nodding slowly. His head throbbed. 

“We were able to find you all, but it took… it took months.” Xisuma sighed, and the crackling turned to a genuine, agonizing shock. Keralis straightened so quickly that every bandaged wound on his body screeched in pain, prompting him to groan and curl up almost immediately. But he squirmed away from Xb and Xisuma’s worried hands to exclaim shrilly, “It can’t be months! We were gone for only a few weeks! It wasn’t- when Ren- I just passed out, right? You found us and I was unconscious!” 

“You weren’t unconscious, K.” Xb said quietly. “You died. The Watchers… they’re the ones who kept you like that instead of respawning. You came back to life when we found you months later.” 

It was only out of fear for his friends that Keralis didn’t shut down fully right then and there. Losing his eye was enough to cripple him; learning that he had died would have caused genuine, trauma-born panic. But he’d thought this was just a situation that had lasted only a few weeks, not a few months . “The others- you said they were hurt!?”

“After you… after the situation with you and Ren,” Xisuma continued carefully, “the game continued. The others all fell at some point or another, either due to similar red-life violence or freak accidents it seems. When we found you, most of you were already gone. As Xb said, you came back to life when we got you off the island and then we got everyone to a hospital.” 

Keralis tried to breathe but ended up choking on a sob. He’d thought that it had ended . That his waking up in this hospital meant a rescue had occurred not long after his fight with Ren. He would have been okay with being the sole casualty of that experience, if it had meant the rescue team had arrived so quickly. But now… what, it had been months where he’d been dead? Where his friends had continued to fight each other to death, just like him and Ren!?

Or… Keralis remembered the Hungers and shivered. Perhaps the island had claimed them, in the end. 

“Cleo, Jimmy, and Impulse are all well enough to come see you, if you want.” Xisuma offered carefully. “Or… or maybe, if you wanted, Ren could-”

“ No .” The word exploded out of him with such force that his lungs ached. Immediately he was shaking his head vehemently, good eye squeezing itself shut. “Nonononono. Not Ren. Not him.” 

“Okay, okay, Keralis.” Xb soothed, although his voice was sad. “Not him. But… if you wanted to see any of the others.”

“The others… are okay.” Keralis choked out, unable to bring himself to open his eye in that moment. “Yes, I want to see them. But not him.” 

“Alright.” Xisuma sighed. It wasn’t a disappointed sigh, but it certainly was an exhausted one. Keralis felt his throat burn with unshed tears when he realized he understood his admin’s sickly state so much better now. “I’ll let the doctors know so they can inform Cleo, Jimmy, and Impulse. And there are others from off the island who also want to see you at some point, if you’re alright with that.”

Keralis nodded, blinking his eye open. Without another word he reached out towards Xisuma again, letting the admin step in close and embrace him again. With his other arm he squeezed Xb closer. 

Like this, with warm skin and fabric against his arms and back, feeling the glass and metal of Xisuma’s helmet against his shoulder, he could focus on those sensations over those of teeth and claws. They’d come back to haunt him the minute he was alone, he was sure of it. Maybe seeing the others would distract him. Maybe focusing on their faces would block out the red eyes that lurked behind his closed eyelid. 

“I missed you.” Keralis whimpered, and felt that warmth brush closer, surrounding him even more tightly. He buried himself in it, and tried not to think about how much time he’d lost, or how he didn’t know the fate of the others. 

Or how, if all of them had been rescued from that island, that Ren had also died after killing him… and that the wolf-hybrid was somewhere in this hospital. Possibly aware of his existence. Perhaps even still bloodthirsty. 

But that wouldn’t be a problem here, right? The game was over. There was no more “red life”, no more bloodthirst. Keralis was perfectly safe here, right? 

Right? 

Chapter Text

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… 

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… 

Bored.

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“So.” Cleo sat down next to him with a surprisingly noisy thump , and Impulse couldn’t stop himself from flinching. “The doc says you haven’t been eating.”

Impulse avoided her sharp green gaze, staring down at the strange hands sitting on his lap, gray and littered with barnacles. “What does it matter? It’s not like I need to.” 

“You do need to,” Cleo snapped at him, “Because yes, you’re part Drowned now, but you’re still part human. Your body needs protein, especially. Drowned eat, too.” 

Impulse sighed, lacking the energy to respond. Cleo shifted in her chair, one slipper-clad foot tapping against the tile of the floor. She’d been agitated when she’d walked in moments ago, and none of that agitation was fading. 

It was irritating. Couldn’t she see that he wanted to be left alone?

He’d been told - from Cleo, from the doctors, from Skizz, from Xisuma, from everyone - that he would grow used to the change that had taken over his body. That he would be able to look at the gray skin of his hands and arms and believe that those limbs belonged to him. He’d adapt, everyone said, and he’d be able to get out of this room, walk around, talk to others, and live life.

A reality that, for Impulse, was so surreal. What did “live life” even mean anymore? Impulse was so used to existing solely for the purpose of avoiding death; survival was the new normal. Now he was being told that he could just… go outside. Eat breakfast, walk around EM-2, talk with friends. 

It felt… weird. Frightening. Especially when he looked and felt like this.

He didn’t want it. 

“I’m not hungry.” Impulse said stubbornly, and Cleo groaned - properly groaned, leaning back and rolling her eyes at him. “Look, maybe that’s true, but you still need to eat something. There are going to be a lot of things that you just don’t feel now that you still need to pay attention to. You don’t see me walking around without a hand just because I don’t feel it when it gets cut off, do you?” 

Impulse glared at her, rising up a little in his hospital bed. “Well, we aren’t the same person, Cleo. You don’t know anything about how I feel-”

“Don’t give me that, I know everything about how you feel.” Cleo hissed. She half-rose from her chair, planting palms face-down on the side of his bed. “Why do you think I keep walking in here to try and talk to you about this? I know you don’t want to, but this is your life now - you can’t change it.”

Impulse scowled at her and turned away, throwing the covers off of his body and swinging his feet over the edge. Every limb on his body still felt weird and heavy, although he could begrudgingly say that he was getting used to it. The hardest thing to adjust to was not breathing; the stillness was unsettling, and every whistle of air through the makeshift “gills” on his neck was foreign and uncomfortable. Even now in his frustration his heart and lungs were making aborted little jumps to move, not quite managing but sending strange shifting sensations through his abdomen that properly grossed him out. 

His whole body was wrong , that's what it felt like. It looked wrong, it acted wrong, and it felt wrong.

“What, are you going to walk away?” Cleo demanded. “You can’t run from this, Impulse.”

“Watch me!” Impulse fired back, getting unsteadily to his feet. He was now only connected to one IV so he grabbed the pole, intending on rolling it along with him and using the metal as a support. He’d been warned against leaving the room for too long as his newly-changed skin was still at risk of drying out, but that didn’t mean he could leave for a few minutes. He needed a change of scenery.

What he really needed was for Cleo to stop following him, but he doubted that was going to happen. 

“Impulse!” Cleo was starting to sound genuinely upset with him. “You can’t- get back in here!” 

“No. I’m fine, Cleo, now leave me alone. I’m just taking a walk.” Impulse started to make his way towards the door, but Cleo came to stand in front of it, a move that made something very dark spread its wings deep in the pit of Impulse’s stomach. His fingers twitched around the metal IV pole. 

“Cleo,” Impulse said slowly. “Get out of the way.”

“You need to get in bed and rest.” Cleo stared back at him, unflinching. Her red hair was messy; it framed her face in clumps and strands rather than her usual springy ringlets. “This isn’t good for you.”

“What I need ,” Impulse snarled at her, “is to be normal!” He shouted the last word and watched her take a step back, face contorting in surprise. “I need to look normal! I need to feel normal! Not whatever this, this…” he gestured to himself, then glared at her again. “I can’t feel my heart beating, Cleo! Do you know how terrifying that is!? I know you’re used to it but I sure as hell am not!” 

Cleo grimaced, eyebrows furrowing and eyes full of consternation. “Impulse-”

“I want to be able to breathe normally again and not feel air rush through the skin of my neck! I want to be able to leave a room for more than five minutes and not start drying into some kind of husk! I need- I want to be able to feel the temperature of this room, o-or the softness of the blankets on the bed, or-” To Impulse’s great horror, he’d started crying; he only knew because when he looked down at the floor, he saw tears fall down to splat on the tile. 

“Impulse.” When he looked back up at Cleo, her expression had softened considerably. “I’m sorry, I know this is hard. And you’re right, I didn’t have to go through a transition period like this, and so I can’t relate. But… I’m here to help .” She moved forward, and Impulse took a step back, hissing air through his gills when his legs started to weaken beneath him, his body already growing tired. His fellow hermit offered him an arm, and he silently allowed her to help him back to the bed, unable to meet her eyes. 

“I’m… I’m not upset with you, about any of this.” Cleo took up her seat by his bedside once again, and it was like all the anger and fight had drained out of her, leaving her small and uncertain. “I’m not. Believe me, I wish this wasn’t real. But we were given a second chance , Impulse. Do you realize that? Do you understand?” A flash of proper fire filled her gaze once again. 

“I was one of the first people to wake up, do you realize that?” Cleo said softly. “And I was conscious, I was aware because of that lack of pain. I watched the medics run around and try to help you all and I had to sit there while my head was reattached to my body . I was so, so glad to know that everyone was alive, even if it was because of the Watchers. For all the terrible, evil things that they did… they still gave us all a second chance at life. And I don’t want to sit here and watch you squander it, do you understand?”

A pang of grief and guilt flared up in Impulse’s chest. He nodded silently, the raw emotion in the zombie hybrid’s voice shaking him out of his own spiral. She was right; this was a second chance they’d been given. Sitting around in a hospital bed and moping wasn’t making good use of it. 

That didn’t stop it from hurting. Impulse still did not want this; he hated how every movement, every glimpse at himself was a reminder of what he had done and the curse that had come along with it. 

But Cleo was right.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I shouldn’t have shouted. A-and… about being normal- I-I shouldn’t have made it sound like-”

“You want to be what was normal for you.” Cleo said quietly. “I know, Impulse. I know what you meant.”

She reached out to take his hand, which he latched on to and squeezed, fighting the instinctual urge to take a shuddering breath. She let him hold on to her for several moments before she seemed to withdraw, taking her hand back and straightening in her chair. 

“You, start eating what the doctors give you.” She demanded, only cracking a slight smile when Impulse murmured yes mom . “Work on healing. You’ll feel a lot better when you can walk around and visit people without doctors looking over your shoulder, right?”

“Right.” Impulse nodded, the last vestiges of his anger making way for guilt and shame… but also a slight hint of determination. “Of course you’re right.”

“Of course.” Cleo said brusquely. She stood, adjusting her top, which was a plain-looking yellow t-shirt that someone at the hospital must have loaned her. “I’ll be checking in on you, don’t forget that.”

“Of course not.” Impulse watched her go, sinking into bed again once the door to his room closed. He shut his eyes then, thinking about what she’d said, trying not to settle too firmly into the stillness that overtook him when he laid back. 

It was easier said than done, adapting to something like this. It would probably take months. 

But he wondered, maybe, if Cleo’s words had been enough to spur him on towards the attempt. 

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It was dark

Impulse turned around in a circle, staring blankly out at the darkness. Where was he? How had he ended up here? It wasn’t even like he was in a dark room, there was simply an absence of everything around him. He couldn’t even see a floor under his feet!

“Hello?” He called out hesitantly, shrinking back when his voice was swallowed by the darkness. It was so thick, almost like a physical mass, but when he reached out to touch it (his hand flesh-colored, which struck him as exciting for reasons he could not quite remember) there was nothing to feel. 

A flash of light caught his attention somewhere to his left, and he swiveled around to face it, hope sparking in his chest. Was this a rescue from whatever void-like prison he was in? “Hello? Is somebody there!?” Impulse couldn’t see the source of the light, but it was streaming towards him, warm and inviting. He started to run towards it, panic and desperation growing with every step. He needed to find this light. “Who are you!?” 

