Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a fade, no. It was more of a jolt; a sudden sinking feeling in his chest that - in this state - could only remind him of the time he’d spent plummeting towards the ground in dreams he experienced too often to count. Likewise to those dreams, he wasn’t quite able to anticipate the ending in time so, when his head landed back against the damp green below, it hit hard and reverberated through his skull. Pain echoed like the toll of a church bell and took the place of the usual shock to his system. Laying still for a while,he shut his eyes tight to chase away the ache that had begun to run down his temples and pressure points on the bridge of his nose. 

This was not normal. This was not home

Something was missing. 

He squinted, groaning as he rolled over onto his back and tucked his face into the crook of his elbow. There was no way he was ready to face whatever new nightmare that his sleep was delivering to him this time. Though, when the ringing in his ears began to wane, bird song called out loud and real. That must be good right? He’d learnt recently that bird song meant safety. Maybe from a therapist… or a friend? He chased the thought but let it run to safety, into a corner of his mind he couldn’t reach. 

Either way, the sound calmed him enough to bring him back around to the present again. As it cleared his senses he began to evaluate the situation before him. He already knew that he had fallen and hit his head - pretty hard at that. Maybe the window was open enough for him to hear the rustle of the leaves. Maybe the headache made the living room lights feel brighter against his eyelids. Maybe he’d spilt his drink on the way down - surely that was where the damp beneath his hand had come from.

With a spluttering cough, he dragged his arm from over his face and sunk his palm into a solid surface of something that wasn't carpet, nor any fabric at all. The birds called louder. It inspired enough of the little motivation in his bones to gather and force him upwards until his head hung over his bent and aching knees. The drumming of his heart working overtime and the crackle of his joints began to convince him that potentially, this was not a flashback or riddle like the ones so often brought to him in his sleep. This world was not delivered to him; it had been lying still, waiting for him to fall straight into its heart.

He jumped as a figure appeared, seemingly from thin air. It stood right in front of him with its boots planted firmly in the moss around a metre from his feet, watching him tilt his head up. As he startled, however, the combination of his already delayed reaction and the disconnection he felt from his body led to nearly no movement at all. He merely squinted, croaking out a pathetic whisper before clearing his throat. 

“Can I help?” He mumbled, wiping his eyes and shielding them. He looked up, yet again squinting as the light from behind the figure assaulted his retinas.

It was a stupid thing to say really. He’d always been so aware of it - how impractical his reaction would be in a situation like this. This figure could be dangerous, he could be seconds from his death for all he knew and still his chosen greeting was one crafted from the closest thing to wit he could muster. 

The figure, in turn, simply stared. Its eyes definitely recognised him as present, as something to witness, but didn’t acknowledge him much further. The man was young, barely an adult if one at all, but there was weathering along his skin - scars and frown lines and eyebags dark like bruises on an otherwise bright and youthful face. He raised his head, staring directly at the man below him sprawled on the floor. Slowly, almost regally, he uttered a single phrase. 

“Welcome to Trench."

With that, it went dark. 

Tyler jolted again with a sharp inhale. Just like his lungs expanding with oxygen, his mind was hit with a wave of memories. The ringing in his ears, paired with whispers of his name over and over, brought a bitter ache to his already bruising skull. With a glare, he sat up straighter, rather disliking the position he found himself in. This taunting lack of knowledge and comfort served only as a motive to regain his strength. 

“To where?” As he coughed out, his body stuttered in and out of existence once more and his hands snapped up to clutch his head. Skin tingling like static, the buzz in his teeth started to taste exactly of how these glitches felt - sour and cold. 

“You need to let go.” The figure stayed calm, crouching down and reaching out to Tyler. 

He placed a grounding hand on his knee. Upon further inspection, this new acquaintance looked more than familiar, and while the comfort he brought Tyler seemed deliberate, it felt much deeper rooted in his soul than intended. No matter how grounded he was, however, it didn’t solve Tyler’s biggest issue. What was there to let go of? Slowly, he unclenched his hand and loosened his tight grip on the moss beneath him with an expectant stare. Maybe he’d get a reaction, an instruction. Anything that told him what to do.

Tyler’s world turned to nothing and for a split second he was, once again, trapped in the glitching void that chased him. This time it was worse, like a final goodbye from whatever was haunting his body. As he returned to this so-called Trench, his heart sank. The blood rushed through his system as if his organs were fleeing his body, still clinging onto that feeling of free falling. Doubling over and grasping his sides, Tyler choked, swearing under his breath. 

“What do you want from me?” He forced the words between short gasps of air. 

He was glaring again, painfully aware that it wouldn't be able to protect him from this nightmare in any way. His eyes studied the man’s, darting over his faded black shawl and messy cropped hair. It almost made Tyler laugh, the sight of the figure in front him. Somehow, before his very eyes stood a picture perfect rendition of the way he used to believe he looked. The messy hair, the weathered but young face, his eyes slightly wider than Tyler’s and smile more crooked. He was a mix of a compliment and an insult, the remnants of Tyler’s old delusions (both positive and negative) compiled into one appearance. He even bore the tattoos Tyler had once dreamed of. 

This was ridiculous. Impossible even. So excruciatingly impossible that when Tyler lowered his head in delirium and pain, he was convinced the man would disappear. It almost startled him as he glanced back up and still was able to lay eyes on him. If this was a hallucination, it wasn’t going to be one he was allowed to ignore. 

“I want you to let go, Tyler. Of the outside. You belong to Trench now, it has been decided.” 

The man’s voice was calm, and had an almost paternal undertone to it despite his younger appearance.

Tyler knew deep in his bones that whatever this place, Trench, had created of this man had aged him greatly, especially in spirit. It unsettled him, a bemused expression tightening the already aching muscles in his face. 

“Belong? Yeah? And who actually makes those decisions huh? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind explaining to me where the hell I am. Just a thought,” Tyler snapped, crossing his arms. 

Despite his light-headedness, he managed to begin standing though his bones crackled loudly under the requests of more movement. 

“There is no one left outside these walls. None left to answer your demands,” The man announced before standing up straight and turning on his heel. He began his walk down the path Tyler had found himself on prior. 

He had to take a second, specifically to scoff and turn away. In that moment, Tyler ran his hands through his hair, deciding it was best to push for answers first and mock the absurdity of the scenario later. However, by the time his aching joints had turned him around to start following the man, he had vanished, not even footprints left in his wake. 

This prompted another scoff and left Tyler to wander in circles, searching for his next point of action in this newly discovered land of Trench. 

In the back of Josh’s mind, he always carried around a small amount of concern for Tyler. Mainly in the funny way, where he could laugh at the outlandish ideas his friend would produce, or roll his eyes at his almost painful need to publicly embarrass the both of them. 

Tyler had always been extremely… Tyler. Every time Josh was sure he’d found a niche the two of them could fit into, he’d switch it up again just for the thrill of the change. Not that Josh minded of course. He’d learnt to chase that thrill too, despite the shroud of anxiety that always loomed around it. 

Sometimes it was more serious - staying up late on phone calls to make sure he saw the morning; getting him up and out of bed when he wasn’t willing to move at all; making sure he smiled at least once a day. Either way, this concern didn’t stand out to Josh, nor did it bother him at all. From his perspective, he didn’t worry about Tyler, he just cared and that worry was part of the whole “I care about you” package. 

This time, however, was different. He had never done whatever this was before. To give him some credit, Josh supposed, Tyler wasn’t a stranger to random spells of dissociation but a full shut down? This was new. The concerning type of new. The serious type of concerning type of new. 

Snapping his fingers before Tyler’s eyes, Josh grabbed his shoulder and gently shook him with a worried squint. 

“Hey. Hey man, are you okay?”

 He tilted his head, free hand reaching to take Tyler’s drink before it was dropped or split. He didn’t fail to notice the slight shake in his friend’s hands either which seemed to stem from a lack of stability more than a sign of fear. For a split second, Josh almost got a response. Tyler’s face contorted into an expression of fear and confusion, the gasp that escaped him startling Josh more. 

“Hey no. No wait, what? Come back? Trench? Where?” Tyler mumbled to himself between short breaths, his hands running through his hair. His eyebrows furrowed and eyes widened but, before Josh could push for any answers, that fearful expression had solidified onto a frozen, absent face with empty eyes boring into the coffee table. 

“Trench? What’s Trench, Tyler, what do you mean?” Josh asked quietly, frowning. 

He set Tyler's drink down on the coffee table and kicked his suitcase out of the way to move closer to his friend. Though tempted to call for Jenna, or literally anyone who could help, he didn’t want to abandon Tyler and figured that as long as he wasn’t dying or in pain, help could wait. 

By the time he had come to this conclusion, Tyler had already begun to stir anyway, his eyes darting across the room in fuzzy confusion. The state Tyler had transitioned into now, Josh could fix easily. As of late, his friend’s memory had been getting worse, most likely due to the unhealthy amount of time he spent either daydreaming or dissociating. Grounding Tyler had become his second nature. 

“Tyler. You hearing me?” He nudged his friend’s arm with his elbow, voice as soothing as he could make it. “We’ve been prepping for the tour, remember? Packing bags. Its about 5 pm and it… its a Monday” Josh said, checking his watch before resting his hand on Tyler’s knee. 

He let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Tyler nod, albeit slowly. 

“What…?” Tyler whispered through a heavy sigh. His eyes were wide as if he were in a state of shell shock. “Did I…” With a gulp, he waved his hands around his head. “Again?”

It was always slightly relieving to Josh, seeing Tyler be so Tyler about it all. The waving of his arms, the small uncertain squint as if he was trying not to show how clueless he obviously was. Even if he was in distress, it at least was comforting that he was present enough to be himself about it. 

“Yeah” Josh laughed nervously with a nod. “Freaked me out a little, man. You were seriously gone this time. Like completely.” 

Inhaling slowly, Josh forced himself to calm his racing heart and stop panicking. It took a good few minutes of silently packing clothes alongside Tyler before his heart rate came down, but he made sure to prevent his friend from noticing. 

After a moment too long of unbroken silence, Josh decided to speak.

“Where did you go?” He asked quietly with a small playful smile. 

His tone wasn’t entirely serious, Tyler knew that. It was something Josh always asked after catching him zone out. From what he remembered, it started as a joke, and never garnered any solid answers. Now it felt more like a force of habit. 

“Pshht” Tyler exhaled slowly. He slumped backwards, a soft thud produced from where his back hit the couch. “Somewhere called Trench apparently.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes and shutting them fully. It felt wrong to say the word out loud, like he was betraying the man who gave it to him. 

Tyler sounded fed up, more than anything. Sick of the games his mind played on him and sick of feeling out of control. If he was meant to “belong” to Trench, he should’ve at least been allowed to learn his way around first.

He stayed quiet, rubbing his hands over his face until the backs of his eyelids began to show bright colours and shapes. He couldn’t find the energy to feel concerned now, even if he could feel Josh’s worry burn his skin through that unrelenting stare.

Chapter Text

Clancy had been feeling off all day, that he could admit. Feeling “off” however, didn't exactly qualify in his mind as justification for what he was seeing right now. A coffee table (one so familiar he must have met it in a dream) sat in the centre of a room so bright it burnt his eyes. This was not the violent gray he knew. It was full of life and imperfection - items organised but misplaced slightly off centre; the warm beige of the cushions sat on a plush, lighter beige couch; a rug of that same shade laying atop the white, wood-effect linoleum floor.

His panicked eyes flitted across the scene before him, distress building in his chest. Was this another test? A mind trick designed to test his loyalty to the oppressive greyscale in which he was forced to reside? Even for the City’s… unorthodox ways, this felt unfathomably wrong. 

A gasp pushed itself into Clancy’s lungs, the new oxygen wrapping tight around his heart. He couldn't remember the last time he had gasped for air or the last inhale that wasn’t only for dramatic effect, usually paired with a wince, sharp pain or shock. It wasn’t instant; it was his body’s reaction to the lack of oxygen he’d never even noticed before. 

The seconds taken for his eyes to unblur cost him three heartbeats each, and resulted in his focus settling on the man in front of him. The first feature Clancy could notice was his bold yellow hair - frazzled and shaved on both sides in a style he’d never seen before. It was completely unmissable and took a lot for him not to squint; he hadn't seen this much colour since his escape. He tried not to think about it. 

