Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

DJ Grooves ran to the basement, desperate to find his way through the mess, but with everything that Conductor had left in the way, it was difficult enough just to get around. If he were someone else, he might’ve sworn, but instead, he kept his tongue as he used every inch of extra height he had to climb up onto boxes and around the mess. 

Conductor, what are you planning--?!

He barely managed to make his way after where the little darling had already run, based on the trail of destroyed sandbags, muddy footprints, and bits of yarn still clinging to wherever they had fallen. Even so, he knew he had to keep going.

Through the backstage areas, running past active cameras without care for if he was seen, Grooves opened doors and made his way to the lowest level of the studio, the stage they only used for small parties and underground concerts that Conductor rarely bothered to attend beyond stopping at the bar and scowling at anyone who dared try to talk to him.

Now, he took the stage for himself, and the little darling--

She was hurt.

He hurried to the little girl, helping her up, as Conductor cackled with laughter.

“Yeh really thought yeh’d win, huh, lassie?! Well, yer nae gonna get this timepiece back! I got plans fer this wee beauty, an’ yer nae gonna stop me from ‘em!”

“Conductor, are you out of your mind?!” Grooves yelled. “Think about this, you’re hurting her--”

“D’yeh think I care?! I can fix everythin’-- Everythin’ that went wrong, I can go back an’ make it right-- I’m nae gonna just stay here!”

He slammed the timepiece into the ground at the feet, sending glass flying everywhere. The energy of the broken timepiece was like a miniature explosion, blowing Grooves’ wig off and sending the little darling’s hat flying. He barely managed to grab the hat for her, but by the time he gave it back, Conductor was already gone.

“Conn-”

Before he could finish, everything fell away into nothingness, and time reset. 

“All aboard!” Walter called, his voice almost shaking with how loud it was. He’d never been good at volume, though his grandfather had tried to teach him how to project to be heard. With the sound of the train, the dozens of passengers per trip… It was hard, yes, but he had managed, though he longed for a megaphone or for someone else to do the announcements. For such an early trip, most passengers were regulars, on the way to work already. One bird, however, was a new face, fidgeting with his ticket as he stood near the end of the line to get on. His sunglasses hid most of what his hair didn’t, though his bright red jacket, heavy suitcases, and giant platforms drew more attention than anything else ever would.

“Ticket please,” Walter said, punching every ticket in order as the owls boarded. The last one, as expected, was the new bird. “Ticket please.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Sorry, I--”

“It’s alright, yer new ta this.” He took the ticket gently, punching a few extra holes in it to make a smile, as he did for any new passengers and children to make them feel at ease. “I’ll take yer suitcases, sir?”

“It’s quite alright, I can carry--” The bird struggled to pick both up, and Walter easily took one of them. “Oh. Well, thank you, darling.”

Walter offered a smile, and the other bird stepped on board. “I’ve got this one, at least.”

“Where’re yeh headed to, sir?”

“Dead Bird Studios. I’m… ah, well, I’m planning on being a movie director.”

“A movie director, huh?”

(His chest felt weird. His body never agreed with him on specific topics, and for some reason, as he looked up at the stranger, he knew that to be one of them.)

“...I hope it goes well fer yeh, sir. Let’s get these to the baggage carriage, then I’ll show yeh to yer room fer the trip.”

“Of course.” The stranger followed him, humming a small tune. Walter’s ear twitched, trying to recognize it. 

“...Might I ask yeh the name of that song?”

“Oh, this little thing? It’s… well, I used to work with music. It’s one of the ones I made myself.”

“A musician too, eh? Wow. Didnae know I had a celebrity.”

The stranger laughed, a music of its own. “Darling, you’re flattering me. I’m only just an indie artist in my free time-- I was mostly busy with my day job. Or, rather, my night job, since it was running a club. It’s on the moon, though, so… Most likely, it’s not important planetside.”

“Hm.” Walter nodded, smiling slightly. “Well, then it’s a good place to start over, sir.”

“Starting over. That’s a good way to put it.” He nodded. “I’m keeping my name though-- I already had to change it once for the last job. DJ Grooves-- that’s what I go by now.”

“Nice name. Definitely suits yeh.” Walter set the suitcase down. “There we go. Yeh can put yers down wherever; there’s space enough fer the day.”

DJ Grooves did as told, then clapped his hands together. “There we are! Thank you so much for all your help, darling.”

“It’s nothin’, sir. I’d do it fer any of the passengers.”

(He’d done it dozens of times, but with the changes he’d had to make to keep the train running, it felt like he had changed the entire process. It was lonely, too, without--)

Walter pulled his sleeves up, and started walking, back to where the rooms were. Since the train still hadn’t started, it was simple enough to guide the DJ to the passenger cars.

“And here yeh are. If yeh need food, there’s a dining car just a few that way, and I’d always recommend the back of the train if yeh need some air. Now, yeh will nae be seeing me during the trip, but dinnae worry-- I’m just guiding the train.”

“Well, then, I’ll be seeing you at the destination, won’t I?”

“Maybe. But yeh know where I’ll be.”

DJ Grooves stood outside of Dead Bird Studio, holding his keyring tight in his wing. He had worked hard to get enough to earn the money for his own studio, and though it was hard, he’d managed to find the cash for the place.

He unlocked the door with his main key and opened it up.

(The place felt… empty. Nothing was there but him, only him and the camera equipment he’d brought with him. No one else… Why did he feel like someone else should be there?)

For the millionth time that day, he looked to the train station. It was the only way to reach the way home, the lunar launch station far into the desert… He almost wondered if it would’ve been better to stay, but there was no time for that. No time to let someone else declare his life for him.

He took a deep breath of fresh air, then entered. 

(It didn’t smell like smoke, or dust, or anything he expected. The air was clean inside, with no sign of anyone having been there before. The place was unhaunted, and yet he could feel something holding him back from behind.)

He pushed the thoughts of home out of his mind, and began to plan what his first movie would be. Perhaps he could start by finding actors, or making the sets-- though finding help would be the best way, to get him someone else there to work with sets, and lighting, and everything else. The whole place needed people there-- people to be the backbone of the studio, the people he could rely on. He knew it was going to be hard to be a movie director, but he had a dream. He had to do it eventually. 

He took another deep breath, and got to work.

He stands in the middle of the backstage area, the half-built sets, the silence. It’s the fifth day he’s been at the studio, his new home. It feels like a haunted house, with something stalking him in the corners of the sets. He doesn’t look for them. It’s safer to not look.

The train blares its horn, the sound breaking through the heavy walls as if it were using an amplifier, but Grooves doesn’t mind it. The sound is comforting. Familiar.

(He’s only ridden the train a few times-- twice for his first trip planetside, once to arrive at the studio, yet it suddenly feels so familiar, so wistful like a home he cannot return to.)

The figure steps out of the darkness, yet It is still contorted, nothing like the birds or creatures he’s met. Two yellow eyes stare at him from the space-black shape, watching him from a distance.

“Hello,” he manages to say, as if the thing will respond. It merely stares, unblinking, silent. “Have we met?”

It refuses to respond, Its eyes merely watching him. It finally looks away, at half of the studio, then walks toward that half, where Grooves still hasn’t started setting up. He follows, unsure where it is leading him.

The other half is covered in messy, inky shapes, jagged edges, and mechanical parts. For an instant, Grooves reaches out to touch one, but his hand phases through as if it were merely an illusion.

“What are these?” he asks. The shape looks at him, and It twitches an ear before It turns around again, climbing up the shapes into the higher parts of the studio, the upper walkways. It looks at him once, sticks up a middle finger, then walks off into the darkness.

There is no sign of It for ages, as Grooves stares up at where It went. It is gone, just as quickly as It appeared, and It left nothing behind. 

He reaches for it, but he finds himself reaching upwards in his bed, his alarm playing a melody he doesn’t care for. The shape is gone. No one is there but him. 

The dream is mostly forgotten before lunch.

Grooves found his way back to the train before long, riding it for a weekend trip after a few weeks of work, though he carried a much smaller suitcase this time. He stood near the end of the line once more, keeping his sunglasses up and trying to hide in the crowd.

“All aboard!” the conductor called. “Get your tickets ready, everyone, thank you!” 

He walked to join the line, humming a little tune as he waited. Even with the time that had passed, the conductor recognized him.

“Ah, the movie bird. Yer nae giving up, are yeh?”

“Nope. Just taking a weekend trip. An old friend wants to see me.” 

“An old friend, eh? What kinda friend we talkin’, sir?”

“Now, now, Conductor, I’m not sure that’s quite the question most people would ask so early on. Buy me a drink, tell me your own status, and maybe then we’ll talk.”

The conductor froze, while Grooves looked away. Though he was used to casual flirtation, there was something in that which made it feel… worse. 

(The same sinking feeling he’d had when he walked into the studio alone, maybe? But how were the two situations connected?)

“I’d rather nae, thank yeh kindly. I, uh… Let’s just nae talk about me.” 

“I understand. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s nae important. I just don’t… like bein’ called ‘Conductor’. I’m… a bit new to the title, still.” He rubbed his elbow, then took the ticket, punching it. “Just call me Walter. If we keep meeting like this, maybe I’ll work up to being ‘Conductor’.” 

DJ Grooes nodded and got on the train. “Walter, then. But… I really would like to talk to you more, if you have time.” 

(He wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was how Walter was the only one on the train that stood out. Maybe it was something about how he looked. Maybe it was the way he smiled for only a moment before it felt fake. Something about Walter was… strange.)

“Yeh do? I cannae see why, but… Fine. I’ve nae got anythin’ going on this weekend, I could use a break after… things…” Walter shook his head. “...I’m sure folks would understand if the train stopped fer a while…”

“Things?”

“Buy me a drink first, sir,” Walter shot back, a small smile gracing his face. “Now, let’s get yeh on board. Rest of the train cannae stop fer us to chat!” 

“Oh, of course.” Grooves nodded, though he knew his cheeks were flushed. He got on board, carrying his suitcase, and watched as Walter hurried through the train, holding his hat on as he jogged off. 

Grooves found his car, sat down on the bed, and began to write on his phone.

New idea: Ask to film on the train at some point? Come up with new script for that, when I get the chance…

Chapter Text

Really, Walter wasn't sure what it was about Grooves that made him magnetic, but there had to be something about him. It wasn't his face, or his outfit-- honestly, Walter found it a bit too flashy for his tastes, but he'd never say that out loud, not when Grooves was acting nice and inviting him for a chat. It was easiest to just let things happen as they would, and let them go when it became impossible to figure out. 

Once he dropped off the passengers at their usual stops, warning them about the train being stopped for a while over the weekend, he returned to where he’d let DJ Grooves off, and stepped off himself, leaving the train where it was. 

This time, instead of his uniform, he wore a neat cream sweater over a dark blue collared shirt, the type he’d often wear before, when--

(No. No time to think about that. It already hurt his chest every time it came up.)

It was the first time he’d left the train on his own for more than just an errand or two all year. He’d never felt so alone before, when work kept him busy since the incident. Now, walking on his own down the streets of the town he once called home, he shivered slightly. 

“Wally, it’s so good to see you,” one owl-- Selene, that was her name-- called. “We’ve been worried about you--”

“I’m doing alright, miss,” he answered, curtly. “Still got all five fingers; train’s still running.”

“Still, it’s been forever since you stopped by town. Do you want some tea? We have some more iced tea from earlier, and with the weather out here…”

“It’s alright. I’m meeting someone fer lunch.”

“Oh?” Selene smiled. “Meeting someone?”

“It’s nothing.” Walter waved his hand. “He stopped by here fer a weekend trip. We planned to meet up… have you seen a lad my age? Big hair, sunglasses?”

“I’ve seen him around. He’s just down the road, staying at Owen’s B-N-B.”

“Do yeh know where I could find him?”

“Most likely? The coffeeshop. He seems to like working there.”

“Thank you, ma’am, that’s a lot of help.” Walter nodded. “And if I have time, I’ll stop by fer that tea.”

“Good. It’s about time people caught up with you, after everything that happened. After all, with the whole incident, you were--”

He took off before Selene could continue. He knew what she was going to say-- “sole survivor,” “lucky duck,” “such a tragedy.” The same things everyone else had said when it first happened, the same things he’d seen in newspapers, the same things he’d been running away from by throwing himself into work. 

“Walter!” A familiar voice called. “Over here!”

Walter turned, and relaxed when he saw Grooves waving like mad. He now wore a tourist-style shirt hanging open over his jeans instead of the red jacket, an floral thing that made Walter question who would've sold such a monstrosity, but he simply shrugged it off as he walked over.

“Y’know, I would've seen yeh pretty soon, DJ Grooves. Yer nae exactly dressed like most people would here.”

“I didn't really know what to pack for this trip, I'll be honest.” Grooves laughed. “It's mostly just whatever shirts I had tucked away, darling. I think after this, I'll just be using this one for costumes.”

“Better yet, burn it,” Walter mumbled. Grooves didn't react.

“Well, anyway, I've been thinking a lot recently-- there was something strange that I'd like your opinion on, darling. I had this dream a few nights after I arrived in the studio. I don't remember much of it anymore, but… there was this dark figure? Like the stars and space, but in the shape of a person. And… I've only seen it twice, with that dream and then one just a few nights ago, but I could swear it looks just like you.”

Walter froze.

“Now, I understand it's odd to bring up so suddenly, and I don't really expect you to--”

“With two yellow eyes starin’ at yeh like yer in the wrong place at the wrong time?” Walter interrupted. “Glowing in the darkness of wherever it is, just starin’ like it's trying ta talk but cannae.”

“You've seen it?” Grooves asked.

“My whole life.” Walter nodded. “I've brought it up ta some others, but… no one really thought much of it. A few folks thought they saw it too, but never as much as I did.”

“Hm… But what connects the sightings?” Grooves wondered, pulling out a piece of paper and trying to draw. He wasn’t very good at it, but Walter refused to mention that. 

“...I used ta see it more ‘round the television, and then it was more around the more dangerous experiments the train used ta do… A few others said they saw it shoving something off the back of the train, or standing at the back, or walking on top of it like it’d done it a million times… But it was always there when I was on the train. I always thought it was just my shadow or somethin’, some monster I picked up when I lived in Subcon.”

“Subcon?” Grooves raised an eyebrow. “...Sorry, I’m new to the planet, I haven’t heard much about…”

“It’s a forest. Granddad found me there when I was two, took me in, and ever since I’ve been on the train or at my house just down the road. Lately… mostly the train.”

“And… oh. He… I’m sorry for your loss.”

Walter paused, confused. “How did yeh--”

“You said you were new to being the conductor. I’m assuming that he’s passed, or he retired, and since I’ve not seen anyone who looks like you in town… The former.”

Walter sighed, and nodded. “...Let’s nae talk about that. Please.”

“I understand.” Grooves nodded. “...So, about Subcon? Why would there be monsters there?”

“Plenty of ol’ ghost stories start in Subcon. The Fire Spirits’ Final Dance, the Shapeshifter of Subcon Forest, there’s one that one of the owls always told when we had bonfire night away from home, about some lad named Timmy who got lost there? I dinnae know, it’s been… at least a year now. I try nae ta think about ‘em.” Walter shrugged. “So I just assumed it was the ghost of someone or other. Some ghost of me pops, or somethin’ else that found me and latched on.”

“But I only saw it once I got to the studio.”

“...I dinnae know, DJ.” He shook his head. “I’m just saying what I guessed. The science owls never found anything wrong with any of us, just… There’s something. Besides, we didnae come out here ta talk about that. How’s the trip so far?”

“Oh, it’s been wonderful. Everyone’s been great, and the food is good-- I’ve gotten more written for my script than I ever did back home, and without having to set up the sets and props right now, it’s a lot easier to just write.” Grooves clapped his flippers together. “I’m just about to finish this one, too, so once I’m done with that, I was thinking I might go for a walk, find somewhere nice to look around-- really just take in the view, do my best to enjoy the rest before really getting to work. Taking time off really does help sometimes, darling.” 

Walter nodded, relaxing at last. “Yeah, I bet-- movie director isnae the easiest job, I’d bet.”

“Conductor can’t be either.” He shrugged. “Besides, there’s at least a little bit of time I can use to get to know the cast and crew, start branching out a bit, learn some extra skills… That’s what life is about. Living .”

Grooves had a smile that would light up any room. Walter couldn’t help but return it. 

“How long do you think you’ll be off the rails, then, darling?”

“Nae long-- the train’s the way plenty of owls get ta work and back. Besides, since I’m the only one who knows how ta run the thing now… Cannae stay away fer longer than a day or so.”

“Oh…” Grooves sighed, a bit disappointed, but he bounced back quickly. “Then how about we spend the day getting to know each other, or just the area? You seem to know a lot more about this planet than I do, and it would be a big help if you could tell me about some of the things I’d need to know.”

“...” Walter checked his watch, then nodded. “Can we get some food first?”

“Of course, darling. I’ll pay, by the way.”

“Are yeh sure? It’s nae like--”

“It’s fine, really. I don’t mind it.”

“A-alright.” Walter flushed. “If yeh insist, DJ.”

Grooves took his hand and stood, gathering his bag and shoving the laptop on the table inside, then tossing his drink into the trash can from a distance. “Tell me, you know the place-- Anything I should know about? Any local haunts, a small restaurant no one knows about? I’ve not seen too much of the outskirts, but…”

“If yeh want somethin’ special, then… I always liked this one little place…” Walter led him along, both grateful and confused about the flipper in his hand. Usually, he’d be less likely to touch someone, citing germs and cleanliness, but for the moment it was welcome, something to keep him grounded. 

For once, people didn’t bother him about the incident, instead just glancing between him and Grooves and offering him quiet smiles, maybe a few eyebrow raises. Most likely, they meant to say… Something. He didn’t know what. He never really did, when people attempted gestures and facial expressions. With his granddad, it had been easy to understand his words, but with others… it was impossible around their obfuscations and hidden rules. 

Grooves was nice enough. He listened when Walter talked, he actually cared despite barely knowing him. The things he hadn’t expected from anyone except the owls. 

“Darling? Everything alright? You seem to be zoning out.”

“I… it’s fine. I’m just thinkin’.”

“About?”

“...Eh. I dinnae ken. Nothin’ important, mind.”

“I’d still like to hear, if you want to tell me.”

“No, no, it’s nothin’. He shook his head. “Let’s just get to the restaurant.”

The duo arrived at a small shop, where the warm smell of soup drifted out. Walter took in a deep breath, then smiled.

“This place isnae much, really, but they always had the best tomato soup an’ grilled cheese. Used ta go here with my granddad whenever we were in town.”

“Really? Well, I’ve never actually had that meal.”

“You havenae? We’re changin’ that.” Walter held open the door for him, calling “Cecil! It’s Wally!”

“Wally?” a snowy owl asked, poking his head over the counter in the middle of his desperate search for whatever he had dropped now. Most likely, knowing Cecil, it was one of his many accessories-- maybe a stick-on earring had fallen off, or a bracelet, or (almost certainly) his glasses. Based on how he blinked looking at them, it was the glasses, and he still hadn’t found them.  “Oh, that Wally! I didn’t think you’d come back!”

“Cannae stay away fer too long.” 

“I’ve actually been working on my borscht, if you want to try. Or the tea-- I’ve been enjoying ginger and honey tea lately, great for a sore throat… Or even the blueberry, for something different!”

“I’d just like the usual.”

“Alright, I see. And what for your friend here?”

“Oh, ah…” Grooves paused. “Could I ask what you have to drink besides tea?”

“Sure. There’s… um. Water. And there’s probably some coffee around here… But I’m not sure I have much other than that. I could run out and get some juice from Owen or--”

“I’ll just have water, then.”

“Okay. And to eat?”

There, Walter stepped in. “Can you believe that this fella hasnae tried grilled cheese and tomato soup?”

“WHAT?” Cecil jumped, his beak dropping open. “What do you mean, he’s never tried--”

“I haven’t. Back on the moon, there weren’t really any tomatoes…”

“Well, time to change that! Take a seat, I’ll help you in just a second! I just need to find my glasses first--”

“Darling? They’re right here.” Grooves pointed to the countertop, just over the currently-cooling bread. There, a pair of squarish purple glasses sat, just a few feet out of the way.

“...Oh!” Cecil picked them up and put them on. “Thanks-- Wow, nice shirt!”

“You like it?” 

“I mean, I’d like something more like what I’ve heard arcade carpet looks like, but it’s still nice and bright.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Not sure how I’d style them, but… Anyway! Please, take a seat. I really do need to work with the soup.”

The duo finally took their seats, letting Cecil hurry around the kitchen to make the soup and sandwiches. It didn’t take long for him to ring the little bell on the counter, setting two plates on it before flapping his way over and grabbing them again. It was a little show in and of itself to watch Cecil hurry the plates over to them with a smile on his beak.

“Here you go, you two!”

“I’m impressed that you didn’t spill it,” Grooves said.

“It’s the practice!” he cheerfully responded. “When Wally and I were younger, I used to spill the soup a lot more.”

“Especially with the tomato soup.”

“It’s a lot more liquidy than when I make chowder, okay?”

“I ken, I ken.” Walter chuckled. Grooves couldn’t help but smile too.

