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Belonging (to a broken home)

Summary:

Sam was different in a way that made people rush out of his way, never mind that he would never — could never — hurt them. Different in a way that made him miss his dad saying, "No kiddo, nothing's wrong with you, you're just built to be the coolest guy in the room." He'd wink and continue, "Don't worry. You'll get it someday." Except, well, his dad had been gone for 20 years and he was starting to think that someday wasn't coming. He was different, and the screaming at the base of his skull wasn't getting any better with age. Something was broken and hurt, but maybe the hidden staircase at the back of the arcade was the key to fixing it.

Basically: Sam's actually a program. He would know that, if the only one who had known was around to tell him.

Notes:

So this is directly inspired by a fic I read a few years ago about sam being a program that I would totally link to except that I can’t find it so if you know what I’m talking about pls tell me and I’ll add a link up here :)

Edit: Thank you to ArtemisQuill for knowing the title! It's linked now!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: The cliche dream sequence (one down for my fanfic author bingo card)

Chapter Text

Sam dreamed of bright colors and geometric patterns. He could distantly hear voices (it sounded like his dad and Alan) but he could never quite make out what they were saying. Like they were speaking a language that sounded like English but wasn’t. The sounds were familiar there but the meaning was just out of reach. 

 

He dreamed of a dark place and being alone.

 

He dreamed of white lights and a man who looked like Alan but younger than Sam had ever known him. More unfamiliar words rushing over him and he was so small but the man was safe

 

He dreamed of cold. Cold air filling his lungs and against his skin and breathing felt weird and unnatural and he was scared and the world shouldn’t be this dull— it should be full of bright colors and lights and it wasn’t even though the big light was warm against his skin like… something.  

 

Sam dreamed that the real world was actually a dream world. A vision meant for men greater than him. He dreamed that he belonged to a world of colors and patterns and feverish warmth and hope and a faint buzzing under his skin that he missed like a physical ache because something was missing and broken in the back of his mind in a place he couldn’t quite reach and he had to fix it but he couldn’t even get there because it was covered

 

He dreamed that there was something wrong with him. Something different and strange and it wasn’t that he was the son of a disappeared tech billionaire. 

 

He awoke and felt deep in his subconscious that something about the dreams were true

Chapter 2: the arcade :D

Notes:

Tbh I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, but it has to go out today or it's not going out at all lmao. I'm really excited for the next one tho so stay tuned!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Sam was reckless. He knew that. He was reckless and rebellious and maybe a little broken. And maybe the yearly prank was a bad idea, but he had to protect his father’s legacy somehow even if he had no interest in taking over for him. Besides, if they didn’t want him to break in they should improve their security. 

 

He was also practical; the pager was probably nothing. He didn’t want Alan to get his hopes up and be hurt, but despite his rebellious streak he could never quite bring himself to disobey him on any important matters. (Except, of course, for the prank, which was at a higher priority level than Alan’s comfort. Besides, his godfather had never outright asked him to stop, so it really wasn’t disobeying at all.) He had protested but they both knew that, despite their estranged relationship, he would go anyway. 

 

Arriving at the arcade felt like entering a desolate wasteland from one of the sci-fi movies he and Alan used to watch. Granted, it was nearing 4 AM, but it still felt wrong to see the lights off on the sign and not a soul around. 

 

As always, getting off his bike felt like leaving a piece of himself behind. He ignored the [error - incomplete - diagnostic-failed] hum at the base of his skull and got off anyway, reminding himself to breathe as he took a shaky step towards the run down building. 

 

He turned the key and gave a slight shove to push the door open, not sure what to expect. He was joking about his dad still being upstairs at his desk, but as he opened the door it almost felt like he could be. In a way, it felt… exactly like it always had. Beneath the dust and the tarps there was the faint buzz that had always been there, that he had always associated with this place, his second home. 

 

Turning the power back on, he smiled despite himself as he heard the jukebox still running after 20 years (“Separate Ways”- he used to love this song) and saw the faint lights of the arcade games under their covers. He hadn’t expected any of it to work, but then again, his dad had probably upgraded all the machines personally to make sure they would run smoothly for the next 100 years. 