Abruptly, two things happened at once. His limbs locked up and he stumbled, only to find himself straightening… but not under his own control. Like his limbs were a puppet, like was trapped in his own body, unable to move and yet continuing to stride forward at a much calmer pace. A sword was now suddenly in his hand.

The second thing was that the light had solidified to form a person. 

Tango. 

“Tango!” Impulse cried, or at least, he wanted to. His mouth would not move even as he inwardly shouted out in joy at the sight of his friend, who was smiling at him with a wide, sharp-toothed smile that Impulse hadn’t seen in months. His hair and tail were fully alight, casting flickering light around him in waves of copper and gold. Hands shoved into pant-pockets and tail flicking lazily, he was a picture of comfort and happiness. 

Impulse’s body strode forward, sword still held firmly in one hand. Trapped inside, Impulse himself suddenly felt cold, realizing what his body was planning on doing. 

No , he shouted, struggling to regain control. Stop it!

In front of him, Tango’s smile had faded away, crimson eyes growing wide at the sight of Impulse approaching with a sword. He took a step back, hands held up, and although Impulse couldn’t hear his voice when the blazeborn spoke, he could read his lips well enough: what are you doing?

“Stopping you from hurting anyone else,” Impulse’s voice came from his throat even though he did not intend to speak. Horrified, he frantically tried to pull himself back, but his limbs and mouth kept moving without his consent. “You killed Zed, Tango. You must be stopped.” 

What? Tango cried voicelessly, horror sweeping across his sharp, brightly-lit features. I didn’t mean to-

“You’re a murderer, Tango.” Impulse’s body hissed at him. In one sudden movement he had reached forward and grabbed Tango by the collar, holding him firm. Tango’s hands came to clutch at his wrist, tail wrapping itself around one leg like it did whenever he was frightened. “Why should you live when you killed one of your best friends?”

You didn’t mean it! Impulse wanted to wail, watching in utter despair as some of the color began to leach from Tango’s features, like the life was draining out of him in mere seconds. The flames in his hair went out, leaving the strands flaxen-gold. The bright red of his eye faded to dull, watery mauve. Skin grew pale, and sparkling tears welled up in the netherborn’s eyes. Impy…

“If I hadn’t taken you in,” Impulse’s body interrupted, and deep inside, the real Impulse sobbed as the awful words from before were spoken once again. “Zed would still be alive.” 

He slammed the netherborn into the ground, Tango no longer fighting, just staring up at Impulse with dead, impassive eyes. Impulse’s body aimed a sword over his heart. 

“You deserve this,” Impulse heard his own voice whisper, and then plunged down. 

The sword did not touch skin, because suddenly Impulse was falling, slipping through the darkness into something thicker, colder. He was in water. He was getting sucked down into the depths, feeling liquid rush into his lungs, crushing him from every angle. Somehow it didn’t hurt even as he frantically thrashed around, trying to free himself. Tango, where was Tango!?

“Tango!” He screamed out, his voice his own once again. He was being pulled downwards into the darkness, no sign of Tango’s light anywhere. “Tango!!” 

Impulse looked up and saw him, then, struggling to swim down towards him. His whole body breaking into pieces like glass with violet-tinted edges, bits of him breaking off behind him into the water as he swam. Still, Tango moved on, eyes flashing down at him from afar. Impulse reached up one hand, watching as more and more of Tango disintegrated before his eyes. 

“You can’t die! I didn’t mean it!” Impulse sobbed, kicking frantically, struggling to move upwards instead of even further down. It was a lost cause; every second separated them further, and Tango’s body was halfway gone by now. Even as he watched, Impulse could see that Tango had no feet, no tail. His elbows were crumbling away. Cracking like a broken mirror, familiar flames turned to stone that was breaking into rubble. All because of Impulse. 

“No.” Impulse whispered, the realization that he wouldn’t be able to stop this finally hitting him. Tango’s legs were gone, as were his hands. He kept trying to move forward, pale face blank, but he simply couldn’t gain any momentum without limbs. Getting sucked further down, Impulse could only stare in horror as Tango’s whole body finally seemed to collapse in on itself, leaving his best friend a floating stretch of debris, like an asteroid field stretched out across the darkness of space. 

“No, no, no no Tango, Tango!” Impulse stretched out a hand one more time, “You can’t go! You can’t! Tango, TANGO-”

“COME BACK!” 

Abruptly, the water was gone. The resistance to his limbs was less, although he still felt sluggish, like he was still underwater. A solid surface beneath him let Impulse propel himself upward, gasping for air and shuddering as his lungs struggled at the movement, resisting each inhale. The image of Tango’s crumbling body was still fresh behind his eyes. “No!” 

“Impulse, buddy, it’s okay! It was just a dream!” Impulse’s eyes flashed sideways, taking in the sight of another figure, one who hadn’t been in that dark space before. Skizz was there, leaning forward from a very uncomfortable-looking chair, hands raised in a calming gesture and blue eyes wide with concern. “You were dreaming, homie.” 

“I was- Skizz- I-” Impulse choked on his words, arms wrapping around his middle. The sight of his gray, damp skin sent all kinds of uncomfortable shivers down his spine, as it usually did, but it was a reminder that this was indeed the real world. His skin had been normally-colored back in the darkness.

“You’re alright.” Skizz said gently. He carefully reached forward and touched Impulse’s back, giving him time to draw away, and rubbed up and down his spine slowly when Impulse didn’t. “It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

“No, no I’m- it’s not-” Impulse still couldn’t speak, shuddering and shutting his eyes. That only made it worse, reminding him of that dark ocean and Tango’s cracking body, so he opened them again. His chest spasmed uncomfortably as he forced another breath, so he tried to relax and let it stop moving, like how Cleo had shown him before. He hated that the stillness made him feel better. 

“There you go,” Skizz soothed. There was a stiffness in his shoulders that told Impulse his friend also wasn’t used to the no-breathing thing. “Nice and calm. Nothing to worry about here.” 

“H-how long have you been here?” Impulse managed to croak out. Skizz moved away from him just for a moment to grab a large cup of water from the table next to the hospital bed, making sure that Impulse’s trembling fingers could grip the plastic surface before answering. “A few hours. I came in to check on you and saw you were asleep.”

“A few hours?” Impulse stared at his sheets. “Weren’t… weren’t you-”

“Bored? Nah, I’ve been playing Garage Band on my communicator most of the time.” Skizz quirked a smile at him, but it faded when Impulse didn’t smile back. After a moment of awkward silence the man asked slowly, “Was that… were you dreaming about your death?” 

“No.” Impulse thought about Tango’s bright smile, fire flickering through his hair. He could practically feel the tentative curiosity flooding off of Skizz in waves, although he knew his friend would never force him to reveal what he had been dreaming about. He’d respect his privacy. 

The thought made Impulse stiffen, gripping the plastic cup with lightly-shaking fingers. As if he deserved to have Skizz walk on eggshells around him, after what he did. 

“I was dreaming about Tango.” Impulse kept his eyes fixed downwards, although he could see Skizz go still out of the corner of his vision. He stared at his gray-toned reflection in the water of his cup and it was like staring at a whole other person. 

“Is this why you kept asking about him before?” Skizz asked slowly, carefully. Clearly he sensed the fragile ground they were on, and it sent Impulse’s stomach twisting in knots. “He was the first person you asked about when you woke up.” 

“Yeah.” Impulse whispered. “He… I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Skizz said immediately, because of course he would. Impulse felt bile rising in his throat and swallowed it back with another shudder, his too-numb, too-heavy body barely responding. He tried to think of what to say, because Skizz deserved answers, and he did not deserve to keep this kind of a secret. 

His friend should know the kind of person he was talking to. 

“There was an accident.” Impulse barely heard or felt himself speak, but unlike in the dream where he didn’t have control of himself, this time it was because the roaring in his ears was so loud, the heavy numbness of his skin too present. “I don’t… it wasn’t Tango’s fault. You saw that the nether was spreading in the overworld, right?”

“Yeah.” Skizz settled in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, something Impulse knew was to make him feel more comfortable and casual. “Crazy stuff.”

“Zed, Scar, and I were attacked by mobs there when we were trying to help some of the others with a fight against the Wildfire.” Impulse could imagine it clearly, could feel the heat of the netherrack against his legs as he sprinted towards the desert, towards what they’d all assumed was safety. “We ended up heading towards the ranch. When we got there, we saw Tango, and he was… upset.”

“Is this a normal Top level of upset or a blazeborn level of upset?” Skizz asked slowly.

“He was raging.” Gods above, looking back, Impulse felt so incredibly stupid. He’d sat there and watched Zed amble up to the netherborn without even registering that it was a very bad idea. “A proper rage moment. The kind where we’d normally let himself burn it all out rather than try to talk to him. But we were hurt and weren’t thinking straight; the minute we saw him, Zed went straight up and tried to interact with him, and it…” The screaming still hurt his heart to listen to, mingling with the second blow, Zedaph’s final moments. His heart spasmed weakly in his chest. “It didn’t end well.”

“Oh.” Skizz whispered, slowly uncrossing his legs and sitting upright. “Is that- is that how Zed-” 

“Not quite.” Oh, how it hurt to try and recap this to Skizz. What would he think of them after this? “Zed only went to yellow. He didn’t blame Tango.”

“Okay.” From the edge of Impulse’s vision, he saw Skizz’s hands come to grip at his knees. “So what’s the issue?”

“When Zed went Red, later, he did blame Tango.” Impulse could see Zed storming up to Tango in the mountain base, yelling at him, the normally bubbly hermit turned into a mess of rage and hurt and chaos. “He… he said a lot of really awful things. And then he grabbed Tango right in one of his wounds, because he knew it would hurt, and Tango couldn’t control himself and then… then he actually…”

Skizz sucked in a sharp, hissing breath, fingers going white at the knuckles. He didn’t speak, and Impulse let a few tears fall onto his blankets. 

“So.” When Skizz finally spoke again, his voice was slightly shaky. “That’s what the dream was about?” 

“No, it gets worse.” Impulse’s voice cracked, and more tears started to spill. “Because I’m the reason Zed was on Red to begin with. He sacrificed himself to save me, and of course I go ahead and get on Red myself anyway so it doesn’t even matter.” He paused to steady himself, chest aching from shuddering lungs and creaking insides. “I-I had promised myself that I would protect Zedaph from anything, because I knew it was my fault he was on Red and I couldn’t let him permanently die. I know now that it wasn’t Tango’s fault that Zedaph died but at the time, w-when I was on Red…”

“You blamed him.” Skizz whispered. His friend sounded horrified, and Impulse didn’t dare meet his eyes. 

“I blamed him.” He echoed. The scene was starting to unfold behind his eyes, all of his scheming, getting the boat ready. Maybe the intensity of it all was why his next words seem to come easier, with less emotion attached. “I thought I needed to get revenge. He needed to suffer. So I came up with a plan to get him down on Red.”

“Impulse.” Impulse didn’t think he’d ever heard Skizz sound like this, quiet and with all the emotion of a stone. “What did you do?” 

“I made a boat,” Impulse breathed. “And I told him, the red-life instincts hadn’t kicked in yet. I told him I wanted to do one last sweep around the ocean just in case we missed something, a way to get home. Tango agreed, and I met him by the beach, and I told him to get into the boat.”

“And he went with you willingly.”

“Of course he did.” At this, Impulse’s voice rose slightly, reaching the edge of hysteria. “Of course he did! He’d just been told to his face by Zed that he’s a monster and then wound up being the cause of Zed’s death. You know Tango, he would do anything needed of him after that.”

Skizz was quiet. Impulse fought with his breathing for a few more moments, then continued the story. He wasn’t sure why. The words ached to be let out of him, however; he wouldn’t have been able to stop if he’d tried. 