“That’s not the point, though!” Cecil flapped his wings a bit, clearly flustered, before he pointed to Grooves. “I want to know what you think of it when you’re done, okay?”

“Of course, darling. Don’t worry one bit.”

Grooves started eating, while Walter thought through what had been said so far. It had been with him his whole life, so to imagine someone else really getting that… it felt odd. Most others on the train had seen flickers, or felt odd sometimes, but with the experiments in play, everyone had assumed It was a trick of the light, a spirit from Subcon clinging to the apples, or even an alternate universe's version of them breaking through with experiments of their own. No one really thought much about it whenever he brought it up, only finding it a mild curiosity.

Now, someone else was taking it seriously.

Finally.

He dunked the sandwich into the soup as much as he could, before opening his mouth and eating nearly the whole thing. Really, with his teeth where they were, it made it almost impossible to eat any other way, despite how many times his granddad had suggested tearing things apart to eat them that way. That would work better for other owls, honestly. 

“...Alright, I’ll admit it. This is much better than I expected,” Grooves said. “I thought it sounded much too simple, but it’s really nice.”

“See?” Cecil cheerfully asked, grinning wide. “I knew you’d like it!”

“I might have to try this again sometime soon, but… I probably won’t be able to come back here for it for a bit.”

“Aw. Going back to work elsewhere?”

“I’m in the big city, working as a movie director now. Maybe you’ll see me in the movies soon, huh?”

Walter grinned and drank the rest of his soup while Cecil laughed, though it wasn’t to mock him one bit. “I hope I do!”

Most of the day went by with the two wandering town, Walter pointing out the few landmarks the town still had. It was a dying town, most obvious when one saw the dozens of empty homes and broken-down stables, but he still guided Grooves to the small arched bridge over the oasis the town thrived on.

“...It’s a lovely place,” Walter said, simply. “Jus’... Gettin’ a bit old. The jobs’re dryin’ up, after all, an’ the cities… They’ve got plenty of jobs an’ everythin’. So the town might nae be around long.”

“I understand.” Grooves sighed. “It is a bit quiet, but… Honestly, if I could, I’d love to see it stick around.”

“Nae much we can do to keep people here. Nothin’ that wouldnae change the place.”

Grooves looked at the water underneath them, silent for a moment. Finally, he turned to Walter. “I’m actually from a big city. I… Haven’t really seen many small towns like this, and the friendliness from everyone-- Everyone remembers your name, and they remember your order at the shops, and… They actually support you. If I’d lived here, I think I’d have been able to dream about things so much earlier.”

“It is like that.” Walter nodded. “They… The science owls, they were the same way. Always tried to teach me. Taught me everythin’ I knew, them an’ Granddad. An’ they never gave up on me. I… I’m still tryin’ to figure out what to do now. Someone’s gotta run the train, an’ it’s nae like I can leave it behind, but… I was gonna try to get a tutor. Learn about engineerin’. Fix the train myself, maybe make some improvements for aerodynamics… Even fix up the engine to run on somethin’ better for the environment.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“...the train. Knowin’ I’d be lettin’ so many people down… an’ the time needed for it… It’s nae happenin’ for a long time.” 

“Well, I hope to be there when it happens.” Grooves’ flipper found its way to Walter’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“...I hope so too. But for now, I should go. It’s gettin’ dark, an’ the train’s callin’.”

Grooves frowned at him. “Why not stay the night?”

“I’ve got a room on the train--”

“And a house down the street.”

Walter looked at him, then away again. “...Alright. Jus’ for the night. And I’ll see you tomorrow mornin’.” 

Walter let go of his flipper, and he walked off. After all, he still had to get the spare keys.

He just hoped they were still under the fake frog on the window box full of dirt.

Chapter Text

It is a dream. He always knows it to be merely a dream. But yet there Walter stands, clawed hands at the levers at the front of the train. Throw a lever here, push a button there, and the train moves as it should. 

(It longs for more hands than his. For feathers of deep brown, feathers he knows are gone. He hasn't seen them frozen, but he knows them to be encased in ice nevertheless.)

The only sound is the train. The sky is dark though the moon hangs like a disco ball, the cabin barely lit to better see the outside. The only light entering the room is from the soft glow of the once-clear lights intended to supply information at times like these, yet it is enough to see that the train will be fine without him for a bit.

As soon as he turns to leave, he sees It. It is silent, staring at him with yellow, lantern-like eyes, as It stands directly in his path, and he can see in the dim light of Its eyes that despite Its dark coloring, It has his face. 

When he steps closer, trying to slip past, It only watches him, unblinking. It does not care where he is, but he cannot leave without facing It. He has tried in other dreams to reason and to fight, but neither went well. The former received no response, while the latter…

The figure always seemed to move just a moment faster, and when It didn’t, his talons went right through It, leaving them both standing, staring. It would usually look almost displeased with him, but never move beyond the doorway. 

Every time, once he does manage to pass it by, he wakes up in whatever bed he’s used in the passenger rooms, and he has to go about his day the same.

This time, he awakens on a couch in his own home, and he still stands, dresses, and leaves without a second thought. There is work to do. There is always work to do.

“Good mornin’, DJ,” Walter said when Grooves finally entered the cafe, his hair still partially up and partially down. Grooves yawned, and messed with his hair to bring it out of his eyes. 

“Oh, hello, darling. Didn’t think you’d be up yet. It’s only… what, eight?”

“It’s eight-fifteen. Been here since six-thirty.”

“Wow.” He sat down across from Walter, and began to use his afro pick to comb out his hair. “That’s… I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be up before seven. I couldn’t imagine doing that…”

“Yeh know what they say. Early bird gets the coffee. Or, in my case… Tea.” He raised his cup. “D’yeh want something yerself, or--”

“No thanks. I mostly just wake up slowly.” Grooves yawned once again. “I’ll maybe get some coffee if I don’t wake up enough before nine, but I really like to get some beauty sleep in there.”

“I can tell.” 

“Thank you, Walter.”

Though he had meant it more as a “you like to sleep in, based on how much you’re yawning” he didn’t correct Grooves’ assumption. He’d been told a thousand times to be more polite, after all, even though he was certain he was just stating the facts where everyone could understand. He took another sip of tea, clearing his throat afterward.

“So… I suppose you’ll be getting back on the train today. It’s probably about time I get a ticket too. My penguins would be worried if I wasn’t there by Monday, after all…” Grooves stopped combing for a moment. “I… I’m a bit worried about the place itself. If it’s haunted, or something.”

“C’mon, DJ, if anywhere’s haunted it’d be the train.”

“Now, now, hear me out, darling! There’s a whole musical about a haunted theatre-- It’s one of the most well-known moonside. Now, it wasn’t really a ghost, per sae, but the point still stands-- a haunted studio is barely out of the question.”

“But I’ve seen the thing a dozen times more on me train--”

“And I only started seeing it at the studio. Never on the train, never anywhere else. Isn’t that odd?”

“What if there’s two ghosts?” Walter suggested. “It wouldnae be out of the question, if it’s really a ghost. Just means that ghosts happen to look like me.”

“Now, I’m not saying it’s out of the question, but wouldn’t that just make it even weirder? Why would ghosts just look like you? I’d think that they’d look how they did in life, or like something else altogether…” Grooves shook his head. “I’ve never been one for paranormal horror, darling, I’m not really well-versed in the genre, but… It might take some research or the like.”

“I could do that. Always enjoyed a bit of research.” Walter grinned. “Would've been a science owl myself if nae fer the train needin’ a new direction.”

“A new direction?”

“Nae many science owls anymore. Had ta find a new reason fer the train ta run. So… I had to make it a passenger train instead.” 

“Hm. So… the train used to be a science train. I never would’ve known.” Grooves leaned a bit on the small table between them. “If you do find anything about what’s happening, I’d love to hear it.”

“I’d love to find it, too.” Walter stood, straightening his tie. “I should head out, though. Got to get the train back on the rails.”

“Right, right… I should pack. I’ll ride with you, if you’re willing to wait a bit longer?”

“Sure.” Walter shrugged. “I still gotta check it over anyway, so go ahead, pack up an’ meet me there.”

The train was silent without being on the move and without the passengers. When there was no science experiment down the hall, or owls on the move throughout the place, it felt lonely. 

Even if he was more sure than ever that he wasn’t alone.

“...Are yeh here?” he asked the empty air. “I know yer in my dreams, but… I saw yeh here, when I was little. Maybe… I dinnae know.” He sighed. “...Whatever yeh are, if yeh can hear me… Can yeh leave Grooves alone? He’s got enough on his plate.”

A quiet thud.

He jumped at the sound, but upon seeing what it was… It was only the books on a shelf falling over, having slid just too far to stay upright. It took only a second to fix, and the quiet afterward made it seem more and more like a silly thought in the first place. 

“...Well, hope yeh heard me. If nae, then… Guess this was pointless.”

He walked through the rest of the train, then leaned off the edge of the caboose. He’d stayed there countless hours as a child, watching the desert fly by, but now it was still, just like the movement in the town. No one was coming in anymore, since the place was drying up. The lack of science owls made the worker owls worry, and when they worried, they tended to work in groups instead. They were better in the city, they thought, and most people moved. 

“Darling?” Grooves’ voice asked. “Do you mind helping me with these suitcases?”

“Oh. Hello, DJ.” Walter turned to him, reaching out his hands. “I’ll get those. Yeh get on board, find a seat, an’ I’ll start the train. All aboard.”

Grooves handed them off, then walked off, heading toward the actual door. Walter put the suitcases where they belonged on the train, checked on Grooves, and made his way to the front of the train.

His hands gripped the levers, the same way he always did. With the boiler already started, the train ready to move, and him in position, it was time.

Walter started the train, and he didn’t look behind himself the whole drive.

As the train pulled into the station, Grooves gathered his things and walked to the door, just in time to see Walter hurrying past.

“Gonna go get yer suitcases, lad, dinnae wait long!” 

“Wh-- Walter, if you need help, you could ask--” Grooves tried, but Walter was already hurrying past, on his way to the cargo car and back. DJ Grooves sighed, and he walked to the door to outside, standing by it as he waited. Walter hurried back with the two suitcases and handed one off to Grooves. 

“Here yeh go. Let’s get yeh on yer way. Hope the ride was nice, but we dinnae have too long ta just sit an’ chat, since I’ve gotta get some folks to work.”

“Thank you for being with me there, darling. It really did help to talk to you about that.”

“...Yeah.” Walter smiled slightly, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he walked off the train, setting the suitcase down before returning to the door. Grooves followed off, getting his second suitcase.

“Take care. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon enough.”

“I hope so. I’m nae gonna be pleased if yeh vanish before I can give yeh the research I’m about to do.”

Grooves laughed. “Thank you, darling. Really.”

“Of course. You’re welcome.”

With that, Grooves left, walking his way back toward the studio. A weekend away had done wonders for his writing, giving him a dozen ideas, and a hundred more scraps of dialogue and scenes. Now, he just had to put them to use…

Something sat in an old bedroom on the train, curled up on a bed that didn’t exist, in a bedroom that only housed someone else. The blankets were gone, the pillow had disappeared, but he had clawed the bed into being for him, and he would claw the TV into showing the right thing if he had to. Every time he’d tried before, others had dismissed it-- a malfunction, a glitch, a hallucination. 

He just hoped they’d actually listen. Maybe this time, they would hear him, even after all this time.

The first thing he knew was cold.

(No, that was a lie, he knew things before that. Why would the cold be the start? He could recall so much-- the sun, the stars, the train, the movies, the timepiece --)

He opened his eyes, finding nothingness waiting for him. The silence was louder than the noise of a thousand explosions, making his ears ring with the lack of sound. It took him a while to find anything that could be determined as “existing.” A small egg, lying in the middle of three others, a fire spirit dancing nearby.

(Three others? Why was it only four eggs? He knew that nest, he knew the cocky smile that the fire spirit wore, yet there were not five eggs.)

“Have you come to burn?” the fire spirit asked him as it warmed the eggs, just enough to incubate without cooking them. “Or are you stopping by the forest?”

“I'm lookin' fer the train.”

The spirit pointed in a direction, and he began walking. As he walked, the nest and the spirit stopped existing, leaving nothing there for him.

There was only himself in the white void. The silence, the nothingness, the abyss.

(He was looking for the train, and he'd find it. He'd always been good at finding the train. It would be easy enough to find himself, guide himself in how to fix things, and do things right. His family would live; his wife wouldn't leave; he'd have the gold award. Things would be perfect. He just had to find the train.)

Even despite his walking, he found only the nest once more. A small owlet peeked its head out of the nest, but despite how long he watched, no others did the same.

There was only one owlet there, and as it toddled its way out of the egg, he could already see the white patches amidst the tiny, wet feathers.

(Only one owlet. Only one brother. Only one director. Only one creature in miles that wasn't burning.)

He had been removed from existence, and as he stared at the nest of three unhatched eggs, he couldn't help but wonder why.

He could only watch, wait, and hope they’d eventually see what wasn’t there.

Chapter Text

Research took time and energy-- two things Walter barely had around the schedule of the Owl Express in recent times-- but he still found some in the early mornings when no one else was awake to ask for a train ride anywhere. In those mornings, he trudged through books of all kinds-- dream interpretation guides, stories about spirits and ghosts, rumors from untrustworthy sources compiled into a volume to mock, theses on the existence of alternate dimensions, even a few transcripts of supposed “ghost hunters” in places where things seemed the most spooky. Throughout his research, one place came up in almost every story-- Subcon Forest.

The one place he refused to return to.

Instead, he let the thought stay in his mind, growing with every new bit of information about the place. Almost every story of ghosts, otherworldly events, and any such thing that could be helpful led to that horrid place. The other leads were sparse at best-- Dream interpretations only gave vague hints without any idea what he was looking at. Ghost hunting was a farce. All the rumors were at best silly, and at worst scientifically impossible. Every other well of information dried up over the month of research.

He wanted to foist it off on anyone else-- ask someone to go to Subcon in his stead and record responses to his questions, perhaps?-- but they'd be unprepared for any follow-up questions, and the only other person who truly understood had already implied being afraid of such a place as well. That left only him.

With his heart pounding, Walter guided the train up to an abandoned station, where the ice had been melted off just enough in the past year that he could still ride the rails without worrying about it. No one else on board the train, no one else there to force him off. He could run away. No one would think him cowardly, no one would even need to know--

Even so, he stepped off, looking around as he messed with the edge of his shirt. The forest hadn’t gotten any brighter since his first visit there, and over the past year it had taken over the small village they’d visited the year before. A few figures watched him from the woods, or perhaps it was just the darkness playing tricks on his eyes. There wasn’t much he could do but walk, and hope he found something other than more ice.

In the woods, there wasn’t much to see-- Rocks, trees, a few lanterns still hanging from when they were lit last year, a half-dozen burnt-out fires. He remembered setting a few as a tiny kid, stumbling through the woods alone until he found the train station. Those fires were long since gone, while these seemed to have burned much brighter than the pitiful embers he’d cultivated then. Walter shivered at the thought of how things were then-- Cold, lonely, and abandoned… He never wanted to go through that again. Even if he felt that way after the events of the year prior, he still had the other owls, which meant he wasn’t ever completely alone.

…Just another kilometer. That’s probably enough to say I tried.

Just a dozen steps afterward, he stumbled, and with the slickness of the earth, he tumbled downward. Head, legs, side, head, elbow, before finally ending up sitting, halfway in a bog. He grumbled as he stood once more, clambering onto the nearby platform to try to clean out his shoes and try to wipe off his pants. He barely got through dumping water out of one shoe before something else showed up.

A figure in a hood, about as tall as he was, stared at him. It had a single glowing white… thing… for a face, making it impossible to see what it was feeling. Walter didn’t feel at ease with it there, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about any expressions he didn’t understand. “...Who are you?” it asked, walking closer on doll-like legs. “You’re not from here.”

“Eh, that depends what yeh mean by that. I was born here, but I didnae stay long.” He shrugged, and dumped out his other shoe. “...I’m just lookin’ fer someone who can tell me about spirits, so if yeh know someone..?”

“You suuuuure?” the figure asked, with some tone in its voice. Perhaps it was making a joke, or warning him, or… Something? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

“I’m lookin’ fer that, so yeah, I’d like ta see ‘em.” Walter fixed his shoes, stomping his feet to get them on right. “Can yeh lead me there?”

“...Sure!” The figure started walking, and Walter did his best to follow close behind. The dark robe it wore made it harder to see in the darkness of the forest, and with him having to check the ground for any more things he’d stumble over, he only got brief glimpses to lead him in the right direction. It seemed like they were going for hours before the robed figure stopped.

“Here you go!” It pointed to a large tree in the middle of the clearing they were by, then turned away. “Good luck!”

“I… Alright, lad.” Walter sighed, shaking his head. “Good luck to yeh too.”

With that, the figure disappeared into the forest, and Walter picked himself out of the underbrush to finally stand in the clearing. It took a bit more attempting to brush off his pants and shirt before he finally gave up and approached the tree, searching for an entrance. After circling most of it, he found a large hole in the side, and knocked beside it, still looking mostly at the ground. After all, if he wasn’t supposed to look in windows while waiting at houses, what made this any different?

“You… You know it’s a tree, right? You can just walk in. I don’t really care that much.”

He looked up, and stepped in, shaking his head. “Ah. Sorry, I, eh…” Walter trailed off, looking around. There was a large specter there, holding a book (“Griffin Fare: Illustrious Lawyer - Twin Fates”) in its hands as it reclined in an armchair. It glanced at him with two yellow eyes, blinking for a moment. 

“What? Never seen a ghost before?”

“No, I jus’ wondered where yeh found that book. Been havin’ trouble findin’ number five on the train.”

“Wouldn’t know anything about that. This one’s from my own collection, from when I was alive.” The spirit set the book on the shelf without getting up, instead just stretching its arm out. It then rose, then attempted standing on the floor, which just meant its body rose out of the floor instead of being attached to nothing. “Besides, that can’t be why you’re here. It’s Subcon Forest, after all. Here for gossip? Some sort of press… whatever you are?”

“I--” He took a breath, trying to word things properly. “I’m lookin’ fer information on ghosts. There’s been somethin’ hauntin’ me and a…” A pause. What was Grooves? They barely knew each other, but after the day in town, and with the kindness he had shown him-- Well, it couldn’t hurt… “A friend of mine, and we’d like ta figure out what it is and what it wants.”

“Something haunting you, huh? Weird. Most ghosts haunt objects, not people.” The ghost looked through its shelf, pulling a few books off before getting the one it wanted. “Ghosts tend to work on different rules from others. Usually, if they're actually visible, they're feeling something very intensely, possessing something, or being powerful. I'm in the third category, the guy you followed here is in the second, and if you've seen a thing with a mask? That's a dweller. It's the first category.”

“Ah, like with the fruit,” Walter said with a nod. “The Express used to run some experiments on the fruit themselves, but there were stories of ‘em explodin’ because of dwellers too.”

“The Express? Haven't heard that one in… well, probably years. I've been dead maybe one or two at this point.” The ghost shrugged. “Used to hear plenty. Was a real festival in town when the Express stopped by-- always a great time to study.”

“I agree,” Walter answered. “The chaos of everyone about… I mostly just wanted to get the supplies an’ go, but my granddad liked to visit the place, so we'd stay a bit.”

The ghost nodded. “...Anyway. What's your ghost like? Can you touch it?”

“I've tried. Never worked.”

“Visible, but non-corporeal…”

“Usually only visible in dreams too. It used to stick to the train, but now it followed a passenger too. I'm nae sure what it could be, since we never spoke about it before, an’ then he saw the same thing I did all the time…”

“...What exactly does it look like?”

“Like… like me. But yeh dinnae see the face, or anythin' like that. It's like… yer lookin' at a hole in the world, right at stars instead. But it's my own body, an’ my own shape…”

“Do you know anyone else who looks like you? Family, or… uh, species?”

“...no one,” Walter admitted. “I was adopted from around here as a wee lad, but… never saw anythin' like me, even then.”

“Hm. And since I can't even tell what species you are, you're probably not going to have many people who look just like you…” the spirit flipped through the pages of the book it held. “Not tethered to an object, not a fire spirit, not a dweller, probably not a shapeshifter if it's just in dreams… but it looks like a hole in the world, you say?”

Walter nodded. “With yellow eyes. Like yers.”

“...I have one thing I can think of.” The spirit closed the book, putting it on the side table beside its chair. “But you need to follow me.”

It started to snake its way out of the tree, and it was all Walter could do to follow after.

They didn't have to walk long, at least, until they found something-- a purple wall, shimmering and sparkling, with green shimmers in the air nearby. The spirit pointed at the structure with a long clawlike finger.

“Does this look like your spirit?”

Walter paused. With the light trickling through the trees, it was clearly purple, but when he imagined the light gone, the green sparkles missing, and the wall much smaller… “It's the right material.”

“Interesting.” The spirit said, looking at it. “That's a material that dwellers pass through. But really… dwellers exist parallel to you living folks. You can't go through this, or touch the platforms they can, but they can't touch this or go through those platforms either.” The spirit reached out a hand, demonstrating how his went through. “Like this. But… something alive, made of that…? I've never heard of it.”

“But yeh brought me--”

“It was the only thing I know that looks like your “hole in the world,” kid.”