 

Some part of him wanted to stay in this room forever, to fix it up and let the masses back in. He wanted it to go back to the way it was— the way that it should be, but it felt wrong to do that when its Creator wasn’t there to see it. He shook his head and marched upstairs. 

 

As he already knew, disregarding the undercurrent of hope that he felt seeing everything light up again, the office/apartment was empty with a thick layer of undisturbed dust. And as much as he would love to stay and embrace the feeling of the place he used to love most in the world, he was smart enough to know that hope hurts. 

 

But as he started to leave the buzzing under his skin and the humming in the base of his skull and the emptiness at his back intensified and in a half-daze he turned around to see a machine that had always been more than just a video game to him. It was his bedtime story and his future and his reminder that his dad loved him once and a million other things that he wasn’t sure if he believed anymore. 

 

He sighed and walked to the back of the arcade, fishing a quarter out of his pocket as he watched the light cycles on the screen the way he had hundreds of times as a kid. He flicked the coin like his dad used to and pushed it into the slot. 

 

Sam shouldn’t have been disappointed when it went right through. 

 

He was anyway.

 

As he leaned down to pick it up, as the buzzing got stronger, he noticed a tear in the old carpet, like something in that spot had been moved many times, causing the floor to wear down; except that couldn’t be right because this game had been here for longer than he’d been alive. Half-convinced that he was chasing a dream, he stood up and pushed on the side of the machine, trying to turn it to match the wear patterns. 

 

His brow furrowed as it actually swung open to reveal a narrow staircase. In the back of his mind he heard his dad saying, “Go to bed, kiddo, I’ll take you downstairs someday soon.” With no hesitation he flicked on his flashlight and started walking. 

Notes:

So I'm going to tentatively say that Wednesdays are update days, and I have the next 1 and a half-ish chapters written so I should be able to stick to that hopefully. And yeah I know the chapters are really short but I'm physically incapable of writing more I'm sorry 😭.

Anyways lmk what you think! Comments make my day!

Chapter 3: the digital frontier

Summary:

TW: panic attack(ish)

Notes:

Ignore me almost forgetting my update schedule a week after I started it 😭

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Something about the old computer that was by some miracle still running felt familiar. It felt like there was some sort of resonance between Sam and it except that he was slightly out of tune and it couldn’t fully sing. There was something there that was wrong, overlaying something that was deeply right. The hum in the back of his mind, though clearer than it had ever been, felt a little bit like the click of a malfunctioning hard drive. 

 

He wasn’t the best programmer, but he was good at finding bugs. His classmates at CalTech called him the Electronics Whisperer. Behind his back they laughed that the only things he was good at was fixing their computers and Ultimate Frisbee, but that wasn’t particularly relevant. What was relevant was the computer in front of him containing software that felt broken in more ways than he was sure if he could fix alone. 

 

He moved to brush the dust off the desk but as his hand touched the computer the clicking became a scream. He landed hard on the chair behind him, but barely felt it, more focused on his hands flying across the keyboard and the desperate need to fix it. 

 

[Aperture clear? Y/N]

 

He clicked yes without thinking, trying to clear the message as quickly as possible to get to the root of the problem, but he barely had time to see what was underneath before a blinding jolt of energy hit him in the back.  

 

— And he was screaming with the system because it felt like crack in his being letting through a stream of [error-error-error - diagnostic-success - error - system-failure - input-needed - patch-1.1-failed - error] and click-click-click-click and disassembly and compilation and pain and light and memory and — 

 

His vision was blacking out and he took a deep breath but there was no air entering his lungs and he couldn’t breathe because there was something that he couldn’t name trying to claw its way out of him and he groaned in pain but it sounded more like a growl deep in his chest and he forced himself to stop and to push whatever it was back down until his vision cleared and the scream dimmed to a hum again. 