“We went out to the ocean, far away from the land. At that point I grabbed the oars and threw them out and I-” Tango’s face flickered into his mind, dead-eyed and pale, staring up at him. “I pinned him to the bottom of the boat and put my sword right over his heart. I had him in a place where he couldn’t escape. I was going to kill him.” 

“But?”

“But, I-I had to say things to him first.” A strange, frantic kind of laugh bubbled up from Impulse’s stomach. “Oh gods, Skizz, I said horrible things. I said everything Zed had and more. I told him he murdered Zed, I told him he was dangerous and didn’t deserve to live after what he’d done, I told him-” He paused, breathing raggedly, remembering the words from his dream. 

“Told him what, Impulse?” Skizz’s words were like ice, like steel, and it hurt because Impulse knew that every bit of that tone was justified, and he was about to make it so much worse. 

“I told him that if we’d never taken him in, Zed would still be alive.” Impulse whispered, and Skizz physically recoiled, recoiled away from him like Impulse was dirty, like he was tainted . And how could he blame him? Impulse was dirty. He was a killer, a liar, and said some of the most heinous things to someone he considered a brother. He knew that Skizz’s loyalty and protectiveness were unmatched even among their friend group; to hear these things from him must have been disgusting. 

“The worst part is that Tango didn’t try to fight any of it.” Impulse closed his eyes, hearing Skizz’s breathing grow increasingly ragged next to him. “He just sat there. He didn’t say anything to try and tell me I was wrong. He just took it.”

“I was going to kill him.” Impulse admitted dully. “I’d said my piece. But there was a monster in the ocean - something with tentacles. He grabbed me from the boat and dragged me into the water-” darkness, crushing pressure, water rushing into his lungs “-and I could have left it there, but I was so hell-bent on getting revenge that I, I-I grabbed Tango’s ankle before I was dragged overboard.”

“I dragged him into the water, Skizz.” The numbness from before was starting to crack, because this was where the dream had truly struck home, this was where his memories burned the most. “I did all of these things to him and I had to make it hurt even more by dragging him in after me, and you know what he did? When I lost grip and was getting sucked down, Tango- T-Tango swam after me .” 

At that, there was no more speaking. A jagged sob tore its way out of his throat, leading to another, then another. Impulse sobbed into his hands, shaking so hard that his cup spilled and fell into his lap, soaking into his blankets. “ W-Why would he do that, Skizz? Why would he- a-after what I said-” 

The tears came overflowing as he could picture it clearly now, a memory of real events and not the dream. In the dream, Tango’s face had been impassive, body cracking into shards that were whisked away by the currents. But in reality, Impulse had seen Tango’s face as a mask of utter panic, of desperation, hands outstretched to try and grab him as he was dragged downwards. Tango had been trying to save him , and why? Why, after being lied to? After being told Impulse had regretted ever meeting him in the first place? 

Impulse cried into his hands, long and hard, and Skizz did not move. He did not pick up the cup from his lap or rub his back, or whisper soothing words. He sat like a statue next to that bed and Impulse understood. He deserved this. He’d done something unforgivable, something so completely wrong that even Skizz had to condemn him for it. 

He understood. Skizz probably didn’t recognize him, not in the flesh, not in spirit, either. 

But then, after many long minutes of silence broken only by sobs and the hiss of the misting machines in the room, Impulse felt a hand rest on his knee. He glanced up through teary eyes, bewildered, and was met with Skizz’s firm, steady gaze. 

The man opened his mouth and hesitated, something extremely out of character for him, and then finally said slowly, “We’re going to figure this out.” He did not say that everything was okay, that it wasn’t Impulse’s fault, and once again, he could understand. 

“It was… a hard situation.” Skizz was stiff, voice still flat and expression one of neutrality. “That… you, Zed, and Tango are going to have to have a long conversation when you all are well enough for it. A long conversation. I will be mediating. But… but Zed still got burned. You certainly got your fair share of karma.” He gestured to Impulse’s gray hand. “Nobody was completely innocent. That being said,” his grip tightened on Impulse’s knee, and his eyes turned to blue steel. “You owe Tango a very sincere apology.” 

“Yeah.” Impulse whispered. “I.. I owe him a lot. But, Zed…”

“That is between Zedaph and Tango.” Skizz said quietly. “All three of you are going to have to work this out. Again, I can help, but ultimately it comes down to the three of you.” 

“Right.” Impulse bit down on the inside of his cheek, flinching when the action caused him no pain and so he bit deeper than expected. “I’m… I’m sorry, Skizz.”

“Don’t apologize to me.” Skizz leaned back in his chair, his expression softening ever so slightly. “For what it’s worth, I know this is something you never would have done without being a Redlife, DippleDop.” 

The nickname spawned more tears, and within seconds Impulse was crying again. This time, Skizz moved in to hug him, holding him close to let him sob in his shoulder. This kind of crying was cathartic; healing rather than symptomatic. Impulse didn’t mind this kind of crying that much.

When Skizz left later, Impulse was left with his thoughts, and the realization that even if he recovered enough to live life as usual, his relationship with his friends might never be the same. Team ZIT had collapsed on that island; if he ever, ever wanted to have some semblance of normalcy again with his brothers, then he was going to have to bring everything he had to try and fix what he had broken. 

I’m not giving up on us, Impulse thought to himself that night. I owe you all that much.

I’ll do everything I can to make sure we’re okay.

Chapter Text

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What?

THIS IS TEDIOUS.

Be quiet!

We should be doing something!

Not just this studying.

But actually doing something!

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There were sixty-two tiles marching from the front of Cleo’s room by the door all the way back to the end where her headboard was. Sixty-five tiles crossed the room horizontally, all of them white and perfectly square. One of the tiles closest to the door had a crack in it. She wondered when the doctors would decide to get it replaced, if ever. 

A few days ago, Cleo would have scoffed at the suggestion that she’d spend so much time counting the tiles of this hospital room floor. She had so many other things to focus on, too many people to visit in hospital rooms of their own. Anger had her prowling the halls like a lioness in a cage, growling at anyone who crossed her and checking almost religiously on anyone who was well enough to be seen. But somehow, after all of that, she had ended up back in her room counting the floor tiles over and over again. 

Sixty-two tiles in length, sixty-five tiles in width. 

It had been a few hours since her talk with Impulse. She didn’t fully remember what had taken place in those hours, just that she’d left his room, perhaps wandered a bit, and was now here, feet tapping lightly on the tile and fingers digging into the mattress of her bed. The room was completely silent aside from a soft hum from the ventilation system, but Cleo was still hearing voices as her eyes flicked from one tile square to the next. 

What I need… is to be normal! 

She knew what he meant. Cleo had lived with zombie flesh for as long as she’d existed, and there was no part of her that believed Impulse had said that with any kind of malicious intent towards her, or hybrids in general. Instead, it was a cry for help, a deep-seated horror at having his body changed without his consent into something he didn’t understand. Cleo wanted to help him; throughout that entire time on the island, all she’d wanted to do was help. Provide weapons, protect when others were weakened, gather food, provide shelter. She wanted to sit Impulse down and help him acclimate but she couldn’t , because that simply wasn’t how acclimatization to that sort of thing worked, and it was beyond frustrating. 

Cleo groaned deep in her throat, tipping herself backwards until she was laying on her back and gazing up at the ceiling, arms wrapped around her chest. Her heart was giving off little struggling beats, forced into movement from the anxious energy running through her cold, still veins. She heaved a breath just to release a little of it, eyes scanning the dull gray of the ceiling. 

She couldn’t protect anyone here. They were completely exposed, completely helpless in the face of their former captors. There was no victory that led to them escaping that island; it was purely due to the Watchers’ choice. Their freedom was at those monsters’ discretion; the walls of this hospital, even the borders of this server, were not enough to keep them safe. 

This reality had only sunk in after Cleo had returned from the island a second time, reeling from seeing the kinds of creatures the Watchers had created purely to torment them. She’d been so terrified of watching any of her friends die on that trip, only to fully recognize upon her return that not only had the risk of others dying been real, but she herself had truly died . 

Not faded away, but completely dead, with a lifeless body buried under feet of dirt and stone. Dead in a way that went beyond where her hybridity belied, in a way that surpassed her naturally still organs and stagnant blood. Not just her, but everyone as well, all of them dead and gone. 

And to know that it wasn’t natural, that she had been forced into such a state and brought back on a whim, left her feeling tainted. Like her body had been touched and defiled and used .

If that was how Cleo felt, how much worse did it feel for those like Impulse, who had been physically changed irrevocably?

She cringed at the thought, curling up on her side and holding her arms close to her chest, feeling her ribs pressing dully against her forearms. The silence here was oppressive; part of her mind was still searching for sounds of danger. It was impossible - no, improbable that it could find her and her friends here, but not impossible. The fact that there was no such thing as safety made Cleo want to curl up underneath her bed like some kind of beaten dog, arms wrapped around her head in an attempt to hide. 

It was silly of her, and she knew that, gritting her teeth and forcing her eyes to stay open in case monsters with glowing teeth and eyes tried to attack her once she closed them. She was among the least injured on that island, she knew this. There were no more lasting injuries; by all means, she could go back to EM-2 and try to live normally again. In fact, that was something Chess had been trying to get her to do for a while now. There was no reason that Cleo shouldn’t be discharged.

And yet… the concept of living on her own was frightening. She’d done nothing but cling to her friends since they’d stepped foot on that island. They’d shared every waking second together and now the concept of separation was terrifying. 

Yes, theoretically, nothing would happen to Cleo or her friends if she left the hospital for a day or two while she tried to regain her bearings. And yet… and yet … 

Despair settled thickly behind her ribs and a whimper, unbidden, spilled past her lips before she clamped them shut and tried to reign it all in. Slamming her hands down on her mattress, Cleo heaved herself to her feet in a shaky mess of limbs, a few anxious gasps for air tumbling out of her before she could control herself. Running a trembling hand through her wild hair, which was tangled and matted between her fingers, she resolved herself to go find someone to check in on once again. Maybe Keralis would want to see her. Yes, there was an idea, she’d go see Keralis. 

Mind made up, Cleo stumbled to the door, pausing once more with her hand on the doorknob. The trembling in her fingers had faded a little, but it seemed to take up residence on her insides instead, every muscle and bone in her feeling like it was rattling. Or perhaps the world was shaking around her, leaving her tossed to and fro like a leaf on the wind, aimless. 

Not aimless. She had people to visit. Biting her lip, Cleo forced herself to open the door and walk out into the hallway, then shut the door behind her. Desperation was thrust behind a familiar wall of red-hot anger, her fuel on the pyre that kept her sane these days, when sleep didn’t come and monsters leered at her from dark corners. She, at least, had that familiar feeling to cling to when nothing else seemed to make sense. 

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The conversation with Keralis went well; he was overjoyed to see her, and her him, despite her horror at the bandages covering his skin and the thick one that hid one eye from her. Cleo had forgotten in her recent turmoil that Keralis not only had been the first one to die, but also that he’d died at the hand of a friend. His paranoia and anxiety had been obvious even as he wept and immediately tried to hug her from his bed; even as she’d approached he’d been unable to keep himself from flinching away slightly, clearly keeping her within his now-limited line of sight. 

He’d asked her a lot of questions about her time spent in the hospital, and about her wound, and how she’d died. Cleo had kept her answers guarded; Keralis still had very minimal experience with how red-life instincts worked, and telling him about how she’d died at Etho’s hands didn’t seem like a good idea, especially after his death from Ren. They were already avoiding poor Ren’s name like the plague; she didn’t want him to feel frightened by Etho as well. 

Although he had been alone when she came in, it sounded like Keralis had already been visited extensively by many hermits, chiefly Xb and Xisuma. She was glad of that; Keralis had suffered but he, in some ways, already seemed more adjusted than she was. He seemed to understand that they had been rescued and were safe now in ways Cleo was still trying to grasp, and having him be so ready to accept most visitors so soon after waking up was a true relief. It would do him good to talk to them. 