Walter bit his tongue at the nickname. Despite wanting to argue about his age, he let it pass. Best to never give anyone in Subcon Forest your name, as the stories went. “...So it's somethin’ yeh never seen before?”

“Not even in books.” The spirit shook its head. “So… no. I can't help you with your spirit problem. But I can tell you this-- whatever you're dealing with, it's probably either really emotional or really powerful, since it's not tethered to any objects. Good luck finding out which.”

Walter sighed, but still nodded. “...thank yeh kindly, lad.”

“Snatcher,” the spirit answered with a grin. “And if we meet again, you’d better be returning the favor that time.”

“... I'll do my best. Yeh need number six in the series--”

“Yes. Absolutely. If you've got a copy, that'd be perfect payment. I'm going insane without any more books to read.”

“Alright, then. I'll find yeh a copy.” Walter smiled. “Now I just gotta find my way back to the train…”

Back at the studio, things were going… fine. “Fine” was honestly the kindest word for it, as none of the moon penguins dared to step into the left half of the studio without Grooves back in town, and no one could decide why. “Bad vibes?” volunteered Imani, but Ray had gone with “It feels like a bad haunted house.” Neither answer felt right, but it was clear to every one of the penguins that the other half of the studio, for whatever reason, wasn't supposed to be their space.

It was up to Grooves to investigate with a flashlight to get them to stop worrying.

He took it in his flipper with a flourish, holding it up over his shoulder to scan the area without his sunglasses. A few of the penguins dared to follow him-- Riley stuck close to behind his right arm, while Imani kept a few steps behind. Ray hadn’t bothered, instead setting up in the lobby with his headphones on, where a few others had also chosen to loiter, but Grooves didn’t mind. It just meant there would be fewer people there to see him jump if anything did move unexpectedly.

The other half of the studio was clean, despite how it had seemed in his dreams. No boxes, no mechanical pieces, none of the ink-black parts. Instead, there were a few props, the ones that people had dared to get there before being scared off, and a couple of things left behind by the previous owner-- A curtain here, an old script there, things that no one would want back. 

Even so, the penguins were right. There was something about the other half of the studio-- Something about the space that thing had been in. 

(He looked to where it had been the last time he saw it, staring down at him as if he would magically understand what it meant. There was nothing there-- not even a piece of paper through the grated flooring.)

“...I can understand why you darlings were afraid,” he said, putting his sunglasses back on once he finally found a light switch. With the fluorescents on, it was much easier to see the area-- Platforms with markings on the floor around them for cameras, half-walls around the room to show the actors where the room ended, and scuff marks on every inch of floor. 

“What do you really think?” Riley asked, crossing his arms. “I told them they were being babies--”

“Riley, please, think about others,” Grooves interrupted with a sigh. “I’m serious. This place does have some sort of… thing about it.”

(Another glance up at the catwalk.)

“What’re you looking at, boss? Something up there?” Imani asked, following his gaze.

“No, no, I just… I had a dream a while ago where there was. So I almost expect to see something, but there’s nothing.” He managed a little laugh. “It’s silly, isn’t it? But that’s not the real point, here. I’m certain there’s nothing here.”

“You sure?” Riley asked, moving his shades a bit. “I can keep looking--”

“It’s alright, darling. I can do that myself.” Grooves set a flipper on his shoulder, and Riley finally relaxed, giving a small nod.

“Fine. But if anything happens--”

“Then I can handle myself. I promise.”

After a while more of reassuring him, Imani finally took the hint and took his flipper, guiding Riley out of there. Grooves stayed behind, looking around a bit more.

…Whatever you are, if you’re still here, can’t you at least come talk to me? I want to understand what-- or who-- you are.

He doubted the spirit could hear him, even if it was still there. Maybe it was a simple mistake that it had ever come to the studio-- A blip in its travel arrangements while Walter slept at a nearby station. Maybe it was lost somewhere else, or following after Walter as he tried to find the truth about the spirit and what it was.

But maybe, just maybe, it was still there.

“...Hello?” he asked the nothingness. Even without speaking loudly, his voice echoed in the emptiness of the studio. “If anyone’s here, I’d just like to talk. Even if it’s the fellow I saw in my dreams, I just want to see you and ask a few questions.”

There was no answer.

(Of course there wasn’t.)

He still waited, trying twice more, before he gave up. 

It is silent in the studio once more, and yet Grooves still stands there in the quiet. No one else is there this late at night-- most of the penguins have gone off to their new lodgings, or borrowing couches from each other. He’s the only one left, after waking up in the director’s chair with a tape recorder, still running, in his hands. It’s likely recorded too much sleeptalk already, so he turns it off, leaving it on the chair before he walks to the door to the streets outside.

It is there that he finds that door missing. There is, however, another-- the door to the other half.

He walks through to find the lights off, a dark shape sitting by the sets. It’s silent, but there’s only one thing It can be.

“Hey--” Grooves starts. It jumps when it notices him, eyeing him like he’s about to lunge. “I'm not going to hurt you. I promise.”

It still stares, two yellow eyes peeking out of the darkness.

“...Are you listening to me?” Grooves asks.

It doesn't move an inch.

“Can you even understand what I'm saying?”

Nothing.

He steps forward. It moves in as well, moving Its arms as if It is trying to do something, but what it is, Grooves can't tell. It tries for a bit, before stopping and stepping away. 

“...I don't… I don't know what you're doing,” he admitted. “Are you trying to fly away, or…?”

It stares at him for a moment before turning away, walking onto the set. It takes a door that isn’t there, disappearing into the wall.

In an instant, It has left him alone once again, and he doesn't even know what It was trying to do. He tries to move but--

 

DJ Grooves awoke to his phone buzzing in his pocket, the tape recorder in his flipper still going. He turns it off before turning to the phone, answering without a second thought.

“Hello?”

“This is the DJ, yeah?” Walter's voice asked. “I got good news an’ bad news.”

“Oh. Hello, Walter. What… okay. Bad news?”

“Easier to tell yeh good news first, sorry-- I found an expert on spirits. He told me what he could about ‘em, an’ he has great taste in books. Nae related, but it always helps. Bad news, he doesnae know what it is. Good news again though-- I can tell what it's made of, sorta. Stuff in Subcon. Cept it's backward-- most of the time, that material is solid fer everyone but spirits, but ours is the other way ‘round. I got a sample while I was out there to study a bit, but I'm nae sure it'll get us anywhere-- it looks right, but it's only maybe the right answer.”

“So… I’m not awake yet, could you say that but easier?”

“Talked to the expert. He doesnae know what it is. Found something maybe related. Going to study,” Walter answered flatly. 

“Oh. Thank you, darling. That’s actually a big help.”

“Doin’ my best.” 

“...If it helps any, I saw it again just before you called.”

“Oh?”

“It… I don’t know if it can communicate, or if it understands me, but it stood there for a bit, waving its arms, then just walked off. That’s really all…”

“So it cannae hear yeh?” Walter asked. “Or yeh cannae hear it…”

“Both.”

“Hm.” There was a long pause. “...could need ta study more about the dwellers, then. He said they exist parallel…”

“Good luck, darling.”

“An’ one more thing. He said our ghost is either really emotional or really powerful to be able to exist without a tethered object. So… Stay safe, will yeh?”

“Only if you do the same.”

Chapter Text

DJ Grooves wasn't one for staying still, even when he was supposed to be working on things. Though the filming was complete and the penguins finally had the time and funds to find apartments, houses, or other living quarters that didn't involve couch surfing, the work had only just begun for him-- editing, finding the best clips and angles, marketing, and releasing the film in a format everyone could access took just as much time, if not more, than the most well-known part of the industry. Armed with the criticism from his last release on the moon and the words of the penguins about the script and characters, he knew to trim out some of the extra waits and to focus his attention on the main character more than trying to give relevance to everyone. 

That, the last time, had been his downfall. Too much of the background characters being given time they felt belonged to the main character, not helped by the lack of effort his old actors put into his short script. With the moon penguins by his side, though, he trusted that things at least wouldn't be that bad.

It just meant he'd have to sit at a desk for hours on end, working on small details and re-watching scenes a million times to make sure that they were perfect, despite his boredom and disinterest in that part of the work. It would've been better if someone else could do it, but at the same time, would it really be his movie if he gave the pieces to someone else for them to assemble? And what if they got it wrong?

…Even if he had to sit still and work on it for hours at a time, he could at least make sure he was doing it somewhere comfortable, where it wouldn't be quite as boring. Besides, it had been two months since he'd last seen Walter-- it was about time for another chat.

It was never hard to find Walter, really. Sitting at the train station was an easy way to see him again, and since there was a scheduled stop in the city, DJ Grooves had a perfect time to check in. He sat on one of the benches against the wall, adjusting his headphones as he watched for the arrival of the only train on the planet. Of course, everyone had heard the rumors of an underground train, but with only a few whispers of it in bird society and an obvious preference for the Express, Grooves hadn’t bothered checking how far along it was-- or if it was even real. He’d seen something like it on the moon, but planetside… eh, whatever.

The sound of the train rumbled the ground, a whistle blaring for a moment to announce its coming. Some of the birds there were just there to get tickets, few actually planning to hop on the train so soon-- after all, there was still an hour before it left. The majority, however, was there to pick up people as they hopped on the train.

Even so, as it pulled up, everyone was watching. The train stopped right where it always did, the doors opening and passengers departing. Those without luggage left directly for the city, while those with it waited a moment as Walter got their things. It didn’t take long for most of the motion to be gone, the crowd dispersing and allowing the overworked conductor some time to rest. That was when Grooves stood, shutting his laptop, and approached.

“Hey, darling.”

“Oh. Hello, DJ. Didnae expect to see yeh so soon.” Walter smiled. “Yeh look like yeh got somethin’ on yer mind. Is it somethin’ I can help with?”

“Well, yes and no. I’m mostly just trying to edit this movie, and that’s always the worst part, if you ask me. So, I was thinking--”

“Yer nae trying to get out of work, are yeh?” 

“Wh- No. Absolutely not. Definitely not.” Grooves looked at his laptop. “...A bit, but that’s beside the point. I wanted to see you again. It’s been so long, with work and everything going on.”

“I ken.” Walter crossed his arms. “Yeh cannae use me as an excuse fer--”

“It’s not an excuse, Walter. I promise. I just need to get out for a bit.”

Walter's eyebrows furrowed. If he had eyes, he'd have narrowed them in disbelief.

“...And I've already got a part of it done. If I keep working on this, without a break? I don't even know what would happen.”

“Maybe then yeh’d end up like me.” Walter's smile returned despite his deadpan tone. “Nae what works fer a director, I bet.”

“Like you? What, capable and intelligent?”

“Bad with people an’ worse with solvin’ real problems.” Walter paused for a beat, trying to judge Grooves' reaction, before quickly moving on. “I suppose a break’d do yeh good. Yeh get away with it this time, DJ.”

“If I have your permission, then I'd rather like to use that break for something important.” Grooves took his hand in his feather. “Mind if I take you to my favorite spot in the city so far? It might not be the best one there is, but when it comes to location and food, I think that I've found one of the better ones.”

“Only if yeh promise to get me back here before one. The train's nae running without me.”

“I ‘ken’,” Grooves answered, borrowing his slang. Walter just stared. “... I'll take that as a ‘never do that again’.”

“Good. Yeh sound weird sayin’ it an’ I dinnae think I can hear it twice.”

“Well then, I'll lead the way. Just keep holding onto my flipper, okay?”

Walter preferred the peace and quiet of the countryside, or the calming murmurs and machinery of the train. That much was certain, especially as he followed Grooves through the city, keeping his hat low to avoid having to deal with any unwanted attention.

He'd seen a few people recognize him around the train, something he could tell mostly by how they tried to apologize to him for what he'd been through and give him the same things everyone seemed to say. He'd rehearsed the responses just as much, but it wasn't something he enjoyed doing. The past was in the past, and if he was going to keep going, he couldn't wallow there-- not even when others brought up the articles done about the freeze, or he felt that uncomfortable chill seeping in.

“...Everything alright, darling?” Grooves asked after a while as he let go, and Walter looked up. “You seem upset.”

“It's just the noise an' somethin' on my mind. Yeh dinnae have to worry much.”

“Are you sure?”

“As I'll ever be.”

“Okay. Well, we are here, as well, so we can talk about it in just a moment. I'll get us a rooftop table.” Grooves went inside, Walter following after him.

The interior of the restaurant was akin to business-casual clothing, if Water has to describe it. While it wasn't extraordinarily fancy, there was still something that made him feel like his outfit wouldn't fit the dress code despite wearing his best tie and uniform. Maybe if I had dressed in an actual outfit instead of the uniform? But if the DJ can get away with his clothes, I'm probably alright-- he's nae too fancy either…

While he was looking around and trying to decide if he was under or overdressed, Grooves had entered a chat with the person at the front counter, made his request, and watched as the kingfisher found them a spot. 

“Alright, you two. You’ll be on the roof-- table four. My co-worker will get you your menus and drinks, so just head up the stairs or elevator over there.” She pointed, and gave them a smile. “Hope you enjoy your meal!”

Walter barely avoided saying “you too” as he followed behind Grooves, feeling more and more out of place by the moment. The restaurant felt too much-- stuffy and stiff and yet too loud and too loose. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it at all, but he knew it wasn’t pleasant. He grabbed onto Grooves’ flipper to have something to ground himself, and they finally walked through the door to the outside--

And the quiet.

Outside was wonderfully quiet and open, giving Walter the chance to breathe and feel himself relaxing. He closed his eyes to take in the smell of it all-- pasta, it seemed, was the dish of choice. Not his favorite, but he’d had some good ones before, so it couldn’t be too bad. 

“I’ve been here a few times, but I’ve only really seen the view at night. It’s beautiful to see the skyline from so far up, but…” Grooves walked to a table near the edge, where the cityscape spread out below. Walter looked out beyond the metal railing, gazing at the world around him, and smiled. The wind caught his feathers, ruffling them around and making it easier to breathe again.

“It… It’s lovely up here,” Walter said, simply. He sat down at the table. “...It was a bit… much. Inside.”

“I understand that.” Grooves smiled, leaning on the railing some more. “A place like this, it’s built for a few small groups. It’s going to be too small for too many to be there on a specific floor, but up here? It’s open. No walls to reflect sound. Just this.” After a moment, he took the chair across from Walter, and they began the normal discussion.

Even if he was certain that Grooves was using this as an excuse to avoid work, he couldn’t judge at all. He hadn’t taken a break in ages-- it was about time he got one, and taking it with Grooves was probably the best way for him to do just that.

Like every time the two spent together, time seemed to fly for Grooves, much faster than it had on the moon. Part of that, he decided, was likely due to how fast the planet spun in comparison, making the weather and lighting change at a much faster rate planetside. Most of it, though, had to do more with what he was doing-- spending some time with a friend, good food, and great views. Walter was a great listener, which made the conversation feel even better. Even without discussing their mutual problem, there was plenty to talk about, enough that the conversation rarely lulled for long. It felt like mere minutes before Walter checked the time, standing up.

“I got fifteen minutes. Best we head back. I’ll pay the bill.”

“It’s alright, I’ve got it--”

Walter shook his head as he walked to the elevator. “I said I’d do it.”

“But--”

“Yeh paid last time.”

Grooves got on the elevator a moment later, just before the doors closed. He held his laptop bag close, chuckling a bit.

“Okay, okay, then I’ll let you get away with it.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’m already lettin’ yeh get away with takin’ this break with me.” Walter smiled. The two didn’t speak much until the elevator opened again on the bottom floor, where Walter approached the front with the bill and his pon wallet, giving over a suitable amount and then some. 

“Have a nice day!” the hostess cheerfully told them, waving as the duo left together. Walter guided the way back to the train station, like he had an innate knowledge of where it was. Grooves couldn’t bring himself to doubt that he did. It took half the time to get there that it took to reach Pasta Terrace, likely due to Walter speeding up to make sure they reached the train on time. They still had about five minutes to spare, luckily.

“I gotta get back to work, DJ.” Walter tipped his hat. “Passengers need help with their luggage. Had a good time, pasta was nice, an’ I’ll try to call when I can--”

“I’ve got your number too. If you want, we could call soon? Or make it a once-every-two-weeks thing?”

“I’d like that.” Walter nodded. “I’ll try to call yeh in a couple weeks. Fer now, go get back to the editin’. I’m excited to see what yeh made, DJ. But work’s nae waitin’ fer me, so… Talk to yeh then.”

“Right. Right.” DJ Grooves smiled, and he raised a hand in an awkward wave as Walter ran off, back to the train as he called out for the passengers to line up with tickets at the ready. The 1pm train was about to leave, after all. They filed on, everyone moving quickly to get there on time as Walter helped carry some of the luggage. Grooves just looked at him, then the rest of the train through the windows, smiling slightly as he looked. The Owl Express was, after all, a lovely thing-- Even if he knew very little about trains, it was clear even from a distance that Walter cared for it and for his job. The metal glistened in the light, the ticket line was moving at a rapid pace, the windows were hard to see unless one was aware that they were there--

…there was something on the other side of the platform.

From the other side of the train, where there wasn’t even a platform to board on, a figure stood just behind the train. It held no luggage, no ticket, no expression. 

It was solely a shape, with two yellow eyes looking-- No, staring!-- back at him. 

Grooves opened his mouth to say something, but when he looked to where Walter was, the line was already gone, the new conductor back on board. The train was already on the move, pulling out, and while Grooves tried to look back to the figure, the cars were in the way.

By the end of the train, it was gone.

Once again, he stood in the studio, a few feet and a thousand years away from where he wanted to be. Grooves was only a step away, yet even if he punched him in the face, neither of them would feel a thing. He’d tried before-- hugging his brother, taking his granddad’s hand, even just bumping into Grooves-- but there was no change. The two of them passed through each other like a breeze through the trees. 

He’d tried it all before, really-- talking, running around, touching things, moving them around. It never seemed to get through to them except when they were asleep, and even then, it wasn’t like they seemed to remember or understand. Every attempt just led him back to the same place he’d started, even when he tried to change things. Even when his desperation led to him doing things he regretted.

He’d spent a week in Subcon after the freeze. A week of trying to talk to the new ghosts, to see his grandfather again, anything. The science owls still passed through him, ghosts of another world nothing to his existence in his own. Only the fire spirits ever heard him, and even then, it was a fleeting conversation before they chose to burn. 

Living near his usual homes-- the train and the studio-- was easiest. There, although he couldn’t find his way back to them, he could at least remember himself.

As he stood at the back of the train, watching the environment hurry past, he couldn’t help but feel melancholic. The world had already moved on from his mistake, coming back twice as better for it-- Wasn’t this what everyone would want? A world where Walter survived instead, where Grooves didn’t have to fight for the awards-- those were the things everyone had always seemed to desire when he listened to the owls and the penguins. Walter was the better of the two brothers, the one everyone had thought would succeed, and Grooves was the preferred choice by many a fan.

At least he’d tried to talk to them. He’d tried so many times.

And he still had to keep trying, in the hopes that someday, they’d finally hear.

It is a dark night on the Science Express, and a single half-owl lies in the single bed in a room made for two. His body faces the wall, and he curls up around a pillow in the midst of a twisted blanket. Another nightmare, most likely. He doesn’t blame the little half-owl. Children always fear things they don’t understand, and there are so many things the little one doesn’t understand yet.

“...Hey, Walt,” he says, his voice barely above a breath with how long it’s gone unused. “I… I know yeh cannae hear me, but I have ta try.” He sets a hand on the little one’s shoulder, or at least tries to-- he can’t feel anything, except something beneath him that he’s forced to exist. It’s not a bed, but he sits on it nevertheless, making a facsimile of sitting beside the smaller bird. 

“...I always want ta talk ta yeh like this, but… I know yer nae gonna hear a word I say.” He tries to laugh, but it’s hollow. It’s a mere attempt to reach out to something that he’ll never catch. “It’s like I hope it’ll get through ta yeh, an’ suddenly I’ll be real again, or somethin’ like that.” 

There’s no response from the bird on the bed.

“But, even if yeh cannae hear me… I got yeh, Walt. Yer protector when yer asleep. Nothin’s gonna get yeh while I’m here.” 

Walt rolls over on the bed, giving a soft snore.

“Nae like anythin’ would try ta get yeh here, though.” He chuckles. “...eh. Maybe some day, yeh hear me. Til then, I’m here.”

Chapter Text

The invitation came through the mail, a coarse-voiced owl delivering it while half-looking at the letter and half-checking for the next place to go. 

“You got this and a letter somewhere else around here,” he said, while rummaging through the bag next to the front seat. “Something from Walter. Kid gets away with not having stamps, but I can’t keep it from being rumpled.”

“Um. Is that… legal?” DJ Grooves asked.

“Depends. I’d just call it doing a favor for an old friend. His pops got plenty of people on their feet, and I owe him one anyways. Helping his kid with mail is nothing.” The owl finally drew out a letter, crumpled and bent. “Here you go. And don’t tell my boss.”

“I don’t even know who I’d tell in that case. Besides, I’m not sure anyone would really listen to me.” Grooves shrugged, looking at the two letters. Walter’s was a new thing, since they’d mostly just been calling and having intermittent meet-ups amidst their busy schedules, but the other was a shock.

