Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ashe loves playing the drums. It used to be something they dreamed of doing. Days spent sitting on their bed and imagining life outside of their room, absently air drumming to their playlist.

Then, they didn’t have to imagine, and they made amazing friends and terrifying enemies. Then, everything went to shit and they knew down in their bones— in their cursed stained hands one simple fact.

They were all going to die.

And Ashe couldn’t stand by and let it happen, even knowing the consequences. They chose to release the terrifying demon in the book even as power flooded through their veins like poison, and that horrible evil clawed out of their chest and bubbled like painful laughter.

They lived in that horrible nightmare for a year (for a second, for a decade). Flashes of gore, fire, destruction, and manic laughter tearing their mind apart over and over and over again. They try not to think about it, most of the time. Even still it haunts them like a shiver down their spine, like the faint white lines of burned runes across their arms, like the scars around their cracked mouth from too-wide smiles.

Then they woke up. And moment by moment, surrounded by friends who were so, so familiar, and yet so clearly different, they realized that it was real.

When they finally got back home with their dad, he nervously led them into their room. Inside, there was an old drum kit, painted brightly in neon spray paints. They immediately hugged him, and began sobbing into his shoulder as he held them tight and whispered words he would’ve never dared to before.

Mark is never going to be an amazing dad, but he’s the only one Ashe’s got. And with blood freshly painted behind their eyelids, they’re keen to hold on to everything they have.

The drums helped a lot in those first few weeks. When the screams started to break their way into their consciousness, a horrible chorus of agony, and memories came too close to the surface, they would look up a youtube tutorial and start drowning it all out. The feeling of smooth wood on their bloodied hands and vibrations through their weakened bones was freeing, when all else felt jarring and painful.

It didn’t take long to become a habit. (Their dorm initially refused to let them bring the drum kit, but after a firm talk with their dad, they reluctantly allowed Ashe to bring them. Mark had come out to meet them with a sly grin, and Ashe just snickered at the fearful faces in the window.)

So now, they sit in their elaborately decorated dorm, pounding out a complicated percussion line from one of their favorite songs to relax after a long day. Their posters paint the room in bright shades of red and purple, and a beam of light is shining through the half covered window, illuminating their bed in golden light. Ashe closes their eyes for a moment, leans back, and relishes in the feeling of being alive.

They smile lightly, before sitting back up and gripping their drum sticks, ready to go again. They tap their sticks. One, two—

A bright blue light flashes in the middle of their room, as the air tears itself apart into a glowing rift leading somewhere misty and dark.

A moment passes, and then the disheveled figure of William almost falls through the portal, and on to Ashe’s fluffy rug. A wisp flies through after him, and darts right into Ashe’s face, and for a moment all they can see is bright, flickering green-blue.

"Hey— uh," They stutter, holding out their hands non-threateningly. "Chill?"

The wisp lingers meaningfully, before flitting right above William and then back out of the portal, closing it behind them.

Ashe takes a closer look at William, and curses under their breath. He’s crumpled on Ashe’s floor, only just managing to pull himself into a sitting position. He’s breathing quickly, arms wrapped around himself like a lifeline. His white streaked hair is messier than usual, all falling into his face and obscuring his expression.

"Hey," Ashe tries, to no response. "Shit. William, you need to breathe."

They stand and make their way to William’s side. It’s easy to see now that he’s crying. They sit beside him, picking at the fuzzy rug beneath them anxiously, and start exaggerating their breathing. They stay like that for a while, until he looks a little more aware.

Hesitantly, they break the silence. "Hey, William. Can you feel what’s beneath you?"

William’s eyes uncloud a little, as he hesitantly spreads his hand across the purple fuzz. His hyperventilating has slowed significantly, by now. He nods, jerkily, and wipes the tears from his eyes.

Another quick silence passes. Then, he huffs out a shaky laugh and turns his head away. "S-shit. Sorry, Ashe."

"You would do the same for me," Ashe replies, and it’s true. He already has, in fact. "So you don’t need to apologize."

"Yeah," William agrees roughly.

A minute passes while William composes himself a little more. Ashe moves across from him, grabs their sketchbook, and starts lightly shading a little set of doodles they made yesterday.

William quickly peeks over at the page they’re working on, and they give a brief shrug before turning it towards him.

"Looks nice," He comments quietly before adding, "Sorry for dropping in unannounced. The wisps can be little shits," He huffs, eying the spot where the portal was.

"Maybe they just like me. Ever considered that?" Ashe declares, leaning back against their bed dramatically.

William passes back their sketchbook, wiping at his face again with his ratty old sleeve. "Y’know. Wouldn’t surprise me. Did I interrupt anything?"

"Nah, just practicing a cool fill." Ashe reassures.

"All your fills are cool," William objects with a light smile, that quickly drops.

Ashe rolls their eyes. "You’re biased."

"Probably." William agrees.

A moment passes. William sighs. "Tide was asking about some shit. I kinda freaked out."

Ashe hums sympathetically, putting the sketchbook aside but continuing to fidget with the pencil. "What was it? I mean— If you want to talk about it. You, uh, don’t have to."

William smiles humorously at Ashe’s awkwardness, then begins digging black nails into the textured carpet as his expression drops once more. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, staring at the ground. Then, hesitantly, he asks "Did Vynce or Dakota ever tell you about.. Bell Tech?"