 

He leaned back against the chair and took a deep breath but barely noticed. He was too caught up in the fact that although it looked similar, the place where he was less than a minute ago wasn’t the place where he was now. The layer of dust was gone, as well as the signs of life. It was warm, while the basement had a slight chill. 

 

Surprisingly, what shocked him even more was the fact that he felt like he’d been here before. The buzzing under his skin was now surrounding and embracing him in a way that felt like home. He knew this place, but if he stopped to think about it too much, he had the feeling that he would go back to whatever weird sort of panic he had been in a few moments ago. Ergo, he was going to ignore it and figure out what was going on. 

 

He stood up from the freakishly clean computer/desk and jogged back(?) up the stairs, only pausing when he reached to push the hidden door open and noticed that he also had different clothes on, some kind of dark form-fitting synthetic material that he could barely even feel. Looking down he quickly noted the blue tinted glowing lines running down the… grid suit. Like the ones that his action figures wore. 

 

This isn’t happening. 

 

Except that he had a feeling that it actually was. 

 

He let out a half delirious laugh and whispered, “He actually did it.” Then he pushed the wall-door open and sped through the dark and sterile reflection of the arcade. He pushed open the front door and stepped into the honest-to-goodness Grid of his dad’s stories. 

 

He turned in the middle of the street, gaping at the tall dark buildings and the bold lightlines. He almost made a full circle before a spotlight shone on him. He looked up to see a massive red-lined recognizer floating towards him. 

 

One thing he remembered from his dad’s stories: red = bad. 

 

Jaw clenching, he quickly scanned his surroundings for a way to escape. The alley to his side was a dead end. He could run down the street, but it was wide enough that the recognizer could easily follow him, and to make matters worse he didn’t feel entirely recovered from whatever the laser did to him. He definitely wasn’t in a state to run for his life. 

 

Which meant that he was probably about to be imprisoned for the second time that day. He held his hands in the air, hoping that the gesture carried over into this world, and waited for the recognizer to land. 

 


 

Miles away from the arcade, a program’s circuits almost flickered as his head snapped up, then tilted to the side, eyes focused in the direction of a sector that he hadn’t visited since [-error-]. His growl was worse than usual, he noticed absently, but didn’t do anything to stop it until his Master shot him a glare that said, “Be quiet, or I will stop having use for you.” He refocused on studying the resistance leader in front of him begging for mercy from their Luminary. He hoped their Leader wouldn't grant it.

Notes:

Hope you like this chapter! I'm super excited about it actually. The last part kind of snuck up on me but then I decided to include it so yeah. Idk I don't really have anything else to say lmk what you think!

Chapter 4: "Guess who's back, back again, sam is back, tell a friend" - every program this chapter

Notes:

GUYS I’m watching Ares tmrw!!!!! I’m like vibrating I’m so excited. And I mean, I was a Star Wars fan first so I’ve learned to expect disappointment, but I’m really excited anyway. But anyway my point is: if it sucks it won’t affect this fic, if it’s good it still probably won’t affect this fic, but it may we’ll see. I already have the rest outlined so if something changes it probably won't be too drastic.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

By the time they landed, Sam had the start of a plan. 

 

  1. Figure out what happened to his dad.
  2. Get home.

 

He was fairly certain that he wouldn’t get any answers from the programs stuck on the recognizer with him, but he would escape, eventually, and then he could find someone who would actually talk to him. Thus, part 1A of the plan: escape from the orange circuited programs that seemed to scream [-corruption-] at his senses. 

 

He watched out of the corner of his eye as one of the programs scanned the prisoners. The damaged programs, it seemed like, were being grouped for “Rectify,” whatever that meant, while the more fit-looking ones were sent to Games. Based on the others’ reactions, both were bad, but Games were worse, and that’s probably where he was going. 

 

He paused his musings as the program stopped in front of him. The man took a step back, appearing almost startled as he stared at the top of Sam’s… sternum? He shook his head and continued with the scan, but still seemed somewhat shaken as he stated, “Games,” in a tone that was less monotone than Sam thought it was supposed to be. He glared at the program [virus - corrupted-code] until he left. 