His first movie, and already he was invited to join the best of the best. He had to sit down on one of the benches just outside the front doors to even find his breath.

“Have a nice day.”

“I-- Yes. That. Nice day.” Grooves fumbled for words, his mind caught up in the thought of the invitation. The mailman left, taking the rest of the mail with him, and Grooves resumed staring at the invite. As soon as his flippers managed to wrench open the envelope, he held the gold-trimmed paper, reading as quickly as he could.

To DJ Grooves: We cordially invite you to this year’s Bird Movie Awards, held at Dead Bird Studio 2 on the 30th of July. Your presence is humbly requested, as your film, “Moonwalk Melody” has been nominated for the Best Bird Movie of this year. There will be refreshments and drinks at this black-tie event, and we hope to see you and your plus-one at the event.

Even re-reading it, the words didn’t feel real. His first movie, his very first, and already nominated for the most important award possible. 

He took a moment before looking at Walter’s letter, his flipper still shaking. That much, at least, was simple. 

DJ: There is good news. I have received a few more days off. Some folks from home offered to run the train for me, and I taught them how to do it safely. I’m going to be in your city again on the day you should get this letter, if my acquaintance is on time. I expect to see you around noon, since you prefer to sleep in. As well, my acquaintance may have too much mail to deliver and arrive later than the expected time. 

I will see you on the day you receive this letter, hopefully. If you have time, I would love to come spend time with you. It’s about time that I get to see your movie, as well, so perhaps we could watch that together. 

If this is too sudden, I apologize, and I can find other places to go during my days off. 

Sincerely, Walter M.

Walter’s letter read as formally as the invitation, but his care was clear with every word. Grooves pulled out his phone to check the time, finding it was already almost noon. With that, he headed out for the train station, ready to go pick up his friend.

It didn’t take long for the train to arrive, at least. From there, Walter stepped off at the end of the line, holding a small suitcase. He scanned the platform, before finally seeing Grooves. Immediately, he smiled, walking over.

“Hello, DJ. Fancy seein’ yeh here.”

“I barely got your letter in time, darling. You need to give me more time next time.” Even so, he smiled, taking the suitcase from Walter’s hands. “...I brought my car, by the way. If you tell me where you’re staying, we can go drop off your things before getting lunch.”

“Nah, I’d rather just go get lunch first.” Walter shrugged. “But if yer willin’ to put my things in there while we go, it’d help.” 

Grooves led him to the car, opening the door and setting the suitcase in the back. “No problem. While we walk there, I have exciting news.”

“Oh? What’s happened now? Yeh find someone?”

“Hah, no. My parents wish I’d find a cute girl, but that’s not happening anytime soon if I have anything to say about it. I did, however, get a second letter with yours.”

Walter raised an eyebrow, and Grooves pulled out the invitation to hand it over. Walter took it, looking it over before looking back up.

“Yeh-- For real? Yer first movie?”

“Exactly. It’s real, as far as I can tell. I did it.” Grooves took it back, putting it back in his pocket. “I actually did it.”

“That’s brilliant! DJ, yeh-- This is incredible! I’m payin’ fer lunch, an’ yer nae gettin’ out of that!” Walter took both flippers in his hands. 

“Walter, please, I’m the one nominated-- I should be paying, I’m earning more--”

“Nope. I’m payin’. I said I’d do it, an’ I am nae goin’ back on my word, DJ.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll let it slide this time. But next time…”

“Good luck gettin’ to the bill before I do next time too.”

The night of the awards, for Walter, began when he tried his best to put on a suit and not feel like he looked weird in it. It wasn’t his usual attire by any means, though most people would consider his uniform close to it, and he had to try a few extra times to get his feathers to lie right where he wanted them to. Without his hat on, it felt weird, after a few years of wearing it. 

Even though he felt awkward, though, Grooves had no such problems. He stood by his car in a dazzling gown, as if it was decorated in the stars and sky itself. Even so, he still looked casual as ever with his little smile, and his star-shaped sunglasses were there despite the dark of the evening.

“Ready to go, darling?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

With that, they were off. It took only about fifteen minutes for them to arrive at the other studio, time spent enjoying the radio (And secretly being thankful that Grooves had closed the roof of the car off for once) until it ended as soon as it began with them puling up at the side of the building. 

Walter got out first, stumbling a bit on the uneven pavement. He could hear the crowd clammoring by the front, the snapping of cameras, the cheers and yells from fans and press alike. His hands immediately went to his tie, attempting to straighten it although it was already perfect, just to do something other than listen and stare. The flashes, the noise, the--

“Darling? Is everything okay?” Grooves asked. Walter swallowed, and nodded. 

“Yeah. That's just… more people than I thought.”

“Do you want to go through the carpet together or--”

“I'll find another entrance,” Walter answered before Grooves could finish. “I'll meet up with yeh inside. I'll, ah… wait by the theater doors?”

“Well, if it helps any…” Grooves checked the invitation again. “We're in row M in the central section. I'll try my best to catch up.” 

Walter nodded. “Row M, center part. Got it. See yeh there, DJ.”

The two split up, Grooves walking to the front and the red carpet, where the cameras and reporters awaited; Walter fleeing to find a back door. With a bit of knowledge of how the other studio worked, it didn’t take long to find the staff entrance-- a smaller side door with a simple handle and no real fanfare to it. That was his way in-- something safe and simple. 

With a bit of strength to pull against the tension there, he wrenched the side door open, slipping inside.

There, just by the door, stood a rather confused-looking bird.

“Um. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Ah, sorry. I’m here with one of the directors, I jus’ didnae want ta go down the carpet. Too many cameras, it’d be--”

“No, no, you’re really not supposed to. You can come in a bit later, or something, but I was told specifically to not let anyone go through the door.” He shifted on his feet. “So could you please…?”

“...Why not lock it then?” Walter looked at the door again. “It’s got a lock. Yeh could do that… Make yer job easier.”

“I’m really sorry, sir, but you’re going to have to leave and go through another door, o-or I’ll have to call security.”

Walter’s mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to find the right argument-- A reason why, an explanation, anything-- but he was tongue-tied.

“If you wouldn’t mind…”

“Please. I’m here with DJ Grooves, he’s been nominated fer the Best Movie Award, he’s goin’ down the carpet now. If yeh call security, just ask them if he’s there an’ to let him talk.”

“I… Sir, I understand, but…”

“I’m beggin’ for this one thing. If I go down the carpet, I’ll freak out, an’ if I have to wait I’ll be lost, I jus’ need yeh to do that an’ he can prove it.”

“...Alright.” The bird walked to the nearby phone, keeping an eye on Walter. After a few numbers dialed, he stopped, waiting for a reply. “...Hi, yes, um, there’s a… Pardon me, sir, what are you?”

“Owl.”

“There’s an owl here saying he’s the plus-one for a “DJ Grooves”-- could you please tell me if the bird by that name is here and can confirm?”

There was a pause again, with a heft to it that made Walter nervous. After a moment, the bird put the phone on speakerphone. 

“Hello, darling, this is DJ Grooves, how can I help?”

“Hey, DJ. Nice to hear yer voice.” Walter walked a bit closer to the receiver. 

The phone crackled a little. “Oh no. Walter, please don’t tell me you’re in trouble…”

“Can you confirm that an owl in a suit and green tie is your plus-one, sir?” the bird asked.

“Yes, I can. Especially if he has white eyebrows, a streak down the front of his face, and some extra white fluff on his cheeks.”

“Thank you, DJ,” Walter sighed. “Sorry fer the fuss.”

“It’s alright. I’ll see you soon, alright? If you want to meet me in the lobby, I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Sounds great. Thank yeh very much.”

“Thank you,” the other bird said, and hung up. “Oh, thank cod. If you’d been lying, I… I don’t even know. I’m terrified of having to kick someone out, honestly. I’m honestly really new to this job. Most falcons are so much better at this, but I’m so new to the work, I’m still nervous. That’s why I volunteered to be back here. You gotta head that way, by the way.” He pointed off into the building. “Take the second left, then you’ll just go straight and that’s the lobby.”

“Alright, makes sense.” He nodded. “Thank yeh kindly.”

“I, um. Please don’t tell anyone I said anything about myself too, that just sort of… Fell out.”

Walter looked at him, then at the way he was supposed to go. Grooves was waiting. He was supposed to go right there.

Instead, he set a hand on the other bird’s arm, the closest he could get to his shoulder. “I’m new to my job too. Yer doin’ yer best. Take a deep breath.”

There was a long pause for both of them to breathe. One in, one out.

“There yeh go. Now, make sure yeh lock the door too. I wonae tell anyone.”

“...Thank you, sir.” The guard smiled. “Good luck in there. It’s still pretty hectic.”

“I ken, I ken.” Walter nodded, and he let go. “Good luck to yeh too, lad. Cheers.” He almost tried to tip his cap, only to remember he wasn’t wearing it. With that, he turned, and headed for the lobby. Second left, straight from there….

And there, near the edge of the lobby, stood DJ Grooves. He looked over at him, and immediately walked over to where Walter was, meeting him in the middle of the hall.

“It’s good to see you, darling. I was worried about you.”

“Hah. I’m fine, DJ. Jus’ needed a bit of help with gettin’ the lad to listen. Seems he’s just a wee fella tryin’ a new thing.”

“Just like us, isn’t it?” Grooves asked, taking his hand in his flipper. 

“Exactly. Now, why nae find our seats? Row M, center part.”

“Sounds perfect to me.” 

He stood in the wing of the theatre, staring at the stage. They were speaking words that he could never hear, but he could remember the words just the same.

“And now for our most important award of the evening-- This year’s Best Bird Movie Award! There were many good movies this year, but the ones that stood above the rest are as follows: “Moonwalk Melody” by DJ Grooves, “Brood Mother” by Mother Goose, “Feather Fall” by the Kestrals, and last but not least, “Railroad Blues” by the Conductor!”

The lights had lingered on each of them in their places in the crowd, but where he stood backstage, he could see Grooves in the spotlight, smiling and waving with one flipper. Beside him sat Walter yet again, the two of them still next to each other. 

He’s… ah. Good… Good fer them.

He tried to scan for the others, but the spotlights shifted back to the stage before he could draw his eyes away. 

Just like every year, the announcer continued. “While every movie had its bright spots, it’s still only one that can win. However, the runner-up deserves just as much acclaim for making it this far. This year… The runner-up is--”

The spotlights landed on someone-- a bird whose silhouette told him nothing of their breed. It didn’t seem to notice at first, before hopping up and hurrying up, running to the stage with as much class as any other young upstart. The silver went to them, sitting in their wings with a heft and weight that he knew didn’t belong to them.

“And, for the award we’ve all been waiting for… This year’s winner of the Best Bird Movie Award is…”

He already knew who would get it. He didn’t even need to watch. But he closed his eyes, basking in the memory. 

His name was called. His name, his movie, the top of the line even with all the hardships that had led to him creating it. He’d lost everything, sold the house, ran off to the city and made a movie almost by himself. The work was his own, the product solely his, and yet unlike his first attempts, people loved it. The cheering, the loud clapping, even a few hoots for him. He had climbed to the stage, he had accepted the gold, the award he’d dreamed of. It was the only way he’d have the funds to continue-- if people cared, if they believed in him, then he’d have another chance another year. But in his arms, his first award, the most important. He had barely been able to give a short speech accepting it through shaking breaths and the thought of his family seeing him. After everything that had happened, maybe they would know, maybe they would see the spotlights, maybe they would come back home to the train, maybe they would…

…they never had, of course. They never would, either. But the dream still lingered in the air, as tangible as the awards themselves. He opened his eyes at last, watching Grooves as he stood on stage, talking into the microphone.

…Of course it went ta Grooves. He’s the only one capable of makin’ a good enough movie ta win, if I’m nae there.

He wanted to reach out, to take the award in his hands, to feel it for one moment, but he knew better.

No one could see him. 

At least that meant no one would see him walking back to Dead Bird Studio 1 either.

That night, when the duo returned the studio, Grooves was still riding high on the excitement. Walter, however, was almost out of energy, barely even able to keep up a conversation. He mostly just nodded and gave small noises of assent, clearly too out of it to talk for much longer, but Grooves didn’t mind.

There, in the seat behind him, sat the award he’d dreamed of. The culmination of all his hard work that year-- Of running away from people who’d never loved him, of trusting himself, of just trying. The fear hadn’t gone away entirely, but now, as they pulled into the parking lot of the hotel where Walter was staying, Grooves couldn’t stop smiling.

“We’re here, darling.”

“Oh.”

“If you want, I can walk you to your room?”

“Nah. Jus’... need ta read a book. Too much noise.” Walter shook his head, and got out. “Bye, DJ. I’m back to the train tomorrow.”

“I know. You told me before.”

“Yeah. Right.” Walter looked away. “...Bye.”

“So long, Walter.” DJ Grooves waved, and Walter hurried inside, not even looking back. 

It’s still only eleven, but if I go back to the party without him, it’d be odd… I suppose… Maybe…? It’s an important night, maybe that figure is…?

With that, Grooves headed back to Dead Bird Studio 1, where he had been staying even now. The drive wasn’t far, thanks to Walter choosing a nearby hotel, but it still felt long on his own. The moment he arrived, he checked that the award was still safe before even turning off the car. It, of course, hadn’t moved. 

Carrying it in gave him time to appreciate the weight-- The gold was at least five pounds, though likely more, and the decorations on it only added more. He made his way to his office, setting it on the shelf.

Grooves expected it to feel right. Instead, looking at it, he couldn’t help but feel like there was something off. 

Even after adjusting it a dozen times, it still wasn’t quite right.

All he could do about it was lie down on the couch and hope he’d see what was wrong in the morning.

He sits in his office on the couch, barely aware of what’s going on. It’s far too early in the morning, or too late at night-- 4 AM, the time no one wants to be awake. 

And there, looking at the award, standing before his desk, is It. It is hard to identify, outside of the feeling that something is there, and It will be there unless it doesn’t want to be.

Grooves stands, yawning, and tries to approach it. 

“Please don’t. I worked hard for that.”

It turns to him, ears twitching as if It heard him. Yet It returns to looking at the award for a moment, before It lowers Its head.

It looks tired. As tired as he feels, as tired as Walter felt, as tired as a silhouette can seem. It opens Its mouth for a moment, but It closes it once again before long, like It gave up on speaking. Instead, It looks at him.

Two bright yellow eyes, looking directly at him. It takes a moment, but It finally turns away.

Without a word, It walks off. Through the door. Through wherever else it pleases. 

And then, as suddenly as the dream began, it ends.

It is gone.

Chapter Text

Hattie would have preferred to just continue her journey home, but since the timepieces had decided to fall on this random little planet, well, it wasn't like she had a choice but to fix what that stupid Mafia guy had done!! It wasn't her fault they'd fallen! All she wanted was to be able to leave. But nope, that wasn't what she was allowed to do, because Time Law said otherwise.

Meanies .

She put the last of her recent timepieces into the vault, the tenth so far thanks to the Mafia dorks and the one in a time rift on her ship (how had it ended up there? She'd watched them fall! How did a timepiece get into her ship after falling? Not that she was complaining, but it didn't make sense!) With that inside, she stepped back. Sure, she had enough to keep fixing her ship to find more, but she could feel that there was one more there! How come she couldn't beat that Mafia guy in a stupid race? She was running as fast as she could, even with her scooter. It was so dumb! How come he was allowed to use a rocket anyways? That wasn't how races usually worked back home. After grumbling for a while, she turned away and jumped over the railing to land smack-dab in the middle of the main room of her ship.

Thanks to the timepieces she'd collected, the door to her bedroom and the one to her engine room were unlocked, with enough fuel to power the long hallways, the extra lights in her little secret room (She wouldn't tell Timmy. No way was he allowed in there!) and the many electronics in the engine room. She'd already rushed through the engine room to check out the gallery, but she hadn't really looked around the engine room yet. Besides, there was another of those big buttons in the middle. It would be perfect to push it, anyway-- maybe then it would drop her right in front of the timepiece at the end of the race. 

“Boop!”

And with that, she fell.

Instead of the trajectory taking her back to Mafia Town, though, it went somewhere else entirely-- through the sky and into a sprawling city. She used the umbrella she'd taken to land gently on the ground, just to look up at the building. It took a while for the translator to take effect, but as soon as it did, she could read the words printed by a black logo on the glass: Dead Bird Studios.

Maybe there's cats here! They like dead birds, right? Ooh, Bonnie would never believe I found a bunch of cats when she wasn't with me-- I gotta take so many pictures! She'll be so jealous that I met them!

With that, she cheerfully skipped inside the building, thankful that she'd landed somewhere that sounded so much fun and so different from Mafia Town. 

Maybe it's even air-conditioned, and really nice and comfy, and it doesn't smell like lava and smelly people and meat.

When the second set of doors inside opened, though, she discovered what Dead Bird Studios was really home to: A penguin in a bright red jacket sat cross-legged on the front desk, deep in a conversation with the… fox? Bird? Thing??-- behind the desk. She slowed down to eavesdrop better.

“--you’d never believe it, darling, but that reporter actually asked--”

“No, there's no way--”

“He actually asked if I was thinking about retirement. Looked me in the eyes, and thought that was actually a thing I'd do.”

“DJ, let's cut the lad some slack, it's nae like he's been doing this fer a decade by now.” The bird-fox chuckled. “Let alone been talking to you fer that whole decade.”

“Exactly! That's what's most brazen about it! And right after he asked the same question as every time, like my answer's ever going to change.”

There was a bit of laughter between the two, while Hattie approached. Just stepping into the room, she could feel it. 

It wasn't a rift, exactly. Time wasn't moving differently, there was no hole in the timeline, it wasn't a freeze or even a slowdown. No, there was something else there, like the sound when the television was on and waiting for her to turn on the console, or the microwave hum from a few rooms away. Stepping toward the right of the doorway, it grew lesser, but with any steps to the left, it intensified into a dull thrumming. She batted at her ear to try to stop it, and the motion caught the attention of the two at the desk.

“Oh, hello, darling. Are you lost? The studio isn't open for tours today,” the penguin said as he hopped down from the desk. “But I'd be happy to help you, if you need it.”

She shook her head, and instead looked towards the left half of the room. Where the right had posters hanging, and a wall of trophies lined the space behind the front desk (Five rows of ten each-- that was fifty! Fifty was a lot for gold trophies…) the left side was almost completely barren, with only a cardboard cutout to block off the area.

“Oh, that? That's… well, the other side of the studio is haunted.” 

“Huh?” She asked. She hadn't met a ghost yet, but sure, that one guy in the Mafia with the goofy glasses had been adamant about aliens (Which obviously existed) so maybe people thought ghosts were real too. 

“Hah.” The fox-bird shook his head. “DJ, come on, I've been telling you fer years, it's nae haunting the studio if it shows up other places too.”

“It seems to like that half of the studio, and I'm actually fine with one half, so it's not the worst scenario.”

She paused. A ghost that only haunted one half of a studio, with a weird time thing on that half? That meant one of two things-- either they were connected, or they weren't. 

And, with that weird sense of deja vu that had lingered since she got to this planet? Yeah, there was definitely something. 

…Someone time travelled here? Did they change the past enough to change the timeline and that’s why it feels weird? Or maybe it was a rewind, because something really bad happened here and that was how someone had to save people…

With that thought, she pulled her Sprint Hat out of her usual hat, putting it on and sprinting toward the other half, to the door, and--

…

She stood at the second door. The two inside stared at where she had been, both of their mouths (beaks?) agape. 

“She-- Darling, what--”

“Hi!” she called, walking back in. Their heads turned to look at her.

“Oh my cod. The lass-- She-- What in the world…” The bird-fox looked between the two spots, his mouth agape. “You-- How…?”

She shrugged, giving a noise to indicate that, as DJ walked closer. “...Darling, listen, I have no idea what just happened, but that can’t be--”

She ran towards it again, trying to reach the door and open it. She got to it, slamming her shoulder into the--

…

She was standing at the second door. Again. Both of them again turned to the front doors.

“Darling, you’re going to give me a heart attack!” the penguin exclaimed. She crossed her arms as she walked in, looking at the left door. The bird-fox walked towards it, pushing the door open with ease, letting it swing out and back to where it had rested before. To him, there was no problem. Even DJ walked to it, doing the same just to be certain nothing had changed. Even he was fine. No teleportation for them. 

“...Why would that just happen to her?” the bird-fox asked. “Doesnae make sense… It’s bound to be something important…” 

She just shrugged, and walked to the reception desk, dinging the little bell there. Then, she spotted the nameplate there. Walter - Receptionist. At least that much made it easier to write about in her diary. So many people just didn’t give her a name-- not that she gave them hers, either. 

“...DJ, can you handle things here? I need to check with my friend.”

“I’ve told you before, darling. I’ll be alright.” DJ smiled, and gave Walter a hug. “Just make sure you come back, okay?”

“I’m nae going to get lost.” Walter patted DJ’s back, then walked to the door. “And lass? Make sure he stays out of trouble.”

She gave him a thumbs-up, and the bird-fox tipped his hat to her before he left through the doors she had came through. DJ watched him go, then looked down at her.

