Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

•The name “Killerwatt” used to mean something.
Electric. Untouchable. The guy who burned brighter, faster, harder than anyone else in the room. People thought he was wild, unstoppable—like lightning in a bottle. But lately, he only felt like the bottle. Empty. Fragile. Cracked.
His phone buzzed in the dark, but he didn’t check it. They’d all stopped meaning their “you good?” texts anyway. He sat cross-legged on the edge of his bed, headphones spilling distorted noise into his ears, a desperate attempt to drown out the static inside his skull.
He’d been planning this for weeks—down to the smallest detail. The letters, the time, the place. It wasn’t impulsive. It wasn’t a cry for help. It was… relief. That’s what he told himself, at least.
But even now, in the silence between the static, he hesitated. His hands shook. Not from fear—he thought—but from exhaustion. Like he’d been carrying around a thunderstorm for years and couldn’t hold the clouds up anymore.
He opened his notebook, the one he never let anyone read. Scribbled lyrics, ugly sketches, confessions he’d never said aloud. Across one page, in black marker, he’d written:
“I don’t want to die.
I just don’t want to be here.”
He stared at it for a long time. The words looked different now. Smaller. Like maybe there was still some part of him—not Killerwatt, but the boy underneath.•

Chapter Text

•Electra,
I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been carrying this storm inside me for so long that I forgot what silence feels like. Everyone thinks Killerwatt is electric — the spark, the laugh, the light in the room — but inside I’ve been fading for years.
This isn’t your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. You were the only person who ever really saw me, who ever really tried to hold me steady. I’m sorry for all the nights I made you worry. I’m sorry for not being strong enough to stay.
Please don’t hate me for this. Please remember me in the times we laughed, not in this. Remember the thunder we chased, the songs we screamed in the car, the power lines at midnight. That’s who I was. That’s who I wanted to be.
I don’t want you to carry my pain. You deserve better. You deserve to heal.
Thank you for loving me, even when I couldn’t love myself.
— Watt.•

Chapter Text

•Killerwatt had always imagined it would be quiet at the end.
But it wasn’t.
Even with the curtains drawn, the world outside hissed like an old TV tuned to nowhere. Neon leaked through the blinds, smearing his room in pale electric blue. It made him think of the nights he and Electra used to sneak out and sit under the power lines, counting the seconds between thunder and lightning.
The bottle on the floor was empty.
The note on the desk wasn’t long.
“I’m sorry. It hurts too much. Please forgive me.”
His head drooped against the wall, eyelids too heavy to hold open. His breaths came slow, uneven. The storm inside him was finally quiet.•

•Electra had been trying his phone all day. Straight to voicemail. No texts back. Something gnawed at them until they couldn’t sit still anymore. They drove over, telling themselves it was nothing, just a fight, just Killerwatt being dramatic again.
The door to his apartment wasn’t locked. That was the first thing wrong. The second was the silence. No music, no hum of equipment, no jokes shouted from the other room. Just stillness.
“Watt?” their voice cracked as it echoed down the hallway.
They found him in the bedroom. The blue neon washed over his skin, making him look like a ghost. For a heartbeat Electra thought he was asleep. Then they saw the bottle, the note, the way his chest barely moved.
“Watt—” Their knees hit the floor. They were shaking him now, begging. “No, no, no. Come on. Stay with me. Please. Please.”
His eyes fluttered at the sound of their voice. Just once. Barely. Enough for them to see the boy underneath all the lightning.
Electra fumbled for their phone, hands slippery with sweat, dialing emergency services, trying to remember how to breathe. They kept talking to him, words tumbling out between sobs: “You’re not alone. Stay here. Please don’t leave me.”
Sirens in the distance. The blue lights flickered against the window, mixing with the neon. For a second it almost looked like lightning.•

Chapter Text

• The paper was still warm from his hands.
Electra’s fingers trembled as they unfolded it, smudging the black marker with the sweat of their palms. Their eyes skated over the words once, twice, three times, but their brain refused to translate them into meaning.
No.
No, no, no.
“This isn’t you,” they whispered out loud, voice cracking. “This isn’t you, Wattsy.”
They read it again. Remember the thunder we chased. Their stomach lurched like they were falling. It felt like the walls were closing in, like the neon light was too bright, like the whole room was a stranger.
They wanted to tear the note to pieces.
They wanted to clutch it to their chest forever.
“You idiot,” they choked out, hot tears spilling down their cheeks. “You absolute idiot. Why didn’t you tell me?” Their voice broke into a sob. “I would’ve stayed. I would’ve—”
The sirens outside grew louder. Someone was running up the stairs. Electra dropped to their knees next to Killerwatt, clutching his limp hand, pressing it to their face.
“You don’t get to leave me like this,” they whispered fiercely. “I’m not done with you. You hear me? You’re not allowed to leave me like this.”
They pressed the note against his chest, as if it could call him back. The paper crumpled between their fingers.
“I’m here,” they whispered again, softer this time. “I’m still here.”•