Cleo was only able to stay with him for about half an hour, however, before Hubble came into the room to change his bandages and so she was asked to leave. She ended up wandering back to her own room, momentary happiness at seeing Keralis fading back into the same melancholic haze that she’d been drifting in. With no anger needed to propel her forward she sank back into her bed, arms once again wrapped around her knees and eyes blindly counting floor tiles. 

This time, her drifting thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door, something that had her flinching back before she could recognize the request for what it was. Residual fear burning in her veins, Cleo swallowed before managing to rasp out, “Come in.” 

The first face she saw was Xisuma’s, shadowed eyes warm behind his visor, and the sight instinctually made her relax. She had missed her admin so much, and she still worried about him, so seeing him up and walking around normally was a balm to her frazzled nerves. He gave a quiet greeting as he entered, but Cleo’s attention was called away from him by the second voidkind hybrid entering the room after him. 

Chess’s eyes glowed pink in her mask, a cheerful color, and she also gave her own greeting, but Cleo’s shoulders went stiff and she felt something heavy form in the pit of her stomach. Being visited by her admin was one thing, but getting a visit from both X and the admin of this hospital server?

They were going to tell her something she did not want to hear. 

“How are you feeling, Cleo?” Xisuma asked softly. She scooted sideways on the bed to allow him to sit next to her, which he did, neatly crossing one leg over the other. “Still no trouble with the stitching?”

Cleo glanced warily at Chess, then turned to face her admin. “It’s fine. No trouble at all.” 

“Good.” Xisuma fidgeted, and Cleo narrowed her eyes. The heaviness in her stomach intensified. “Before you and Chess do anything else, spit out what you wanted to tell me.”

Xisuma froze, blinked, and looked distinctly guilty in a way that both flooded her with fondness and intense irritation. “What?”

“You’re a terrible liar, X.” Cleo fixed him with a look. “You fidget. And there's no reason why you’d show up here with Chess in tow just for a checkup. There’s something you’ve been talking about pertaining to me, is this correct?”

X at least had the decency to look guilty. Cleo’s ire flared up when Chess just straightened, holding her hands behind her back with head held high. “As a matter of fact, Cleo, there is something we need to talk about. But I think you already know what it is.”

Ah, so that’s what this was about then. 

Slowly, Cleo turned so she was fully facing Chess, fixing her with the firmest stare she could manage even when she could feel the heaviness in her change to something that once again started to tremble.

“I am not,” Cleo said slowly, trying to keep the shaking from affecting her voice, “going to leave.” 

“Cleo.” Chess’s voice was firm, but also gentle, and Cleo hated it. “Xisuma and I have been talking about this. You’re not taking care of yourself; I cannot in good conscience allow you to continue with what you are doing.” 

Cleo broke eye contact with Chess only to glare at Xisuma, who seemed to shrink back only a little before regaining his boldness and straightening up in front of her eyes. 

“Chess and I have come to an agreement,” X said softly, and Cleo wanted to hiss and spit like an angry cat. “We’ve decided that it would probably be best for you to go to EM-2 just for a few days. You can come back after that time, once you’ve focused on eating and drinking and sleeping for a while. 

“I won’t do it.” Cleo turned back to Chess again, aching and trembling. She gripped the sheets under her fingertips and felt her toes curl inside her hospital slippers. “Nice try, but it won’t happen.” 

“Cleo,” X sighed, and Cleo growled at him. “Don’t ‘ Cleo’ me! You really think that after everything we’ve been through I’m going to be okay with just leaving them?” 

“You aren’t leaving them, Cleo.” Chess said soothingly. “You’d just be taking a break for a few days, to give yourself some space. You can come back once you’ve taken some time to yourself-”

“I don’t need that time.” Cleo snapped. “I’m perfectly fine here.”

“If you’re perfectly fine, Cleo, then you shouldn’t be taking up room in the hospital.”

Cleo felt a shock run through her system, and she turned to stare at her admin with wide eyes. To her surprise, X’s expression was deadly serious under his visor, all initial nervousness having apparently faded away. 

“I know you don’t want to do this,” He spoke again, softening the blow of his previous statement. “I know, Cleo, I promise. And we won’t make you leave right away. But you’re hurting yourself by being here. We know that you go around and check on everybody else but you’re not sleeping or eating right yourself. If you’re not pacing the hallways then you’re hiding in your room and it’s not good for you, Cleo.” 

“And as I said,” Xisuma continued when Cleo opened her mouth. “If you truly think you’re fine, then it would be good to clear up some space for another patient, don’t you think?” 

Cleo shut her mouth, staring at both admins with wide eyes. Her previous anger was starting to turn into panic, something that had her gripping her soft grey sweatpants with white-knuckled fingers. “You’re really going to make me leave?”

“Not right away, and only for a few days, but yes.” Chess said gently. “It will be better for you to get your bearings; clean yourself up, eat some food that isn’t from a hospital, and get into the sunshine. I’m not cruel - of course you can come back and visit once that time is up. But in two days, I’m going to be banning you from the hospital server for at least forty-eight hours.”

“B-but I can’t- what if something bad happens?” Cleo whispered. “What if Bdubs’ surgeries go wrong, o-or Etho gets an infection, or Tango takes a turn for the worst again-”

“Then you will be alerted promptly and let back onto the server.” Chess’s eyes flashed a little. “It’s the same with X; I don’t let him spend more than a few hours at a time here, either, but he knows I’ll let him in if something bad happens.”

“But Jimmy-”

“Is also going to be spoken to.” Chess said firmly. “I’m not happy with his progress, either. But right now, you are my focus.” The doctor leaned forward in her chair; even behind the mask, Cleo could feel her intense gaze. “Do you understand what I am saying to you and what is going to happen?”

Cleo cast one more desperate glance at Xisuma, silently pleading with him to change his mind and fight Chess on this. She didn’t want to leave - what was she supposed to do, separated from her friends like that? How could she protect them from so far away?

But X’s eyes, even though they were sad and teary behind his visor, were also firm; he did not speak out against Chess and her command. Cleo turned away, hiding her face in shaking hands. When she felt Xisuma put a tentative hand on her shoulder she flinched away, and he retreated. 

“We’ll make sure some food is brought to your room soon.” Chess’s voice was heavy with sympathy. “Try to eat some of it, if you can.” 

“I’ll come talk with you more about discharge details tomorrow,” Xisuma murmured. The bed shifted as he stood. “It’s going to be okay, Cleo.”

They both left after that, leaving Cleo alone with the floor tiles and the humming AC and her roiling, volcanic sense of panic. It was bubbling up unrestrained now that she was alone, and after pulling her hands from her face with a gasp, Cleo lashed out at the nearest object, which happened to be the railing of her hospital bed.

There was a crack in her hand as it struck the metal - something jolted deep inside of her fingers. She stared at it afterwards, chest heaving with struggling breaths. She wanted to sob when the bone shifted again a moment later; for all wounds not caused by the island, the body’s natural saturation and energy levels would lend itself to healing.

Not that she had much to work with. Days of nightmares and little to eat meant that the healing paused partway, a slight crick in one of her fingers showing where the bone still hadn’t set. She’d be able to fix it later by eating, but she doubted she’d be able to keep anything down.

Looking at her hand, a surge of self-loathing caught Cleo off-guard. Why should she get off so easily, while everyone else suffered? No pain, no proper injuries, just a line of stitching and the weight of memories. 

It was strange, almost wishing that she’d been injured more seriously, or had to deal with a poisoning effect like Grian’s wither sickness. At least then she’d be able to stay longer, or feel like she’d somehow cheated her way out of the consequences of that island. 

Impulse’s desperate plea for normalcy wasn’t going to stop haunting her anytime soon. 

She dropped her hand on her lap, staring blankly forward. Everything felt heavy and numb in ways that had nothing to do with her being a zombie. If this kind of feeling followed her out of here once she was forced to leave… was she betraying the others? Taking the chance of freedom and life, only to abuse it?

Take someone who’ll actually be able to live out there , she thought bleakly. Take someone who deserves it. Don’t take me. I have nothing to live for out there .

She started counting tiles again. 

Chapter Text

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Like what?

I don’t know… something!

…

…

…

…

… I?

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The feathers were smoothed down by the most careful of fingers, each individual vane positioned neatly alongside its siblings until they shined in vibrant tones of red, blue, and yellow. Jimmy had spent the better part of his morning washing each of them by hand, taking the time now to comb them and position them until they sat soft and smooth along each of Grian’s wings. The other avian, on his part, was half-asleep in his bed, trilling softly with every inhale and exhale. 

The sounds soothed some of Jimmy’s ever-frazzled nerves, leaving him feeling calmer and more centered than he had in almost two weeks. He hadn’t originally noticed how badly Grian’s wings needed to be preened until recently, when his flockmate specifically asked for him to help with them. That, more than anything else, shocked him into realizing how out of it he’d been recently. What kind of flockmate let a fellow flockmate live on with dirty, ruffled feathers?

Of course, his own weren’t doing so well. Jimmy found it hard to ignore the distinct itch in his own wings as he carefully preened Grian’s. Even as he sat and smoothed through the cut primaries with utmost tenderness he could feel them twitching agitatedly against his back. They were mussed and ruffled; the shower from that first day back had taken care of the blood, and he’d showered once since then, but he hadn’t found the energy to preen them himself yet. 

He was pretty sure Grian had noticed. He had a feeling he was going to be lectured about it sometime soon. But even still, Jimmy couldn’t bring himself to do it; it was all he could do to fight the urge to rip out the yellow feathers by the handful when he was alone.

Sometimes, deep in the darkness under his bedsheets, he toyed with them; pulling on them until sharp pain lanced through the fragile skin but not quite ripping them out by the shaft. Sometimes he couldn’t quite manage the balance and he had to clean up the small yellow feathers the next morning before somebody saw them. He was thankful that the small spots of blood were lost among the rest of his plumage. 

“Jimmy?” Grian’s voice was sleepy, but concerned, and Jimmy blinked to see that his hands had stilled along the underside of Grian’s wing. The other avian blinked at him from obsidian eyes, tilting his head ever so slightly, and chirruped his concern. It took Jimmy a moment to remember the correct response to let Grian know he was okay; even when the vocalization came, it was raspy and halting, hesitant. He didn’t vocalize much anymore. Even with Grian here, the sounds of their preening session had mostly come from the parrot avian and not Jimmy.

Grian huffed out a breath, the sound mostly clear. His fever was gone, the shadows under his eyes more from nightmares rather than wither sickness, and he was rapidly approaching full health. Even if potions still refused to work, a good dose of antibiotics was helping destroy the remaining Nether bacteria in his system. He should be able to leave the hospital within a few days. 

His flockmate gently moved his wing out of Jimmy’s grasp, shuffling upright in bed and blinking the haze from his eyes. Folding his mostly preened wings behind his back and scooting forward so they weren’t cramped against the headboard, Grian crossed his legs and patted the space in front of him with an inquisitive sound from deep in his throat. The message was clear and inviting, and yet Jimmy felt himself wilt a little, shrinking back. His wings ached; they desperately needed to be preened, but he didn’t know how he felt about slipping into that vulnerable space. Would it help make him feel better? 

Yes.

Did Jimmy want to feel better?

That, he didn’t know.

He didn’t think so.

Grian patted the space in front of him again with a bit more urgency, red-yellow coverts and scapulars fluffing up. His next chirp contained more concern, which hurt to listen to because Jimmy didn’t want Grian’s concern. Grian got irritated, snarky, sarcastic… he didn’t do concern. Especially not to Jimmy over some ruffled feathers.

His wings ached a bit more fiercely and Jimmy sighed, slowly moving to pull himself up onto Grian’s bed and settle down by the other avian’s feet, which were clothed in fluffy red socks that one of the visiting hermits had brought him. Jimmy also had a pair, a bright yellow, which he stared at dully as he let his wings relax onto the bed beneath him. 