“...So, would you like to see the other half of the studio? I suppose I could allow a tour… It’s extenuating circumstances, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh!” She nodded. She’d heard those words together, and usually it meant getting away with something that she wasn’t supposed to. Every time she heard them, it was either preceded or followed by something really fun and awesome. 

As DJ led her through the right doors, she could already tell it was about to be both.

Being the conductor of the Owl Express had its perks. Even if Walter only did it during the half the year that Grooves didn't need his help with the movies, he still had the same ability to request a stop in places they usully wouldn't go. For instance, Subcon Forest.

Subcon was still a land full of danger to most, but Walter had safe passage. Most people would assume it was because he had been born there. The truth was, he had essentially formed a book club with a ghost.

“Hello?” He called, walking into the forest. “I've got a new copy of--”

Walter stepped into a trap, his leg hoisted into the air. He didn't bother to struggle or anything, only held the bag tighter as it dangled upside-down. It took a moment for the culprit to show up, bursting through the ground as if it was some kind of burrowing creature.

“AHAHAHAHA!! FOOOooo… you again?” The familiar voice of a ghost asked, almost complaining. “You really should watch your step.” 

“And you really should know better. Could've dropped the books.”

“Which ones do you have this time? More of that last series? Or something new? Or if there's any more of those Doctor Setmuch ones--”

“They've nae released one yet. Just the nine I already got you over the last few months. Besides, I'm nae showing ya from up here.”

Snatcher groaned, but he still let Walter down, watching him take the books out of the bag. Immediately, Snatcher set upon them, looking them over.

“Heard good things about them both. The one’s about a lady accidentally seeing into the future and having to try to figure out how to change things to avoid an apocalypse, the other is about a guy trying to get out of a video game with his granddaughter helping out.”

“Hm. I'll try them and tell you if they're really any good. Why are you here, anyway? You don't usually come here just to give me books. Is this another time you're here to “check up on me”?” Snatcher made air quotes around that part, creating a third arm for a moment to hold the books before he had space again. Walter wasn't even fazed. 

“I got a wee question, actually. Teleportation.”

“Not a question. Just a word.”

“How does it work? Saw this wee lass get shot back about ten feet twice in a row, just from trying to do something my partner and I can do fine. Went to the same position, opened the same door, but she was the only one getting moved. Any idea?”

“...Only one person being teleported when three people did the same action?” Snatcher clarified. Walter nodded. “So it's not a spell attached to that spot or that door, since those activate regardless-- like my traps. Even if it's you, or one of my minions, they still get set off to get you into my realm, if you find one that's not a simple snare like this.”

“...Could it have something to do with her?”

“Sure, maybe. Did she look like she wanted to teleport?”

“She didnae. Even pouted about it.”

“...Could be a pre-set pathway, or someone else trying to mess with her specifically-- what is she? Like you or your partner?”

“Human. Or she looked it, at least. Nae Mafia, but some wee human lass, about yea tall.” He gestured to where he thought she'd stand, leaving a few inches between his height and hers.

“So maybe something based on that-- wards on the door to keep out humans, or the like.”

“The first time, she couldnae even touch it.”

“Strong wards.”

“Any other ways to teleport?”

Snatcher hummed, rubbing his non-existent chin with one hand. “Most teleportation spells are for long-distance, and they'd affect a bigger range than just her. If it was just jumping ten feet, there's no point to something that's so complicated. It's like if you turned the clock twenty-three hours forward instead of one back when it's an hour fast. Stupid move, no one smart enough to make a heavy-duty teleport spell would do that. Even for a laugh, it's not the right one for that prank-- or the right place, but that's not what you asked.”

“...Like moving a clock…” Walter muttered, pacing a moment. “In some of my partner’s movies, I’ve seen scenes where someone stops time and moves. Seems like they teleported. So maybe… What if it has something to do with that?”

Snatcher laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. 

“Time stops? Yeah, right. Like that actually happens. I’ve seen every spell there is in the spellbooks here and the ones you’ve found. Read them ten times over. If you think I’d miss one where you could stop time, or one where you could rewind time and change things, or anything about time like that? Trust me. You’re stupider than anyone else wandering into these woods for a picnic.”

“I’m serious! It-- There’s been those hourglass things falling, and time is related to hourglasses, so it could have something to do with those since she’s only appeared since--” Walter paced faster, trying to find the right answers. “So maybe it’s nae a spell, it’s something we’ve never seen on this planet, and we’re--”

“It’s not something we’ve never seen.”

“WHAT?!”

“You heard me. There’s been another hourglass thing around here. You just never asked about it.”

Since Walter lacked teleportation, Snatcher had to drag him through. It felt like he fell through the ground itself, the dirt and leaves clinging to his face and clothes as he crawled out of the pile of leaves and vines they had come out of.

“That’s a fixed-point teleportation. I can go between places I’ve set up. Simple as that.” 

Walter didn’t bother responding, looking to where Snatcher had brought them. A small house was nearby, its door covered by ice, and a nearby campfire raged. A few fire spirits sat on a bench near to it, admiring it.

“Ugh. I hate fire spirits,” Snatcher muttered, scowling.

“It’s alright.” Walter walked up to them, raising a hand. “Hello, lads. What’re you up to?”

They looked at him for a moment, and one smiled brightly when they recognized him, standing to face him. They swayed as they stood, as if they were about to dance again. “Con-duct!”

“I… Yes. That is who I am.” Walter nodded. “Mind if I get through here real quick?”

They tilted their head, looking closer without eyes. “...You pass through?”

“I… What? No, I cannae--” He reached out a hand, touching the fire as if it were a solid wall. “See?”

The fire spirit looked between him and the wall, confusion crossing their face. After a moment, it raised an arm in a graceful gesture. The fire offered him a gateway, and he walked toward the gate.

“...Con…” the second softly trilled, barely audible under the fire. “Con…”

With that, Walter walked through, Snatcher right behind. The moment they were through, it closed behind them, as the fire spirits began to dance again. 

From there it wasn’t far. A destroyed house was in the way, with some of the furniture still standing, but from there, it was only one tall steel fence before they stood nearby the hourglass. The hourglass was massive-- At least thirty feet tall, most likely-- and parts of it hovered in the air, despite how it was shattered into pieces. Walter stared at it.

“That’s the hourglass,” Snatcher said, in lieu of having a profound statement. “Not sure if it looks like the ones that fell, or if it’s related, but…”

“...There’s bound to be something here of importance anyway. I know it.” Walter pulled his hat down. “Even if I’m nae seeing it yet.”

Chapter Text

The moment that Walter was gone, the studio felt different. It wasn't a stretch to call him the backbone of the studio, as important as DJ Grooves himself, though his name wasn't well known for his own reasons. Despite their partnership, they’d managed to keep Walter out of the spotlight about the movies-- Though him being the owner and one of two main conductors for the Owl Express was hard to keep from reporters, and his distinctive appearance made it even harder to hide from them. Instead, Grooves had made it his stories that got told, speaking where Walter didn’t want to.

That was one of many things they did for each other-- Avoiding reporters or finding good restaurants, searching for new ideas or for good books, whatever they could to help the other to enjoy another day. This time, though, with Walter out of the studio, that meant it was up to him to figure out what to do in the meantime. And, since the rest of the penguins hadn’t yet arrived for shooting, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was safe to work the pyrotechnics without his trusted engineer on site, well, it was easy to decide on just letting the young girl follow him on a quick tour. Not like they could do much else-- The place wasn’t really one for too many people to come in (Except for one intrepid journalist who didn’t seem to know when to stop, but there were security cameras galore that would put him off of shoving his microphone in where it didn’t belong. Hopefully.)

So, of course, with nothing else to do, he let her through the right door, and followed shortly after.

“Welcome to Dead Bird Studio One, darling. This is where the magic happens. The magic of cinema, that is.”

She looked around, suitably in awe, but her eyes were drawn to the other half of the studio-- Props lay abandoned there beside sets already mostly deconstructed yet still standing, and the quiet hung over that side. 

“...Darling, please. I already told you, that half is haunted. It… it’s not safe.”

She crossed her arms, pouting a little, but went along with him as he turned on the lights to show the actual current sets-- Fantastical planets, shops with green-screen windows, machinery and puppetry and art that they’d made together over months and years. 

That, at least, got the girl’s attention. With the lighting on properly instead of just seeing things in the fluorescents of the lobby, the place looked much more polished. He walked across a metal walkway to reach one of the nearer sets.

“Now, here at the studio, we tend to reuse what we can for later movies. For instance, some might recognize this place from Rhythm and News, but with a nice new coat of paint and some different lighting, it's a whole new place, almost ready for a whole other movie.” He gestured to the cafe set. “In fact, just a little snippet for you, we've been thinking of making it into an old-school diner, linoleum floors and all. We don't do things by halves.”

“Ooh…” she nodded excitedly. “Food?”

“Well, yes and no. Prop food is actually pretty different from normal food-- you can't have an actor eating the same ice cream over three hours of shooting, so we use something that looks like ice cream to the cameras. Usually… mashed potatoes.”

She stuck out her tongue.

“I know, not as sweet. But it's a lot harder to melt mashed potatoes than it is ice cream, and with all the lights going in here? It warms up pretty fast.” He walked behind the counter. “And another little fun fact, darling? This one's a lot more glamorous-- While there are stunt doubles for my actors, I don't have one myself. Not because I don't need one, but because I want to make sure I'm being genuine when I make my movies.”

That much got her to smile as she climbed onto a chair by the counter.

“So, what can I get for you, darling?” He flashed a smile, slipping into character with ease. “Hot cocoa for the road?”

“Coffee!” she cheerfully answered. 

That made Grooves stop for just a moment, but eventually, he shrugged. “Well… You seem young, but you’re on your own here, so I’m assuming wherever your family is, they’re aware of what you’re doing. Right?”

She tilted her head. Obviously, the thought of what he said was weird. And the only part that could…

“...Don’t worry, darling. I don’t really have family either, except for Walter.” He stepped to the side, using the coffee machine. Walter’s work had made it nearly silent, at least, despite how slow it still took. “Wouldn’t be the only one here, either. A lot of folks come planetside to try to run away-- or to the movies for the same thing. It’s a business of escapism.” He picked up the coffee that had been poured-- one for him, and one for the little girl-- and slid the one to her while leaning on the counter. “...A lot of us get into it for that, really. Running away from one thing or another is a pretty common thing in the biz-- be it music or movies, it’s a thing everyone dreams of as a kid.” He took a long sip. “It’s a great job, honestly, especially in that case.”

“Hm…” She took a drink, smacked her mouth for a bit to evaluate the flavor, then nodded and chugged the rest of the cup.

“Woah, now, darling-- Don’t burn your mouth, now.”

She grinned and put it down with a very hollow noise. “Okay!”

“Hah. Well… Good luck with the caffeine rush.” He patted her shoulder with a flipper as it finally sank in that he, most likely, would be the one dealing with it. …Oh, great. 

She stood, looking back towards the left half of the studio. Though Grooves tried to hurry out from behind the counter in a desperate attempt to keep up, she was already running off. By the time he got close, she was already standing in the middle of one of the old sets, looking at one nearby with a quizzical look on her face.

“Darling, darling, you… You can’t just run off like--” Grooves managed to say, but he was cut off by a sound nearby. Both of them turned to the side, looking for the source.

“...Echo,” she said, softly.

“An echo? This place isn’t really one for that,” he answered. “It’s relatively soundproof wherever we can make it that way, so I don’t think…”

“No! Echo!” the girl repeated, crossing her arms as if that would get him to understand. 

“Echo… Darling, I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me.”

She huffed.

“...Maybe if you try to draw it for me?”

She nodded, and took off her hat, reaching in. It took her a moment to find what she was looking for, but once she drew out a piece of paper and some crayons, it wasn’t long before her picture took shape: On one side of a wiggly line, there were two people (One with a top hat and the other with his wig) and a black silhouette, while on the other there were the same two people and another person. She showed it to him, then pointed to the silhouette. “Echo!”

“...I… suppose? But really, it’s more likely a ghost, darling. It’s probably for the best if we just go to the other side of the studio and resume the tour, okay? If you can find a way to help, then… We can try again. But right now, I don’t really know…”

“Okay.” She put her paper and crayons back in her hat, then put it back on her head. “Follow me!” With that, the girl took his flipper, and started to pull him back on track.

That, at least, was better. It was safer there. And, of course, over there, they probably wouldn’t see the ghost again.

Probably.

Hopefully.

To say he was tired would be the understatement of the century. Century? Decade? How long had it been since he’d first ended up there? Time was an illusion at this point, flowing around him instead of letting it come through it. He didn’t even have the energy to care most of the time. It could be anything. All he could tell was it wasn’t too long, since Grooves was still walking around with Walter, so it most likely hadn’t been over a hundred years. 

Probably. 

He wasn’t really sure how long they’d live, either. Maybe it had been a hundred years. Maybe it’d only been thirty. Maybe it was fifty. He didn’t care to guess.

The quiet, at least, was something he’d gotten used to. By now, he’d learned enough about the way things worked that the quiet was almost a welcome situation, a companion he both tolerated and hated depending on how much he was trying to talk. Sure, he could hear himself. No one else could. 

Thud.

He blinked, looking all around. A noise? A sound? Something happening? He jumped to his feet, his ears twitching as he picked up his hat from behind him, jamming it onto his head again. There was a motion off to the side-- from the door. With that, he hurried over, pressing his hand to the door.

Somethin’s happenin’.

He could feel something there-- A strong push from his side of the door and the other, like there was a core of energy exploding outwards. Even so, he couldn’t determine what it was-- Only that something there was glowing.

Something he hadn’t designed, and that was clearly there to him.

It had been so long since he’d seen anything of the sort. Anything at all, really. The silhouettes from Walter and Grooves were common, but the feeling of seeing something new-- He had to reach out--

Thud.

He fell back when the energy hit him, his mouth agape as he stared. There’s something! I can feel something! I’m nae just floatin’ here, I felt-- I know I felt that!

He’d nearly forgotten what it was like to feel things. The words had been hard to remember, and the feeling, the sensation of anything--

It was electrifying. Something was there. Something he could actually do.

He reached out one more time, right as the door opened right through him. Walter stood right by the door, Grooves a few steps away.

There, at the end of the lobby, stood someone he hadn’t expected to ever arrive. 

The door swung closed, only to swing open again a moment later when Grooves pushed it. In between the swings, he exited, looking closer at the silhouette.

He’d thought about her for eons. (Or was it months? Years? Centuries?) Her eyes looking up at him in horror, her devilish little grin as she accused herself of a fake murder, her hands stealing his hat just to give him hers, trying it on and taking a picture while he desperately grabbed for it back-- The little lass had played across his memories a trillion times, the last weeks a blur of memory and silly things that she’d done. Her work in the movies, her face on the posters, her dancing when he offered her one of those hourglass-- “timepiece”-- things… 

And now, her looking right through him as she walked to the desk, ringing the little bell. He couldn’t tell if she did it once or a thousand times, the blurred silhouettes only enough to give him a vague sense of where things were. Even so, he had to try.

“Lass?” he said, his voice a croak. “Lass, I… Peck, lassie, I’m sorry.” The words fell out like items out of a dropped box. “I pecked it all up. Yeh probably hate me, fer breakin’ yer thingy. I jus’-- Peck, I dinnae know I was thinkin’. Jus’ thought I would do somethin’ with it, an’ then suddenly-- Suddenly I was stuck here, I was jus’--”

Walter walked right through him, and he had to move to keep up with where the lassie was going. She and Grooves looked at each other for a moment before he opened the other door, and she followed him inside.

“Lassie, I-- I jus’ need yeh ta hear me, jus’ this once. Yeh-- You were peckin’ right, alright? I see it now-- I was jus’ scared t’accept it, ta see that everythin’ would fall apart if I tried that-- I jus’ wanted somethin’ outta reach. I wanted that happy endin’, an’ instead I peckin’... I’m nae there anymore.” He hurried around them, standing in front of them again. “I need yeh ta--”

And they walked right through him, as Grooves went to show off the studio. The light switch, the sets, all of that. 

“I… I need…” He said, watching them go, but he stopped talking. No words would be heard. Nothing there to hear. Nothing to see either.

Instead, he gave up, retreating to his half of the studio once more. That half, the place he’d waited forever, the same place he’d end up wasting forever in. That was his lot in life. That was how he was stuck now, just sitting down on an old pile of wooden pallets with no forklift to match, picking up a guitar he’d imagined and re-imagined a million times after losing it again and again. It was impossible to play well-- The whole thing had to be perfect for it to sound right, with the correct tension and string length and string material-- but it was better than siting around doing nothing again. 

He tried strumming a few notes, twisting the pegs to search for the right key to play in. In one moment he’d try using one chord’s position, only to find that the third string was incorrect in one way or another, and, forgetting again to check which peg that was, he’d end up twisting the fifth string into the wrong note, repeating the cycle until he finally found a key that, all in all, was terrible for playing anything he vaguely remembered from all that time ago. 

It was an exercise in eternal futility.

Even so, he gave it the billionth attempt, going for another few dozen tries before remembering why he’d lost it the last time. The whole idea was stupid. Trying to do anything was stupid.

He threw the guitar to the side, where it broke in two with a long TWANG sound. 

That, at least, caught someone’s attention. A flicker of motion moved towards him, eventually settling into the shape of the young lass. This time, instead of looking through him, she looked directly at him. He looked behind himself to make sure-- Sure, the set there was somewhat interesting, but… She was looking towards him, for once.

“...Hello, Lassie,” he said slowly. “I’m sorry.”

She opened her mouth for a moment, but before she said anything, Grooves arrived, sitting with her, and she turned to him instead. As quickly as it had happened, it was over. 

When she took Grooves’ flipper and left, he stood there, left behind once again. Neither looked back.

He just hoped that she heard him. If nothing else got through, at least then, he could know she knew that much.

Chapter Text

It took a while for DJ Grooves to convince Walter to let Hat Kid act in a movie. In fact, she timed it to take about thirty minutes or so, or around a quarter as long as she'd spent running around Mafia Town in search of timepieces. Honestly, she wasn't complaining, it gave her a lot of time to sit and look for that Echo again.

It was strange, seeing an Echo in a place like this. They weren't common things anywhere, but she'd heard about them in stories from school-- people who had either fallen through time and ended up stuck, or those who tried to change time… Usually, they were depicted as monsters in those stories-- people who'd done bad things and still wanted to-- but this one seemed friendly enough. It even tried to talk, despite the fact Echoes couldn't really communicate except by charades. 

So it's probably not aware of how Echoes work either. Then how did it end up like that? How did it go through time, anyway? And it seemed to look at me like it knew me…

Before she could come up with an answer, Walter relented.

“Fine. But I'll be keeping my eyes on her, and if she gets hurt, we stop filming immediately.”

“Of course, darling-- absolutely. I promise.” DJ Grooves smiled, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek (or, well, a tap of his beak that was likely intended as a kiss. She really wasn't sure what else it could be.)

“Now, let's get to it, before I change my mind.”

Grooves led the way to the set-- or, rather, sets. One was a miniature, while the other was a real-size situation. 

“Now, darling… Are you sure you’re ready to do this? Movies can be a lot. There will be flashing lights, and… Walter?”

“Dinnae forget the loud noises and the fact she could trip off one of the sets.”

“Right, thank you, those.” Grooves nodded. Hat Kid nodded. She’d dealt with worse-- exploding barrels, mafia goons running right at her, a bajillion sandbags-- Actually, she really should check for those. She looked up, scanning the ceiling. “...Is there something you’re worried about?”

“Nyerrrr-BOOM!” she tried, mimicking something falling and then exploding. He paused a minute. 

“Something falling? Nothing is planned to be up there, and I don’t think anyone else is supposed to be on the catwalks…”

“Nope.” Walter shook his head. “And if they leave something in the way on those things, they get a talking to, so that’s nae going to happen.”

She nodded. Safe enough for her, and a lot better than anything in Mafia Town. Great! 

“The whole plot that was planned is a monster destroying the city, and the heroes attempting escape. Though… We haven’t actually filmed the part with the monster to comp that in.”

…Wait. I’m the monster?

“There’s a costume for it-- It’s supposed to be Walter’s size, actually, but…”

“But I’m nae a good actor,” Walter said with a shrug.

“Now, darling, you do wonderfully--”

“No, no, dinnae lie. I’m nae an actor. I’m a train conductor and a receptionist.” He chuckled. “I’m nae gonna complain if you dinnae like my acting.”

“But darling…”

“It’s fine. I’m completely aware of it. It’s the emotions. You always get it across better.”

“Hey!” Hat Kid exclaimed, waving her hands.

“Oh, right. Sorry, darling.” Grooves laughed a bit, and pointed to a thing on a rack. “You can pull the costume on over your clothes, or just change in any of the dressing rooms.”

“Okay!” She ran off, grabbing the costume and pulling it on. It took a bit of jumping and a bit of wiggling, but it went on well enough, and she zipped it up at the front before putting her hat away and pulling on the hood. The costume was the simple sort-- Extra rubber arms, some spots and funky stripes, even a bunch of spines leading up to the hood, like a dinosaur’s. Perfect for her sprint hat flair. It wasn’t even hard to move in. Someone had definitely put effort into it. 

She skipped back over to the two, and grinned, posing.