Chapter Text

• Boots thundered up the stairwell. Voices filled the doorway — calm, practiced, urgent. Paramedics. One of them gently but firmly moved Electra aside.
“We’ve got him. What’s his name?”
“W–Watt,” they stammered. “Killerwatt.—” Their throat closed. “Please don’t let him die.”
They clutched the crumpled note to their chest like a lifeline as the medics knelt over Killerwatt, checking vitals, calling codes. Oxygen mask. Monitors. Numbers Electra couldn’t read. One paramedic glanced up and said something low and fast; another nodded. They lifted him onto a stretcher.
Electra followed, almost tripping over their own feet, heart pounding so hard it drowned out everything else. The hallway looked warped, unreal — like a dream where all the colors were wrong. They kept whispering his name under their breath, like a prayer: Killerwatt.Killerwatt.Killerwatt
The medics rolled the stretcher down to the waiting ambulance. Someone guided Electra into the back seat. The doors slammed shut. The siren screamed.
For a long moment, all Electra could do was stare at Watt’s face under the harsh fluorescent light. He looked small, younger than they remembered, as if the storm had finally left him. They reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead.
“You’re not done,” they whispered fiercely. “You’re not allowed to be done.”
The ambulance swayed. An IV bag shifted. A medic adjusted a line. “We’ve got a pulse,” he said. “Weak but steady.”
Electra’s chest cracked open. A sob tore out of them, half relief, half terror. They pressed their forehead to Watt’s hand.
“You hear that?” they murmured. “You’re still here. Stay with me, Watt. Please.”
No answer. Just the sound of the siren and the low, steady beep of the monitor.
But for the first time since they’d walked into that room, Electra let themselves believe there might still be a way back.•

Chapter Text

• The hospital waiting room was a haze of cold fluorescent light and muffled voices. Electra sat frozen, the crumpled note heavy in their hand, heart pounding with every distant beep from upstairs. They kept replaying their last desperate plea—please hold on, Watt—but dread gnawed at the edges of hope.
Upstairs, Killerwatt had slipped free while no one was looking. The walls of the hospital felt like a cage tightening around his chest. He needed air. Needed silence.
The door to the roof creaked as he pushed it open, stepping into the night’s cold embrace. Neon city lights sprawled beneath him—bright, indifferent, endless.
He stood at the edge, the wind whipping at his clothes, the dark sky swallowing the noise inside his head.
Electra’s footsteps echoed behind him, faster now, desperate, but not fast enough.
“Watt! No—wait!”
But the moment they reached the door, it was already too late.
A sudden, sickening rush of air.
Electra’s breath caught in their throat as they saw him—falling.
Their hands stretched out, fingers grasping at emptiness, the world tilting and spinning.
“No! Watt!”
The city swallowed him whole, the neon lights blurring into streaks of impossible color.
Electra collapsed against the doorway, tears streaming freely, shaking with a raw, unbearable silence that screamed louder than any siren.•

Chapter Text

• The world around Electra cracked.
The sterile hospital corridor faded into a cold void, their knees hitting the floor with a hollow thud. The taste of salt and despair filled their mouth as sobs racked their body, uncontrollable and raw.
“No, no, no…” they whispered, voice breaking, fingers trembling as they reached out to where Watt had been—only emptiness.
Time blurred. Minutes or hours—they couldn’t tell anymore. People came rushing in, voices low but urgent, hands trying to hold them steady. But nothing could hold the pieces inside Electra’s chest together now.
They clung to the note, the only tangible thing left of him. “Remember the thunder we chased…” The words twisted in their mind, a cruel echo of promises now shattered.
Later, sitting alone in a quiet room, Electra let the tears fall without shame. Rage, guilt, love, and sorrow tangled together in a storm that wouldn’t settle.
Why didn’t I see?
Why wasn’t I enough?
They traced the edges of the note, fingers aching.
“I’m still here,” they whispered to the silence. “But you’re gone.”
And in that moment, Electra understood that surviving meant carrying this weight—this loss—into whatever came next.•