He expected Grian’s usual brand of preening; something quick, efficient, and methodical. Grian had always spent a lot less time and effort than Jimmy did on something like preening, claiming he’d rather spend the time doing other things even if he did begrudgingly acknowledge the need for tidy feathers. It was a shock, therefore, when instead of brusque, quick movements, Jimmy felt a soft, gentle glide of fingers over the very tops of his wings, starting at the innermost base by his shoulder blades and sliding outwards to the tips of his primaries. He shivered at the tingly sensation, feathers overly sensitive due to improper care, and warmth bloomed unexpectedly in his chest at the soft touch.

Grian didn’t stop there, moving inwards again and sliding gentle fingers through the coverts closest to his back, each movement indescribably soft and careful. This time Jimmy couldn’t stop the chirp that bubbled up from his chest, broken and raspy, which Grian responded to with a low, soft coo. He then continued his gentle ministrations, letting his fingers dig deep into his plumage to scratch the itch there while returning every single feather to its rightful place.

Jimmy chirped again, tingling from head to toe and finding himself shaken, both inside and out. Warmth blossomed through every inch of him as Grian carefully rearranged his tertials, then glided his palm along the surface of his coverts to make sure they were smooth and flat. By the time he started to straighten up his primaries Jimmy was actively shaking, unable to stop the vocalizations from flowing out of his throat like a wellspring.

The tears were flowing, too, a damp blink of an eye turning into a steady stream that he couldn’t bring himself to wipe away, trembling and watching them drop down to land on his sky-blue sweatpants and the hem of his dark sweater. He sniffled, trilling as Grian started on his other wing, unable to keep himself from flexing the freshly preened one outwards until the primaries threatened to brush against the opposite wall. The underside still needed work, but it already felt so much better, so much more… clean. 

Jimmy wasn’t sure if he deserved to feel clean anymore.

Grian responded to every single one of his vocalizations regardless of how shaky or broken, his fingers never losing their softness as he slowly and carefully helped piece some of Jimmy back together. The sounds filled the room and, combined with the steady waves of comfort and warmth that flooded over Jimmy without pause, helped quiet some of the anxiety that had threatened to overwhelm him the minute he had sat down on that bed. He still didn’t think he should relish this as much as he did. And yet, being here, soft twitters filling his ears and falling from his lips as his feathers were so lovingly touched, it felt good. It felt right . 

A renewed wash of tears slipped down his cheeks, however, when he thought about who else he would have loved to be stroking his feathers, warm fingers bare of gloves because of a trust that had been built between the two of them. Tango had always loved to see his wings freshly preened, claiming they were shiny and glowy and that they captured his gaze whenever he was around. It was Tango who had demanded to see them preened in his last moments. Jimmy wondered if he’d feel like helping him once he woke up. 

Jimmy’s thoughts wandered, as they so often did, to Tango as he let himself get dragged into a distinctly avian haze, vocalizing without thought and pushing his wings subconsciously back into Grian’s waiting hands. At some point a change in tone indicated that Grian wanted him to turn so he could work on the insides, and so Jimmy did, shuffling around and angling himself so one wing could be held up close for Grian’s inspection. 

Upon seeing his tearstained face Grian cooed again, eyes wide and glossy with sympathy. His flockmate then pushed himself to his knees with only a slight wheeze and shuffled himself forward so he was up in Jimmy’s space, forehead touching his own and wings coming to mantle around them both. The small space between them trembled with the force of Grian’s gentle trilling and Jimmy’s muffled sobs, letting himself lean into Grian’s touch and accept the comfort. It felt so right and so wrong at the same time, like this cherished moment was tainted by some otherworldly source that he couldn’t quite understand.

Or maybe he did understand it, but he didn’t want to dwell on it. Jimmy had never been one for feeling sorry for himself - it was a waste of energy, and when one had the luck that he did, it was best to focus on moving forward. But how could he not feel badly about himself after everything that had happened, all because of him? How was it possible to know all of these things and just keep moving forward, all the while feeling so guilty ? 

The guilt clung to him like a smog, coating everything from his skin to his hair to his feathers, and even if Grian’s soft touches could help him forget about it for a little while, that didn’t stop it from existing. 

Eventually Jimmy exhausted all of his tears and Grian drew back, refocusing on the insides of his wings. The soothing touch helped center him, the warm haze washing back over Jimmy like the tide and causing him to drift. His thoughts contained nothing but brief considerations of feathers and flockmates, which eventually led to him to think of another flockmate who wasn’t here, but who would certainly benefit from a preening job once he awoke.

The thought was so strong, in fact, that Jimmy resurfaced from his haze and had to take a moment to gather his words, croaking out at Grian, “We should preen Joel’s wings when he wakes up.” Those wings would need a good, long wash and preen after all that they’d been through, especially the injured one.

Besides, on the list of people who would need a good, strong dose of comfort upon waking, Joel was near the very top.

Grian’s face lit up at the suggestion, ear-feathers flaring out in little tri-colored fans on the sides of his head. “We should , shouldn’t we?” He whistled brightly, the sound bright and happy and oddly foreign in a way that filled Jimmy’s stomach with both glee and nausea. He stared at his yellow socks again after that, words eluding him, finding it hard to vocalize even when Grian resumed his preening. But he did take comfort in the touch once again, daydreaming about being able to soothe Joel in such a way, taking careful pains to smooth the feathers around his injured wing and restore them to their former gilded brown, white, and green glory. 

When Grian eventually finished with his wings he grabbed Jimmy by an elbow and gently pulled him back, until both avians were squished side-by-side in a too-small hospital bed, wings wrapped securely around one another. Jimmy dozed in the embrace; it was a different kind of numbness, something softer and kinder. He didn’t want it to leave. 

It ended eventually when something knocked lightly on the hospital room door. Both avians flinched, Jimmy almost smacking Grian in the face with one wing when he shifted to halfway crouch in front of Grian on the bed, shielding him from view. His heart had started slamming behind his ribs so quickly that he felt ill, sweat breaking out across the back of his neck. 

There was another knock at the door, and Jimmy couldn’t bring himself to move or speak, frozen in a defensive position even as Grian cautiously called out, “Come in. Slowly.” 

The door opened and a head poked its way inside, ginger curls framing a worried face. Fwhip blinked at the two of them, stepping slightly further through the doorframe. “Are you two alright? I tried to knock quietly - I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Grian’s hand was shaking when he came forward to touch Jimmy’s arm - the knock had scared him - but he said, “It’s okay. We just got a bit spooked, right Jim?”

It took Jimmy an unreasonable amount of time to remember that Fwhip was an admin, someone who was supposed to be safe and a protector. Forcing himself to take a deep breath and relax his wings, Jimmy sat back down on the bed properly and stopped angling himself to cover his weaker flockmate. 

“Sorry, guys.” Fwhip apologized again, fully stepping into the room. He was followed by Chess, who nodded at each of them in turn with warm pink light spilling from her lenses. Jimmy sheepishly slid off of the bed and took a seat next to it at the sight of her; no doubt she wouldn’t approve of him crowding her patient. 

Grian gave a mournful sounding trill at his leaving the bed, a sound that clawed painfully at Jimmy’s heartstrings, and Chess made a shooing motion with her hands. “You don’t have to get off the bed, Jimmy. I actually just came in here to talk; you two can stay as you were.”

The two avians shared a look, with Grian reaching out and making grabby hands in Jimmy’s direction. Shooting the doctor and his admin a wary look, Jimmy allowed himself to be pulled back up into the bed, slotting himself against Grian’s side once again. 

“More tests?” Grian piped up from beside him. A lot of the soft warmth had drained from him, although his newfound grip around Jimmy’s wrist remained gentle.

“Not quite. We actually came to speak to Jimmy.” Chess leaned against the wall by the door, sticking her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “If you want we can talk out in the hallway, Jimmy, but if you’re comfortable with Grian hearing a slightly more sensitive conversation then we can stay in here.”

Jimmy shrank a bit closer to Grian, blood rushing in his ears. “He can hear.” More to the point, Jimmy didn’t want to leave the safety of this little feather-cocoon that had concocted, especially if he was going to receive some bad news.

“Alright.” Fwhip took a seat in Jimmy’s abandoned chair. “So, Chess and I have been talking about everyone’s status, and we’ve come to a bit of a decision. Jimmy, Chess and I think it would be best if you took a break from the hospital for a few days, just to regain your bearings. We don’t think that staying cooped up in here all the time is the healthiest thing for you right now.”

Jimmy felt the coil of tension in his stomach give a sharp twist, and the feathers on his newly-preened wings started to rise. “You… want me to leave?”

“Not for long.” Chess said compassionately. “We know you have many people you care about here, and we understand that you’ll still want to see them. I’ve already spoken to Cleo about this too; in two days, you two will be asked to go back to EM-2 for a period of 48 hours. After that, you are free to come back - but I expect you two to try and rest and recover during that break. Get some sunshine, breathe some fresh air. Hospitals are a place of healing; you two are at the point where being here is harming you more than healing.”

Jimmy swallowed, wrapping his arms around his middle. Beside him, Grian’s wing had pressed firmly against his own, but he wasn’t speaking. Jimmy bet his friend agreed with both his admin and the doctor, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud. 

“Okay.” He heard himself saying, almost without feeling his lips move. “I’ll go.”

“Now, I know you don’t want to hear that- wait, you will?” Fwhip blinked, looking surprised. Even Chess seemed taken aback.

“I’ll go.” Jimmy repeated, suddenly feeling exhausted. Any previous feelings of warmth and comfort leftover from Grian’s preening had dissipated, leaving him cold inside. “I know there’s nothing wrong with me. I’d just take up space.”

Fwhip frowned, concern evident in his blue eyes. “It’s… It’s not just about clearing up space, Jimmy. It’s because we want you to take care of yourself.” 

Jimmy didn’t respond to that, because hadn’t he just been reflecting on that himself? He’d noted the unpreened wings, and he knew that sleep was a commodity he could no longer afford. Ironically, the only thing he seemed to be doing at all regularly was eating, and that was because some instinct in him still saw food as this rare, precious thing that should not be wasted.

He would have preferred to take it to those who were wounded, but the food-healing code made the action meaningless. That didn’t stop Jimmy from stashing bits and pieces of it around his hospital room, however. 

“Jimmy you get that this isn’t just because we don’t want you around the hospital, right?” Chess asked gently. “We think this will be good for you. It’s because we want what's best for you. It’s not because we think you are a waste of space.”

I know that , Jimmy thought dully. But I still do . In the end, it didn’t matter what they thought, but what he knew: He was a waste of space. Who was he fooling, puttering around the halls day after day? He wasn’t a visitor, he was a parasite; a drain on resources. A guilty soul trying to soothe himself by remaining close to those he’d almost gotten killed. Who he had gotten killed. 

“It’s okay.” He ended up saying, just to get them to move on. The churning in his stomach was making him nauseous; his face tingled, like the blood was leaving it. He curled his wings closer around himself, the brush of Grian’s feathers against his own no longer bringing any relief. “I understand. I leave in two days, right?”

“Yes.” Fwhip didn’t seem convinced by his tone, but thankfully he didn’t push. “A couple of people have offered to let you stay with them when you leave. Scott’s been the top volunteer; would you want to stay with him?”

A pang struck him, so sharp it could have been an actual blade, and it took everything Jimmy had not to flinch or suck in a sharp breath. He nodded instead, trying not to think about turquoise blue hair, or the still figure laying in a hospital bed only a floor or so away. Fwhip studied him a heartbeat more, then stood up again. “That was everything. Thank you for being so understanding, Jimmy. I promise it’s just because we want to help.”

“Of course.” Jimmy’s voice sounded flat even to him, and Grian gave an anxious trill from beside him. He slid off the bed, ignoring Grian’s touch that tried to hold on to him as he left. He felt all three sets of worried eyes burning into him as he headed for the door. “I’ll be back in my room.”

They didn’t stop him from leaving, and Jimmy did not go to his room. Instead, he walked to the lobby, exited into the gardens outside, and flew to the very top of the hospital, perching himself on the tip of the roof.