 

It was probably safe to assume that these were the lethal kind from his dad’s stories. He had a hard time believing that his dad would institute a program that he had personally suffered through, which meant that someone else was in charge here. 

 

Plan 1A.1: Don’t let anyone know that he’s Sam Flynn 

 

He still didn’t see an obvious way to get out alive, so he would probably have to play the games and try to escape from there. 

 

Plan 1A.2: Don’t die

Plan 1A.3: Escape

 

Good start. 

 

He watched as the guards grabbed the other program who was being sent to games, the one who was panicking, and hauled him off the recognizer. He forced himself to keep a straight face when he shook them off and ran to a death that Sam was glad he couldn’t see. 

 

He took a deep breath. There was nothing he could do at the moment. He settled for glaring at the programs as they came to collect him. He was morbidly proud to see them on edge as they hesitated to grab him, but he wasn’t surprised when they did it anyway. 

 

It may have been risky, but he decided to push his luck. “Do I at least have the right to know what I’m being arrested for?” 

 

The programs on each of his arms exchanged glances. The one on his left stated in the most commanding tone he could muster, “No, you don’t.” Orange Number 2 shot Orange Number 1 a glare and said, “We have orders to detain anyone seen leaving the building you were in.”  

 

Sam nodded, still looking straight ahead, but replied, “Thanks,” because he’d learned the hard way to be nice to police officers. At least now he knew that whoever was in charge was looking for him specifically. Or, at least, whoever came through the portal, which was him. 

 

He looked down as his feet were locked in place again, but before he could look back up, he was shooting downwards on an extra-fast elevator. The platform came to a jarring stop in a dark room. He turned as far around as he could without falling as the lights started to turn on. His eyebrows raised as some ladies in white grid-suits came out of the walls in perfect sync, which was kind of creepy, actually. 

 

Just as he was wanting to run for his life, the four of them each stopped about a foot away from him. The program in front of him with the light hair tilted her head to the side as one of the ones behind him removed something from his back. His brow furrowed as he remembered his action figures with identity disks. He would have smacked himself if he could do so without hitting one of the programs; he should have realized that he had a weapon on him this whole time. Having it on his back had felt so natural that he didn’t notice the extra weight. Now, the lack felt glaringly obvious. 

 

He couldn’t see what she was doing, but shivered involuntarily as he could feel her fingers rifling through his very being. He almost sighed in relief when she stopped and stated, “He already has the necessary approvals.” She put the disk back on its dock, and he relaxed imperceptibly as he felt a quick ping of [-mirror-complete-], whatever that meant. 

 

The program in front of him ran her eyes across him, which felt like how he imagined the barcode on an Eggo box felt when he went to the dollar store. He wanted to fight the intrusion, but held still. After a moment, she stated, “You came prepared, Sam. Proceed to games.” 

 

His eyes snapped over to meet hers. “How do you know my name?” he asked, more forcefully than he wanted to. He wouldn’t be surprised if the one looking through his disk had known, but he could be in serious danger if anyone could find out who he was just by scanning him. He would have to change plan 1A.1 in that case. 

 

She replied with a faint laugh coloring her distorted speech pattern, “Everyone knows your name, Sam_Flynn.” 

 

Yeah. Plan 1A.1 was going to need a revision. 

Notes:

I love Sam. He’s a tech billionaire. His main food group is Eggos from the dollar store. He’s on a first name basis with Darryl the meth addict who works Friday evenings. One night he stopped an armed robbery and it made national news. His entire fridge is beer. What a guy. So competent. Such an idiot. 10/10 go Sam. Kick ass in the games I’m rooting for you.

Also I do in fact believe that he had 0 plan in canon. This Sam makes plans, they just don’t usually work right. He gets it from his user who decided that he was going to break into Encom and got blasted into a computer in the process.

Notes:

Fair warning this is not fully written, and I tend to be on the slow side when it comes to updates. However, I do have plans for the rest of this fic. If I'm taking too long feel free to pester me lol.