Chapter Text

• The world slowed to a brutal crawl as Killerwatt fell—heart pounding, breath ripped away by the rush of air. But fate wasn’t done with him yet.
Somehow, a broken fire escape caught him halfway down, scraping skin and bone but breaking the fall enough to save his life. He hung there, trembling, blood dripping, every nerve screaming.
Electra, shattered and raw, had collapsed at the doorway, tears blurring the world. But then—a shout.
“Wait! I’m here!”
A hospital worker, alerted by the commotion, spotted the movement below the roof. Electra’s gaze snapped up.
“Watt!” they screamed, hope sparking amid the devastation.
Paramedics scrambled to the fire escape, carefully climbing down to reach him. Killerwatt’s breath was ragged, but he was alive.
Electra rushed forward, tears streaming, hands shaking as they reached for him.
“You’re here. You’re really here.”
Killerwatt’s eyes fluttered open, faint but real.
“I’m tired,” he whispered.
Electra squeezed his hand gently, voice thick but steady:
“Then rest. But don’t do this alone. Not ever.”•

Chapter Text

• The hospital room was suffused with harsh white light and the constant beeping of machines, a rhythm Killerwatt struggled to sync with. Tubes snaked from his body, broken bones set in casts, muscles stiff and aching like they were strangers to him.
He couldn’t move without pain screaming through every nerve. Every breath was a battle. But beneath the agony, a quiet ember glowed.
Electra was there—always there—holding his hand through the nights that stretched too long, whispering reminders that he wasn’t alone.
Days turned into weeks. The physical scars were brutal—bruises faded, but the deep ache of fractured bones and nerve damage lingered. Killerwatt learned to sit up again, then to walk, each step trembling with uncertainty.
But the hardest recovery was inside. The storm he’d tried to outrun hadn’t disappeared. It roared beneath the surface, dark and relentless.
Electra stayed by his side, never shying from the hardest conversations. They sat with the rawness, the guilt, the anger. They held space for his silence and for his words when they came, shaky and honest.
Some days were shattered by tears. Others cracked open with small victories—a smile, a joke, a moment of quiet peace.
Killerwatt realized that healing wasn’t a lightning strike. It was slow, uneven, like the pulse of electricity through worn wires—sometimes flickering, sometimes strong.
One evening, as the sun dipped low, Killerwatt whispered to Electra:
“I don’t want to disappear anymore.”
Electra smiled, fingers entwined with his.
“We’ll light the storm together. One day at a time.”•

Chapter Text

• The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the machines. Killerwatt sat on the edge of the hospital bed, staring at the floor, fingers twitching with restless energy he couldn’t release.
The pain wasn’t just in his body anymore. It had seeped deep into his bones, filling the cracks of his mind with a cold, creeping shadow.
For a moment, he felt the old storm stirring—fierce, overwhelming—threatening to pull him under again.
Maybe it’d be easier to just give in.
His chest tightened. The walls seemed to close in, the light too bright, the silence too loud.
Electra noticed immediately—the way his hands clenched, the faraway look in his eyes.
“Hey,” they said softly, stepping closer. “Watt, talk to me.”
But Killerwatt shook his head, voice barely a whisper. “I’m… I’m tired. It’s too much.”
Electra sank down beside him, grabbing his hand firmly but gently. “I know. I’m here. We don’t have to do this alone.”
Tears slipped down Killerwatt’s cheeks, frustration and fear tangled in his breath. “I’m scared I’ll never get better.”
Electra squeezed tighter. “You’re stronger than you think. And if you stumble, I’ll catch you. Always.”
For a long moment, Killerwatt let the darkness wash over him, then slowly, the warmth of Electra’s presence began to pull him back—like the faintest flicker of lightning after the storm.•