From there, surrounded by the gardens that led to fences that led to wilderness, Jimmy stayed until the sun started to set. And with the numbness turning to guilt and then tumbling into despair, restless hands clawed, twisted, and pulled at sunshine yellow feathers, letting them float away from him into the wind. 

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Grian was going to see Scar again.

It had been all he could think about from the moment he woke that day, reflecting on the words Chess had said to him after Jimmy had left the day before. You’ll need to take it slow, she’d said, and you can’t be in there for too long. But yes, you can see him tomorrow .

Well, today was tomorrow. Today, Grian could see Scar. 

He’d been practicing standing and moving around for the past few days, getting used to his own bodyweight and working to stave off the weakness that had settled into his muscles. The wither sickness was completely out of his system now; all that remained was a slight wheeziness in his lungs and an ever-present sense of fatigue that he was determined to ignore. He could walk around his room with relative ease, and although Chess had initially wanted him to use a wheelchair when heading to Scar’s room, she’d eventually relented.

Grian did have to go with an escort, which he could reluctantly understand. He was still weak; it wouldn’t do for him to collapse in a hallway somewhere. At least this way he could attempt to move of his own volition, rather than be confined to a chair. 

Currently, Grian sat at the edge of his bed, fidgeting with the hem of his new sweater. Red was his go-to, but something about wearing the same outfit as he had on the island unsettled him; he’d elected to go with a soft green when he’d been offered new clothes. He wasn’t the only one who had gone with a change; every person he’d seen from the island was wearing a new outfit. With the soft clothes surrounding him, his wings freshly preened and his hair clean from the shower he’d been helped with the day before, he felt almost completely well. 

Physically, at least. Inside, his nerves were completely shot, leaving his hands restlessly twisting at his shirt and his eyes pinned on the door. He knew that Scar was in very bad shape - he hadn’t quite been able to shake the memories of broken grey skin and scarlet blood. Those images still haunted his dreams, and he’d since heard complete reports about all the broken bones and lasting damage. Scar would never be the same as he once was. He would never fly again with his own wings. He’d never walk without pain. 

But he was alive; that was the most important thing. He might have run away once, but now Grian would do anything by Scar’s side so long as he was alive. 

There was a gentle knock on his door and Grian chirped instinctively at the sudden noise, getting to his feet with only slight unsteadiness. The door creaked open and instead of seeing Chess, Hubble, or Vivi, whom Grian had come to expect seeing regularly, a new face appeared.

She was very small; Grian wasn’t exactly tall, but the newcomer must have been at least a foot and a half shorter, leaving her at the bottom half of the door. Her skin was a sparkling blue that seemed to shift in color right in front of Grian’s eyes, leaving her with alternating patterns that glimmered in the hospital’s bright lights. Her eyes, wide and round, glowed white with barely visible irises. Over her scrub-clad shoulders, gossamer blue wings twitched and flickered with translucent, flittering designs.

The sight of those wings sparked something deep in Grian’s mind, a memory of fear and desperation that almost caused him to step back. She seemed… familiar, even if he was positive they had never formally met.

“Hi Grian,” The player smiled at him, the expression slightly nervous. “I’m Winter. I’m here to escort you to Scar’s room, if you’re ready to go.” 

“I am.” Grian nodded, fighting the shakiness in his limbs as he stepped forward. Winter moved and pushed the door fully open, moving back to give him space as he left the room for the first time in over a week. Winter, he couldn’t help but notice, didn’t walk, but rather hovered over the ground on those quick-beating wings. They buzzed lightly as the two of them moved down the hallway. 

“Are you feeling better?” Winter asked, looking over at him with big, glowing eyes. “I mean, I guess you must be if Chess is letting you walk around.”

“I’m feeling a lot better, thank you.” Grian subtly glanced over to study the allay hybrid, still uncertain why he felt like he had met her before. It was incredibly unsettling. “Sorry for being blunt, but… have we met before?”

Winter flinched, hands coming to squeeze each other in front of her chest. “Well, I guess you could say that? We sort of bumped into each other when you first arrived.” 

Grian frowned, wracking his brain to think of when this could have happened. He knew he hadn’t exactly been in the best mental state when he’d shown up - the memories of that time were fuzzy and confusing…

“Wait!” Grian exclaimed, stopping to stare at her. “I ran into you in the hallway!” 

Winter smiled at him, this time a lot more genuinely. “We did. You were rather out of it at the time. You have no idea how happy I am to see you feeling so much better.” Grian smiled in return, although his heart ached, because now he could remember thinking about blue butterflies, and he could see how much Winter’s shimmery blue wings reminded him of Scar’s.

Scar’s wings, which would never be used to fly again. 

“Here we are.” Grian thanked the void that Scar’s room was on the same floor of his, as he was already feeling exhausted and shaky on his feet. Winter flitted in front of him to the door, only to pause and land on the ground, fixing him with the sternest look he’d seen so far.

“A few rules,” Winter started. “Firstly, you need to wear this at all times.” She flexed her fingers and a face mask appeared from her inventory, which she then handed over to Grian. “This is very important. Scar is extremely fragile at the moment from all kinds of internal damage. It would be very problematic for him to get sick right now.”

Grian shuddered at the thought, nodding vehemently and putting the mask on. The slight restriction of breathing made his aching lungs protest, but he ignored the sensation as Winter continued to speak.

“Rule number two, you cannot touch him. He’s been very painstakingly put in various slings and casts and his bones are very delicate; we can’t have him shifting. Going along with this is rule three - if you see Scar start to move or wake up at all, you need to contact one of us immediately. It’s very important that he stay completely still, which means we have to manage his pain medication to make sure there’s no thrashing around or anything if he wakes up.”

Grian swallowed at the implications of that. He’d already been told how badly Scar had been injured, but this was solidifying everything for him all over again. He nodded once more, waiting for Winter to continue.

“Fortunately, that’s about it.” Winter said, and Grian fought the urge to heave a great sigh of relief. “It’s going to look… intense. Just know that all the doctors and nurses are doing everything to help.”

“Of course.” Grian said, itching to move in, itching to see signs of life . The last time he’d seen Scar he’d been dead, completely, in a broken heap right next to him. Anything would be a blessing after that.

“Alright.” Winter moved the door and opened it, motioning for Grian to follow. It was redundant; Grian was practically stepping on her heels as he moved in after her, every hair and feather on his body standing on end. 

It was both better and worse than he had expected. 

Scar was no longer in shambles, at least from an outward perspective. Someone had cleaned all the blood from his skin, which was still grey since he’d not been able to put a glamour back over it. However, only a little of his skin was shown, since almost every square inch of him was either covered in bandages or large, white casts. Both legs were casted, as were both arms. Splints were on almost all of his fingers. His ribs were heavily bandaged, and his neck was in a brace, with a little white bandage over the bridge of his nose and another butterfly bandage on his right temple. 

He was pale, and there were fresh scars on what little exposed skin remained, evidence of where it had been opened by the force of whatever had smashed him into the ground. Dark, bruise-like shadows surrounded his eyes, and Grian thought that maybe he looked a bit thinner, too. 

But worst of all, the thing that clawed at every avian instinct in him and pulled a strangled, mournful warble from his throat, were Scar’s wings.

His beautiful, shimmery, delicate wings had been extended in specialized hanging splints on either side of his body. Careful bandaging and additional splinting had been attempted to be secured to the shattered bones, but the membranes made it difficult, leaving each long finger crooked and bent. The membrane itself was dull and lackluster, with multiple slashes breaking the delicate skin between each phalange. 

Nobody had been exaggerating to Grian when they’d told him about the damage. Scar would never fly again, he was sure of that now. An agonized keen escaped him, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as his eyes filled with tears.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know.” Winter said gently. She ushered him over to a chair and Grian stumbled after her, sitting on the very edge so his wings had room to wrap around himself. She might have said something after that, Grian wasn’t sure: all he could do was sit there and stare at Scar’s slack face, his broken wings, at the casts and bandages covering him from head to toe. 

Was this how Scar felt, watching Grian succumb to wither sickness, unable to help him? Forced to watch him suffer? But no - it couldn’t have been this, it must have been so much worse, because Grian had to remind himself that Scar was alive . This damage may be permanent but Scar was alive - he was breathing, his heart was beating, he would still heal some of the damage. 

Grian had to stay optimistic. He couldn’t fail Scar anymore; Scar needed him to be here, stay present, be positive . The last thing Scar needed was to wake up and find somebody mourning him; he needed someone to encourage him. 

Grian took a shuddering breath, aware that Winter had moved to a corner of the room to keep an eye on things but otherwise give him his space. Wiping away the hot tears that had slipped down his cheeks to dampen his mask, Grian sniffled and straightened in his chair, grasping his hands in front of him as he prepared himself to make a vow. 

“I swear, Scar.” Grian whispered, the words filling the space between him and the man he loved in that hospital bed. “I won’t leave you, never again. I’ll be here whenever you need me, and I’ll always come when you call. I promise. You’ll never be lonely as long as I live.” Grian poured his heart and soul into that promise. He was done abandoning Scar in his moments of need. Fear would not control him anymore; they’d both gone through too much for that. 

So as long as he was allowed, until Winter was forced to call him back to his room, Grian would wait. And he would return the next day, and the day after that, until Scar finally woke. 

Grian would be there as long as it took to make sure Scar knew he was never abandoned. 

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Two days passed, marking two full weeks since they had gotten off of the island.

Grian continued to improve, spending every spare second in Scar’s room as he was able. Others also slipped in to see the wizard: Grian saw a lot of Cub, who came in and spread his glowing vex wings and radiated his fellow vex with some kind of blue energy. Mumbo visited many times, sitting next to Grian and filling the silence with nervous rambles about the going-ons of the server outside. Beyond that, it felt like almost every hermit plus some came to see Scar at least once within those two days, with Grian being accompanied by one or two other players. And that wasn’t including those who visited when Grian was forced to not be in the room, with Chess or another doctor pulling him back for more exams and to make sure he rested. 

On that first day after the promise he made, Grian was visited by Chess and Xisuma with a talk very similar to the one they gave Jimmy. He was reaching the point where it would be beneficial for him to leave the hospital for a spell and get some fresh air. The one thing that would change that, Chess had stated, was if anyone woke up at all before that deadline; then they would extend the deadline for everyone so they could spend a little more time with them.

“Otherwise, it’s a hard line at two days.” Chess told him. “I’m sure you know why after what we said to Jimmy.” 

“Right.” Grian didn’t know how Jimmy had responded so calmly to this news, because inside he was fuming. Of course it had made sense with Jimmy - anyone would have been a fool to not see that his flockmate was struggling. But Grian had just gotten better, he had more energy, more motivation, and now they were making him leave?

He’d said as such to Xisuma, who’s eyes had squinted at him in a slight smile behind his visor. 

“It’s exactly for that reason why it would be good for you to leave for a few days,” he’d said while Grian scowled at him.  “I’ll take you back to Hermitopia, you can settle into your old room and just… relax a little. Talk to people outside of the room, maybe carefully help someone a little with a building project or something. We’ve already talked to Cleo and Jimmy about this, and we’re going to mention it to Impulse as well. You four can go together. Get used to normal life again.”

“But that’s so… so…” Grian had fumbled for words, tugging at the feathers around his ears. “How am I supposed to go back to that ? After everything!?”

“ That is what normal life is, Grian.” X had said gently. “You used to love that. Making shops and hanging out with friends, pranking people, all of those things. I know it must feel incredibly frivolous after what you went through but you’re not there anymore. You don’t have to focus on that, you should focus on the here and now. It’ll be good for you to live in the moment.” 