He stared with a horrified expression, the man staring back in the same exact manner until Clancy’s mind snapped into gear and he was hit with a wave of bitter recognition. He had seen this man only once before: out in the fields and flowers, above on the cliffs staring down at the first escapee Nico had ever risked leaving the City for. The yellow in his hair that hurt Clancy’s eyes in the current moment was the exact shade that had covered his face and adorned his fellow soldiers. They had stared expectantly just like he did now, emotionless. 

Clancy had never been this close to the Torchbearer, nor to any Bandito at all (The escapee didn’t count, he decided. Tyler’s colour was stripped of his ages ago, just like his hope). Yet here he was, in the flesh.Though recogniseable, his head should have been fully shaved. He should’ve looked more… saintly. Not that the man in front of him didn’t of course, he just seemed too human. Too scared. 

Darting his eyes suspiciously around the room once more, Clancy tilted his head at the Torchbearer. This had to be a test… right? All he had to do was turn down the horrifying real chance of escape he had right now and leave. Then, he could wake up to be rewarded by his examiners and he’d leave unscathed. 

Shit

He’d blanked out again and missed the beginning of whatever the Torchbearer was trying to tell him. Clancy couldn't listen, he shouldn't . With as much might as possible, he remained not listening and stared blankly, searching for the escape route in his mind. That was until one word cut through his attempt. 

“Hey. Hey, Tyler…? Hello?” 

Eyes snapping up, more focused than before, he glared.

“Tyler? No. No that's not…” He mumbled, frowning further. Tyler was important, if only Clancy’s brain wanted to wake up enough to remind him why. Something about the City walls…

Oh. That Tyler. The escapee that the banditos had seemed to favour. The one who made Clancy’s reality a living hell as of late. The name left a sour taste in his mouth. 

He had a whole speech prepared for this, already used to denouncing whatever actions Tyler had taken during the time they had both been fugitives. It still got under his skin. The two events were completely separate, it wasn’t Clancy’s fault that Tyler happened to run the same day he did. While Clancy took the time to hide, explore Trench and rest, Tyler terrorized the City and schemed with his rebel friends. He hated the man.

“Tyler come on man, it's okay. Your brain does this sometimes, remember?” The Torchbearer must have noticed his scowl. “You blank out, lose some memories, lose time… Look, right now it's Wednesday, 3.30pm” He leaned forward and showed Clancy a strange device strapped to his wrist with a glowing, colourful screen and a few numbers. 

He seemed calm. It wasn’t what Clancy expected at all. This walking, supposed “beacon of freedom” sat so casually, leaning forwards with concern for him. For Clancy, a product of the City he swore to abandon. It was almost comforting. 

“Writing…?”

Mumbling seemed like the only way he could get any words out right now. He had begun to feel dizzy. It made sense though, he supposed, Clancy really did write a lot. Mainly documentation of his life in Dema, pages upon pages stacking up in the corner of his room. If his memory truly was playing up, maybe he just forgot that the Torchbearer… would be… helping? Surely not. No one would be capable of forgetting that. 

“Yeah man. The song? One you wanted to write today. We didn’t get very far.” The Torchbearer trailed off, tilting his head to mirror Clancy. 

Both men now stared at each other in confusion. Tyler had been having moments like these for about a year now, but this was something else entirely. It scared Josh, arguably more than the first time it happened. 

Clancy’s heart sunk in his chest. Music was forbidden by all means. He had learnt that the hard way. Even during his rebellious phase (that landed him out in the middle of Trench), he still didn’t dare conceptualise a single second of the stuff. 

No matter who this man thought he was, Clancy was not safe. Not in this room, not with these colours or this person or this name.

It had been three days. Four if you count the time spent navigating the latest patch of grass Tyler had found himself plummeting towards. He didn’t mind that part though. Fields and trees and life, no matter how repetitive, were always a better alternative to the life Dema had in store for him. 

Three empty sunrises, three days, and three hollow nights spent waiting for sleep to save him from the rock-hard mattress on which he was forced to rest. 

It was bullshit. 

Every time Tyler had acclimatised to the routine, he ended up in a situation like this. He had never experienced any longer than an overnight stay locked in his mind, and he was always rewarded with at least 4 nights of the real world. 

But no. 

Not this time, apparently. Even after a whole year of adjusting to these shifts in surroundings, the rules never stopped bending. Tyler felt cheated, as if his brain was specifically waiting for him to let his guard down before it forced yet another change. 

With an unimpressed groan, his feet dragged over the edge of the bed and planted themselves on the floor. He didn’t bother taking in the slither of sunrise that his window allowed him to witness. By now, he’d learnt that the empty sky only made things worse, staining the corners of his mind like a curse. Even after all this time, he couldn’t tell if it was a permanent effect or lingering fallout from the last time he was smeared and dragged back into Dema. 

There was nothing good about working for the City, especially not for the lower classes. Work was used for discipline, reward and everything in between, passing the rest of the mundane time Dema wouldn’t let him throw away.

His work was always centred around the undercity, even during his first months as a newcomer. Since his most recent perimeter escape, however, Tyler had been punished more heavily and forced to work in Glory - a profession placed upon only the least fortunate of citizens. He was lucky, really, he reminded himself. After each working day had ended, he was allowed to return to his own district and dormitory while the rest of his coworkers resided in the tunnels. Tyler’s misfortune only resided in his role of dressing the bodies, the Glorified. 

He knew he should’ve been grateful for his opportunity to sit in the same mess hall that the peers he now worked to preserve had once rejoiced in. All while the rest of his colleagues were made to find home in the chambers below, with weekly sticks of bread for sustenance. 

Luck. He was lucky. The city had always pushed this false narrative of hope, but Tyler wasn’t stupid. He’d seen enough of the real world, listening to countless therapists list off dull coping mechanisms and strategies. He knew what Dema wanted. He knew they strived for misery, something he refused to give them. Delivering the bishops the gratefulness on which they insisted was only setting their progress in draining him farther back. That’s exactly what he intended to do. 

Every step that echoed down the staircase, he paired with another thing he valued. No matter how bittersweet, Tyler listed them anyway if only out of spite, anger and something he couldn’t name. Even headed towards the worst part of his life in Dema (for the third morning in a row), he prided himself in that spite. He let it consume him, knowing the prickles and thorns that arose would never cause more harm than the City inside his mind. 

A sound cut through his morning activity of false enrichment and Tyler paused. His feet hovered over the final step of the narrow, spiral staircase and he pressed his hand against the cold stone brick beside him, directly before the small flickering torch mounted on the wall. The voices were hushed, yet echoed hauntingly as if the tower itself was whispering back. 

“...Completely off the grid. Brother, this is more serious than we thought. If He discovers the severity of his absence, we may never hear peace again.” The first voice hissed, his words audibly riddled with anxiety. 

Tyler peeked further around the corner before the other voice joined the discussion, belonging to the owner of the mortuary, Nills. Tyler would recognise that voice anywhere; it haunted him so thoroughly he could swear it spoke to him in dreams. 

“Especially not with the young one having returned so soon. His dignity will be tarnished, brother, and so will yours when the people of your district see how fatherly you have become.”

“Fatherly is not comparable to weak, dear Nills,” scoffed the first voice, which quietened even more. “His upbringing is vital if we are to follow the path of his success. His success, brother, is what this City needs. Each new testing of Nico’s temper proves this further. We need Clancy to return as not just my son but ours. Our product and pride. The people will rejoice, will sing prayers of his reign for centuries, if only you would let me father him the way he needs . I could nurture his loyalty. One failed perimeter escape was enough to prove to him - and our citizens - that we are vital to him. Two, and Nico will tear him down upon return. He must not hear of this.” 

The words were hissed in a tone ever so slightly more human than the first Bishop, Nills. Tyler had heard tales of the ninth Bishop, of his humanity and mercy. Traits that only Keons could have, shining through in this first figure. 

Keons scoffed in the face of the colleague before him, turning away from Nills’ expression of shock and simmering anger before departing down the hallway. This left Nills alone to stand, waiting on the presence of the youngest escapee, one he had grown to hate very quickly in the seconds since Keons’ mention of him. 

Tyler took a few seconds to breathe, processing the information he had just received before taking a step towards the bishop. He was never ready for the tasks the City had for him, but there wasn’t ever a better time for it. Slowly, he prepared himself for yet another horrendous day of work in the undercity, too tired and sceptical of Dema already to even bother fretting over the facts he had just been handed.

Chapter Text

The guilt had been simmering in Tyler’s chest for a few hours now. They were all so in-tune with him; it honestly felt like they could read him like a book. Every single rebel out in that camp had once been a stranger to him, yet even in their first days of contact, they had proved to be more compassionate than any citizen he would meet later on. 

He knew deep down that there was no point in hiding his distress from the Banditos… but what was he meant to tell them? ”Hey guys… this world isn't real and I currently have no access to my superior, normal life!” No. That wouldn’t cut it. Opening their eyes to a truer reality was a cruel idea in and of itself, and after seeing all their achievements made in the past year, it made it seem even crueller. So for now, Tyler would just have to keep himself quiet. Again.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what they thought of him. An outsider to the city and an outsider to the rebels. Too emotional for Dema, too closed off for the Banditos. The only one who had never made him feel like a problem was the Torchbearer. 

It had seriously messed with his head when he first saw Josh stood up on that cliff. It wasn’t like Tyler had much time to react, or process anything at all for that matter (getting his ass handed to him by a red, demented dictator on a horse never does wonders for one’s mental health). Josh was here though, and for the days spent in the City after the whole ordeal, Tyler had passed the time by searching for a way out just to get back to him. Blipping in and out of Trench didn’t help, but he managed just fine. 

His first meeting with the Banditos was strange. He could tell that they valued him and understood at least more about him than the City did but they didn’t know him. No one did but Josh. Josh knew it wasn’t “real”, Josh knew where Tyler was at all times, and Josh knew exactly how to take down Dema’s entire system. It made sense, Tyler supposed when taking in the sight of the camp for the first time, that whatever world his brain had created to trap him in knew that he needed the man. 

A “guiding light”. That’s what they called him, the Torchbearer. It made Tyler laugh a little once he had returned to reality afterwards. He had known Josh for almost a decade at that point. They’d toured the world a few times, once even branded one another at a campfire. Nothing they had ever done was serious, not entirely. Even Tyler’s hardest times, Josh had managed to fix immediately, and often with a smile or a laugh. 

Now here he was. An alternate version living in Tyler’s inner-world as a saint and a promise of a better tomorrow. Yeah right. He was no saint (he was arguably so much more than that), and his serious side showed so rarely that it made Tyler laugh at the concept of this being the version of Josh his brain had decided to create. Looking the real Josh in the eyes was made that slight bit more difficult afterwards. He thought about it every time he found himself wandering down the halls of the city, following the latest path the rebels had mapped out for him. Tyler still didn’t know why Torch was even here, let alone so serious and so… angry. The Torchbearer was angry at the City in ways Tyler would never expect of the “real” Josh. 

Climbing down the ladder, rung by rung, Tyler lowered himself into the tunnels below. Once shrouded in darkness, they now glowed the faint orange he adored. Torches shimmered on the damp stone bricks. He always loved this part: the dripping water from the low stone ceiling; the half stomp/ half splash his boots made on the mossy stone floor; the crackling of the torches that led his way. It was all beautiful, and never lasted long enough for his liking. 

Cora and Leo, two of the younger Banditos, stood waiting on his arrival. He didn’t know them particularly well, but they seemed nice - quite youthful and fairly spritely despite a childhood spent in Dema. It made Tyler happy to at least know they were free for now. Even if it wasn’t real. It felt real right now. 

They both led him to the meeting point in silence, leaving Tyler’s mind to wander. Usually, he would fight it off but tonight, he knew his own thoughts were safer than facing their awareness of his troubles. Had had to speak with Josh about it, he always knew what to do. 

Yet when the time came, Tyler froze for reasons even he didn’t understand. Torch had called this meeting. Torch had seen Tyler about the area since he first got stuck 6 days ago. If Torch knew how to get him back into the real world, that conversation would’ve taken place by now. So Tyler sat, watching the rebels discussing their latest plans, not quite able to take all of it in. 