Chapter Text

• The metal tasted like cold and iron and everything he didn’t want to remember. They’d stitched and scanned and whispered in corridors that smelled of bleach and lemon and too-bright light. When the neurologist finally used the word that made Electra’s hands go numb, Killerwatt felt something inside him go quiet in a new way.
“You sustained a spinal cord contusion,” the doctor said, gentle but plain. “The injury is at the lower thoracic level. There’s significant nerve damage. There’s some hope for partial recovery with intensive rehab, but you’ll be left with permanent paraplegia — limited function below the waist — and likely chronic neuropathic pain.”
It landed like a thunderclap that never faded.
Physical
The first weeks were the worst because everything was new and violent: the pins and needles that burned when he tried to move his feet, the phantom jolts that came without warning, the way his legs wouldn’t obey even the simplest command. He learned to swallow pride along with pain pills and to accept a wheelchair that felt like a prosthetic for his old life. The EMTs, the surgeons, the therapists—none of them could rebuild the circuits in his spine that had been shattered that night. Some neurons might reroute, and that possibility kept the slow, brutal hope alive, but the fact stayed: he would never run the same, never sprint down back alleys with wind in his face the way he had, never stand up from Electra’s lap without help.
Chronic pain became a new constant companion — a low, electric ache under the skin that flared into white fire on bad days and muffled every laugh. He learned the vocabulary of adjustments: transfers, pressure-sores, catheters, adaptive clothing, wheelchair-accessible housing. There were nights he screamed into pillowcases because it all felt unfair and raw.
Emotional
The injury rewired more than his spine. Identity is porous; for a while Killerwatt didn’t know who he was without the reckless physics of his old life. Anger slashed across him in sharp, hot waves—at the fall, at himself, at the capriciousness of a world that let lightning die slow and cruel. There was grief that returned in cycles: for speed, for freedom, for the unrepentant version of himself who’d thought he could outrun everything.
But there were other currents, quieter and more stubborn. Electra learned how to be steady in ways that mattered: not by fixing but by being present. They learned the practical intimacy of dressing wounds and adjusting straps, of making toast in ways that didn’t require steamrolling his autonomy. Sometimes Electra would say something small and perfect—“Tell me about the worst band you ever loved”—and his laugh would come back, a jagged but real thing.
Relational
The dynamics between them changed, recalibrated. Guilt threaded through conversations—Electra’s and his—but it didn’t become the central fact of their love. They argued, yes: about care, about privacy, about the frustration of trying and failing and trying again. But they also grew accustomed to new rituals: late-night rehab exercises, the ritualized packing of meds before a trip, the way Electra always buckled him in if they drove anywhere gritty.
Killerwatt had to relearn autonomy. He got stronger in small, stubborn ways—learning to transfer from bed to chair with one hand on a sliding board, teaching himself the finesse to pop the wheelchair’s front casters over a curb. Those victories tasted like stolen lightning.
Practical realities
Work changed. Friends changed, some drifting away when sustained effort became required; others showed up in ways that surprised him. Accessibility became a daily negotiation—home remodels, accessible bathrooms, new transit routes. There were legal and insurance fights and a mountain of paperwork that made him feel like a cog in an indifferent machine. He learned to advocate for himself, to use anger productively, to demand ramps and dignity.
Medical follow-ups were frequent: neurology, pain specialists, occupational therapy, physical therapy, sometimes specialists for neuropathic pain. There were nights when the treatments helped, and nights when nothing touched the ache. He learned pacing, the art of saving spoons—tiny reserves of energy to keep life from collapsing under its own gravity.
Hope, not miracle
Killerwatt never stopped mourning what was lost. But over months and years, he also accrued a different set of strengths. His palette of identity expanded: it included the old electric bravado but also a patient, stubborn resilience. He became fierce in new ways—about his care, about accessibility, about the small mercies of a world that made space for him.
Electra’s hands, meanwhile, learned how to carry him and also let him carry them in other ways: jokes late at night, whispered music, the stubborn building of a life that was, imperfectly, theirs. They adapted sex, they adapted home, they adapted futures.
The injury didn’t stop the darkness from visiting; relapses came, nights that felt like sinking. But there were counterweights too—friends who stayed, a therapist who taught him skills to move through the blackness, small rituals that anchored him: the smell of wet asphalt after rain, the way his hands remembered chord changes on a battered guitar.
A lasting scar, a living life
There was no tidy redemption, no cinematic miracle. The permanent injury was a hard fact — a constant in the background of every plan. But neither did it erase the possibility of joy. He cracked jokes about wheelchair parking stickers. He learned to route his anger into advocacy, pushing for ramps and better care for others who’d been hurt by the same unforgiving world. He found ways to make music that rattled differently now, softer in places, more honest.
Killerwatt’s lightning had changed frequency. It didn’t always blaze the way it once did. But it still sparked, sometimes in small, bright ways—when he and Electra caught a stupid show and laughed until they cried, when he rode a modified bike down a gentle slope, when a new friend slid into his life and accepted the whole, complicated package.
The injury stayed. So did he.•