Ashe racks their brain, and only comes up with a short conversation between Vyncent and them about shit they regretted. "I think Vyncent mentioned it once? Nothing specific."

"Uh— yeah," William exhales harshly, "Probably for the better."

Ashe ignores the pang in their chest. (They missed so much of their friend’s lives, locked away dreaming. On bad days, it bothers them more than they’d admit.)

Instead, they watch William mildly. "What does Bell Tech have to do with Tide?"

He flinches, and they can’t find it within themself to be surprised. William’s knuckles are going white from his death grip on their carpet. His voice goes quiet, hollow. "I fucked up a lot of shit at Bell Tech. I didn’t want Tide to see, so I made him forget. Could’ve killed him. I did kill someone else. A girl. Cantrip. I thought I was saving more people but I just…"

"Oh," Ashe says quietly, and looks down again.

"Sorry," William apologizes weakly, "You probably didn’t want to hear that."

"It’s fine," Ashe reassures quickly, before quietly adding. “I wish I was there. Wish I could’ve helped.”

William looks to the ceiling with a bleak smile. “I am so fucking glad you didn’t have to see me like that. The month before you came back was the worst in my life. Hands down.”

They resist the urge to argue with him. To tell him they want nothing more than to have been there for their friends at their worst.

Instead, they let a brief silence pass before starting, "I killed a lot of people, as The Trickster."

"That wasn’t you!" William objects, scandalized.

"Sure, but it was still my choice to let him ou— Let me finish William." William gives an exasperated sigh and Ashe rolls their eyes. "My decision led to the death of a lot of people. But when I made that decision, I also saved all of you. So I guess, choices like that— the shitty ones, aren’t simple."

"Is anything?" William asks with a shaky smile.

Ashe gives one of their own. "I don’t know. Probably not, man."

William gives a little laugh, and looks at them meaningfully. "Just remember. Literally no one blames you for what The Trickster did."

Ashe just throws a pillow at him, hiding a smile.

"Hey!," William yelps affrontedly, before being pelted in the head by yet another pillow. "Who are you, Kemuri?"

"What, the smoke guy?" Ashe questions as they reach for another pillow.

"Yeah, he trapped me on an island this one time and made me fight hi—" Another pillow smacks him in the head. "That’s it!

Ashe’s eyes widen, as the look at all the ammo they’ve given him. "No! I’m fragile! I have soft bones!"

William pelts them with a pillow, and they don’t react. He huffs, "Fragile my ass."

"Do better, grandpa."

"Just because I’ve lived several lifetimes doesn’t mean they lasted very long!" William replies, before disappearing with one of the pillows.

Ashe looks around frantically, before—

WHAM! The pillow comes down over their head with terrifying speed.

"Ow!" They yell before narrowing their eyes. "This is war."

William appears over another pillow, smug grin on his face. "Try me."

An intense battle follows, and both Ashe and William let out their fair share of undignified squawks as tactics become more and more underhanded. After several minutes of pillow fight induced psychological warfare and fluffy violence they both lie sprawled out on the carpet, breathing heavily.

"If I had the book," Ashe pants slightly, "I totally would’ve won that."

William chuckles breathily. "I think the demons would’ve just ripped the pillows into a million pieces."

"Probably," Ashe agrees, "But it would’ve been cool as hell."

"Yeah."

A minute passes, as they both help each other up and tidy the now chaotically disarranged room. Afterwards William straightens up, and shoves his hands into his large hoodie-jacket. "I should uh, probably get back to the spirit realm."

Ashe raises an eyebrow. "You need a fucking hobby, man. You can’t be working a hundred percent of the time."

"It isn’t working!" William objects.

Ashe just looks at him, doubt clear on their face.

"Yeah yeah." William sighs before his eyes flick briefly to the drums in the corner of the room. "Y’know. I have kinda been thinking about… learning to play the guitar. Now that I can actually feel my fingers and shit."

Ashe smiles, tapping their fingers across their drumsticks. "I’m pretty sure the university has some guitars for students to borrow. I could get you one?"

"Oh wow actually?" William says, eyes wide. "That would be great!"

Ashe hums, glancing at their calendar. "Meet me here on Tuesday. And don’t forget to text."

"Alright," William smiles, and rips open that blue rift, letting the sound of rustling trees and light breeze wash over the room. He waves a hand behind him as he steps through, and then suddenly the room is quiet once again.

Ashe flops onto their bed as silence sets in once again. They twirl their drumsticks above them, staring at the motion in the now dimly lit room. One falls, hitting their phone. They curse, realizing it’s unlocked, and see their camera open. They go into their camera roll, and see a picture of them, laughing while brandishing a pillow like a deadly weapon and trying to find the invisible form of William. A selfie then shows William giving a smug grin to the camera with a pillow looming overhead, spelling out his inevitable fate.

They hold the phone to their chest for a moment, smiling. Then, with renewed determination, they pick up the drumsticks once again, and sit down at the drum kit. They pull up the fill from the song Dakota’s been pestering them to learn, the sun just peeking past the horizon of their window and lighting the vibrant room in fading shades of gold.

They take a deep breath and tap their sticks.

One, two, three, four—