In his mind it always felt like the visual representation of tinnitus: vision blurry and people around him now temporarily unrecognisable. It didn’t take long for the Torchbearer to notice. It never did. Unlike the rebels, however, Josh had the knowledge to piece together his friend’s troubles independently. 

Shaking Tyler out of his own haze, Torch nudged him with his elbow and leant back against the wall of the tunnel. 

“Stuck?” He raised an eyebrow. His voice was quiet, and hidden amongst the rest of the conversations around them, it didn't stand out at all. 

“Six days now… No sign of a change,” mumbled Tyler. He shrugged, hugging one knee to his chest and picking at his boot’s laces with his free hand. 

“More time to be spent on our plans then, huh?” the Torchbearer huffed, not quite joking but not entirely serious either. He glanced over at Tyler

“Yeah… Guess so.” Tyler shrugged again, trailing off. “They’ve lost Clancy again though. Off the grid, apparently,” he mumbled, running his hands over his eyes with a long sigh. 

This was only met with silence however, and a concerned expression painting its way onto the Torchbearer’s face.

Clancy paced around the bedroom, hands pulling at his hair. He’d been avoiding Josh and Jenna like the plague, terrified of weirding them out further. Though he refused to slow, his headache worsened with each step. In his mind’s eye, the images of his home were getting clearer - he was remembering more of the fields and the flowers he had once loved but still remained no closer to returning. 

The past week had been hell. Jenna noticed something was wrong the second she arrived and, even if Clancy didn’t recognise her, it was visible enough on her worried face for him to infer. She and Josh had spent the rest of that day passing each other concerned glances they must have assumed were unnoticeable, but Clancy saw. He couldn’t even feel that relieved when they both decided it was best for his safety to stay the night. 

He didn’t notice when his body stopped pacing, but he found himself now sat, staring at the wall in front of him until he swore he could see a black hole start to form. Below his chosen point to stare through was a white desk littered with old letters and journal entries. Clancy made a promise to himself that, if he ended up being stuck here long-term, he would find time to read them. 

Actually, he decided, it was futile to wait. If he was seriously being forced to infiltrate another man’s life, he might as well attempt to understand the poor thing a little more. Even if that “poor thing” genuinely was the Tyler that Clancy had heard of back in Dema. 

Sighing as he stood, he dragged his feet over to the chair and sat down slowly. For some reason, his heart began to pound and his palms ran themselves instinctively down his jeans to wipe the sweat. There was something in his bones trying its best to stop him but Clancy refused to listen. It seemed like the only thing about himself he could still recognise, that stubbornness. Hands hovering over the papers for a second, he forced himself to push them aside, fingers brushing against what felt like a notepad underneath. Curiosity pushed through and he grabbed the book, flipping through the pages. 

They were full, every single page completely covered in sketches and messages scrawled chaotically. Maps and plans and letters unfolded from their place tucked within the book. Notes that should have made no sense to Clancy at all began to sound alarm bells through his mind, certain phrases instantly standing out to him. 

City. Smear. Bishop. Letters

Most importantly however, was the repetition of one specific name. 

His own. 

“Find Clancy”, “Who is Clancy?”, “Clancy’s letters - codes?” 

He began to flick through faster now, hands shaking slightly when he found it. The first letter he ever wrote out in Trench. Now it sat immortalised in his shaking hands, residing in another world entirely. On the back of the page, Tyler had scrawled something barely decipherable. 

“??? Don’t remember writing this. Where is Clancy now? TB will know. 4.2.17”

Clancy read through the entire letter twice over, slowly recalling exactly how the pen had felt beneath his hands. Almost a year ago, he had written those words. Yet to this day he could still envision the jagged imperfections that Nature had carved into the walls of that cave and the way the paper shook slightly with the breeze. His finger traced the words carved into the paper by what even looked like the same pen he had used, gifted to him by a younger rebel. 

This was too much for him. He couldn’t quite process this new life he’d seemingly stumbled into. Standing abruptly (and facing the consequences when his vision clouded briefly), Clancy padded his way out of the room and down the hallway, following it towards where he was almost sure the bathroom was. It had been six days now, and he knew he was never going to get used to the feeling of staring at another man’s face in the mirror. The hair felt too long, eyes too dark and skin way more tan than he was used to. It unsettled him greatly and only contributed further to the shiver that was already running down his spine the instant the cold water hit his face. 

Admittedly, the shock did clear his mind a little but not enough to calm down his racing heart. Though distant, as if a glass wall stood in the way, he could still feel his thoughts speeding past him. Even if he hadn’t come close to comprehending it, Clancy knew what he saw was Bad. His entire life lay mapped out in various forms, scrawled in notebooks and post-its for anyone in this house to see. 

The worst parts were the plans. Not only did Tyler seemingly have access to his entire identity and past, he wanted to do something with that information. Codes and websites and characters… all to cater to a fanbase? It was abhorrent to even consider inflicting this on another person. 

Clancy had spent the best part of a week analysing and coming to terms with the extremity of the attention that Tyler and the Torchbe- no, Josh - faced daily because of this supposed band they were in. He had become so paranoid in this shift of reality that he had even forced himself to hear a small snippet of the latest “album”. Of course it was turned off immediately and inspired enough fear in him to fuel a race car so he didn't manage to solidify his hatred for it, but he was sure he’d never be a fan. 

Nevertheless, Clancy still found ways to understand Tyler without all the noise behind it. Lyric sheets and more websites full of messages (that the man not only had the guts to admit, but had released to the public) aided Clancy on his quest to comprehend him. It was all left out in the open, susceptible to so much criticism.

Clancy’s reality now had critics. 

He loathed the man for what was created, but found himself sympathising greatly. From what was seen of the original drafts, Tyler must have once felt as unsure and lost as Clancy did now. It only left him to wonder what he knew now to change that. 

Chapter Text

The sun began to rise over Dema, colour stripped entirely from its glare as the light passed through thick layers of smog and grey. The city, slowly but surely started to arise in a manner that couldn't quite be described as bustling, but in all honesty could not be described in any other way either.

The difference between the day and the night was hardly noticeable anymore, not since Reisdro's most recent law that criminalised the dark. Clancy couldn't say he agreed with the reasoning behind it, but he knew better than to question his leaders after being tasked with building the new lights - a supposed homage to the Neon that their people depended on.

Clancy had never realised how uncomfortable his own mattress was until he returned from his 8 days away from the City. He awoke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright before the familiar ache in his shoulders and neck began to sink in. Glancing around his bedroom, he let go of another sigh of relief at the sight of the monochrome interior. He was Home.

He very quickly found himself missing the luxury of the life he had just infiltrated, especially its plush fancy mattress, cool constant running water and hours of entertainment. Clancy’s life in Dema was already way too far from humble in his opinion, and in this tired foggy state, he scolded his mind for delivering him thoughts of ungratefulness for the City. He was incredibly lucky to be favoured by his leaders, even if that luck caused a cramp in his neck from a decade old, inch thick mattress. Even if that luck landed him the role of the City’s favourite Vialistic guinea pig.

The second he could bring himself to think again, he was immediately assaulted by the sharp sting of denial clouding his mind. He could think of nothing but how his delusions must be getting worse, how the Bishops would react to his absence, how there might not have even been any absence at all. He had no way of checking - all the sunrises looked the same. Surely it wasn't even possible, only dreams could provide such an immersive insight into a stranger’s body. What he saw, and experienced for just over a week, could not be explained. He began to think it was best left not understood

Deciding it was best to carry out his daily tasks (mainly in fear of his leaders’ response), he dressed quickly and made his was down to the council room. Before he could find the nerves to enter, Clancy made the choice of visiting the bathroom, craving the sensation of cold water down his face. That shock to his system became the only thing that carried him through his time away and admittedly he still felt reliant on it now.

The relief flooding through his system at the sight of his own face in the mirror was electric. His dark buzzed hair, sunken pale skin and cloudy blue eyes stared back at him and (for what was likely to be the first time ever) Clancy was comforted by the sight. Usually mirrors were something he chose to avoid, they'd always messed with his mind in a way he couldn't describe but this was a nice change from the face he'd stolen for over a week.

A minute or maybe two passed before he could tear himself from the act of analysing his features, making sure they were still his own. His boots hit the stone floor quietly as he exited the stall, almost running straight into the figure standing outside.

“Clancy” hissed the man patronisingly. “What have I said about watching where you are going?”

Even under the veil, Clancy could see the man's scowl, one he had learnt to love. Keons, his father stood before him, seething with so much anger Clancy should've been able to feel it from the other side of the door.

“Father, I am so sorry” He frowned, bowing his head slightly and standing up straighter purely from muscle memory. “My sincerest apologies, I was expecting to meet you inside”

“After your absence? My child that notion is competing for the title of the worst idea you could have presented! What could possibly have been going through your mind” Keons scowled again, clipping Clancy around the ear in frustration. “Had you left it another day, Our Leader may have discovered your disappearance! And contrary to popular belief I do not want you dead!” He exclaimed in an angry hushed tone. “8 days off the grid...”

Clancy watched in ashamed silence as the Bishop shook his head and muttered his disapproval.

“Father I must explain, my loyalty remains with the City, with you and Our Leader but I had no choice in the matter!” Clancy pleaded, hand reaching up to rest on Keons’ arm but pausing mid-movement to hover in the air before it dropped in shame.

“No excuses boy. We will discuss this no further. If He ever discovers my son went ‘off the grid’ neither of us will see the light of day again” Keons glared before his expression softened. He, instead, raised his hand and rested it on Clancy’s shoulder. “My mercy comes not from pity but sympathy, child. I have faith your loyalty lies exactly where it needs to be. This is the last we speak of the matter”

Clancy nodded solemnly, watching the bishop turn and walk slowly away. His footsteps were silent and graceful, and as the double doors opened he noticed each head turn to observe Keons in fearful respect. Reluctantly, Clancy followed suit.

There was nothing new or important discussed in that week's meeting, or at least nothing ground-breaking enough to cut through the noise of Clancy’s spiralling mind. What if he eventually was pushed for an explanation? What would he even say? He couldn't believe that he offered so willingly to clear his name. A distant, modern, free world? Residing in a body that planned to make music about the City in which they all resided? Music?? Clancy shuddered at the thought.

No, this had to stay with him. He would rather risk the punishment than be accused of lying. Nico despised liars.

Tyler groaned as his head lifted from the mattress, the scent of smog and diesel hitting his nose instantly. He sighed dramatically as he rolled over, attempting to hide from the cold that the stone walls brought him. This was the last place he wanted to be.

Facing another day in the City genuinely had him questioning his priorities. Surely he could run again, find a way back home - it was getting scary now. Maybe disobeying the Bishops was what his brain needed, a reminder to bring him back to the real world. However, the consequences he could face with no promised escape route seemed significantly more terrifying than yet another day of work ahead. So Tyler trudged on. Reluctantly.

He was getting bored now. Bored enough to count the individual stone bricks he passed by on his way down to the morgue. Bored enough to have memorised the pattern engraved into them so well he could probably draw it out blindfolded. Boredom was good though right? It meant he didn't have bigger issues like succumbing to Vialism, or the Bishops hovering over him.

Once again awoken out of his thought, this time by footsteps, Tyler's head snapped up in a mix of fear and curiosity. Before him stood the Bishops’ Son, teachers pet and supposed “missing person” Clancy. Tyler rolled his eyes - the little he'd known of the man was already enough to decide he wasn't too keen. In his personal opinion, Tyler just wished he'd get that stick out of his ass sooner rather than later.

His heart dropped however, when instead of passing by, Clancy stopped in his tracks and turned to face him

“Tyler correct? Nills speaks highly of you.” Clancy nodded in approval.

“...Thanks? Um, yeah that's me...?” Tyler tilted his head in confusion, heart pounding. Surely the bishops did not actually see him in a positive light, he was everything they fought to eradicate. Weirdly, It pissed him off. “Had a nice trip?” He smirked, instantly hating himself for even daring to speak.

He was met with a glare from Clancy. “My travels are none of your concern. The bishops are merciful and I am grateful of their understanding nature,” He snapped, but milliseconds before making the choice to walk away, he turned back to face Tyler.

“How do you know so much about my life?” He was still glaring, but his voice was softer now, terrified of being overheard.

Tyler raise an eyebrow. “Your life? What?”