Chapter Text

• The fall didn’t just shatter bones and tear muscles. Inside Killerwatt, the damage was deeper—silent and relentless.
Doctors discovered bruised lungs that made every breath a sharp reminder of what had happened. Internal bleeding near his liver required constant monitoring, though surgery had thankfully stopped the worst. His spleen was swollen and vulnerable, forcing long stretches of stillness and pain.
There were also tiny but stubborn tears in his intestines, causing digestive troubles that no one had warned Electra about at first. The nausea, the pain after meals, the unpredictable flare-ups became a daily battle.
Physical Toll
Killerwatt’s body was a landscape of hidden chaos. Each breath was a careful negotiation with his bruised lungs. The tightness in his chest sometimes made panic coil in his gut, blurring the line between physical pain and spiraling fear.
His stomach never quite settled. Eating became a test of endurance, food sometimes turning against him in waves of nausea or cramps. He had to learn what to eat, when to eat, and how to manage medications that dulled the pain but left him foggy and drained.
Emotional and Mental Strain
The invisible nature of his injuries felt like a cruel betrayal. His outward scars were painful but visible—something to explain, something people could see and sympathize with. But the internal pain was isolating.
Electra watched as Killerwatt’s frustration grew—battles with his body that couldn’t be fought with sheer will. Days when he pushed himself too hard, only to be punished by sudden, wrenching pain or crushing exhaustion. Nights when sleep was shattered by coughing fits or sharp cramps.
Living with Uncertainty
The doctors warned the internal injuries might never fully heal. Scar tissue could cause chronic issues. There were risks of future complications—rupture, infection, chronic inflammation—that could flare up without warning.
This uncertainty added a heavy weight to Killerwatt’s recovery. It was a new kind of storm, one without thunder but no less fierce.
Adaptations and Care
Electra became a lifeline in new ways—learning about diet restrictions, helping manage medications, gently coaxing Killerwatt through the haze of pain and fatigue. Together, they mapped out strategies for the bad days and the good—rest periods, gentle walks, distractions like music or movies.
Medical appointments multiplied: gastroenterologists, pulmonologists, pain specialists. Each brought a fresh wave of hope or frustration.
A Complex Path Forward
Killerwatt learned that healing wasn’t linear. There would be setbacks triggered by something as small as a cold or a bad meal. There would be days when the invisible wounds screamed loudest.
But amid the pain and uncertainty, a stubborn spark endured. The same spark that had once made him lightning refused to be snuffed out.
Electra was there to catch the flickers, to remind him: “We’ll get through this storm—together.”
And sometimes, that was enough to keep going.•

Chapter Text

• Killerwatt sat on the edge of the bed, clutching his stomach with trembling hands. A wave of sharp, twisting pain ripped through his abdomen, stealing his breath and dragging him down into dark depths.
His vision blurred, sweat slicked his forehead, and his knees buckled. The nausea surged like a violent storm inside him, relentless and unforgiving.
“Fuck…” he gasped, voice raw and breaking.
Electra was there in an instant, sliding onto the bed beside him, their eyes wide but steady. “Watt, talk to me. Where does it hurt?”
He swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes. “Lower… all over… it just—” Another spasm clenched him tight, and he doubled over.
Electra wrapped their arms around him gently but firmly. “You’re not alone. Breathe with me.”
Killerwatt tried to follow, slow deep breaths that felt impossible against the crushing pain. “I can’t… it’s too much.”
“It’s okay,” Electra said softly. “We’ll get through this.”
They reached for the phone to call the doctor, but Killerwatt shook his head weakly. “Not yet. Just… stay.”
Minutes stretched, each one a jagged edge of agony. Electra’s presence was a fragile anchor, a whisper of calm in the storm.
“I hate this,” Killerwatt whispered. “I hate feeling weak.”
Electra brushed damp hair from his face. “You’re not weak. You’re fighting a battle no one can see. And you’re still here.”
Pain and tears tangled in his throat, but beneath the darkness, a flicker of something stubborn glowed—a promise that maybe, just maybe, he could survive this too.•

Chapter Text

• The pain didn’t let go.
What started as a sharp flare turned into a full-body siege.
By noon, Killerwatt couldn’t sit upright without shaking. His skin had gone pale and clammy, soaked in sweat despite the chill. The dull ache had become something deeper — a twisting, burning pressure in his abdomen that made his vision pulse and his jaw lock tight.
He’d vomited twice already. Nothing but bile the second time.
His entire torso felt like a war zone.
Electra stood near the bed, phone in hand, watching him with a quiet dread. They didn’t ask permission this time.
“I’m calling the hospital.”
Killerwatt barely lifted his head. “No. I don’t wanna go back.”
“It’s not a choice anymore,” Electra said, voice steady but cracking at the edges. “You’re getting worse. You need help, Watt.”
A groan escaped his throat — not just from pain, but from the unbearable weight of it all. He hated the thought of going back. The white lights. The tubes. The strangers pressing hands into already bruised skin.
He hated needing this much.
“I feel like a burden,” he muttered, voice rasping.
Electra knelt beside the bed, cupping his face gently.
“You’re not. You’re sick. That’s not weakness — that’s biology. And I’m not going to lose you because of pride.”
His lip trembled. “It hurts so fucking bad.”
“I know, love,” they whispered. “I know. But you’re not going through it alone.”•