He had been right, Grian knew that deep down. That didn’t stop him from moodily dwelling on it as he sat by Scar’s bedside the next day, eyes locked on the wizard’s still face. He didn’t understand how Xisuma could expect him to ever go back to all of those things. Life felt too fragile for that; pranks weren’t fun when they risked peoples’ lives, because Grian would never feel safe watching someone die again, even if he logically knew that respawns were on and pain-dulling code was in effect. Or exploring the wilderness and walking on open grass, even flying in the skies… the world had always been dangerous but it felt even more so now. There had been too many surprise attacks from mobs he didn’t understand to feel safe wandering. 

Which left him the option of hanging around Hermitopia and exploring some of the other “topias” set up by the visiting players… but even that didn’t feel right. It felt like a waste of time, especially since there were still players badly injured who would be stuck in the hospital for weeks to come. What right did Grian have to waltz off and try to adjust to normalcy when they couldn’t? 

“Oh Scar.” Grian sighed, rubbing at his face and settling his gaze on the wizard’s battered face again. “What are we going to do?”

Scar, predictably, did not answer.

He did, however, twitch ever so slightly.

Grian felt himself go very still. Holding his breath, he stared intently at the still figure in front of him. Had he imagined the tiny movement? Was he hallucinating after spending so many hours staring at Scar’s face? 

His lungs ached and he was forced to exhale, trying to relax when Scar didn’t move again. He must have imagined it. The doctors had said the possibility of him waking up soon was high, but it had only been two days, surely there would still be some more time-

The heart monitor next to Scar sped up slightly, and this time Grian saw the faint, almost imperceptible tightening that swept across his face. A tiny crease of the brow, eyes flickering underneath closed eyelids. Grian felt his own heart begin to pound beneath his ribs.

“Scar?” He whispered, afraid to break the spell of whatever was happening. Afraid to blink, he tried to keep his watering eyes open and pull himself forward, leaning closer to the wizard. “Scar?”

Scar’s closed eyes flicked again, face scrunching in pain, and it was only when he sucked in a deeper, shuddering breath that Grian remembered his instructions. Fighting to keep his wings tucked in tight so they didn’t flail and hit any of Scar’s slings or the machinery in the room, Grian shot straight to the alert button by Scar’s bed that would call Chess or Hubble or some other qualified medic to the room. The minute he had pressed it he stood right by Scar’s side, hands clutching the railing until they cramped at the pressure.

“Oh please, Scar.” Grian whimpered, the tears in his eyes no longer from how long he’d been keeping them open. “Please. You can do it, I know you can. Just open your eyes for me for a second please.”

He just needed to see Scar’s eyes, if only for a moment. That would be the final piece of the puzzle; a final realization that Scar had made it . He knew Scar would be hurting and he didn’t want that, so he fervently hoped that a doctor would arrive soon so they could adjust the vex’s pain medication. But before that, Grian just needed to see Scar open his eyes.

“Come on, Scar.” Grian sank to his knees by the bed, aching to reach out and cradle Scar’s battered jaw in his hands. He settled for holding his fingers even tighter around the bed railing and letting his primaries brush against the membrane of Scar’s wings with the softest of touches. “You can do this. Just a little more. I know it hurts.”

Scar whimpered, a shuddering rocking through him and Grian trilled in sympathetic pain, hating that he selfishly needed it to continue even for a second. There was footsteps at the door and he leaned forward, watching Scar’s face. “ Please, Scar.”

The door opened right as Scar’s eyelashes fluttered, dull seafoam green shining in the tiniest of openings. Grian sucked in a breath, vocalizations building rapidly in his throat, but forced himself to be quiet as Chess stepped into the room. 

“Thank you for contacting us.” Chess’s voice was hushed. She moved around the other side of the bed but Grian didn’t spare her a glance, watching Scar’s face in rapt attention.

Scar shuddered again and Grian crooned a soft, low sound to try and comfort him, wings aching to reach forward and cradle Scar between them. He fought back a louder trill when Scar’s eyes fluttered again and opened wider, wide enough for Grian to see hazy, cat-like pupils in dusky blue-green eyes. They weren’t the vibrant emerald that Grian had come to know and love through Scar’s glamour, but they were beautiful because they were Scar’s and they were open . 

Scar didn’t look all there, and Grian didn’t expect them to stay open for long, knowing from sound that Chess was actively adjusting his pain medication to make sure he didn’t suffer. So he jumped when instead of glazing over and falling shut Scar’s eyes drifted over to land on him, squarely on him, and those pupils dilated ever so slightly.

“Gr’n,” Scar sighed, the sound slurred and quiet and hardly a word. Grian sobbed anyway, resting his chin on the railing and getting as close as he dared. “I’m here, Scar. I’m… I’m here.”

Scar sighed again, shuddering and relaxing as his pupils dilated even further, the seafoam dulling as the pain medication kicked in and sent him soaring. Grian crooned, singing to Scar through the softest of chirps and trills, trying to ease him back into sleep. He was stunned into shocked, emotional silence when Scar’s hazy eyes drifted to him again and the vex murmured, “L’ve you.” 

It was so quiet, but the adoration inside of those words was clear. Grian’s eyes went wide as he stared back into Scar’s glossy eyes, which were starting to drift in focus but still were looking at him. He swallowed the lump that had risen into his throat and croaked back, “I love you too, Scar. I love you so much.” 

That seemed to satisfy the wizard, who relaxed into the hold of his bed and his many casts and splints once again, eyes sliding shut. Grian sniffled and watched him ease back into sleep, staying still on his knees by the bedside long after Scar had fallen asleep and Chess had come to sit on the chair next to him. 

When he finally looked up at her, he was met with eyes that radiated compassion despite being hidden behind the lenses of her mask. 

“I’ll let everyone know the deadline’s been moved by a few more days,” she murmured to him. “In the meantime, how about I get a more padded chair in here so you’re more comfortable, alright?”

Grian’s throat swelled shut again as he nodded his thanks, watching her go in silence. He turned back towards Scar once he was alone, those slurred, adoring words reverberating through his head. As he shifted on his aching knees and felt his slightly damaged lungs wheeze in his chest from crying, Grian had never been more thankful for that day in the rain, in the treehouse, when Scar had yelled at him. Thank the void that he’d been knocked back to his senses so that he could finally, finally give Scar back what he deserved: unconditional love. Grian would never forget that moment and the lessons he learned.

There were sure to be many more in the future; this was just a single step in a marathon, a raindrop in what was certainly going to be an ocean of hardship and struggle. But Grian had been there for that first step and he would be there for every single one after that, and so for now he was content.

Chapter Text

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…

Uh… 

No, what is meant by I?

We are a collective.

We are one.

What is with this… “ I ”?

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There was nothing, and Scar was disappointed in that fact.

He had died hoping - praying - that on the other side of the agony there would be Grian, and Bdubs, and all of his friends that he had lost. There had to be something beyond death, right? He had to hope that he would be reunited with the others.

But the darkness came to claim him, and when Scar had resurfaced from the void to recognize that fact, there was nobody there to welcome him. 

Instead he drifted on strange, swelling tides of fog. There was a pressure under his skin; with each swell it would grow until the point of breaking through, until he wished he had the strength to squirm and struggle against it, only for the pressure to be whisked away and leave him floating again. Feeling was hard, thinking was harder, and so Scar let himself sink into the darkness and drift along its currents. 

Then, it changed.

The pressure was growing under his skin again, tighter and hotter and angrier, until it surpassed discomfort and, startlingly, strayed into pain. Scar cringed away from it, unable to suppress his panic, because wasn’t there supposed to be no pain in death? Wasn’t that the whole point ? Would he not only have to be alone, but he’d have to suffer in his loneliness as well?

It grew, and the surface around him constricted painfully, and Scar imagined he might be able to feel his limbs again through the outlining of agony. Ghostly lungs constricted and an incorporeal throat burned, the pressure twisting sickeningly inside him. Scar wanted to scream, but he couldn’t move or open his mouth, and the panic grew in horrifying waves until-

The voice came from the distance like the voice of an angel. Faint, trembling, but there, and Scar knew instantly who it was. 

Maybe he wouldn’t be alone in this suffering after all. If Grian was there… maybe he could bear it. 

Grian was begging him for something. The words were fuzzy; only the tone of voice made it clear that it was him, but that was enough. He was pleading with him, the sound striking a pain deeper through Scar’s phantom heart than any other pain could hope to reach, and he hated it . 

Maybe the Watchers had separated them all in death, and Grian was afraid. There had been something regarding him and the Watchers in his past, hadn’t there?

The pain swelled again and Scar burned with it, struggling to stay focused on Grian’s words. He couldn’t move towards them per se, but he tried his hardest to fight towards some semblance of clarity. If he could just move past the darkness, if he could just get closer …

There was light.

It was instant agony; it washed through him like acid but Scar didn’t have the strength or the wherewithal to turn it off. Shadows played in front of his face in dizzying forms of color and depth; figures, perhaps? Was this it? Was he finally reaching the other side? 

Grian’s voice was louder here.

There were no more words; the pleading had ended. Instead, Grian’s familiar vocalizations smoothed past his raw, aching soul in the sweetest of songs. Scar was whisked instantly to days spent working in the hot desert sun, trying his hardest to whistle along with the trilling avian and getting a loud, raucous laugh for his efforts. He’d always loved Grian’s more bird-like noises, even after those days had ended. They reminded him of simpler times. 

A fuzzy tone sounded to his left - a different voice - but Scar only could focus on Grian, who’s sounds were growing louder and more… solid, in a sense. 

Grian had to be there, surely. Scar struggled through the pain, which was starting to fade but was being replaced by the strange foggy sensation, to capture a glimpse of the avian. 

Without knowing how, his vision sharpened slightly and landed sideways… and saw him .

Shrouded in light, like he was surrounded by a halo. Cheeks flushed, sandy hair a mess, dark eyes glistening but bright and clear. Crimson feathers hovered by his ears, and the ragged, bloodstained red sweater had been replaced by soft green. There was no pale skin, nor signs of wither poison that had sickened him and left him for dead.

He looked healthy. The whole world was a blur and Scar could tell this vision wasn’t going to last long, but here Grian was, whole and hale and perfect . Explosions could have been surrounding him on all sides but all he would have seen were the shine of light on feathers that had once been lackluster, or the soft threads in Grian’s sweater that complimented those feathers’ red color beautifully. 

Scar could have stared in rapture forever, given the chance. 

Grian , he tried to say the name, but his throat and chest burned and he wasn’t sure how much came out of his mouth as opposed to being sung joyfully in his head. Something must have gotten out because Grian’s eyes filled with tears - happy tears, Scar knew the difference - and his form drew closer, close enough to touch. Scar didn’t think Grian had ever looked at him like this before, like he was something precious. 

“I’m here, Scar.” The avian murmured, tears slipping down his cheeks. Scar longed to wipe them away but found his limbs starting to drift, the pain streaming away in arcs but taking the rest of him with it. “I’m… I’m here.”

He was. Even in death, Grian was here, and the joy was fierce and overwhelming. The rising tide of fog and haze was tugging at him more instantly but Scar fought it, struggling to keep his gaze locked on Grian’s face even as the world began to blur in sickening spirals. He had to tell the avian something, because he couldn’t remember if he’d said it in life and he’d be damned if he didn’t tell it to Grian at least once in death. 

Love you , he tried to say, darkness dragging him back into its depths once again. Grian visibly choked up at that, eyes growing wide and cheeks becoming a lovely shade of red (no longer pale, no longer streaked with black.) “I love you too, Scar. I love you so much.” 

Bliss. Those words were sustaining, and when the fog finally grabbed him tight and dragged him bodily back into the depths, Scar left feeling fulfilled, his mission complete. Perhaps he’d rise to the surface of the voice once again to see Grian in this strange afterlife, or perhaps it wasn’t to be. But either way, he could rest knowing that Grian could never question that he was loved. That, in the end, was all that mattered.

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Reality clicked for Scar quickly, although he had no understanding of how or why things were the way they were.

It took multiple rounds of drifting, of surfacing from the darkness to searing pain - and familiar faces - only to sink back under before Scar fully understood. It was difficult enough to think when everything was so cloudy, and the pain was doing nothing to help either.