“The notes. The maps. My. Letters.“ Clancy hissed, glancing around to check for eavesdroppers before his glare fell back onto the man in front of him. “To be shown to general public no less”

“The public?! Hello, what the hell? You've been in my body?” Tyler frowned so intensely he felt a migraine coming on. Feeling like his heart had hit his feet, his hand grabbed the wall next to him for support

“Well, seemingly, it isn't just your body is it? Your life is rather unpleasant, and mind you, I did not actively request that time wasted.” Clancy turned his nose up at the thought and crossed his arms.

“But it's still my life! Jesus... I mean what did Josh have to say? Did Jenna see you?”

“The torchbearer? He was... pleasant? Accommodating. Though it was strange to see him in the same house as me...” Clancy pinched the bridge of his nose. “And was Jenna the girl? She stayed too. They knew something was up, but if they're used to you I'm sure it wasn't too out of the ordinary”

“Okay so first of all, ‘the girl’ is my girlfriend, asshole. And second of all you let them stay? In my house? without my permission? What if they saw you being all pompous and stuck up?”

“I am not pompous, thank you very much. I'm just not a liability. And you have a girlfriend now too? Do you have any loyalty to this city at all? Romantic relations, music, I mean for Nico’s sake you're in a band! A band telling the world about my life. I'm sure an hour locked in a bathroom is not the worst I could've done!” Clancy shrugged, crossing his arms tighter and reminding himself to keep his voice down

Tyler glared with a hiss “No of course I'm not loyal to this city. I. Don't. Live. Here. That was my life, and it should be my life right now but you stole it from me!”

“Well it's all yours now, I will gladly reject a life of such wrong doing”

“It's not mine now though, is it? I'm still. Here.“ Tyler forced the words through gritted teeth, pointing an accusatory finger towards Clancy’s chest.

In response he paused, nodding slowly and taking a second to comprehend the words thrown his way.

“Why I suppose you are...” He muttered, raising a concerned eyebrow.

“Then who the hell is in my body now?!” Tyler snapped and his shoulders slumped in angry defeat. “You didn't think to check before you left?”

“I had no choice in the matter... I- I didn't even know how it happened, I don't know what this is alright?” Clancy frowned, stepping back so slightly that Tyler barely noticed. When he did, however, all he could see in front of him was a child, and a pretty hurt one too. For a second it made his chest hurt.

“Jesus Christ okay... Whoever‘s now stuck there, if there even is anyone, let's hope they're not a massive dildo about it” He sighed. Shaking his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I'm still here in a week you will hear about it, do you understand?”

He glared once more at Clancy before resuming his descent with significantly more anger than it began with.

Chapter Text

The mini fridge humming was really starting to piss Tyler off.. and the weak ceiling fan air barely reaching his skin. And the lock on the hotel safe that was twisted just slightly off centre. He brought his elbow up to his face, hiding his nose in the crook of it and covering his eyes. Something wasn’t right. Again.

He’d been checking google maps the entire drive to Houston. It should have only taken around 20 minutes to get from the festival to the hotel, though rush hour traffic took its usual toll on the journey, adding another 10. Something bothered him though, and it wasn't until he shut his phone off that he realised what it was. Google changed their layout again for God’s sake; he wasn't good with change. Not to mention how wrong his phone felt in his hand, how he wasn’t quite “with it” enough to remember the reason they'd even been at a festival in the first place.

Josh had mentioned something about a show. That was the only thing that sat comfortably in Tyler’s mind. He always felt fuzzy after a playing show, like his life was unscripted for a while. It should begin to settle soon.

“Hey mannn...” Tyler mumbled from behind the crook his elbow. His feet dangled off the edge of the hotel bed, just close enough to nudge Josh’s shins upon speaking.

Josh looked up from his phone, tilting his head with a small invitational hum.

Tyler took this as a sign to continue. “When did you dye your hair again? Looks fresh”

“Bout two weeks ago. You helped me, remember?” Josh said, his voice lacking the judgement Tyler expected from that statement.

Two weeks ago, and he cant remember... when he even helped Josh dye it? Well there were some fuzzy glimpses of the memory in his mind, Tyler guessed, shrugging to himself. He kept reminding himself that this always happened at shows.

“How many people showed this time?” He asked, checking the time on his phone. There was a message from Mark he couldn’t be bothered to open yet.

“They said at least 100000?” Josh shrugged, startling slightly when Tyler bolted straight upright.

Tyler winced as the bed sheet peeled from his skin (it was way too hot in here, he couldn’t stand it).

“A hundred... Thousand...?” He stared, wide-eyed. Surely not, that couldn’t be true. Only a month ago they had gigs of maybe 300 people maximum.

“Yeah man... venue said this ages ago?” Josh nodded slowly, the concern creeping back in again.

“Jesus Christ man okay” Tyler sighed, flopping back down onto the bed before his head started hurting too much.

He grabbed his phone, opening the text from Mark.

>gig went great! loved the blue jumpsuit. Lemme know when u change the pfp, ill update the site

Tyler frowned in confusion for a second and swore he could almost physically feel the memories loading in. The site.... faces...thing? Yeah something like that. He checked the time again and sent another text back.

anytime around now will do, will wipe the acc in a sec<

He rolled over onto his stomach, opening Twitter on his phone. It took a second, but muscle memory kicked in, his hands typing the password before he even had to remember it.

“Did we say all the posts gone?” Tyler mumbled in Josh’s general direction, glancing over. The man nodded in response.

So with that, he methodically removed each trace of Blurryface from the account completely, profile picture and likes included. Questioning his actions gave him a headache, so he decided to let it happen without too much thinking involved.

The second Mark’s confirmation text came through and the “site” was apparently all blue (whatever that meant), Tyler dropped his phone to the ground by the charging wire, laying in his silence for a while. It took another 10 minutes of festering in the stale Texan heat for him to get bored, and he jumped up onto his feet

“God give me something to DO” He complained, not shouting nor angry but certainly raising his voice. Aggressively, he shook the burst of energy out of his hands and head as he crouched by the mini fridge to grab the usual Red Bull can.

Cracking it open, Tyler shook his head again. The chill of the drink did something to calm his sudden restlessness but not enough. He could feel Josh staring at him and for the first time, potentially ever, he hated it. He hated how easily Josh could tell when something was wrong, how quickly he caught on.

“I’m exploring, you coming with?” Tyler didn’t even bother to turn and face Josh as he grabbed his shirt and chucked it over his neck. It was too hot for this, but he couldn’t sit here any longer.

“Sure” Josh nodded but Tyler could hear the hesitation. They’d just played a show, he understood really if Josh wanted to rest, but Tyler refused to stay here with him. His mind was working way too fast for that.

“Your hair looks nice by the way. Yellow. Frazzled as heck though, what bleach did you use?” Tyler asked as they began to wander down the halls of the hotel.

“The usual I guess. This is what happens when you change colours 5 times in three years.” Josh laughed, but Tyler didn’t.

Five colours? What?

Tyler felt a sharp pain press against his skull, causing his vision to cloud over. Yep, there they were, those five colours. Ouch. He shook his head once again, deciding to walk in silence as he let the memories load in.

“You okay...?” Josh asked quietly, sliding his phone into his pocket.

Tyler only nodded again, staring down at the floor.

“Feels like 2011 again. Like I haven’t been myself since” He mumbled after a minute of silence. “What its like... 2016 now? Where have I even been, you know? Stupid brain's making me feel like I’ve always been this out of it” The word sounded a little bitter but more disappointed.

“Well, you’ve been touring, you’ve been writing. Maybe its just the pressure of all those people” Josh offered, not quite sure how to take what Tyler was attempting to explain.

“Feels like I flit back and forth between versions of myself. Not like ‘how many parts of a ship have to change before its a new one’, no. Like fully different. And I can come back to that feeling. I can sometimes just make myself into who I used to be so damn easily... I can tell you exactly when and where I swapped out for another me, even why if you’re lucky...” He paused, glancing at Josh. He sipped his Redbull again before speaking. “You ever get that?”

Josh laughed nervously, shaking his head and running his hand over his face. “No- I mean not at all really?”

“Damn...” Tyler mumbled, deep in thought. “I can’t keep referring to this version of myself as ‘2011 me’ that's stupid. I want a proper name”

Josh watched as Tyler frowned, typing furiously on his phone. “Dammit no signal... Do you remember that name we laughed at years ago? Someone asked what I’d name my kid so we googled a baby name site or something”

Josh frowned in thought for a second, slightly overwhelmed by how fast the conversation was changing, but willing to play along nonetheless. “Like Omar Jesus or something like that??” He laughed quietly.

“Yes!! That was it. I’m Omar Jesus now.”

“What like forever?” Josh raised his eyebrow with a playful, confused grin.

“No obviously not. Until the Tyler I usually am comes back. If we’re all called Tyler it makes no sense” Omar Jesus rolled his eyes, reciprocating Josh’s grin.

“Well he hasn’t been here for a few days now, so tell him to hurry up”

“He hasn’t?” Tyler raised his eyebrow in genuine curiosity. “Damn...”

The conversation feel quiet.

Josh regretted what he’d said instantly. For the things Tyler came up with, this wasn't too out of the ordinary, but telling him he hadn’t been himself recently felt mean. What if that made it worse? What if this was an episode of sorts?

Sure, Tyler had locked himself in a bathroom for an hour to avoid Josh the first day that it happened, and Jenna wasn’t entirely comfortable leaving the evening after as he was acting so differently, but it was none of Josh’s business really. He’d genuinely tried to talk to Tyler about it, which seemingly made things worse, so he began to avoid the topic too.

This spiel, however, was the opposite of avoidance. Different versions of himself? When he’d felt he “swapped out” over the years? Josh couldn’t say he disagreed but this was a lot to process.

Hours passed, and this new (or maybe old) “version” of Tyler didn’t seem to be able to leave. Josh caught mentions of feeling “stuck”, but this Tyler had a habit of mumbling, so he could never really understand the full message.

Neither of them got much sleep, though Josh didn’t mind. They had a flight to Canada the next morning and a whole day to prepare for the next concert - whatever Tyler needed from him right now was more important.

Josh decided that this could easily have been the most Tyler had said in one go for literal years. They didn’t speak of much in particular, but he found himself agreeing with what this “version” of Tyler had mentioned earlier - all Josh could see in him right now was the boy he used to know: the one he started the band with; the one who played shows of 20 people; and the one that publicly embarrassed himself a million times over just to save Josh from his own insecurities. Jesus Christ maybe this really was the Tyler he’d met 6 years ago.

Their conversation didn’t end until around 2 in the morning, when Tyler (or whoever he was currently) had worn himself out enough to fall asleep, practically mid sentence. Josh glanced up and laughed quietly to himself, doing Tyler a favour and putting his phone on charge ready for the morning. He managed to find the energy to get himself ready for bed too, though couldn’t stop his racing mind.

Even on the flight to Canada, Josh felt unprepared without the ability to update Jenna on his friend’s behaviour. Though things still didn’t change - not until their next show. April 4th, Winnipeg, “Omar Jesus” finally found himself a break and Josh was faced with the Tyler he recognised again. Not his friend this time, no, but the one he‘d only ever met on stage.

The more he thought about it, the more Josh too could see the differences between each “version” of his friend. This Tyler had stage presence and confidence and wit that the other versions could only dream of and laugh about. He loved this version of Tyler (though he loved them all equally); the humour and the talent and the passion really shone through him best when he was up on stage. He'd always known his friend was born for this, even when they met years ago and could barely afford to play shows in their hometown.

During the drive back home, Josh found himself typing the same four questions into google, which only resulted in confusing answers and even more confusing reddit threads. “Why do I feel like different people?”, “What causes amnesia?”, “What is dissociation?” It didn’t make sense.

He understood to a certain extent, but didn’t like the answers he’d found - though the distaste came not from a place of unacceptance but one of confusion. He didn’t understand enough to know how to help and he hated himself for it, more than he wanted to admit. Shutting his phone down in frustration, he made a mental note to maybe bring it up with Jenna, or suggest another trip to the doctors that Tyler would despise.

Chapter Text

Clancy was getting sick of his classes. There must have been something out there in “Tyler’s world” that had begun to corrupt his brain. Like a slow drip, he could feel more hate and discomfort seep back into his life. He hadn’t even had a full day back home and he’d already counted at least 10 of his own complaints during his latest class.