“You look wonderful.” Grooves smiled. “Now, all you need to do, once the cameras start rolling, is to act like a giant monster destroying a city.”

“Okay!” She grinned, and got into place. An “X” on the floor made it easy to tell where she should be, at least. Walter pulled on a pair of headphones off a hook on the wall before walking off, and Grooves stepped behind a camera, preparing that for action. 

“Three. Two. One. Action!” Grooves hit a button, then stepped away, and Hat Kid got to work.

The cardboard city was tiny compared to her-- An easy thing to break apart with even just feet. That didn’t stop her from reaching down, ripping some parts out with a roar before stepping on other parts, jumping on a few others. It didn’t take long before most of the city was rubble.

“Okay, darling, time for the monster to fall.” Grooves raised a flipper, and Walter flipped a nearby switch, triggering the lights and noises. Some sort of laser sound, and lights to match. She knew what to do-- the same thing she did when Bow beat her in games. With a shriek of fake pain, she fell to the ground, falling back and collapsing near the edge of the set. She laid there for a moment, and Walter stopped the noises and lights, hitting another button for smoke. It took a second before Grooves waved his flippers again, and Hat Kid looked over at him.

“Cut! You did wonderful out there, darling!” DJ Grooves excitedly told her as he walked over-- it looked hard to move too fast in those shoes of his. “Beautiful work. It's almost like you've been doing this for years!” 

She got up and grinned, even prouder as Walter approached too.

“Nice work, lass.” He smiled slightly. “But… next time, let's get her in something a bit less dangerous? No offense, DJ, but… putting a kid in the spotlight…”

“No, no, I understand. Maybe backstage, next time? Though you'd have to teach her that part…”

“Of course.” Walter looked to Hat Kid. “And it's up to you if you want to do it or nae, lass--”

I get to see how the backstage stuff works too? That's so cool!!

Hat Kid nodded excitedly.

“Great. So… I'll show you the ropes for whenever you drop by next time.”

Walter started walking off. Unlike Grooves, he didn’t even try to take her hand, instead just folding his arms behind his back and leading the way to an unlabeled door. She jogged after him, keeping up with ease. Once he opened the door and gestured for her to enter, he cleared his throat.

“So. This is where the real work happens. I know, it’s nae the most flashy, but it’s just as important as the stuff on-set. It’s a bit chaotic. Duck.” He ducked, and Hat Kid did the same, just in time for a couple of penguins to swing a prop streetlight right over their heads. “Lads, watch where you’re taking that thing, alright? It’s fragile.”

“Sorry, Mr. Walt!” one of them apologized, but they didn’t slow down.

“They’re never good at recognizing when someone else is in the way. Most of it is simple-- There’s the buttons to push, a few levers to hit on time, and you cannae forget the things to pull.” He pointed to a few levers. “These ones, they work the curtains on the stage set. Up, down, wherever needed.” Then the buttons next to it. “These are the lights. If you hit the first one once, it starts the spotlight, but if you hit it twice, it’ll make a spinning rainbow light. DJ prefers the second, so… Hit it twice. And the rest, we usually dinnae use.” Finally, he pointed up. “And this one, the pull-thing? Pull it for a roar. It’s one we’ve used in a few films, whenever we try monster movies or invasions.”

After a bit of staring up, she could spot it. It was a bit further than she imagined, and with it being so far… It was unlikely she’d be able to reach it alone. With a point, she looked at it, then at Walter, tilting her head in question.

“Oh, uh… How you reach it, that’s what you’re asking, right?” A little nod. “Usually, I'd just get a ladder out when we need to use that, but… you're right, it's probably out of reach if you need it.”

She made a face, but Walter shrugged. “I'll look for a better solution for you here, but you might want to look somewhere else for that one.”

But I already looked all over Mafia Town! There's nothing there! And if you're looking here, then where am I supposed to look?

She hung her head, complaining without words, when a thought occured to her.

There was one other place she could go. She had enough timepieces to see where her bedroom would take her to, since she remembered another button near the window. 

…maybe that'll be the place I can find yarn to reach that! That's gotta be it!

He wasn't sure how he'd managed to follow her onto the spaceship. Peck, he wasn't even sure if it really was a spaceship, even as he stood in what felt like the engine room and the lass almost skipped through the rooms. He followed down a hallway, coming up on a large central room-- a hub of sorts, almost like the lobby at Dead Bird. A massive window took up the entirety of one wall, and he moved closer to look through it at the view. The ship(?) looked down over the whole planet he'd lived on, with its clear biomes and large moon. Subcon, the desert, the mountains, that town with the Mafia lads… he could almost trace the railroads on the planet surface from how many times he'd followed them, and the desert looked just as large as it had felt when he was younger. From up here, it felt like he'd only seen a tiny bit of it, despite having traveled for decades. 

Maybe it was because he’d been unable to exist in that world for so long that just seeing it felt wrong.

When he turned to see where the lass had gone, she had vanished, but one of the doors was open still, so he walked down that path, through a hallway again. The first thing he could identify was a bed, a simple canopy bed.

…How long’s it been since I could actually sleep?

It took him a moment longer to realize that the shape in the middle of the room was the lass looking through a telescope. Even with practice, he still tended to identify people based on how they moved, or if they moved at all, but it was embarrassing to realize how few people were identifiable by just silhouette. Walter and Grooves were easy-- the lass was mostly just clear from her top hat, and now, as she seemed to wear something else entirely, he could hardly tell if it was her or some other being.

“...Peck,” he mumbled, knowing she likely wouldn’t hear. “Lass? That’s you, right?”

She drew back, looking at the telescope. At least separate, he could see… well, there was a ponytail. He remembered that from her running around the train. Oh, and he could vaguely see her cape. That made things easier. No one else would really wear a cape, especially one that looked nice enough that Grooves would let them keep it. It made him smile a little bit to realize that, and he walked over. 

“Oh, thank cod, I had no peckin’ clue it was really y-” he started, but was interrupted by his own screaming when the ground dropped out from under them. Luckily for the lass, she had an umbrella so her feet landed gracefully on the ground below. Unluckily for him, he did not, and his feet were not what his the ground first, as that honor went to his hands and face, with his feet ranking a solid fifth in line.

He grumbled as he stood, brushing himself off. “Yeh gotta be kiddin’ me…”

Subcon stretched out before him, with its purple grass and dead trees. The place used to be uncomfortably humid, or so he remembered-- he hadn't been able to feel that dampness in decades, and he couldn't exactly see it in how others looked when mostly everyone there was dead. The only one who could was the lass. He cast a glance her way, only to receive no new information there: she was already looking around, gathering nearby pons, and nearly skipping. It wasn't like she knew he was there, or even could tell him if he was right. He hadn't been able to hear much of anything in so, so long…

Best I find something I can do around here. Maybe if I got some fire spirits ta talk ta her…

He started walking, crossing his arms as he went. He could feel something watching him, but couldn't figure out who or what it was. The Subconites and Dwellers always ignored him on prior visits, and even the Snatcher had never seen him when he tagged along with Walter. No, it was the fire spirits who cared to pay attention, and if that meant he had to deal with the circular conversations, it was better than nothing.

Usually, he'd walk through some of the fires to find the nearest group, but this time, he could hear the fire crackling in another direction, and the gentle music they seemed to emanate led right along the same path that was open to anyone else. He didn't bother running-- the closest timepiece was still a while away, and the lass was running down the path behind him according to the bit of movement out of his peripheral vision, so he didn't need to worry about that. She'd make her own way to wherever she was going, and he'd find his way there on his own. Even if she left without him, she'd probably be back for one timepiece or another, and then he could just tag along with her again. No need to worry. It had to be fine. 

He continued on the path, but stopped at the first odd shape in the road. All he could see was the silhouette, yes, but through the silhouette of a cage, he could see something colorful inside. Green and red, it seemed-- dull colors that still stood out in the deep purples and blues he'd been living in for so long. He'd forgotten colors like that even existed, only the cool yellow of his hands and the brighter purple of his tie any sort of change from the world of silhouettes. He stepped through the cage, and knelt by the object.

It was spherical, and rather large, actually. He estimated it was about a quarter of his size. Even at a glance, with any visible texture, he could identify it as a ball of yarn.

…So I can see yarn? That's peckin' borin’. I hoped it'd be somethin' big, like… seein’ Grooves' face, or seein’ Walter as he is now… I need ta know if he gets more white feathers or if it’s just the ones he’s always had.

He got up with a huff, and went to walk through the yarn as he had done with the cage. Instead, his foot made contact.

“Whadda what?” he asked himself, then looked closer at the yarn. It was still, quite literally, just a ball of yarn. Nothing too special about it, except the fact that it was there and he could touch it. Another attempt to walk through kicked the yarn into the air, but it simply bumped into the cage around it before bumping back into him. He stared at it for another moment, trying to understand what was going on, when another movement caught his attention.

The lass had caught up, and she was studying the situation. He kicked the yarn again, and she hurried over, looking through the bars of the cage.

“So yeh see the yarn too, lass?” he asked. “That’s new.”

She walked off a bit, picking up something else. That much, he could recognize-- the Subcon apples. The owls had always just said “fruit,” but he’d always seen them as apples, and that was how he’d always see them. Besides, no one was going to correct him now. One of the dwellers nearby moved into it, and he jumped to his feet. He’d seen this before, in old experiments-- both his own and the science owls’. The scars hadn’t faded enough after all those years.

“Lass, yeh gotta throw it, those things’re--”

She tossed it into the air, and it exploded there.

“Oh, thank cod. I thought yeh…” He sighed. “...Too close ta yer chest, there. Those things… Yeh gotta be careful with explosives. An’--”

She picked up a second.

“LASS, WHAT THE PECK!?” he exclaimed, flapping his arms. “Why’re yeh just--!”

Another throw, another explosion. With that, the cage fell apart, and he managed to breathe.

“Lassie, yer gonna give me a heart attack,” he grumbled. “Dinnae touch those fruits. Safety first, yeh know?”

She didn’t even seem to notice, and she ran through him again. After a moment, she picked up the ball of yarn. She tossed it between her hands, then put it into her hat. 

“...Both of us can touch it?” he breathed. “But… Nothin’s worked like that…”

She hurried past him, off towards the village. All he could do was follow, hoping that she’d do something with that yarn.

…Maybe…?

Chapter Text

DJ Grooves was deep in the editing booth when the young lass returned, bursting into the front of Dead Bird Studios like a science owl with a discovery. Walter barely stopped her from barreling through the doors, holding her back by her cape with his claws.

“Lass, DJ is busy. If you want to talk to him, you can tell me, or--”

She dumped a pile of yarn on the desk, and looked up at him expectantly. He paused, looking at it all.

Most of the yarn was red and white, though some were purple and yellow. The one on top, most likely her latest acquisition, was a dull green and brown-- the only one of its kind.

“...That's a lot of yarn you have there,” Walter finally said, unsure what else he could or should say. In cases where he didn't have a real answer, DJ usually understood the obvious observations as attempts to respond. The lass, fortunately, seemed to get it too. She grinned, nodding, and pointed at the yarn, followed by her hat.

“...You want to use some of this to make a hat?”

“Uh-huh!” she answered. After a moment, she took her hat off, pulled out a paper and crayons, and started drawing a quick design-- an orange fox mask.

…It felt too familiar for Walter's liking. Despite how often he'd visited Snatcher, it was still easier to identify as a mask the residents might've worn when they were alive instead of as a Dweller's mask. He nodded, hoping the dryness in his mouth would go away over time. The lass, for her credit, didn't seem to mind.

She gathered up her yarn balls again, and ran into the studio before Walter could stop her. He trailed after her, only able to catch up once she'd stopped on the left side of the studio and dropped her supplies, letting the yarn bounce a bit as it fell. She flopped on the ground, and Walter sat down a bit away, his knees cracking as he did. 

“...Any plans?”

She nodded, and began to draw again-- a brown square, tape, glue, and scissors.

“...cardboard?”

“Uh-huh!”

Walter got up once more, and he walked only a few feet to grab the tape, glue, and scissors from an abandoned work table. The cardboard took a bit longer to grab, as it was actually put away for once, but even then it was just stuck in the cabinet where it belonged-- still within eyesight of where she was. The lass’s eyes lit up, and as soon as he set the cardboard down, she began to draw the shape of the mask. Walter, on the other hand, moved to the side, grabbing a hole punch for when they needed to add a way to keep it on. That was the last thing they needed before he could sit down on the floor beside her, joining her in the effort to make the mask look nice.

Even with just orange crayons to color it with, he had a steady hand, steady enough to distribute the colors as they should be while the lass worked on cutting out a snout. She looked overjoyed to see the progress he'd made when she looked over, waving her arms about with glee. Walter couldn't help but smile.

“Alright, lass, but we cannae have you draining your energy too much before we're done. Keep some of it with you.” It was a line his grandfather had said a million times when Walter had been her age, just as excited and just as happy to watch an experiment taking shape. She nodded, and kept going on her part.

With glue and plenty of pressure, the snout was attached, followed quickly by pieces of yarn around the eye holes-- the brown parts of the green and brown yarn-- before they let it sit. At least, that was what Walter planned to do. The lass, instead, began work on a second mask.

“Hm? Do you need a second for something?”

“Uhhh…” she trailed off, then shrugged. More complicated than that, it seemed.

“Is it for someone else?”

That much got a nod out of her.

“Is it someone at the studio?”

Nod.

“...Is it… DJ? Or myself?”

She shook her head.

“So one of the penguins?”

Another head shake, as she finished cutting out the basic shape of a new mask. This one had less in the way of a snout area, instead looking more like an eye mask with tall ears. She set it on Walter's face, then took it off, nodding as she began to cut out where the eyes likely were.

“...But there's no one else here? I dinnae understand…”

“Echo,” she said. The same word DJ had tried to explain before, using her drawing and an attempt to understand what it meant. He still wasn't certain of the definition, but he already knew who she was referring to.

“The ‘ghost’, as DJ puts it.”

She nodded as she finished cutting out one eye, jabbing the scissors through to start on another. The lass didn't even stop for a little bit, only continued rushing. With a bit of looking at the yarn, Walter paused.

“Oh, lass, I’ve seen a bit like that around here, actually. Blue yarn, cold to the touch. I could grab it for you?”

Her eyes lit up as she finished cutting the eye. She looked up at him like he’d offered her the stars themselves. Before he could say anything, she dropped her supplies, grabbing him in a tight hug. He froze, but eventually, he replied in kind, awkwardly patting her back.

“...There, there? It’s just yarn to me… Besides, I’m nae one to like the cold. It’ll be better to get it in the hands of someone who might appreciate it.”

She let go after a while, cheerfully nodding, as he walked out. Where was the nearest one he’d seen… there was something near some of the bigger abandoned sets, at least. It wouldn’t take too long to reach those, since he was already on that half of the studio. 

A ball of yarn fell off of a nearby fake radio tower, landing at his feet. The same yarn he’d been looking for, right there. Walter looked around, picking it up, and he tossed it in the air to keep it out of his hands. After a moment, another ball of yarn-- green and brown, like the lone one he’d seen before-- appeared.

It was floating, somehow. It didn’t move much in the air, like someone was holding it steady. He simply stared up at the yarn, missing the catch that time as he watched up there.

“What in the world…?”

Walter moved back a bit as the yarn fell down near the ladder, only to float back into the air after a bit. It hovered closer, rocking away and towards him, before the yarn tapped him on the beak. He grabbed it, pulling, but it pulled back, dragging him along. Something was determined to hold onto that thing, no matter what. Finally, he let go, stumbling. “What even-- What are you?” he asked the ball of yarn, frustrated. “What do you want from me?”

It just floated there. Silent. 

All he could do was follow it as it started to move back the way he’d come.

He reached the lass before the shadow of Walter did, turning back with a grin. “Hah, beat yeh,” he joked, as if it had been a childish race. Walter only tried to bat the yarn out of his hand once more, clearly irritated. On the other hand, the lass looked up at it with awe, and jumped to her feet. She had… Something in her hands. He couldn’t distinguish the shapes well enough to identify it, but it had a weird feeling to it. As she reached up with one hand to take the yarn from his, she brought the new item to her face. 

“Boop!” she said, her voice crystal clear as she grabbed it from his hand, then jumped back, as if just now seeing something.

“Hello, lassie,” he said, tipping his hat.

“Hello?”

“I’m nae gonna hurt yeh. Promise. I’ve already learnt that lesson.” He raised both hands, showing them to be empty. “I’ve nae got much reason ta do it anyway. Or any reason. Do I sound nervous? I’m really nervous. Havenae spoken ta anyone fer the past…. What year is it?”

She turned to Walter, and tapped her wrist, where a watch would usually be. He moved his mouth, but he couldn’t hear a word. Her bright eyes turned dull again, her colors draining as he watched her. As they spoke, the air was completely silent, until finally she lit up again.

“Fifty!”

“Fifty… Plus the twenty b’fore that… An’ a bit in the middle… So, seventy-five years.” He paused. “...Hah, guess it took yeh the same amount of time. Should’ve expected that.” He knelt down to take her arms, looking up at her. For a moment, he could hold her, his heart racing at the thought. “Lass, I need yeh ta help me. Walter-- I need ta talk ta him an’ Grooves at the same time. An’ that mask thing’s the only way it’s--”

She raised a finger, and picked up the second mask. This one lacked a snout area, making it much easier to fit with Walter’s beak. He shook his head, as the lass became a dull color once more, his hands falling right through her arms like they’d never been there at all. The same silhouetted purple, all over again.

Until finally, Walter turned into a fully-fledged person. 

His white coat and markings were nearly blindingly so, his yellow feathers brighter than he’d ever seen his own, a confused look on his face. That green tie, the same green tie he’d always worn when he was working on the Science Express.

“...Walt…” he breathed, looking at him. Walter stepped away.

“Who-- What-- Why do you look like me?”

“You wouldnae believe me,” he answered, shaking his head. “An’ even if I told yeh who I was, yeh wouldnae ken a thing about it.”

“...You’re that thing from my dreams, aren’t you?”

“Dreams, yeah. I think. Sometimes it was like a dream, when I could get yeh or Grooves ta look at me.”

The color faded, Walter turning back to a blurred silhouette. It took a moment for both him and the lass to return.

“These masks have a timed period that they work before they have to cool down, so it’s a bit difficult to hold a proper conversation, but I need to know who you are and what you want,” Walter quickly said, his words stumbling into each other. He’d never been one to talk fast, unlike his counterpart in the void, but he tried.

“I want ta talk ta yeh and Grooves. Tell yeh everythin’ I know an’ go home. Back ta where things were normal.” He reached for one of Walter’s hands, but he pulled it away. “...Conductor. Me name’s Conductor.”

Walter’s shock was evident even just looking at his eyebrows, and the timer ended at the most inopportune moment. The two birds waited impatiently for it to refresh before Walter turned to the lass, saying something. She grinned, and got on her hands and knees, as she had been when Conductor had gotten there. The lass was back to work on… Something. And every moment she did that meant she wasn’t going to rejoin the conversation.

“She’s going to make another mask so that you can use it. We can switch off who’s doing it at a time so that both of us can hear the other, and see each other. In the meantime-- Your name explains so much-- That’s why I haven’t felt comfortable with the title… Because you’re supposed to be that--”

“Different timeline, I think, but yeah. It was me name. That an’ one other, but… I think I forgot it.” He shook his head. “B’fore the lass showed up, it was the last thing I heard anyone else say, though.”

Walter gave a little hm, then tapped his cheek. “We need to go talk to DJ--”

Another timeout. Walter threw up his hands in clear irritation, something that Conductor could recognize even without words or any clear visual. He gestured for the air a bit to Conductor’s right to follow him, then started walking, tapping his mask every now and then until the colors returned.

“We’re talking to DJ and telling him we’ve figured out how to talk to the ghost-echo-thing.”

“Ghost? Eh… I guess.” Conductor shook his head. “I’m nae sure I’d call meself a ghost, but--”

“The mask is from Subcon, Conductor. It’s going to be ghost-related. Besides, with how you’ve been haunting us, it’s an apt title.”

“Fine. Fine, guess I’m a peckin’ ghost.”

“Hey. Language.”

“Granddad’s nae here ta ground me fer swearin’, Walt.”

“...Granddad? You call him--” he started, and though he kept talking, Conductor couldn’t hear a word. They passed over to the other end of the studio, and to a small office that he’d seen a thousand times before. He’d stopped by that room so many times, sitting with Grooves as he worked on a computer-- Even beforehand, Conductor had popped in there to pester him every now and then, usually to complain about something that no one other than Grooves would understand. Now, he stood outside, awkwardly waiting as Walter knocked, then turned to him. He took off the mask and opened the door, walking over to Grooves and giving him the mask, speaking once more. Conductor could only assume the words-- A lot of explanation, apologies for not having any real scientific proof, and instructions on what to do. Grooves removed his sunglasses, shading his eyes with one hand until the mask was on.

The colors spread through him like a ripple in water, breathing life into the silhouette that Conductor had spent so many years watching. He’d seen him winning awards, dancing, laughing, having fun, living the life he’d always deserved. Grooves’ red jacket still hung on his shoulders, white fluff poking out from between the two lapels, and blue jeans at his waist. His wig was off, letting his blue feathers see the light for just a bit, and he stared at Conductor with two dark eyes.