Chapter Text

• It took everything to get him into the chair. His legs, barely responsive on good days, were completely limp today. Electra wrapped him in a blanket and wheeled him down the ramp with a kind of silent fury — at the system, at fate, at anything that had put this beautiful, broken boy in so much pain again.
At the hospital, the nurses recognized them — too familiar now. He was taken back quickly.
The scans were slow, the IV slower. Meds didn’t kick in fast enough.
“Severe inflammation. Likely complications from the intestinal tear,” the doctor explained. “Could be infection. We’re starting antibiotics and fluids now.”
Killerwatt didn’t respond. He was curled sideways on the bed, breathing shallowly, fingers clenched in the fabric of Electra’s hoodie.•

Chapter Text

• They kept him overnight. Monitors blinked quietly. The pain ebbed after the IV meds hit, but it left him ragged and hollow.
Electra sat in the chair by the bed, elbows on knees, watching him sleep in the low light. Not peaceful sleep — just exhausted unconsciousness. The machines did their whispering work.
They hadn’t cried in hours, but now the tears came again, soft and silent.
Not out of panic — just the helpless grief of watching someone you love suffer again and again without answers.
Killerwatt woke near midnight, still groggy.
“You stayed?” he asked.
“Of course,” Electra replied, leaning in. “Always.”
“I can’t do this every day,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
“You don’t have to,” Electra said, resting their forehead gently against his. “Just today. That’s all we ever have to survive.”•

Chapter Text

• When the doctors came in the next morning, their tone was different. Not panicked — but heavier.
The lead physician, a tired woman with kind eyes, sat beside Killerwatt's bed and folded her hands.
“The scans showed something new,” she said. “We believe scar tissue from your initial injury has begun to obstruct part of your small intestine. It’s likely the reason for these recurring flare-ups.”
Killerwatt blinked slowly, his face blank. Electra reached for his hand but said nothing.
The doctor continued, gently, but without softening the facts.
“You’ll need long-term management. Possibly another surgery to remove the damaged section of the bowel. But even with that, your digestive system will likely remain vulnerable — food intolerances, slow motility, chronic inflammation, and intermittent flare-ups like this one.”
Killerwatt didn’t move.
“You’re saying this won’t go away?” he asked, voice low, flat.
“No,” she said. “Not completely. We can reduce the pain. Reduce the risk. But this will be a part of your life now.”•

Chapter Text

• The words sank in like cold water.
Permanent paraplegia had already reshaped his body — now his gut was failing too. No part of him, it seemed, had escaped that night. He wasn’t just broken on the outside. He was unraveling from within.
The new regimen was grueling:
Immunosuppressants to keep inflammation down.
Steroid bursts during flares, with all their side effects — mood swings, insomnia, bloating.
Digestive enzymes before every meal.
A heavily restricted diet — low fiber, low fat, no raw vegetables, no spicy foods. Food used to be comfort. Now it was risk.
Even when the pain faded, exhaustion clung to him like static.•

Chapter Text

• Gone were the impulsive nights of street food and neon city wandering. Every outing required planning — where the closest accessible restroom was, what snacks he could tolerate, how long he could go without fatigue overtaking him.
And the worst part? It wasn’t the pain, or the food, or the meds.
It was the feeling of fragility.
Like his body was always one step from collapse.•

Chapter Text

• At first, Killerwatt spiraled. He stopped answering messages. He stared at walls. Refused to eat for days out of fear.
But Electra — stubborn, patient, relentless — didn’t let go.
“We adapt,” they said. “We mourn what’s lost, but we make something new out of the wreckage. Just like always.”
They found a specialist in chronic gastrointestinal disorders and spinal cord complications — someone who listened. Together, they adjusted his medications. They experimented with safer meals. They even joined a virtual support group for people with mobility impairments and digestive diseases.•

Chapter Text

• Killerwatt wasn’t who he used to be. The boy who once ran wild with sparks at his fingertips now took pride in small mastery:
Making a meal he could eat without pain.
Transferring to the shower without help.
Laughing for the first time in a week.
Sharing his story with someone newly injured, who thought their life had just ended.
He still had days where the darkness clawed at him. But the flare-up that nearly broke him also revealed something:
He didn’t want to die.
He just wanted the pain to stop.
Now, he was learning how to live inside that contradiction.•

Chapter Text

• The warehouse-turned-arena rattled with sound. The echo of skates on concrete, the roar of fans, the hard pulse of industrial bass through stacked speakers. Neon strobes lit the floor in bursts — pink, blue, gold — like lightning trying to remember how to be beautiful again.
Electra was on the rink.
A blur of speed, grace, and grit — cutting sharp corners in roller skates that sparked on every turn. Their body moved like it was made of momentum, knees wrapped in bruised bandages, mouth split into a focused grin.
And in the shadows behind the security rope, watching it all?
Killerwatt.
Back in the world.
Still hurting.
But present.•