He counted even more on the walk back home. The route to his apartment wasn’t even that long, but still managed to annoy him. Whoever built this city really didn’t have efficiency in mind.

Glancing up, Clancy jumped back slightly, realising how close he was to walking into the person coming his way.

“Tyler? I don't recall your route home including this block?” Clancy tilted his head, even annoying himself with the condescension in his tone. Maybe he was a little pompous...

“We need to talk.” Tyler hissed. Stunned, Clancy watched as he glanced around nervously.

Nodding slowly, he realised he couldn't get out of this, nor did he truly want to. Something in him yearned for just a few answers. That's all he needed, then he could go back to living his normal life and the City wouldn't suspect a thing.

He was a little relieved that, amongst all the information Tyler had collected on him, his address wasn't part of it. Though he was sure leading this new acquaintance straight to his apartment would soon change that.

As Tyler shut the door behind him, Clancy made a point to sweep his pile of letters off his desk and onto the floor underneath it.

“And what are you planning to discuss?” He asked, leaning back against the desk and gesturing for Tyler to sit on the couch opposite.

Tyler sat, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back. “Have you told anyone?”

“Why would I tell anyone? And risk exposing my delusions? I would be painted a liar.” Clancy crossed his arms, frowning at the thought alone. Rather quickly, he decided it was best to keep the fact he almost told Keons everything far from Tyler, mainly for his own safety.

“Because you're a snitch and a teachers pet.”

“I am not a snitch.” Clancy glared, hiding his genuine offence as well as he could.

“Either way you're gonna get us killed” Tyler shrugged. There was something about the certainty in his tone that irked Clancy.

Tyler knew nothing about what it was like to be hurt, not in this City. Clancy knew hurt and Clancy knew pain and Clancy knew Tyler couldn’t even begin to understand it.

“Us? why would they hurt you?”

“Did you do anything important out there?” Tyler rolled his eyes. “You found the notes, right? Did you even read them properly? I've been tracking this for about a year... I think I've met the nine before”

“Before? Before what?"

“Before I found Trench. Or before it found me.” Tyler sighed, glancing at the pile of letters under the desk. “I've seen what they can do, okay? The second it remembers the power it holds, every single one of is done for.”

“It?? Wait- Slow down.” Clancy held his hands up and frowned in confusion.

“Blurryface. The nine. Nicolas Bourbaki.” Tyler listed patronisingly. “Each of those bishops is only a fraction of one entity. And the longer I've stayed here, the more separate and weak they get. I’ve finally manged to contain it in a way that won’t kill me. But... if I'm right, and they are the remains of Blurryface, then that could change at any moment. The second they remember what they are capable of, they will, without a doubt, take that path again and we will all suffer the consequences.”

“Blurryface? is that not your work...? The music?”

“Yes, the music.” Tyler rolled his eyes again. Clancy had a feeling that the distrust he felt towards the man was mutual. “Before I had a whole city of people in my brain it was just me and him. And I hated him.”

“And the leaders... they're parts of him?” Clancy tilted his head with a frown. He knew they often worked as one... but metaphorically? Right? Surely not as one being, that wasn’t possible.

“Just like you and me are parts of one brain. Blurryface is another. And he has parts within himself. Ergo, the nine”

“Right...” Clancy nodded. He did in fact not know they were a part of one brain, but something in his gut told him not to mention that. “So what about the Torchbearer?”

“There is no way in hell you're telling Josh” Tyler snapped, glaring at Clancy once more.

“Well what happens if I'm out there again and I don't know what to do?”

“Then you'll figure it out like I did. You're not telling Josh. He already thinks I'm crazy.”

“Crazy? What? That's not the impression I got” Clancy frowned, voice quietening.

“He'd have to try pretty hard not to.” Tyler rolled his eyes. Again.

“I think he is currently trying pretty hard. He cares quite a bit.” Clancy shrugged, fighting off the urge to comment on Tyler’s chronic eye rolling.

“Yeah and I don't want you ruining that by snitching.”

“What about the Torchbearer here?”

“Well I don't suppose the teacher’s pet is planning on conversing with an outcast so I'm sure you'll be fine”

Clancy nodded slowly but still wasn’t convinced.

“...Okay but your Torchbearer. Why not? Think about it”

“He isn't my Torchbearer, his name is Josh. and I'd. Rather. Die” With his arms crossed so childishly, Tyler almost looked like he was pouting.

“What if he can help?”

“What if he thinks I'm lying?” Tyler deflected.

“Then what if we can prove it? Or just be honest with him for once. You wanted to write music about this world, correct? Were you just planning on not telling him what it meant? I thought music was about trust”

“Yeah and what do you know about music huh?” Tyler muttered, rolling his eyes and sitting on the edge of his seat.

Clancy’s head snapped up and he glared at Tyler so hard he was convinced he could’ve killed him if he wanted to.

Tyler paused, avoiding eye contact. “Look...” He mumbled. “It's late, I need to be home before curfew. Just... don't do anything stupid”

5:47 pm passed. Then so did 5:48. Then 5:49.

That’s when Tyler managed to break the paralysis he found himself in. He didn’t know why he was staring at his alarm clock, didn’t know why he couldn’t move and didn’t have a single clue as to where he was.

Sitting up slowly to avoid the usual pounding headache, he squinted his eyes and his hand searched for his phone. He could feel the screen burning his retinas as he scrambled to turn the brightness down. It took a second for him to build the courage to check the date - in Trench, the most time he would lose would be around a day. If Clancy really was telling the truth, however, God knows how long it had been since he’d been in his own body.

April 6th... Tyler shrugged, not bad. Its not like he could remember when he was last actually in his own body anyways. He groaned, reaching his arms above his head to stretch out the ache in his back. A chill ran past his shoulders and he rolled to lay on his back, sitting up on his elbows.

The van door in front of him was open, leaving a bitter breeze running through the vehicle and a vast, empty, foggy parking lot for Tyler to view. He rubbed his eyes, glancing around for signs of life. In the distance, he spotted a small hut, presumably a bathroom. That must be where Josh was.

Tyler rolled his eyes, something told him he didn’t have long. Life was so unfair - the precious time he has back in his own body and Josh wasn't even there. It was cruel.

He stared into the foggy evening sky, his mind wandering back to the conversation he had with Clancy. Maybe he was a little harsh...

No. Clancy just didn't understand. He was a kid. Tyler couldn't go back to how it was before, nor could he tolerate someone so close to and so fond of the thing that fought to kill him. The less control Clancy had over Tyler’s life the better.

Even so, there was a tugging at his heart. Reluctantly, as he often found himself doing on cold nights like this, he wrapped himself up in the old, worn blanket and opened his camera roll. Normally, this would comfort him on the lonelier nights on tour, seeing older versions of himself so happy to even have the opportunity to travel and play shows.

It was all hazy, back then. In his mind, he couldn’t sense the difference between moments that were supposedly years apart, nor could he remember how he had felt at all. But seeing that smile on his face, right next to the smile on Josh’s. It was the closest he could get to remembering.

As he scrolled through the album, his eyes caught on the most recent one. In the photo, he stood beside Josh who seemed to be mid eye-roll. It made Tyler laugh - the unfortunate timing of the photo wasn’t unflattering but instead a sweet tribute to the moment in which it was taken. Next to Josh he saw himself, supposedly, stood like a small child and staring at the camera like a deer caught in headlights. If that was Clancy, Tyler assumed, he must’ve said something stupid. Or blunt. Clancy could be blunt. He seemed unaware though, the expression on what should’ve been Tyler’s face more confused at Josh’s grin than anything.

What confused Tyler most was the weight pulling down on his heart. Clancy seemed strangely at home here, as if he were an alien welcomed by the nicest humans he could’ve found. Tyler had felt like that before and he hated that Clancy now knew what it was like. He hated how this spoilt brat, this Bishop fearing, Cult serving princess had learnt to fit in with the sweetest humans around, just like Tyler once had. He tried to bring himself to despise Josh too, but couldn’t quite stir up the emotions he wanted. Truthfully, he adored Josh for accepting the man living in his friend’s body entirely and not questioning a thing.

His eyes bored into the picture of his face until he no longer recognised it as his own. There were differences, he was sure. For starters, this current version of himself wasn’t in the photo as he didn’t remember an ounce of the moment (yet another thing he could despise Clancy for). But there were other things too - the slight squint in his eyes, the muscles in his eyebrows held tight on his face.

Upon further consideration, Tyler realised it wasn’t just this photo he could pull apart. It was any. Even the old ones from the first tour. Whoever he may have been at the time had his shoulders held higher, his grin looser and less refined. He seemed more childish. Maybe that was the curse of growing up. Or maybe... maybe those photos weren’t of him either.

Of course not. That was stupid. Who else would they have been? It was his face and his body and his clothes. Those pictures were of Tyler. None of this was real.

Yet his mind wandered to the conversation he had with Clancy prior to his return. Maybe it was worth bringing it up to Josh. He didn’t have to go all out. Clancy was right, unfortunately. He couldn't just completely avoid sharing his narrative with Josh. Surely he could start there. Surely...

Deep in his bones, though Tyler knew that it would take time for him to muster enough confidence to even start, and it hurt his heart a little more.

Chapter Text

Having spent the best part of a week blipping in and out of Trench, Tyler finally felt ready to at least begin the conversation with Josh.

He awoke in the morning, in his own bed and for the first time in a week he didn't open his eyes to dread tugging at his gut. Somehow, he knew he had time. He should have time. He took this temporary freedom and decided to run with it, knowing that the best cure to anxiety was a deadline.

Cracking open a Red Bull and savouring the first sip, he sighed. Even waiting for Josh to sit down was enough to round up all the second thoughts his brain could muster, but he refused to listen. He needed this, only if it meant he could be the one to tell Josh, not Clancy.

So, just as his friend sat beside him, and the familiar concern crept into his furrow brow once more, Tyler took a deep breath.

And then it was gone.

His head hit the grass after seconds of air pressing in on his ears had passed. Bird song echoed through the field and Tyler considered joining in with his own frustrated scream.

He kept quiet though. Almost silent.

“Shit.” He groaned through gritted teeth, sitting up again. Taking a second to hold his knees, he drew in a deep breathe. His thoughts cleared as he knew they would, yet the longer he sat with them the louder they got. Of course he wouldn’t actually have been given the chance to be honest. Of course that would be taken from him too.

Knowing his luck, Clancy had already beaten him to it. Transitioning between Trench and the real world took a few minutes, he knew this, and Clancy surely would’ve jumped at the chance to ruin everything. He always did.

It didn’t take long for Tyler to find the camp. Though the Banditos relocated often, their small, familiar markings could be found all throughout Trench, only thinning closer to city where the vultures kept watch. His fingers traced each one as he walked, lingering on the last small symbol before they noticed him.

The camp was quiet today, peaceful. It wasn’t often he saw the Banditos this relaxed. Usually, with them trying so hard to meet Tyler often, they‘d have to hide nearer to the city, under the Vulture’s watch. He still didn’t understand why they fought so hard to keep him under their wing - they knew nothing about him nor did it seem like any of them wanted to... Aside from Josh apparently, who was the first to notice him approach. He always was.

Tyler smiled softly as Torchbearer stood, hands clasping his as he nodded his greetings to the other rebels around the unlit campfire. He sat down next to Josh and watched in silence as those around him resumed their light-hearted conversation.

Josh nudged his knee with a raised eyebrow and Tyler glanced up.

“Back again?“

Tyler nodded, words quiet. “Yeah. Took like 3 weeks to get out the first time”

“Damn. You know why?” Josh asked, eyes studying Tyler’s face.

It had taken Tyler months to get used to how similar the Torchbearer was to Josh. They both always just knew, just from a glance. He could give Torch a minute just to study his expression along and Tyler was sure he’d have found (and solved) the problem already, like it was nothing.

“Yeah” Tyler nodded again, taking in a deep breath. “The son? Clancy. Somehow took over my life apparently. Didn’t think I could hate him more” He stayed quiet, not sure he wanted the others around them to pick up on this information, even if he doubted they’d understand.

Josh stared at him in silence, but Tyler could hear the thoughts he must have been having.

“...Surprised it took him this long” Josh shrugged, staring at the unlit fireplace in front of him.

This caused Tyler to raise an eyebrow. “What are you on about man? That’s my body, its my life. He doesn't get that, he shouldn't get that.”