“...Peck,” Conductor breathed. “I… I forgot how bright yer jacket was.” He coughed, looking away first, unable to meet his eyes. The last time they’d seen each other like this-- the last time Grooves had even seen him as a person-- had been in that horrible basement, right before… Right before…

…He couldn’t remember exactly what had happened after the timepiece broke, only that he’d woken up next to the nest in Subcon, watching as his brother went on alone. He hadn’t realized how much he’d forgotten until he was forced to put it all together.

“Er, Conductor?” Grooves asked, cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

His voice.

The last thing he’d heard before breaking the timepiece.

“...Connor,” Conductor answered. “You can call me Connor.”

Chapter Text

The whole quartet gathered in Conductor’s half of the studio-- near enough to the front doors that it would be easy to leave, far enough that no one would walk in on them. After a half-hour, Walter had managed to rig up a machine using a metronome, two masks, a microphone, and a couple of speakers. 

“So,” Conductor said, trying saying anything. “Can yeh hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Grooves answered, offering a thumbs-up. “Good on your end?”

“Yep.” He sat down on a nearby crate, reaching into a pocket. After all those years, even with his best attempts, he hadn’t managed to make a cigarette, even when he needed one most. Disappointing.

“...So. Let’s run everything you said through from the top. You’re from an alternate timeline--”

“Uh-huh,” the lass nodded.

“And in that timeline, you’re my brother. My younger brother. And… I died. In the same event that my granddad died.”

“Yep. That’s right.”

“So… Why wasn’t I on the train?”

“You were mad at me,” Conductor admitted. “I’d stayed on ta watch the awards. Yeh wanted me ta come with, but… I said no.”

“Granddad wanted me to watch the train, so he told me I’d have to stay back.”

“...Guess I was watchin’ it.”

“I guess so.” Walter sighed. “...But from there, you came here too, and started making movies, as DJ’s rival.”

“Yep.”

“Would explain a lot, darling,” Grooves said. “Would explain how weird the awards usually feel--”

“Except for year 40,” both he and Conductor finished.

“...’cept it was 42 fer me. Yeh got there a bit later here.”

“I had to save the money--”

“Since I wasnae there ta pay the other half.”

Grooves pinched the bit of his face just above his beak. 

“So. We want you out of the studio, you want to go home, and the lass is the only one who really knows anything about time travel?”

Conductor nodded, forgetting that they couldn’t see him.

“...Lass, could you look for anything you have on this? Anything about how to fix things here.”

She hummed a bit, and finally nodded, leaving through the other door. The three were, as such, completely alone.

If it doesnae work, then… I'll have ta accept this.  

The silence hung between them like a sandbag, dangling from the rafters and threatening to fail any minute.

Conductor fidgeted with his hands, and he looked between the other two as they glanced at each other and then back to where they knew he was.

“...I'm scared,” he said softly, even though the lass wouldn’t hear either way. “Grooves, back home, yeh would’ve been so worried about--

“I know,” Grooves said. “I’m a bit nervous too, just from the bit you’ve told us. I don't know what any of us can do other than this, though.”

“Rig up a camera with one of those mask things, an’ start shootin’ ghost movies.” Conductor crossed his arms. “Simple as that.”

“...I'm not sure that'd actually work,” Walter admitted. “She said that it had to be activated--”

“It's workin’ with the microphone--”

“Because of what I hooked up, nothing else. It's not a permanent solution, Connor.”

He groaned. It was always Walter who would say something about the logic, sure, but that didn't mean he actually wanted to hear it. Not now, when so much was already at stake. 

“I'm nae gonna just stay here like this then! It's peckin' horrible ta just watch all the time, an’ if yeh cannae even hear me again, then what's the point in--”

That, unfortunately, was when the lass returned, carrying a timepiece and a piece of paper. 

“Okay!” She cheerfully said, as if she’d heard nothing he said, and handed the paper off to Walter. Connor wanted to look over his shoulder, but even from a few feet away, he could see the problem: the paper was nothing more than a wavering shape on his end. Maybe it was handwritten, maybe it was a perfectly folded pamphlet, maybe it was a magical paper that scrolled like a phone. He’d have no idea any which way.

“...To fix an echo, the easiest way is often to fight the echo using whatever materials are commonly used to fight ghosts, destroying it,” Walter read. Grooves' face sank, his posture following suit.

“We can't--”

“But. There is another way: if the echo can show you where the timepiece was broken, and another timepiece is broken at the same spot, the resulting rift can get an echo back to their proper timeline. However, the Keeper will also need to pass through the rift and close it on this end once the echo is through, or the rift will grow and consume this timeline.” Walter looked up. “...I'm assumin’ you're the keeper,” he said, looking at the lass. She nodded.

“Is that really safe?” Grooves asked. “Sending a young girl in--”

“Uh-huh!”

“...Darling, you can't be older than thirteen. I can't imagine how much stress it is to have to save the world.”

“Ehhh…”

“And I don't want you to have to do it alone.”

“I'll be there,” Conductor pointed out. “So she's nae alone.”

“Great. Sending the girl in with what's essentially a ghost. Greatest idea we've ever had,” Grooves answered with what was most likely a glare. “Do you really--”

“I'm nae one ta scoff at, Grooves. I know what I'm peckin' doin'! The basement was twice as bad ta get through back home, an’ if yeh think either of yeh can keep up, yer peckin' wrong!”

“I'm not saying it because I doubt you can keep up or try to help, darling. I'm saying it because I doubt that you can actually help. As in, reaching out and taking her hand.”

Conductor crossed his arms with an exaggerated huff. 

“I can’t tell what you look like right now, but I’m assuming you’re pouting, so stop it.”

“Bah.”

“Returning to reading this…” Walter looked down. “These rifts, referred to as ‘pink rifts’ due to their color, are usually more complex than those that spawn from broken timepieces. However, this is the only way to return an echo to its original timeline that does not involve sacrificing the current timeline.” 

There was a long moment of quiet.

“...Wait, that’s all it says?” Conductor asked.

“I’m not hiding another page from you. It ends there.”

“Then let’s do it! No time like the present--”

“Darling, the little girl could get--”

“She’s stronger than yeh think. I know it.” He glared, despite knowing none of them could see him. “Trust her. Please .”

“...Do we really have a choice?” Walter pointed out. “It just says that the keeper has to do it… And if the world lost you, DJ…” 

He and Grooves looked at each other. Conductor couldn’t even look at them.

“...Forgot ta ask yeh both. Are yeh… Well… A thing?”

“You--” Grooves paused, then brought a flipper to his beak. “Oh, darling.”

“I know that tone. That’s yer ‘that’s peckin’ stupid’ tone.”

“Well, it's not that idiotic…” Grooves chuckled. “It's more of a… Well, how do I explain it? Walter, I know you know the words.”

“Queer-platonic partnership.”

“Yes, that, exactly! So, yes, in a platonic way.”

For some reason, hearing that made Conductor feel the tiniest bit better, though he couldn't put a finger on why. Probably because I'd want ta keep Grooves away from datin’ me brother.

“...Good. I was worried I’d missed me own brother’s first boyfriend.” Conductor managed a laugh. “That’s all I wanted ta know. Knowin’ yer both livin’ yer lives… an’ yer happy. All I want is for the two of yeh ta stay happy here. In this timeline.” He smiled, though his throat felt tight. “...An’ I’m sorry.”

“For… for what?” Grooves asked, confused. 

“Fer hauntin’ yeh both this long.” He took his hat in hand, pulling it down. “Lass? Grab one of those masks; I’ll get some yarn. We’ve got a walk ta do.”

She followed the floating ball of yarn, humming a little tune as she skipped through the studio. The basement, as messy as it was, still wasn’t anywhere near as bad as her time jumping around Mafia Town when it was on fire. It wasn’t even like the ball of yarn slowed down much-- It had the same movement patterns as her, despite the different terrain for both of them, so it was more of a fun challenge to follow it directly than something she had to worry about. Over wires, around boxes, through hallways and dressing rooms… The basement seemed never-ending until finally, finally, it reached an end. The ball of yarn stopped by an elevator, letting her hit the button as it stood a bit to the side.

“...We’re almost there,” Conductor said when she activated the mask. “Sorry yeh had ta come all this way. The whole basement’s a peckin’ mess. Even if it’s nae quite as bad as it was when I was here too… Walt musta been fixin’ it up, keepin’ it better than Grooves an’ I ever did.” He chuckled, looking at her, then away. The mask stopped just before she could take his hand, unable to comfort him, but the moment that she activated it again, he could tell he was trying to hold hers. They stepped into the final elevator together, descending through the rest of the studio. 

The place was huge, in her opinion-- With sound-stuff and sets and stages and all that storage and so many more “S” words that she didn’t know, the whole place was filled to the brim with interesting things, things she unfortunately couldn’t explore until her job was done. Time had to be fixed before she could really look around for yarn and tokens and everything else.

Annoying, yeah, but part of the job as a time traveler. 

The elevator finally arrived deep below the surface, opening with a quiet ding. She stepped out, looking around the room.

The place was clearly a party room-- multicolored, light-up floor in the middle, with a kitchen on her right and a small bar on the left. The tables on both levels on either side were empty, but tastefully decorated with jars of flowers and deep blue tablecloths. On the other side of the room, there was a stage framed by dark red curtains, matching the red carpets leading up both sets of stairs. Though the place looked clean, it had a feeling she recognized.

The sensation of a time rift.

She tapped her mask to find Conductor standing in the middle of the room, looking up at the stage.

“...Lass, if yeh dinnae want ta follow me, I’d understand,” he said, softer than most of his other statements. “Yeh ken it’s dangerous, an’ if it was me in yer shoes, with what I know… I’d leave me fer dead.”

She tilted her head with a little “Huh?” to entice him to go on, but he didn’t, only walking to the edge of the stage and pushing back the curtains to reveal a set of stairs. He used those to walk up, though she simply hopped up the middle, letting the mask’s duration lapse just as she reached the middle of the stage.

Hat Kid could feel it. There was a difference in the air-- A wavering sensation that shouldn’t be there. Another time distortion, just like she’d felt when she stepped into the left half of the studio.

He was already next to her when the mask activated again. He gestured to the room.

“This is where I was. When I…” He sighed. “...We fought. I tried ta kill yeh. Because I wanted ta… I dinnae know. Somethin’. I thought I was gonna do somethin’ great. But… Well. Yeh know.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “...I pecked up everythin’ instead.”

She didn't respond except for a look. It wasn't unexpected, really-- He looked really sorry from the first time they met, and he'd been nothing but kind to her, but it was a common problem with people who weren't Keepers and timepieces. She'd heard the stories, and she'd seen Mu’s reaction. It wasn't that hard to imagine someone else falling to the thought of changing the past. It sounded cool at first. And then the reality always came crashing in.

Time was fluid, yeah, but it really, REALLY didn't like change. Things would just get worse if people tried without experience.

Wonder what he tried to change. Had to be something big…

Instead of wondering more, she took out the timepiece, took a deep breath, and smashed it on the ground. 

The rift formed in the air, a small pink thing that spiraled into existence. Its shape quickly grew, until it was about the size of her head. It fluctuated after a moment, rippling when Conductor probably entered, and there was only one thing she could do.

She hopped in after him, ready to face whatever was next.

Chapter Text

For the first time in ages, Conductor could actually see things without a timer.

He glanced around the space, uncertain of where he was, and blinked a few times. Honestly, they hadn't gone far. The two of them stood in the same basement, only a few feet away from the stage. The tables dotting both sides of the room were gone, replaced by curtains to block off both wings. Instead, there was only the stage and what was commonly used as a dance floor.

His name still decorated the backdrop, as well as his personal branding. Movie props, things he hadn't seen in decades.

It felt childish to be emotional over a cardboard cactus. And yet he still was.

“...Lassie, it's been… peck, seventy-five years since I was here like this. Made the place me own fer me celebration that night. I'd won the award again, an’ I got the basement all ta meself… I had the timepiece, too. As I said, I tried ta kill yeh. Thought that was me only way ta keep the timepiece. An’... Well.”

She shrugged, and hopped onto stage, pointing to a pipe structure on the stage where he had been just before entering the rift. He looked closely at it.

“...This thing's new, though. Never seen--”

The lass grinned, and hopped into it, sliding down the side of the pipe and into the unknown. All he could do was scramble after her, doing his best to fall feet-first.

As soon as he fell, he landed, without any sensation of having dropped at all. It was bizarre, with no other way he could explain it. He glanced up, but there was no pipe, nothing they could've fallen out of. Instead, there was only the upper part of the main theater, where the light crew had set up the correct angles, colors, and lenses for the latest show.

The awards ceremony, of course. Very few other shows happened there anymore. The whole auditorium was blank, despite the hundreds of chairs facing towards the stage and the award still sitting on the podium. It glistened in the light of the spotlights, reflective and beautiful as ever. No one else was there to claim it except for them.

“...I told yeh, I used ta win a lot of awards. Fifty-three years in a row, except fer one. Nearly killed me when I lost. Thought that I'd never win again after that. Couldnae imagine stayin’ in a world where I didnae matter.” He traced the velvet of the seats, pushed a seat down, and left the springs to bring it back up. “It was Grooves who got me ta keep goin’. Got me back on me feet when I was close ta leavin’.” He chuckled a little. “Yeh ken, he’s a peckin’ peckneck, but… I still cared. Yer probably nae listenin’ ta me--”

The little lass was busy running around all over the place-- jumping off walls to get onto scaffolding to reach balconies, checking under seats and between rows for anything at all. Not a word he said seemed to reach her, but there was nothing there to hurt them outside of a fall, so he didn’t worry much. 

“...Yer nae listenin’. So I can keep talkin’. I’m nae sure what the rest of the owls’re doin’. Thought of trackin’ ‘em down durin’ those years, but… There’s dozens of ‘em, one of me. Couldnae keep track of so many. Saw a few workin’ with Walt, at least, some still ride the train…” Conductor walked to the front of the room, standing beside the award. It was at least three times his height, just like the one they’d kept in a back room for the award season and photo ops. It still looked as shiny as it had the day they’d built it-- with a little bit of extra copper paint, and a dash of work to make it reflective, it had truly been a proper build, something he was proud of. Besides, the bits of copper made the gold pop more. 

He laid a hand on it, and smiled. “...When I get back, I’ll appreciate what I’ve got. Better ta have fifty-two than none, yeah?”

The lass joined him, then immediately jumped up again, trying to reach the top of the award. He shook his head, and stuck out his hands. “Lass? I’ll boost yeh up, jus’ jump on me hands.”

She looked at him, then did as told, just in time for him to push upwards with all his might. She landed on top with ease, looking around, before hopping back down.

“Thanks!”

“No problem, lassie. Let’s see what’s next.” He gestured to a large pipe just offstage, where he’d stood for every award that Grooves had won in that other universe. She ran to it, and quickly jammed something into indents on the side. Before Conductor could even say a word, she was going through an open vault, and he had to follow.

When they landed this time, they stood in the studio, where a large crane moved some boxes around, and the sets were being slowly constructed. The place itself was just as open as it had been those first few days, with the two of them working hard to build things. However, they weren’t alone-- Some spiders lingered on spiderwebs high above, dropping down when they dared near. A few owls had made their way inside, but seemed more ghostly than anything, trembling and holding clipboards as if they were their lifeblood. Worst of all, a set of fire spirits had set up camp in the center, blocking off any way for them to cross into his half. 

“Peck,” he muttered. The lass, however, didn’t seem bothered. She just kept going. Conductor clung to his hat, and ran after her in an attempt to keep up.

The owls didn’t seem to notice them until they were close, when they all jumped to panicking. One threw their clipboard at the lass, only for Conductor to hit it from a distance with a knife from his pocket. The clipboard flew off track, missing her by a mile as she pulled out her umbrella, jumping about the crates.

Another clipboard. Another knife. He ducked under an attack from another owl, and scrambled up the crates, smashing the hilt of his knife directly into their glasses. Instead of shattering across the ground like normal, the fragments hovered in the air, unwilling to fall. 

“What th--”

The owl smacked him with their clipboard, and he fell back, swearing as the owl tried to fly away. They didn’t get far, thanks to the lass jumping in, hitting it with her umbrella before it could hit the ground. Conductor turned to the last owl, and ran forwards, ducking another attack only to come in with a slide, aiming to sweep the legs.

Just as before, the portion of the owl’s body only fractured, but they didn’t fall. Conductor came up on the other side, slashing downwards just in time to tear the owl’s body in half and stop it from striking the lass. She gave him a thumbs-up, and he returned it. 

Before going anywhere else though, she pointed up, at a ledge only a few feet out of reach. He nodded, and held out his hands, offering her another lift. She sprung upwards, and grabbed onto the ledge, scrambling up. After a moment, she tossed something down, then hopped down herself, using her umbrella to float safely down.

“Whatcha got here?” Conductor asked, looking at it. For some reason, there was a framed painting, with an owl caught in silent screaming. Their glasses were askew, and a bottle of some sort of reagent hung in the air above them. All he knew was that he shouldn’t be looking at it. She grabbed it, carried it to the place where the fire spirits were dancing, and tossed it into the fire without a second thought.

Conductor stared, trying to come up with a proper response. After a few seconds, he decided against the attempt, instead just shaking his head. 

Next, she ran towards the crane, scaling the back of it to slide off and onto the crates it carried. From there, she picked up a second painting-- This one of a strange creature he couldn’t identify. Some sort of… bush-thing? He didn’t know. All he could tell was that it wasn’t happy to be caught in that image either. She tossed it down to where he was, and he picked it up. She pointed to the fire.

“This way!”

“Lass, why’re we burnin’ these things?” 

“Go!”

“Okay, okay…” He approached the fire spirits awkwardly, doing his best to keep some distance. It felt wrong to be so close to their fire. Wrong to even be around fire spirits at all. Even so, he threw the painting into the flames, and let it burn.

“Thank you!” they cheered, as they too burned out. He tried to hold onto one’s hand, but they were gone before he could get a grip, like the embers and smoke they always praised.

The lass hopped down, and cheerfully took his hand, pulling him forwards. He only followed, his heart still racing just from being near those paintings and spirits.

On his half of the studio, the spiders had taken residence, as well as some raccoons. Most of those looked different from the ones he’d seen before-- Where most things were in full color, these were just green, like how they’d seemed in the other dimension.

“I’ve got those, lass. Yeh keep goin’ fer… Whatever yer lookin’ fer.” 

“Okay!” she answered, letting go, and took off for where the spiders hung. Conductor turned to the raccoons, readying his knife.

“Let’s get this over with, laddies.”

They dropped around him, a few baring teeth and claws. He spun around, slashing again, and stabbed at the ones that dared get close. When they didn’t go down, he hopped onto the back of one, using the knife to take down a nearby raccoon as it floated around. It fell into the pits of Dead Bird Studios, never to come back up. The others, however, didn’t take so kindly to that, even as one or two fell back into their slumber.

Down came the knife again, breaking through the body of one to leave only fragments of something green. An upward slash took out another, and a stab left one as only a green shape of nondescript parts. The rest were easy to take care of once he separated them, though he left the ones he stepped on for last, keeping them down until it was their turn.

It was fine, anyway. They weren’t real, whatever they were. This “rift” was clearly some sort of place between worlds, where the only real things were them. Even so, he didn’t dare go forward on his own, keeping the lass close.

What if we ended up in different places? Or worse-- different rifts? I’d be pecked. She’d be pecked. She’s the one I should worry about-- She’s got a peckin’ life ta live, a long one. I’ve just gotta get back ta the others back home. 

He only moved on once the lass had returned and picked up something from the floor. She took his hand to guide him on, and nearly pulled him to the next hatch, sitting where he usually kept his office.

Of course. His office. Where else would it be? 

This time, the moment it was open, he jumped in first, and she was the one to follow.

Conductor didn’t have to open his eyes to recognize the space he was in once he landed. The scent of wood and smoke, the sound of machinery and wind, the feeling of movement-- he knew he was on the train immediately, and above all else, it felt like home. He took a deep breath, smiled, and finally opened his eyes to look around.

The train wasn’t itself, of course. The space had been warped beyond belief, with sections that couldn’t possibly be there in the geometry of the train cars. Then again, with how much the science owls had experimented with space/time, it made sense that the space would be messed up.

“Peckin’ hate when they mess with me train, though,” he muttered. The lass blinked.

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothin’. Reminded me of some ol’ folks that I knew when I was yer age.”

“Ohhhh…” She nodded, but he knew that she didn’t understand any of it. Instead, she looked around the space.

“The pipe’s probably up higher,” he noted. “High enough that we’d have problems with reachin’ it without help. Best way is ta start climbin’ on the platforms. Follow me.” He climbed onto the boiler, apologizing mentally to the train the entire time. She followed him up with ease. From there, he jumped to one platform, then another, slowly gaining height with each one he landed on. A ladder here, a double-jump there, a swing on a hook on the other side, anything he could do. Each swing was uncomfortable since he had left his actual tools for traversal back in his own dimension, but it had to do. He had to keep going up, and lead the lass along.

That didn’t mean she didn’t take a few detours, hopping off to grab extra little things along the way-- pons, of some sort? She bounced from springboards as an icy statue (Immediately unfrozen once she got near to him, thank cod) and ran up walls to reach places he thought impossible. It wasn’t a path he would take, and each time she almost fell, his heart froze. Even so, she still caught back up, smiling just the same.