Chapter Text

• He had no gadgets now. No shoulder cameras. No armored rig. Just a reinforced manual wheelchair, a sharp eye, and the same instincts that used to get him into — and out of — firefights, riots, and worse.
He wore black-on-black: faded jacket, gloves with worn knuckles, a sidearm holstered under his seat. His badge was clipped to his belt, but it didn’t need to be flashed.
People knew who he was.
Even broken, Killerwatt commanded space.
He sat near the loading dock, facing the crowd, watching the exits. His spine was screaming already — low throb from the base up, and his stomach twisted off-rhythm, the pain meds not quite catching up.
But he hadn’t come to be comfortable.
He’d come to do his job.•

Chapter Text

• He couldn’t stop watching them.
Electra’s skates flashed like streaked starlight. They pivoted hard into a rival racer, shoulder-checking them clean across the corner of the track. The crowd exploded.
Killerwatt smiled despite himself.
God, they were fast. Too fast. Faster than he remembered. And every time they hit the floor — which they did, hard, during the second lap — his stomach dropped.
Not because he didn’t trust them.
But because now he knew what the floor cost.
Still, they got up. They always got up.•

Chapter Text

• Halfway through the third heat, the cramps came back.
Deep. Coiling. Like something inside him was trying to twist its way out. He grit his teeth and leaned forward in the chair, arms resting on his thighs, head lowered.
No one noticed.
That was part of his job — being invisible until he had to be seen.
He counted his breaths.
In. Hold. Out.
Do not ruin this for them.
Do not fold.•

Chapter Text

• A scuffle broke out near the barricades — someone trying to cross into the skater zone, maybe drunk, maybe just stupid.
No cameras. No backup. No warning system.
Just him.
He pushed forward — fast and low — the wheelchair tires squeaking faintly as he carved across the dusty concrete. Every bump rattled his spine like a drumstick on bone.
“Hey!” he snapped.
The man froze mid-step, already halfway over the rail.
Killerwatt didn’t raise his voice again. He didn’t need to.
“I see you. That’s enough.”
There was something in his tone — not loud, not angry, just undeniable. A voice that came from someone who’d been through worse than any drunk could imagine.
The guy stepped back. Mumbled an apology.
Security handled. No tech required.•

Chapter Text

• The lights dimmed. The crowd funneled out. Electra coasted over in a slow roll, helmet under one arm, sweat glistening on their jaw.
They stopped in front of him and just looked.
“You stayed the whole time,” they said.
“Wasn’t gonna leave you out here with nobody watching your back.”
“You’re in pain.”
“Yeah.”
Electra crouched beside the chair, resting their forearms on their knees, eyes soft now.
“Watt… you don’t have to prove anything. Not to me. Not anymore.”
“I’m not,” he said, voice raw. “I’m proving something to myself.”•

Chapter Text

• They left together, rolling slow through the back corridors of the arena. Killerwatt winced with every bump in the floor. Electra held open every door without making a thing of it.
Outside, the night was cool, and the city didn’t care who limped or rolled.
They stood beside the truck — Electra unlocking it, Killerwatt catching his breath, ribs aching, legs numb, stomach a mess of dull fire.
But he was still here. Still on the job.
Still the shield between them and the world.
He wasn’t fast anymore.
He wasn’t invincible.
But he was the line.
And he hadn’t stepped back.
Not today.•

Chapter Text

• By the time they got home, Killerwatt’s body was done.
His hands trembled slightly on the armrests as Electra unlocked the door. The pain meds had worn off during the drive — he hadn’t said anything. He didn’t need to. Electra could read it in the way he moved slower, spoke less, held his breath just a little too long after each bump in the road.
He hated this part.
Not the pain.
Not even the helplessness.
The asking.•

Chapter Text

• “Shower?” Electra asked, gently dropping their keys in the bowl by the door.
Killerwatt nodded once.
“Need help?”
He swallowed. Pause. Shame. Then finally, the truth:
“…Yeah.”•

Chapter Text

• Their bathroom had been remodeled after the fall. Smooth roll-in shower. Fold-down bench. Support rails.
But all the accommodations in the world didn’t change the fact that some nights, he couldn’t do it alone.
His spine was locked stiff with inflammation. The abdominal cramps had started to edge toward full spasms. His grip strength was weak. And he was exhausted in a way that didn’t touch the muscles — just the soul.
Electra set out towels and started the water, checking the temp with their wrist. Steam curled into the air like a curtain between worlds.
“You want me in there with you, or just help getting in?” they asked, voice low, no judgment, no pressure.
“Stay,” he said, after a beat. “But… don’t talk.”
“Got it.”•