Josh looked up slowly, and Tyler stared back as they both tried to decipher what the other needed to hear.

“You’re allowed to dislike him, y‘know? Just... don’t take it out on him.” Torch sighed, forcing back a shrug. “He understands you just as much as you understand him. He’s clearly just a kid, and it’s not like the City teaches anyone enough for them to know better. You don’t know what they could be doing to him”

“I know what they did to me. And I know he wouldn't stop them if it was happening right here in front of him.” Tyler muttered bitterly, a slight bite to his words.

“No... but there was a time where you didn’t stop it either.” He left the statement to linger in the air for a second before continuing. “And there was a time where you didn’t know what the bishops were.”

“And I grew a pair. I got up and I learnt” Tyler shrugged, crossing his arms. He knew that, in fairness, Torch was right (as per usual) but he wasn't ready to accept that. If Clancy wasn't ready to grow up, he didn’t have to be ready either.

“You found me and cried for two hours straight.” Josh smirked slightly and Tyler rolled his eyes.

“Then I grew a pair.”

The truth was though, it had taken Tyler months to adjust to his second life in Trench. Most visits began as the first one did - falling and laying in agony for an embarrassingly long time.

He was quieter back then, too, terrified of the world that had swallowed him. It was only his third time in Trench when he’d come face to face with Nico himself. Strong and regal and powerful and vicious, the Bishop had dragged Tyler the entire journey back, straight to the centre of the City where every citizen of Dema stood on the streets in silence, staring. They’d just stared, but God he could still feel their eyes on him now. It had haunted his waking moments for days after, even back in the real world, each searing glimpse into the memory more realistic than any genuine flashback he’d been handed.

He had grown stronger since then, however. Over time he had learnt and he had changed and he had adapted, something he was sure Clancy wasn’t capable of. Tyler’s dependency on the Torchbearer waned and he instead, began to fuel his own fire. That was what made him the man he was now, not the struggle leading up to it. The change. And though he was sure his most recent frustration blinded him now, he still was confident in his doubts. He was certain Clancy could never understand what change meant.

Clancy blinked cluelessly, frozen as Josh stared with expectation. His eyes glanced down to the can in his hand and he sipped it with an awkward smile, just waiting for some hint to tell him how to continue whatever conversation he was just thrown into.

His face scrunched in disgust, instinctively pulling the can back to read the label. Red Bull... got it. Don’t ever drink that again, he reminded himself, running his tongue under his teeth in a (failed) attempt to scrape off the flavour.

“Hey... Josh” He nodded awkwardly, the words slow as he double checked that Josh was even the correct name in the first place. “How’s it going man...?”

Josh raised his eyebrows, almost amused by this sudden change in behaviour. “Uhh yeah. Yeah, I’m great...” He forced back a smile, trying to take his friend seriously. “Are you...?”

With the big lead up to this supposed announcement, he was sure Tyler must be finding it hard to get the words out. He was always a little awkward when it came to big things, and Josh knew whatever it was must be important.

“Oh um yeah, man” Clancy dragged out his words, trying to make himeslf sound more like the little of Tyler’s vocabulary he’d witnessed. “I’m awesome”

Josh nodded, grinning now. “Cool. So... nothing important to add? Big announcement of the day over?

Clancy nodded too, subconsciously mirroring the man in front of him. An ‘announcement’. He weighed up the options in his mind, a list of thing Tyler could possibly want to share with Josh. He couldn’t find many. They had to be things Josh didn’t already know for starters, and while Clancy wasn't too familiar with their dynamic, he was sure there couldn’t be many things Tyler kept from him. He was fully aware that this announcement being something he didn’t know about was a big possibility too. For reasons unbeknownst to Clancy, Tyler despised him, and he didn’t doubt that there was a lot about Tyler that was kept hidden from him.

There were two options he was faced with now. The first being that Tyler, for whatever reason, had actually listened to Clancy’s suggestion and decided to open up. Very quickly, however, Clancy decided that it wouldn’t be his place to share either way. He knew this would’ve been personal to Tyler. And if this option was personal to Tyler, he didn’t even dare explore the other possibility (though, upon further thought it did make sense). He shrugged as he weighed the scenario in his mind, studying the man in front of him as he came to conclusions best kept to himself.

The most important thing was that neither option was for Clancy to share. It was best to just find a way out. Despite his general dislike of Tyler, he didn’t actually want to portray the man as a coward, nor an idiot, though he was sure it would take a lot for Josh to start thinking that of him. He glanced around the room, upon remembering that he was currently being perceived, and an attempt to understand him was being made by the man before him. He shifted nervously on the couch and shook his head firmly.

“Nope. That was it. Just feeling that... cool... right now. Yep” Clancy crossed his arms, trying his hardest to imitate the type of confident smile he could imagine Tyler wearing.

He let out a sigh of relief as Josh just began to laugh, shaking his head. “Whatever man, okay then.”

The man rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch. Apparently this was normal for Tyler. Figured.

“Anyways, we’ve got like 4 days left before we leave for New Zealand. You got anything planned? Wanna do anything fun?” Josh asked, picking up his phone.

“Uhhh... Not sure” Clancy mumbled, running his hands over the pressure points under his eyebrows and pressing down to clear his head. “What do we usually do?”

“I don’t know man... We could get food? See what movies are on? You can invite Jenna if you want. I just don’t wanna waste the little free time we actually get.” Josh shrugged, glancing up from his phone.

“Any...” Clancy shrugged, staring at Josh like a deer in headlights. “Any of those sound good.”

Realistically, he knew he couldn’t win. Tyler would hate him for impersonating him, and Tyler would hate him for being himself. Tyler would hate him whether he made the choice or not. Not like he cared, Clancy supposed, he wasn’t too fond either. He just wasn't exactly comfortable with how easily Tyler made him feel like a little kid again, like he was in front of an overbearing parent or a brother so used to berating him. Like it was ingrained in him to just accept it.

He studied a distracted Josh for another second before confident he had nothing more to say. Adjusting his posture and clearing his throat, he sat forward awkwardly, just waiting for something to happen. Preferably a chance to just go home to Dema. The last thing he wanted was to be left alone with his thoughts again. Not like this.

Chapter Text

“And Clancy, before I forget” The voice, while calm, still echoed through the meeting hall.

Clancy glanced up, broken from his spell of dissociation. His eyes met with Nico's, the Bishop’s expression one of calculation and knowing.

“Lisden has been working with the nurses on a new Trial for you. Head nurse Rya will meet you shortly to introduce you to your objectives.”

Clancy glanced around the room, eyes widening. He hadn't faced a trial in... It must have been 3 or 4 months now. Nico's voice was too calm, too orderly for the weight his announcement carried. Startled, his head snapped up to see an apprentice nurse had appeared by his table, a clipboard held out. Clancy's shaking hands took it from her, flicking through the pages but unable to process a single word.

This was not good. Surely, this must have been some form of reaction to his disappearance, or meeting with Tyler, or maybe they could sense the rebellion he’d been fighting off for weeks growing stronger. At this point, though, he didn't care why - in this current moment his existence was one purely comprised of dread.

His walk home was lost to complete detachment. Clancy had a knack for simply mentally severing himself from his sensory inputs - he didn't process a single thing. He could've walked past a glow-in-the-dark elephant for all he knew, his brain wouldn't have taken in the information anyway. Instead his mind was busy trying to prepare for his visit from the Head Nurse.

Rya was kind enough, he supposed, and after everything she had been forced to put him through, she'd seen the worst of him. The tears and the blood and the anger and the begging for it to just end. She'd seen enough and Clancy wasn't keen on letting her see more, nor was he looking forward to the pity in her eyes.

Clancy‘s habit of forgetting to zone back in again led him to, more often than not, losing more time than he wanted to. He found himself sat alone in his apartment. Reluctantly, he stood from the couch and dragged himself to his kitchen, eyes sifting through the cupboard’s contents for something to kill the hunger. He never had much of an appetite but he didn't want to face this visit on an empty stomach. He grabbed the oats and poured himself a bowl, nose scrunching in disgust. He didn't know if the city's cuisine was meant to taste this bland or if he was just a bad chef. He didn't even care at this point.

Rubbing his tired eyes, he took the cold bowl back to the couch. He couldn't be bothered to heat the oats, and could already hear the thoughts in the back of his mind insisting that he didn't deserve it warm anyway.

Clancy couldn't do this. He couldn't eat. Hugging his knees to his chest and hiding his face, he brought his feet up onto couch. Though there wasn't anything in particular to hide from, the looming dread in his chest ached like a black hole and ran down his shoulders, a cold shower of acid so very close to causing shivers.

It took three rounds of knuckles tapping against the door for Clancy to finally move his body. He braced himself, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face that he’d only half registered were even there. Rya wasn’t exactly paid enough to care. She’d shared that with him in confidence once, in an attempt to make him smile. It didn’t work, but he appreciated the effort.

However, upon opening the door and forcing his tired eyes up, they landed on someone who was very visibly not Rya.

“Oh... Hey man...” Tyler frowned, stepping back in shock. He seemed hesitant to show his concern, and Clancy couldn't tell if it came from a place of hatred or sympathy.

He paused, staring back towards the centre of his living room. He genuinely considered turning around, shutting the door and resuming his silent breakdown, but something in him decided otherwise. Clancy faced Tyler once more, raising an eyebrow. The man stood before him, shifting awkwardly on his feet and holding out a small box.

“I- uhm. Figured you should have this? If you really do deserve it, you should be able to figure it out.”

Clancy stared, confused at the emotion Tyler was trying to portray. He took the box hesitantly and opened the lid. Inside lay a dainty, silver chain looped through a small pendant, maybe half the size of his palm. Turning the charm between his thumb and index finger, Clancy studied the design.

The front was engraved with a design he’d seen once before. A map. Maps were prohibited in Dema, yet in this fuzzy state, Clancy felt excitement in the place of the fear he expected of himself. On the underside were small rectangular breaks in the metal, showing another layer of a darker silver underneath and on the right side of the circle, a small notch stuck out.

Clancy didn’t have the energy to play brain games with Tyler today, so nodded slowly and pocketed the necklace. The little he knew of Tyler told him he’d at least get some answers out of him.

“To call us. You gotta figure it out though, I'm not holding your hand.” Tyler crossed his arms, still fidgeting slightly. He was trying to hide his discomfort.

“Oh. okay. thank you...” Clancy paused, voice quiet. “You want me to be able to call you?”

“That was Torcg’s idea man, not mine.” Tyler’s expression contorted into a small, cautious squint, and Clancy could feel him studying his face.

“You told him about me?” Clancy raised an eyebrow.

“Slow down. All I told him was that you've been more of a pain in my ass than usual” Tyler tried to keep a straight face but couldn't hide the playful smirk, reluctantly letting it show.

Clancy smiled back weakly, pale blue eyes brightening just slightly from the state they were in before. Despite Tyler’s somewhat cold exterior, Clancy still didn’t stop himself appreciating the gift.

“Thank you Tyler.”

The words “We need to talk” were the last words Tyler wanted to hear minutes after returning. Josh stood, leant against the kitchen island counter and staring expectantly at Tyler.

“You've been off for weeks now man. Seriously, are you okay?”

Tyler sighed, unable to make eye contact and tracing the rim of the glass of water with his fingers.

“I'm fine. I swear...”

He didn't have to look up to know Josh wasn't buying it. He could've painted the picture before even having to see. Josh would've raised an eyebrow or two and tilted his head down slightly, just enough to portray his accusing attitude.

“Okay look. I've been thinking... About this album”

“Tyler, what on earth does the music have to do with this? Can we just please focus on you for once. Just us, no music, no fans, no writing.” Josh leant his elbows against the kitchen counter.

“Just... Trust me okay? We had characters before right? Why not... More? And a place. I've ‘designed’ a place for the story. That's what I want to write about. Just didn't want you thinking I was weird” Tyler shrugged.

“Weird? Tyler, why would I ever think that?” Josh sighed, words hid under the breath. He pulled up a stool and sat opposite his friend. “Go on then. I'll bite. Talk to me”

“It's like this continent. Trench... and it's full of fields and nature and flowers. It's not the nicest place? But no one is even there to appreciate it, right? Because all the people are trapped in this city, that calls itself Dema.” Tyler stared, waiting for Josh to respond. As he spoke, his sentences came off as questions and to Josh, it almost looked as if he were wincing at his own words.