“We’re almost out.” He pointed upwards a bit more. “...Doesnae feel like me train at all.”

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “Sky!”

“Yeah, really is. Just sky an’ the sand below…” He glanced down, immediately regretting it. “Dinnae do that. Long way down. Peck.”

She laughed, at least. He climbed onto the next platform, then another, then the one with the pipe. Though it clearly led to nothing, he still waited there for her to open it. The lass jumped up, trying a double jump to reach his platform--

It wasn’t enough.

She started to fall. 

He reached out, grabbing her arm with both of his hands, and yanked her back, desperately trying to find any leverage on the platform. Though it was slick, and his old dress shoes lacked as much traction as they once had, he still pulled back, stepping whenever the sliding was too much, until he fell over, and she finally grabbed the edge, pulling herself up from there.

“You alright, lassie?” he asked softly. “Yeh nearly just… That’s a long way down, lass…”

She didn’t speak, as per usual. Instead, she grabbed him in a hug, holding him close.

“Hey, hey… I’d do it fer yeh any time. I’m nae gonna let yeh get hurt on me watch again. Would kill me ta see yeh in trouble like that, if I had a choice.” He brushed a hand over her hair as she buried her head in his shoulder. “I’m nae goin’ anywhere ‘til yer ready to, okay? We can stay here fer as long as yeh want.”

She nodded only a little, but she didn’t move her face. His shoulder grew damp with tears, and he softened, setting his head on her shoulder.

“Hey… hey, hey, I’m here, lassie… It’s okay. It’s okay. We all miss our spots sometimes. I’ve messed up stunts a dozen times. One time I broke me arm over it. It’s normal fer folks ta have a few times they peck up. I’m here.”

She gave him one more squeeze, then finally let go. He smiled at her. 

“Yeh doin’ alright? I’m nae rushin’ yeh. Take yer time. I dinnae ken what’s through here. Could be dangerous.”

She nodded, and stood, adjusting her hat. He followed suit as she put the pons into the indents. In an instant, the hatch sprung open, and the two of them fell together.

The other end chilled him to the bone, even though his extra layers. The lass, in only a loose shirt and cape, shivered, her teeth chattering within seconds. Conductor looked around, and immediately knew why.

“...Subcon. It’s… peck, why’re we here? I changed the awards, why’re we in Subcon?” He grumbled, then turned to the lass. He removed his suitcoat, wrapping it around her shoulders. 

“But--”

“It’s alright. I’m better with warmin’ up. Now, I dinnae have an extra pair of pants, so if yeh want warmer clothes there… Yer on yer own.”

She nodded, and put her arms through the sleeves. It was a little big on her, but she still grinned, and stopped shivering after a bit. The duo turned to the land before them.

“...Lemme guess. We gotta get ta the manor. Peck, this’ll be a mess-- LASSIE!”

She jumped into action, sprinting around the ice that jutted out of the ground and the people fleeing from the manor. The train was starting up in the background, the sound the only good thing in the ruckus. Conductor darted after the little girl, keeping pace despite how much he slid on the ice that was slowly coating the ground.

“Warm air rises-- Get up where yeh can, lassie!” he told her, and she nodded, turning to him. He laced his hands together, and gave her a boost into the trees, while he remained on the ground to follow her from below.

The ice grew taller and taller with time, overtaking buildings and trees, but the lass was still far enough in the air to be safe from most of the cold. Conductor, on the other hand, scrambled around the frozen statues that had been people only seconds before, bracing himself against the icy winds.

Yeh gotta keep goin’. Gotta get through this. Fer the lass, fer everyone back home-- they need ta hear yer sorry, they gotta ken yer gonna make things right too.

He pushed himself even harder, and ran towards a house, forcing his way up the side by digging his claws into the ice like picks. The cold was enough to hurt, but he still made a jump for the nearest ice wall, barely making it over. From there, he could keep running below the lass, towards the castle.

The trees thinned out, and the lass jumped one more time, pulling out her umbrella. He still stayed under her, ready to help if she needed a hand. She floated down, and they hurried towards the castle.

There, on the front porch, was another pipe. She pointed, and nearly skipped ahead, hopping towards the castle in time to avoid another icy wind blowing across the ground.

The cold was unbearable. Conductor nearly fell over, but this time, the lass took his hand, pulling him up the stairs. From there, she dragged him into the pipe, and the cold ended as quickly as it had begun.

They stood in a hallway, one that neither of them recognized at first. Conductor blinked, looking both ways.

“...Wait. I… I think I might’ve been here.”

The air vibrated with energy, setting his teeth on edge. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering once more. Though it wasn’t cold, it felt even worse. A wave of wrongness washed over the area and its purple carpets, and Conductor looked forward only once it passed.

“...Lass, whatever it is… It’s beyond that door.”

She nodded, and stepped forward. He forced himself to join her, and the two pushed it open together.

A bedroom. A four-poster bed. A wardrobe by the door, a nightstand on the other side. The room was still, silent, too silent. Conductor’s hand barely found its way to the lass’s, clinging to it as his lifeline. 

He shouldn’t know this place. He knew this room. He was never supposed to be here. He was here once before.

There, on the bed, lay a woman, covered in layer upon layer of blankets. A blonde mop of hair coiled around her as if it had been placed there on purpose by a servant, and a sleep mask covered her eyes. 

And above her, standing on a dresser, brandishing a knife in both hands, was someone far too familiar.

Conductor.

Chapter Text

“Wh… what’re yeh doin’ here?” the other Conductor asked, slowly stepping off the table. “Lassie, yer nae supposed ta… An’...” He turned a bit, facing his doppelganger. Without his jacket, with snow sticking in his feathers, the Conductor that had come with Hat Kid looked much more familiar to her. 

…It’s gonna get so confusing if I keep calling them both that. The guy with me will be Connor, ‘cause he told DJ Grooves to call him that, and the other guy can still be Conductor.  

“Yer nae supposed ta be here.”

“I know.” Connor stepped forward, keeping his hands visible and his knives put away in whatever pocket he hid them in. His form looked a lot more solid now, thanks to the levels of the rift bringing him closer to his own timeline. “But listen, please.”

She wasn’t sure what he expected her to say when she didn’t like talking much at all. In fact, she wasn’t even sure what she would say if she felt like talking-- Hey, maybe don’t kill this lady I don’t know wasn’t exactly a good reaction. Besides, she didn’t know anything about her, or why Conductor would do that. 

“Wh-why should I listen!? She-- she ruined everythin’ fer both of us!” Conductor exclaimed, his hand clutching the knife hard enough to splinter some of the wood. “She killed yeh, Walter. An’-- An’ I came back, I saw it-- Everyone was peckin’ dead because of her, an’ yer tellin’ me ta stop?”

“I’m nae sayin’ that it didnae hurt, la-- er, Conductor,” Connor said, quickly correcting himself. “I’m sayin’ I ken what happens if yeh do it.”

“...Yeh dinnae sound like Walter. What are yeh, huh? Some sorta nightmare thing tryin’ ta trick me?” Conductor gritted his teeth as he looked between the two of them. “Yer both here ta stop me, is that it? I’m tryin’ ta fix this! I’m goin’ ta fix everythin’! That-- That’s what I’m peckin’ here for!”

“It willnae work!” Connor argued. “Yeh end up stuck between dimensions. All that happens is yeh ruin everything.”

“Why should I care what yeh say, yeh peckneck!?” Conductor nearly growled, and he launched into an attack, jabbing at them with a knife. Both Hat Kid and Connor ducked out of the way, going in opposite directions. Conductor followed his twin, leaving Hat Kid a moment to take in everything. 

Conductor’s coat was torn, his hands already cut and bleeding. He lunged at his future self, unwilling to face any facts about what he was about to do. Even so, he looked… tired. 

…Connor said he’d fought me before using the timepiece. So… this is his second fight.

She hurled an explosive potion towards him, diving out of the way before the explosion could go off. It blew up in Conductor’s face, offering Connor a chance to step back to where she was and regroup.

“What’s the plan, lass?” he asked, hushedly. “I’m nae gonna listen ta reason or threats--”

She pulled out another potion, and Connor reluctantly sighed, pulling his hat down just in time to push her to the side and out of the way of a flung knife. 

It hit the wall, smashing it into pieces and revealing the void beyond. The area around them was bland-- a purple void, swirling with pink and blue-- but the pieces of wall hovered as new platforms, the rest of the room falling apart with it. 

Connor took that option, hopping onto the platforms, while Hat Kid instead went in for a melee hit. Conductor glanced between the two, and followed Hat Kid this time, meeting her umbrella with a knife. 

“Yer nae gonna stop me like that, lassie! Nae when I know yer tricks!”

She didn’t have time to stop for long, instead falling back to look for a new way in. He slashed twice more, both times narrowly missing Hat Kid.

“Hey! Cut it out!” Connor exclaimed. “She’s still a lass-- Yer tryin’ ta throw her under the tracks fer somethin’ yer nae gonna fix!”

“I’m tryin’ ta do what I came here ta do!” Conductor yelled, and he threw his latest knife at Connor, who ducked under it before grinning and leaping forward. The momentum sent the two rolling for a bit, and Hat Kid watched as she prepared her next explosive. 

It was a moment before she could toss a new potion and get out of the blast radius, though Connor was caught in it too this time. He coughed as he got up, but still grinned, and gave her a nod and thumbs-up.

“I’m nae gonna stop because yer too selfish ta let me save everyone, or some time ghost thing says I’m nae supposed ta mess with time! I’m doin’ this because I need ta do it!”

“No!” Hat Kid exclaimed, crossing her arms. “Bad!”

“Yer just--”

“Yeh end up stuck watchin’ everythin’ happen without yeh fer seventy-five years! Everyone still peckin’ died, Grooves wins the awards, yer jus’ some peckin’ ghost that they’re all scared of!” Connor exclaimed. For once, Conductor stopped, looking between them.

“...He’s scared of me?”

“Yeah. Couldnae communicate the whole time. He… He didnae know who I was. Or why I was there. Or anythin’. I only got him ta look at me a few times. An’ every single time, he wasnae able ta understand.” Connor sighed. “...Walter’s there. But he saw me, an’ he kept convincin’ himself it was a hallucination. He blamed himself, same as us, fer this.” He gestured around them. “Fer Subcon. But he had ta go through it on his own. Sure, he found Grooves, but fer those first few years? It was just him.” He stepped a bit closer. “...An’ the two of ‘em are close.”

“Oh, peck off, no way that’d ever happen--”

“I saw it.”

“Uh-huh!” Hat Kid nodded, and she reached into her pockets. After a bit, she pulled out a picture she had taken with a most-definitely-not-stolen camera, holding it up. The two were talking in the background, her face just peeking in at the bottom right to stick her tongue out as they kept going on and on. Conductor stepped closer, and she backed off, hiding behind Connor.

“Yer… Yer jokin’. Walter’d never be scared of me. Grooves’d never forget me. The others--”

“There’s no family either. No grandkids.”

Conductor’s face fell.

“...Yeh wanted ta change the past, an’ yeh did. I’m what happened from that, lad. So think before yeh do that.”

Conductor looked at Connor, then around to try to glance at Hat Kid. He walked off a bit, then sat down next to the bed.

“...Lass? I trust yeh more than him,” he finally said. She crept out from around him. “...Is he really… Is that what happens?”

She nodded.

“...Can yeh show me more of it?” 

She shook her head.

“Right. Time, paradoxes, whatnot… This is one too, yeah?”

A shrug.

“...It’s really what happens. If she dies…” he jabbed his thumb towards Vanessa. “...How come she doesnae die?”

Once more, Hat Kid pulled out her paper and crayons, and she sat on the floor. Connor stepped around her to properly look, while Conductor just stayed where he was, a few feet away.

She drew a line, then added a big X in the middle of it. The line, she labeled as “Time,” and the X, as “Big Event.” Afterward, she drew another, with the same X, but with an arrow from later on pointing to before the X-- “Time Travel.” 

“...So yeh cannae go back an’ change somethin’ big. That what yer sayin’?”

She screwed her face up, but finally nodded. Close enough. 

…Her being gone had more impact on time than you being gone, so it erased you instead.

Neither of the birds seemed to recognize that, though. Instead, they both just stared at the paper. 

“...It’s pointless, then,” Conductor mumbled. “Cannae save ‘em.”

“No. It’s nae pointless.” Connor sat down. “Yeh tried. Yeh fought fer ‘em. An’ now yeh know better.”

“What are yeh, granddad?” Conductor shot back. Both gave awkward laughs, almost in sync. It took a moment, but Conductor shook his head. “...no point in stayin’ here,” he finally said, and pulled off his hat, setting it in Hat Kid’s hands. “...Can yeh tell Walter that I’m proud of him?”

She nodded. With that, he gave a little smile, and stood. 

“...Good luck. Yeh deserved better than what I did.”

He walked out the door, but there was no hallway there. Instead, he only vanished into the void, a part of it now.

Only she and Connor were left behind, sitting on the floor of a room that deteriorated around them.

“...Where’s the way out?” Connor asked. “How’re we supposed ta…”

She got up, and reached out a hand, putting on the hat Conductor had given her. Connor took the hand, and got up, looking around.

There was a rift gate, just beyond those platforms made from the wall. It was far, yes, and the floor itself was falling away. 

She couldn’t see any other way out.

She took off running, and Connor just had to follow her. She didn’t look back to check until she’d reached the gate, looking back for just a moment to check if he was there.

He stood on the other side of a widening gap, his breath visible in the rapidly cooling air, his head moving back and forth as he searched for any other platforms. There was nothing else.

“Jump!” she pleaded. He stepped back as much as he could, and finally, he took the leap.

It was Hat Kid’s turn to grab him, pulling him up onto the platform for the two of them to sit there.

“...Thank you, lassie,” he said. “Fer all of this.”

She grinned, and opened the gate, gesturing (overdramatically) for him to go first. He hopped onto the edge, and fell in, a practiced stunt from an actor. She was quick to follow after, double-jumping her way in, and fell to the end of the rift.

The two of them stood, once more, on the train. Nearby, a tiny, tinny TV showing the old awards one final time.

The reception was poor, the images in black-and-white, but Conductor knew them by heart. The room was so familiar, too.

He hadn’t been in his room in so long.

A timepiece floated in the air between the two beds, in front of the small TV. The lass hurried to it, but Conductor gave one last look around.

…I’m goin’ home. Why’m I scared now? It’s what I wanted. It’s supposed ta be perfect now.

She gestured for him to join her, but he couldn’t move.

“Hello?” she asked.

“...Lass,” Conductor said, looking at her. “...It’s the last time I’ll see this you, yeah?”

She blinked, then nodded. He walked over to her, and pulled the hat down, fixing how it sat on her head. It suited her well. Maybe even as well as it suited him.

“...I’m proud of yeh. Fer all of this-- fer bein’ willin’ ta stick with me through it all. An’ if DJ tries ta change the timeline when he wins, remind him about me.” He set a hand on her shoulder-- still wearing his suit jacket, even with the pocket of knives that he couldn’t access without it. “Yeh did well. An’ I dinnae ken what happens after the awards. I ken yeh went back ta Subcon, an’ yeh came back shiverin’ an’ told me there was a creepy lady. Yeh told me there was an evil toilet at one point?” He shrugged. “I’m nae privy ta the details. But… Yer gonna get through it. Yer strong. I know yeh are.”

The lass nodded, looking at him, trying to find his eyes. Before she could speak, he grabbed her in a tight hug.

“...I’ll make it up ta yeh in me own timeline too. Promise.”

She hugged him back, giving him a tight squeeze before she let go.

Before both of them had to let go.

“...Now. I’m ready ta go home.”

~

Most of the time, Grooves could be very patient. This was not one of those times.

“...Do you think she’s--”

“For the fifth time, I dinnae know,” Walter said. He’d found a seat and a ball of yarn, and from there he’d begun to crochet something-- Apparently, a hat. “I’m nae psychic.”

“Can’t we do something? At least try to help--”

“If you want to help, DJ, just try helping gather some yarn, okay? She was looking for these.”

Grooves sighed, and he sat down on the nearest chair, tapping his foot. 

“...Do you think that Connor was being honest?”

“I dinnae think there’s much of a choice but to believe him.”

“But if he’s lying--”

“Then it’s too late for that to matter.”

The two were quiet for a moment, the only sound the soft noise of yarn against yarn as the crocheting continued.

“...I might go downstairs, just to look for her--”

“If you do, I’m going with you. Just to sit by your side.”

Grooves smiled, and he nodded. “Then let’s do that.”

They descended into the deeper part of the studio until they arrived at the second elevator, waiting by the door.

As usual, it was slower than Grooves liked, but Walter never seemed to mind. He had something else to focus on-- another task, which would usually mean that Grooves would start up a conversation. This time, though, he didn’t have any interesting topics or rumors to use for that. All he had was his worries, and those weren’t something that he wanted to sit with for long.

The elevator gave a pleasant “ding” just before the doors opened, and he prepared to walk inside.

Instead, on the other side, there stood the little darling.

“Darling!” he exclaimed, and she ran to the two birds, grabbing them both in a hug. Grooves couldn’t help but laugh, while Walter did his best to get his project out of the situation so he could safely put it away for later.

“Lass, please, I need to keep this together-- It’ll get loose, and then it won’t be useful for you!”

She let him go, and he put the unfinished project on her head, crochet hook and all. It was already big enough to reach her ears, but he hadn’t fastened it off yet. She pulled it down, grinning wide.

“It’s good to see you safe.” Grooves knelt to be at her height, holding her hands in his flippers. “I was so worried about you.”

“We both were,” Walter said. “Now, how about you come back with us? You can tell us what happened, however you like, and I’ll finish this hat.”

“Perfect for our little ghost hunter, don’t you think?”

Even Walter laughed at that, and they walked through the basement together, back to the stages and sets.

~

Conductor stood on the stage, a timepiece held high, his hands shaking. Grooves knelt by the lass, helping her up-- She was hurt-- oh cod , she was hurt! 

“Conductor, are you out of your mind?! Think about this, you’re--”

He fell to his knees, his arm falling. He clutched the timepiece in both hands, breathing shakily, and he set it down on the stage.

“...Conductor?” Grooves asked.

“I… I’m…” he looked around, the owls looking back at him with wide eyes. Everyone was watching. His banners, his music, his set dressing-- all of it was his own. They knew him. 

They knew him.

He trembled as he made his way to the edge of the stage, sitting on the edge and sliding off. No one else spoke.

“I’m… I’m so peckin’ sorry,” he finally said, his breath hitching in his throat. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I pecked up everythin’.”

“This had better not be an act,” Grooves scolded him, keeping him at a distance at first, but the lass shook her head, walking towards him.

“I-- It’s-- Peck, lass, I’m sorry. I ken it’s nae gonna make it up ta yeh after I did somethin’ so peckin’ stupid, I pecked time up an’ then--”

She smiled, and gently bopped her umbrella on his head, a playful gesture even after so much fighting.

He knew he was crying, despite his inability to shed tears. The only person who was able to tell, the only one there after all those years…

“...Connor? What actually happened?” Grooves asked, much softer now. “That’s a big change from how you were just acting.”

“I… I broke it,” he sobbed. “I broke it, an’ time. I wanted ta fix things. I wanted ta peckin’ fix things.” His shoulders heaved, and he looked between the two in front of him.

The two who were looking directly at him. Who saw him, who were listening, who were there.

“...you broke it? It looks fine to me.”

“Time travel,” he answered, and he took the lass’s hand with one of his. “...Yeh might wanna take that. Far away from me, at least. Keep me from thinkin’ I can do that again.”

She nodded, and hopped onto the stage, grabbing the timepiece. As soon as she had it, she guided the owls out, like a giant parade. 

Only he and Grooves stayed.

“...What did you do?”

“I pecked up-- I tried ta fix things and got meself erased. An’ I…” Conductor looked up, trying to meet Grooves’ eyes. “...I watched yeh go through all those years. An’ all I wanted was fer yeh ta hear me. I-- I’d talk, an’ yell, an’ scream, an’ yeh never heard me.” He took Grooves’ flippers, and forced a small smile, despite how he was still crying. “I wanted ta tell the two of yeh I pecked up. That it was all me fault fer everythin’. But… I saw yeh happy, an’ I couldnae bring meself ta ruin that fer yeh. So I stopped tryin’ ta bother yeh. Stopped tryin’ ta get yeh ta remember me.”

“...Darling, I’d never forget you.”

“Yeh never met me there.” Conductor shook his head. “...An’ when I was goin’ home, I just wanted ta make things right again. To apologize an’ fix it, once an’ fer all.”

“You’d think you would’ve learned about fixing things.”

“Fixin’ it the right way, this time.”

“...Then there’s one thing you’ll need to “fix” first and foremost, darling.” Grooves looked at him and gave a small smile. “You’ll have to fix the fact you’re dealing with this on your own again. We can do it together, can’t we?”

Tears swallowed Conductor’s words as he grabbed Grooves in a stranglingly tight hug. He buried his face in his shoulder, and Grooves held him close in turn.

“Tell me everything, won’t you? I don’t want to miss a thing.”