If there is one thing Scar was good at compartmentalizing, however, it was pain. And so when his mind started to clear, he immediately started working on shoving the pain down, packaging it in a tight little space at the back of his mind so he could look around and actually *comprehend* what he was looking at.

Which was how he came to grasp his current situation: He was alive. Wounded, badly, but alive.

And so were some of the others.

The atmosphere of a hospital was something Scar was unfortunately very familiar with. The scents of disinfectant and sterile sheets, the sound of a heart monitor, the feel of casts and bandages and IV catheters… all of these he knew. He also knew with certainty that if he was dead, he would have been spending these moments of lucidity in Scarland, or Boatem, or Monopoly Mountain, not a hospital. Never a hospital.

So unless the Watchers had dreamed up some kind of cruel and unusual torture for him, which seemed unlikely since Scar didn’t matter to them, then this was real.

He liked to think it was real since Grian was there.

Grian was always there, every single time, regardless of when Scar resurfaced. Preening his wings, or talking quietly with someone else in the room that Scar couldn’t see, or simply sitting with his head pillowed on his arms and watching Scar with soft obsidian eyes. Scar wasn’t sure if he ever spoke to Grian during these moments, especially the earlier ones, so he made sure to try and tell the avian important things when he could, usually how much he loved him. On one of his more lucid spells he could recall asking Grian if everyone else was alive. He didn't have the energy to respond much when he learned that yes, everyone was, but the hot, aching rush of joy that accompanied those words stayed with him every time he opened his eyes.

But with lucidity came memory, increasing amounts of it, and sometimes Scar didn’t come back from the void, but someplace nightmarish. He’d wake up sobbing not from the agony he felt but from the memory of his code getting flayed apart and stripped open, eyes peering into his very existence. Or he’d have visions of Grian’s death stained into the back of his closed eyelids, the avian laying crumpled on the ground with black poison crawling up his neck and dripping from half-open eyes.

Grian was worried about him. Every time Scar opened his eyes he saw his friend was worried. He didn’t want Grian to be afraid for him. The distaste he had at the sight of it was shocking in its strength; Grian shouldn’t be worried about him. What could he possibly be worried about? They were alive. Everything paled in comparison to that fact. So whenever he opened his eyes in a panic and saw Grian’s frightened face looking down at him, he did his best to shove the panic away. 

“Well hello there,” he’d slur, and Grian’s eyes would fill unfailingly with happy tears that he’d messily wipe away. Then Scar would try, desperately, to stay awake as long as he could, so he could watch Grian smile and talk and breathe . His pain and fear could wait. Everything else could wait. 

Grian didn’t need to see.

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Scar surfaced to a blissful thrumming under his skin. 

It was nearly stronger than the pain, a novelty in itself. Hard to describe in words but powerful enough to distract him from his previous discomfort, Scar could almost imagine himself rolling around in it like mounds of silk, or blissfully warm water. Even as he felt himself waking he sighed into the sensation’s embrace, relishing in the way it sank deep into his soul and wove itself lovingly into every inch of him. 

When he opened his eyes, there was a new figure standing at his side. 

“Hi there, Scar.” Cub said softly upon seeing him wake. Scar gazed languidly up at his friend, satisfied at the sight of him wearing his usual white lab coat, dark hair tostled and glasses glinting in the light. Light, he now saw, which was coming from the two brightly glowing appendages spread behind him, radiating their splendor down on Scar’s broken body. 

“Cub.” Scar sighed, melting into the light’s gentle embrace. He tried not to think about those wings, which were intangible and could never be broken or torn like his own. He glanced around the room, his peace subsided a little when he realized he didn’t see a certain someone for the first time since he’d come back alive. “Grian?”

“Doctors are checking him over.” Cub informed him. “He’s pretty much ready to be discharged but they wanted to double check his vitals.” 

So Grian was well enough to be leaving the hospital. The fear in Scar’s heart grew a little stronger, tempered by relief. That was good - Grian deserved to be able to get out of here. Scar wasn’t entirely sure how long things had been… fixed, in a way, but he doubted Grian felt too good about being cooped up in here. 

He didn’t like the idea of being parted. Not when he could still feel Grian’s skin cooling under his fingertips. But, at the same time, he didn’t like to sit under the avian’s worried eyes, either. 

Cub’s wings shifted, drawing a tiny bit closer, and the thrumming under Scar’s skin intensified. He sighed again, eyes drifting to half mast as the magic surged through him, roiling through his code and burning lovingly through every vein and-

His magic. 

All he could feel was the gaping hole that had suddenly opened up inside of him. He hadn’t noticed it because of the shocking transportation and the chill, but now that he was focusing, it was as clear as day.

“Please give it back. Give it back .”

“Scar!” Cub’s worried voice snapped him out of the memory, leaving Scar to realize that he’d been struggling against the casts and slings holding him still. The blissful sensation had faded as the pain surged through him again, leaving him gasping with tears in his eyes, but he still struggled because they wouldn’t take it again, they wouldn’t-

“Scar, you need to be still.” Cub hissed, tone more frightened than angry, but it was just out of character enough that it drew Scar’s attention. He stared at his fellow vex with wide eyes, panic flooding through every cell, and then it all burst forth. 

“Cub, my magic!” Scar cried. “They took- I can’t feel- is it-” He couldn’t speak, none of the words were coming out right. He tried to reach down and grab at his magic again, but panic made it hard to focus, and he wasn’t sure if the threads he was feeling were from Cub or his own coding. “ Cub-”

“Your magic is fine.” Cub soothed. He rested a hand, incredibly gentle, on one of Scar’s, splinted and damaged as it was. “Scar, take some deep breaths. Settle and let me show you that it’s fine.” 

Scar heaved for air, trying to force himself to calm down because he needed to know that it was back, that the stolen magic wasn’t something permanent that the Watchers had done. He managed to wrangle himself into some semblance of sanity, which was enough for Cub to direct his attention inward, past the pain and the fear to the small, but present, stream of magic flowing at his core. Weak, frazzled, but undeniably his .

“It’s still there, Scar.” Cub said, rubbing a thumb soothingly across the back of Scar’s hand when he sobbed in relief. “It’s still there. They didn’t touch it.”

“But they did!” Scar said shrilly, looking wild-eyed at his friend. “They stole it, Cub! They took it- they took it twice- ”

“They don’t have it now.” Cub’s voice was firm, and something steely had swept across his face. It was a dangerous look, but Scar trusted his friend well enough to know it wasn’t directed at him. Cub never looked at him like that. “They won’t take it again. I promise. I won’t let them.” 

The other vex then opened his wings again, which he’d closed when he’d turned his attention to calming Scar from his panic, and this time Scar could feel how the radiated waves of vex magic from Cub’s wings came to rush soothingly against his own. It was the interplay of the two that was causing the thrumming; a gentle rush as Cub’s magic bolstered his own, feeding into it, until it rose up and spilled over. It could only happen if Cub’s magic had something to feed into. Magic couldn’t sustain a void. 

“Rest, Scar.” Cub soothed, and Scar let himself close his eyes, sinking deeper into the warmth that came from the rush of magic. “You're going to be okay.”

Kind words from Cub, ones that Scar appreciated. But he thought about his limbs, trussed up to hold them together, and his wings, which he still couldn’t feel right, and he thought that this time, he might not be okay.

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Scar didn’t want to think about the island. At all. 

It was so much easier to fake happiness; he did it all the time back when he and Grian were at odds, so why couldn’t he do that here? And now that Grian was actually with him, Scar found he couldn’t help but fall into the familiar patterns, joking with the doctors and nurses that came in. He even made a very weak attempt to barter a shiny gold bracelet off of one of the night attendants that came in, and somehow he ended up getting it. He suspected that he was given it out of pity or sympathy, but he liked to think he still had his old swindling skills.

This was easy, as easy as breathing. Scar was pretty sure he was unnerving some people with his smiles. Shouldn’t he be traumatized? He was sure they were wondering. Why isn’t he scared? Why isn’t he sad?  

It was simple: he didn’t want to be, and so he wasn’t.

Being happy was a harder task than he could have imagined, even though this was all a familiar tune for him now, waking up injured in a hospital and braving the misery that came along with it. For one, this was the most he’d ever been injured and it hurt . He’d asked for a lower dose of pain medication as soon as he could,  because being in a dazed state inevitably sent his thoughts back there , but the pain was all-consuming. Even as he gritted his teeth and bore it with a grin, the stabbing sensation was in every limb. He thanked the void often in his spare time that his fingers were healing and were only a little sore. 

It wasn’t just broken bones. It was the stitches, from where he’d been cut open time and time again so they could piece him together. It was the raw, bandaged wounds where he’d apparently lost whole sections of skin along his arms, legs, and back. It was the sharp, stinging pains from the shredded membranes of his wings to the ache in his skull from the concussion he was just getting over, and the heavy, grating sensation he felt when he shifted because there was more metal than bone in his lower body. 

Ignoring this kind of pain was a lot harder than he’d ever imagined, but even still, Scar would rather face this than the memories. So he didn’t mind how it kept him up all night, because it helped him escape nightmares. Even if he dozed during the day at least he could focus on the quiet bustle outside his room, or Grian’s quiet vocalizations.

It was like that today, quiet and sleepy. Mumbo had come in that morning and there had been a very teary reunion, because although the hermit had visited before Scar had apparently been too far out of it to realize who was there. With this new visit he’d gotten a chance to properly rejoice in seeing his friend again, and had peppered Mumbo with questions about the server and the other hermits.

“How is everybody?” He’d smiled at Mumbo after the tears had subsided. “I heard a lot of people showed up to help, which is amazin’!”  

Mumbo had blinked at him, probably stunned by the switch in mood. “I- yeah, th-they did. Lots of people from different servers. But, Scar-“

“That’s incredible.” A lancing pain stabbed suddenly up Scar’s spine and he ignored it with practiced control, somehow keeping himself from flinching. “And everyone on the server is doing okay?” A new thought surfaced and he grimaced. “Xisuma’s okay? I haven’t seen him yet.”

“He’s fine.” Grian said before Mumbo could answer, drawing Scar’s attention to where the avian was studying him with marked concern. “Scar, everyone else is fine. Do you need more medicine? You’re really pale.” 

“I’m fine.” A very big, in-the-face lie; things were really starting to hurt. But Scar wanted to stay here , present and awake with his friends. “I want to hear more about everyone else.” 

Grian pressed his lips together tightly, and Scar nearly flinched at the rush of deja vu that brought him. “Everyone’s fine.”

Sure they were. Why wouldn’t they be? Silly of Scar to believe he was the only one pretending. 

They talked for a little while, Mumbo continuing to update Scar on the state of the server. Grian stewed in a cloud of frustration and tension next to him, biting his lip, shifting side to side. That was familiar, too. 

Eventually, Mumbo left, and Scar pretended to not see Grian mouth get a doctor at him as he went. But he didn’t want Mumbo to leave for a different reason, one that made itself very apparent when the door to his room shut and Grian decided to speak. 

“Scar,” the avian said, and Scar gave a bright “hmm?” when he glanced over at him. His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching his teeth and it was only partially due to the pain. Leave it, Grian . 

“After I… left,” Grian said slowly, eyes darting from his fidgeting hands then back to Scar’s face. “What happened?” 

Scar forced himself to breathe, staring up at the ceiling. “We died.”

“No I-I know that. But what happened ? How did this happen?” 

The wind howled around him, sliding between piercing whistles and the strange, chanting sound that Scar had heard before that reminded him of voices. The snow alternated between shallow and deep; sometimes Scar trudged along in it up to his knees, other times just around his ankles. It didn’t after a while - anything below his knees started to go numb, and only the pressure against his joints indicated to him that he even had feet to walk on. He just staggered along, hurting inside for more reasons than one, wishing that he could have just dealt with a Hunger. He’d take that draining sensation over this emptiness anyday.

Scar felt his throat start to close in on itself.