“Dema...? ok” Josh shrugged, confused but still following. He stared at the counter as Tyler spoke, trying to envision this narrative.

“Yeah. D. E. M. A. It’s run by 9 leaders who call themselves Bishops. They preach a religion to all the citizens that they call Vialism, and it makes you want to die. They want you to die. Call it glorious.”

Josh frowned, a little concerned at how, despite his frown, Tyler's eyes lit up while describing something so dark.

“The entire City is grey, built like a factory and full of smog. They don’t like colour, or music or art. So when you break free? Trench looks so much prettier. And if you’re lucky, you’d find rebels, right? They call themselves Banditos.” Tyler glanced up at Josh again.

“What does that mean?” He asked quietly.

“I dont actually know,” Tyler admitted with a shrug. “But they’re like a myth or a legend to the citizens. And they hate Dema. Makes everyone else seem under spells.”

“Don't blame them...” Josh mumbled with a nod.

This made Tyler smile. Though he’d opted out of including Torchbearer just yet, Josh was almost identical in their mannerisms.

“There's this one guy? Clancy. He moved to the city 9 years ago, and they took him away from his mother to work for the Bishops. One of the leaders, Keons, became his father figure. No one ever gets that close to them. Though... one day he decided to leave. He made it out quite far into Trench before he caved and returned.”

Tyler ignored Josh's slowly rising eyebrow, needing to get all the words out before they were stolen from him.

“It’s like they have control over him or something. Not just... propaganda and that. Real control. And the Bishops, they’re 9 parts of one whole being. It’s like they've divided Blurryface up into his 9 biggest components. He works as a group now. This is the first time in years I've got him trapped in a form that won't kill me but Clancy doesn’t understand that, he helps them.”

Tyler glanced up to see Josh’s interest piqued at that; he was more than familiar with Blurryface. Years before, when Tyler had first opened up, Josh had discovered exactly how real this supposed 'character’ was to him, and hearing this new development didn’t surprise him nearly as much as he anticipated.

“Is Clancy... you know...? Real. Like Blurryface was?” Josh asked quietly, eyes burning into Tyler’s forehead.

Tyler stared at the counter for a second, nodding but not moving his gaze. “Yeah.” He whispered. “And the City. And the Bishops. And the rebels.”

“And the citizens...? The ones who keep ‘dying’?” Josh asked quietly, fighting the urge to reach out and comfort his friend.

Tyler only nodded in response. Jesus, he hadn’t felt this weak and vulnerable since his first night out in Trench. It wasn’t pleasant.

“I’m not on drugs, I swear. Nor am I hallucinating, okay?... I don't think anyway? It’s just... sometimes I’m here. Sometimes I’m there. And when I’m there, I miss out on things here. The memories are either given to me second hand, or I have to live without.” Tyler shrugged, eyes flickering up to see Josh’s concerned frown.

“So what happens when you’re not here?” Josh tiled his head.

“Guess someone else takes over. Didn’t even know that was possibly until like a month ago. Guessed it kinda works like Blur used to”

Josh nodded knowingly, a small warm smile on his face.

“Like that Omar guy?”

Tyler frowned. “The who?”

“The guy who didn’t wanna be called Tyler. Because you're Tyler. So he picked that funny name we found on a website once”

“Oh...”

“Who else would it be then?”

“I don't know... Clancy’s been stealing my life for the last few weeks. Main perpetrator so far” Tyler scowled.

“Is that why you forgot Jenna’s name and locked yourself in a bathroom?” Josh raised his eyebrow.

“Sounds like him, yeah. Sorry if he was a prick”

Josh laughed. “He wasn't a prick. Just worried me a little”

Chapter Text

Though he should've been used to this by now, Tyler still needed time to decompress after spilling his heart out to Josh. He sat alone in his room, hating that his friend knew exactly what was going through his mind. Not only was he aware of the “other people”, but of how Tyler felt now - why he needed space and the thoughts he was attempting to hide from. Josh knew it all, as he always did.

A soft familiar melody sung through a tinny, quiet phone speaker. Tyler couldn't remember the name though it was Swedish, if he correctly recalled. He’d found it once on a playlist Josh had given him to prevent another breakdown. For a second, it again reminded Tyler how seen he was with him. A playlist instead of a paragraph. No empty words, telling him life was worth it. He had to admit it worked. It was still working now - it soothed him a little, but not enough to quiet his mind.

His eyes could've burnt a hole through the ceiling just from the intensity of his stare alone. It was almost enough to distract him. However, it didn't take long for the volume of the noise in his brain to amplify.

“Tyler... Tyler” Hissed a small voice, though not one heard with his ears. The words blended in with the rest of the white noise clouding his inner monologue, yet Tyler was sure they didn't come from him. It wasn't unusual for the trains of thoughts that crisscrossed over his to include cohesive sentences, or concepts that felt complete, but his name? Calling to him? That was new.

The most he could do was roll his eyes, mumbling a small “yeah?” in response. This was pathetic. There was no one calling to him, no one in his tiny mind. He was alone and delusional, he just needed to get used to that.

Yet still, he was delivered a reply.

“Blueprints Tyler. Notes. Letters. Goddammit answer me”

The words were more frustrated now. It wasn't like he could hear them, but they had definitely evolved from just thoughts. He pictured it as more like remembering his favourite song, playing it over and over in his mind. A sound memorised so thoroughly that he didn't even need to hear it with his own ears anymore. That is what this voice sounded like.

Tyler sat himself up with a reluctant groan. He hadn’t spoken back to a voice since... He didn't want to think about it.

“Right. Right... What?” He mumbled, pushing himself off of the bed, up onto his feet and walking towards the desk.

“Thank you” The thought sighed, sounding relieved. “Do you remember the old blueprints? I swear I saw them when I was out. Something about blurryface and the bishops” He insisted.

“Uhhh.” Tyler glanced around, half heartedly lifting one of the sheets of paper as he ran hands through his hair. He, unfortunately, recognised this voice a tad too well. “No? No blueprints. Be more specific”

“Something about the names. I don't know, I skimmed it last week” Clancy sighed, though this time it was a breath of frustration.

“Yeah when you took over my life?” He rolled his eyes and sat up properly.

Tyler began to sort through the notes, at first attempting to put them in chronological order, but giving up soon after he realised maybe only half of them were dated. There were so many notes left on each sketch, letter, and diagram and he honestly couldn’t remember half of them in the first place.

“You remember what size paper? Font? Any sketches?” He asked quietly.

He was always mumbling to himself, yet now, while talking with such purpose, Tyler felt almost embarrassed to be overheard. So, he lowered his voice a touch more.

“Old paper, ripped from an A5 notepad, there were circles drawn on”

“Right... okay” Tyler nodded, flicking through the pages.

Clancy hadn’t woken up in his bed that morning, nor was he in his room at all. Instead, his head pressed against rough, cold stone and his eyes were left unfocused in the dim light. Upon placing his hand down to sit himself up, he flinched away at the layer of grime coating the stone bricks.

A low arched ceiling hung over the corridor’s short walls. Along the stone bricks, small warmly coloured torches were mounted, flickering soft light onto the scene before him. Gradually, Clancy’s eyes adjusted, allowing for the little, controlled illumination available. Again, his foot slipped very slightly and he stumbled on his way to stand up.

His thoughts were hounded by questions and dread. A day after his visit from the nurse, having been so prepared for a new trial, Clancy couldn’t quite believe that this was his reality. Surely, he decided as he began to wander down the hall, this was a nerve-fuelled nightmare, or even a part of the trial itself.

He could’ve been wandering those corridors for hours, though he was sure the uniformity didn’t help. Just as the monotony began to pain his mind, Clancy encountered a break in the stone wall. A small door frame, only an inch or so taller than him, invited him into the room, tempting and comforting. The room lacked a door itself, and seemed to be much larger than Clancy could perceive from this side of the wall.

Hesitantly, he stepped forward, terrified of trespassing and upsetting his leaders further. He stood paralyzed for a moment until he was certain no one was currently out to get him. Forcing one foot in front of the other, he led himself towards the small stone lectern sat in the centre of the room. It was littered with small cracks, running along the patterns carved into it, and held a leather bound notepad. The pages were weathered and only about the size of Clancy’s hand.

He scanned the writing slowly, his fuzzy mind finding the task impossible. Only a third of the writing at most was clear enough to be understood, and maybe a tenth of that was in languages Clancy couldn’t begin to comprehend. The most noticeable words, however, were the letters, seemingly scratched into the page on top of the original information, in a pen much darker and inkier.

“They can’t stop you calling them. They can't stop all of us.”

The corner bore a small smudged thumb print, and amidst all the terror and anxiety Clancy was fighting through currently, it made him smile. The humanity behind it, something so imperfect and rushed and real about that thumbprint brought him an ounce of relief.

His eyes studied the drawings beneath, little blueprints scattered about the two open pages. There were notes too faded and worn to decipher, aside from small crosses circled beside each sketch. Clancy recognised these, he had seen them before. Vetomo’s sketchbooks were filled with inventions and ideas, mainly devices to ensure the “safety” of the citizens in his care. He had only seen them once, when he’d been trusted to design a new projector for the younger classes.

Initially, it had seemed a sweet idea to give the children something other than a chalkboard to learn from. Clancy really didn’t mean to turn that page, nor did he mean for his eyes to land on the creations the Bishop had planned to produce. He shuddered at the thought, running a fingertip over the pencil markings and watching them smudge.

Clancy glanced around the room, finding himself surrounded by dusty dark oak bookshelves towering 20 feet high. The stone floor beneath his feet was smoother now, polished and coated in a thin layer of dust. No one had been here in a long time.

Directly in front of him, tall and proud (though still much shorter than the rest) stood the only light-coloured bookcase. Cottonwood, Clancy recognised it. The last surviving tree in Dema. He had heard from his father that it finally withered mere days before he had shown up. From what he was told, the remains of that tree had been used as firewood, all bar the small chunk that was kept aside by Keons and carved into a small baby gremlin, supposedly his mother’s favourite animal. It still sat beside his bed, next to the little name tag a younger Clancy had scrawled out impatiently. Ned, his name was if Clancy could recall correctly.

That Cottonwood bookshelf taunted him. All lights appeared to point in its direction. So, naturally, Clancy felt his feet push his body forwards, towards the stacks and rows of leather-bound pages. His hands reached out towards them, running gentle fingers over the spines and collecting a small amount on his fingertips. Each book looked exactly the same in height, width and cover - a deep crimson, no title.

Clancy knew the second he reached for a book that he should’ve let his curiosity stay dead. The city killed that quality of his a long time ago, and while he happened to believe in ghosts he usually knew best not to converse with them. Fingers flicked through the pages, slowing when he realised the contents of the page. Every single one of them contained frantic yet uniform letters covering the exact same image. A drawing.

“Is this where he came from?”

Perfectly replicated over and over and over on those weathered pages, the words mocked him. They were sneering. They were cold and brutal and mimicking. Clancy had seen those letters before, he was sure of it.

The sketch underneath seemed familiar too. 9 circles, each with patterns neatly etched into the paper inside. Small, fainter annotations in pen lay faded beside the circles.

“My heart”

“My father”

“My friends”

At the very bottom of the sketch, a small “ME” under the centre circle on the lowest row was carved, pen scrawled over and over on the paper as if it were rewritten at least ten times.

Clancy knew he was more horrified than he realistically should be, but there was something about the questions “is this where he came from?” that made him feel incredibly small. He was coming to terms with the fact that he was nothing in comparison to the world in which he resided, let alone the world he had seemingly been missing out on his entire life.

He shook himself out of that paralysing fear, rushing over to the lecture and placing this book open beside the first. He closed his eyes, hoping that the gut instinct pulling his soul towards this wasn't out to humiliate him entirely.

With a hand splayed out, pressed firmly against the first book, Clancy hesitantly began to talk.

“Tyler.... Tyler”...

Though there weren’t any mirrors for miles, Clancy didn’t need one to know his face went bright red. He was alone, there was no one around he was sure of it. Yet talking to himself still felt like genuine torture.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he actually heard a response. A soft reluctant mumble but a response nonetheless. He flicked through the pages impatiently, praying for just a little bit of information that could help.

“Blueprints Tyler. Notes. Letters goddammit answer me”

It took Tyler another 5 minutes to find that piece of paper, laying scrunched up at the bottom of the pile. He studied it in silence for a moment, not a single flicker of recognition behind his eyes. That wasn’t his handwriting, nor was it his drawing. But it was his album, that he was sure of.

“Me? Who is me?” Tyler frowned, hoping Clancy was still close enough to answer.

Clancy shrugged. Tyler couldn’t see him but he was sure it happened. Almost like a small image appearing in his mind or a fifth sense.

“Clancy, where the hell are you?” He asked with a scoff, not recognising the man’s surroundings at all. It didn’t look anything like Dema, he knew that place well enough to be sure they didn't own that many books.

“Not entirely sure...” Tyler heard him mumble, then shrugged. He didn’t exactly care about the man enough to worry.

“I think I’m under the City” He said quietly.

That worried Tyler a little more now. He knew those tunnels too well and had never stumbled across anything like this.

“What the hell are you doing? They cannot find you down there, do you understand?” Tyler snapped, sitting up in frustration.

“I-I just woke up here okay? There are so many books. They used my mothers tree, they kept it. They told me it was burnt Tyler. Why would they keep it? For storing books no less.”

Clancy was sounding a little distressed now which only caused Tyler to roll his eyes. “Look it was just a tree right? Who cares how they used it? We’ve got bigger issues right now.”

There was a small pause, and Tyler could feel the beginnings of the storm of emotions settle.

“I’m going to get another book” Clancy said, words fuelled with quiet purpose.

Tyler waited impatiently at his desk, picking up a pen and running around in circles on a clean page. It left small incomplete trails of ink, it must have been running out.

“Tyler...” Clancy murmured.

His dread was contagious, Tyler felt it so viscerally he almost lost his grip on the pen. He was already preparing for another search, waiting for any form of description to aid him.

“Tyler what are vessels...? What does this mean?” He whispered, a slight shake in his voice.

Fingertips traced the small drawing once again. He let the moment settle in silence for a second as he fully processed what he was seeing.

Seizing. That was the name for it. “ To fully control the remains of a Glorious Gone .” A dead man. Only ever a dead one.

“Oh they’re the bodies. Bishops have a weird name for it, refuse to call them bodies ‘cause it makes them sound as dead as they are” Tyler rolled his eyes.

“I need you to find this page and explain it to me now.” Clancy’s words shook more as he held the book open in his hands.

It felt heavier with each second. The words scratched over the sketch jumped out at him, slowly approaching. Something within him wanted to run and he forced it back with a shudder.

“BUT YOU ARE NOT A DEAD MAN.”

No. He was not a dead man. He knew that. Of course he knew that. Dead men cannot breathe or talk or move. This wasn’t true or real - this was ridiculous. There was no Tyler, no outside world and no voices in his head. No vessels. This was a sick and cruel joke made by someone who wanted to disrespect those who passed in Glory.

Tyler had tried calling. He was tempted to start shouting. God, he was tempted to find his own way back into Trench and hunt Clancy down himself. He was just... gone. The walls had gone back up around him and that small amount of communication was over.

He had tried finding the page on his own, though there was no description to go off of so it became rather difficult. He stopped searching after ten minutes, still refusing to stop calling out to Clancy. Had they found him? Had someone hurt him? Did the drawings hurt him?

“Clancy. Answer me, I want to help you.” He insisted, one more time.

One more time then he would give up. Clancy would come back or he wouldn’t. Not his problem, he tried to remind himself.

“The bodies... They use their bodies.” Clancy whispered, and it felt like a dam of emotion hit Tyler square in the face.

“Hey, hey what?? You need to calm down if you want me to find this page.” He insisted, trying his best to calm them both down. “What does it look like? That’s all I need.”

“A dead man. He’s.... I think he’s hanging. By his feet.” Clancy whispered with a small sniffle. He’d been crying, and Tyler wasn’t looking forward to finding out why. “There’s a gravestone. And writing. Something about the neon. The word Seizing, and a longer description, it's been smudged out.”

“Okay... Thank you” Tyler breathed a sigh of relief. He began to separate out each pile of sketches and letters, trying his best to organise them in a way that fit in his mind. It was frantic but methodical and he managed to deconstruct almost the entire pile of pages.

That was when he found it. Almost a full a5 sheet of paper, writing clear as day scrawled all around the hanging man in the centre. Tyler had seen dead men before. Not in real life, sure, but the Morgue under the city had more than enough to compensate. This, however, was different. Something within his bones told him so. That dead man was alive.

“Found it.” He announced slowly, eyes scanning over the notes scribbled around the drawings.

“Seize available vessels.” Tyler frowned, reading out from the notepad. “Bishops control available vessels? They will make you a weapon... The neon will preserve only the Glorious. Clancy what the fuck does this mean?”

“I don’t know? What on earth are you saying???” Clancy snapped. Tyler could see him look up in frustration.

“The writing, Clancy. The notepad, someone’s been here.” Tyler flicked through the pages, finding more and more information organised into neat but frantic paragraphs with tiny diagrams littered around. “Says they were running out of time, whoever they were, they knew too much.”

Clancy didn’t respond. Clancy didn’t do anything for a long moment.

“BUT YOU ARE NOT A DEAD MAN”

Everything he had ever been taught was slowly crumbling down around him. The vialism, the glory, the people who raised him. They were using the bodies. Using those deaths for their own gain. An army was being raised under his nose and he let it happen. He helped them.

“BUT YOU ARE NOT A DEAD MAN”

“What in God’s name do they need an army for? We have no enemies. We have no foe. We have wealth and power and comfort and safety and we have Order. This is pure chaos I don’t understand.” Clancy frowned, having to slow his breaths before they verged on hyperventilation.

“Guess the rebels count.” Tyler suggested. Clancy could see him shrug in his mind’s eye, like a memory.

“What on earth could they have possibly done to warrant an army. I’m sure if Nico actually wanted to, he could eradicate them all in one night.” Clancy huffed, crossing his arms.

“Nico is a capitalistic, vialistic pig who uses everybody else for his dirty work. Knowing him, he’d send you out instead.” Tyler snapped.

Clancy rolled his eyes. “And I too would take them down just fine.”

“You wouldn’t dare we both know that”

Silence hung around them both for an awkward moment too long.

“Tyler...” Clancy called out, quiet and timid. “The pendant you gave me. What do those words mean?”

The lack of response unsettled him, and almost instinctively he reached for the pendant under his shirt again. Scanning his eyes over the metal, his thumb ran over the small engraved map. He pushed his thumb up to the tiny bar on the side, gently pushing it and watching the whole picture rotate 90 degrees anti-clockwise.

East is up.

He’d learnt that once, studying old maps left out in an abandoned Bandito camp. It still resonated with him in a way that he couldn’t explain - reminded him of the community those people had with one another. He yearned for it.

Slowly, as the design spun, a layer of yellow began to show through underneath. He could feel the clockwork twist and turn under the thin metal, clicking slowly. As his thumb finally hit the end of the circle, two yellow words shined through, glowing in the low light.

“Sahlo Folina.”

He had heard it before, Clancy was sure, but had no clue from where. It spoke to him too, just like the first saying. A whole other language was being created and shaped only a few miles from his home while he was trapped in a system he never asked to be born into.

No. That was ungrateful. He was not trapped. He returned home willingly. He swore his loyalty... To a City that preyed on the dead. To a city which preached suicide to fuel their own empire. Clancy couldn’t stand to think about it any more.

“Tyler, answer me. What do those words mean? What is Sah-”

He was cut off abruptly, Tyler’s voice panicked and snappy.

“Don't! …Don’t say that out loud. Not until you need to okay? It’s a calling. You’ll have ten Banditos on your ass within minutes and they’ll be prepared to die on your behalf. Don’t lead them into the heart of the City asshole...” Tyler breathed a sigh of something akin to relief, like he was millimetres from being shot but narrowly avoided.

“Sorry...” Clancy whispered. He studied the words more, memorising them in his mind. He shouldn’t have even been able to see them, the yellow letters catching the soft light and throwing it straight back into his eyes almost aggressively. He shouldn’t have been able to see yellow, and he swore on the lives of every Bishop around him that the side effects of living in Trench had worn off quickly. That was the truth, mainly. But the yellow stayed.

For months after his return, he had spotted yellow flowers all over the city. Yellow tape on window frames and yellow petals on door steps. He knew there was a lot of disloyalty in the city, and he genuinely wanted to see it resolved. Ratting out the yellow, however, was not an option. Dema’s dignity was not worth the price he would pay for owning up.

More silence occurred, but a comfortable one this time. After deciding he was sick of listening to his own brain, Clancy stood up tall.

“I’m looking at more books” He announced, more to himself than Tyler, though he could see the man nod very faintly.

“What is smearing?” Clancy asked, throwing the third question within a single minute at Tyler, who had resorted to simply scrolling on his phone.

“Describe the sketches” He responded with a reluctant mumble.

He didn’t mean to be snappy, nor was he bored at all of this current activity but something about Clancy’s recklessness earlier had really thrown him off. He knew he should’ve explained a bit more, and asked him to be careful. He knew that but hindsight sure was a beautiful thing really, as hearing Clancy begin to summon an angry violent crowd of Banditos to the doorstep of Dema almost forced Tyler’s heart to beat out of his own mouth.

He knew nothing in Trench was technically real yet he still felt responsible for those people somehow. He would one day, not too far in the future, return and discover half of them missing either imprisoned or killed by the City. All because he didn’t want to talk to Clancy. It needed to change. Even if, this time, it didn’t cos him his friend’s lives, it might one day and that terrified him.

“A bishop I think? It’s not a very clear drawing. He has his hands to a person’s neck, making it all sooty. And there's a brain next to it, turning black I think? No writing on this one?”

Tyler nodded, setting his phone down. He knew that one, drew it himself.

“My art is perfectly clear and talented thank you very much,” He grumbled with a small hidden smile. He had already seen that page twice dissecting his pile of notes and managed to find it within seconds. “Where’d you get the word smearing?”

“It’s only been written on here about half a million times.” Clancy scoffed. “Covered up half of the sketches too, just rows and rows of it.”

Tyler raised a confused eyebrow. “Just the word smearing?” He asked, almost in disbelief. “Okay whatever, I don’t wanna know...” He paused, thinking for a second. “No no I do. Why are all my notes in a hidden library under Dema?”

Clancy frowned with a shrug and a small bemused laugh. “I’m not even entirely sure what I’m doing down here to be completely honest.”

Without warning, Clancy heard a loud thud. A small whine of a door hinge echoed along the hallways, harmonising with heavy, angry footsteps against cold stone. One pair, then two. Then four.

There were four people coming for him.

Clancy’s heart stopped as he dropped the book in his hand. He winced as the spine cracked against the stone tiles, knowing there was no saving him now.

“Tyler. Tyler, they're here, what do I do?” His breath shallowed as he stood. Eyes scanned frantically around the room for any sort of hiding spot, yet there were none. Nothing but thousands of books on thousands of shelves, taunting him with knowledge no one in the past decade of Dema’s history had ever consumed.

There was no response, no one to save him when it happened. No words were said as rough, blackened hands grabbed his wrists and pushed him forward. Nothing was uttered by either party until they had reached the end of the corridor.

Clancy felt a hand yank his hair, forcing his hanging head to look up. Before him stood his father Keons who bore a look of such disappointment it burnt through the veil and hurt Clancy’s heart.

“Nico has requested your trials be expedited. They begin in two hours. I expect you to be ready in one.”

That was all the bishop had to say to him before more harsh hands dragged him away. By this point, Clancy had shut down completely. There was no escape from this, no way to prove he wasn’t guilty. He very much was. He didn’t even bother to plant each footstep properly on the floor as he was already being dragged too fast and harshly to catch up. He refused to take in any of his surroundings, he couldn't bear to acknowledge any potential spectators or citizens, so couldn’t exactly tell how long the walk took. It couldn't have been more than five minutes before he was thrown back into his unit. Empty, bare hospital walls reflected harsh white light into his tired eyes and refused to let him sleep. He knew how this ended.

Ten minutes from now they would deliver his lab clothes. Twenty minutes from now he would be allowed to change. Thirty and his father would visit him one final time before it happened.

Then they would completely destroy him. Again