Chapter Text

• Killerwatt stripped slowly — not because he was shy, but because every movement hurt. The shirt peeled off like a second skin. His abdomen was sunken and bruised from weeks of flares. His bag was attached at the side, covered with a dark wrap. His legs hung motionless as he lifted them one by one onto the transfer bench.
Electra didn’t flinch. Didn’t stare. Just stood by in quiet readiness, a steady presence in a storm.
They helped guide him onto the bench, hand behind his back as he shifted. The water hit his shoulders and he gasped — not from pain this time, but from relief.
It was warm.
He leaned forward, forehead resting on the wall, eyes closed.•

Chapter Text

• Electra worked in silence, so soft it was barely there. Shampoo. Careful rinse. Washcloth across scar tissue and calloused skin. When they reached his abdomen, they slowed — not out of fear, but respect.
Killerwatt didn’t cry. But his jaw clenched. His throat worked. The water masked what his pride couldn’t hide.
“I feel like dead weight,” he muttered.
“You’re not,” Electra whispered.
“I used to fly.”
“You still do. Just different.”•

Chapter Text

• Wrapped in a towel, seated again in his chair, Killerwatt stared at the fogged-up mirror. His reflection looked pale. Hollowed out. But alive.
Electra kneeled in front of him, resting their hands on his knees.
“Let me take care of you,” they said. “Not because you’re broken — but because I want to.”
He nodded once, eyes wet now but unashamed.
“…Okay.”
It wasn’t about dependence.
It was about trust.
And tonight, that was enough.•

Chapter Text

• The lights were low.
The city hummed distantly through the window — passing cars, muffled bass, the far-off clatter of nightlife still pulsing while they slowed down.
Killerwatt was half-reclined in bed, wrapped in a loose cotton shirt, the edge of his ostomy bag just visible under the hem. His legs were propped with pillows, one hand resting gently on his stomach — not from pain anymore, just habit.
The flare had passed, mostly. But the echo still lingered.
Electra came out of the bathroom, drying their hands, hair damp and curling at the ends. They wore a tank top and loose pants, eyes soft behind tiredness.
They didn’t say anything. Just climbed in beside him. Close — but not smothering.
For a while, there was just the rustle of sheets. Breath. The tiny click of Electra’s bracelet as they twisted it idly around their wrist.
Then:
“You did good today,” they said.
Killerwatt scoffed lightly. “I didn’t throw a punch. Didn’t chase anyone down. Just sat and winced at people until they backed off.”
“That’s security. Half the job’s posture.”
He cracked a smile at that. “Yeah? What’s the other half?”
“Being the one person they know won’t run.”
Electra glanced at him. “And you didn’t. Even when it hurt. Even when no one saw it but me.”
Killerwatt was quiet for a long moment.
“I still don’t know if this is living,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper. “This… version of it. Of me.”
Electra didn’t try to fix the thought. Didn’t argue. Just reached out and gently rested their hand over his.
“It’s surviving,” they said. “And that’s the part you already proved you could do. But the living? That’s what we’re figuring out together.”
His fingers curled around theirs slowly. He blinked hard.
“You’re not stuck with me, you know,” he said, voice rough. “This is gonna be the rest of it. The meds. The crashes. Helping me shower. The fucking bag.”
Electra leaned in then — not dramatic, not tearful — just rested their forehead lightly against his temple.
“Yeah. I know.”
“And you still—?”
“Every time,” they murmured. “Every version. Every wrecked day. Every scar. I’m still choosing you.”
Killerwatt’s eyes fell closed. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
They lay like that for a while — the world muted behind them, the worst of the pain dulled, the weight a little less sharp.
And for the first time in weeks, maybe months…
He let himself sleep.•

Chapter Text

• The city hadn’t fully woken yet.
Outside the window, the sky was a bruise turning gold — that narrow, quiet hour where the night finally let go.
Inside, it was still.
Killerwatt stirred first.
Not from rest. From pain.
It came as a slow return — a dull throb in his abdomen that pulsed harder with every breath. His spine ached beneath the mattress, muscles tight from sleeping too long in one position. His face twitched in the half-dark as he tried to move.
No good.
Not yet.
He gritted his teeth and shifted slightly, jaw clenched. A sharp sting cut through his lower side — not dangerous, just the kind of hurt that demands your attention.
He sucked in a breath. Held it. Released.
That’s when Electra moved behind him — not startled, not rushed. Just a sleepy shift, followed by a low voice.
“You okay?”
“No,” he rasped, breath catching. “Not really.”•

Chapter Text

• They sat up immediately, hair wild from sleep, blinking toward the sunrise-lit window before turning their full focus to him.
“Where is it?”
“Stomach. Lower. Feels like something’s twisting.” He winced as he said it, hand hovering near his side but not touching.
Electra nodded. Quiet. No panic. Just presence.
They swung their legs over the bed and moved to the nightstand — water, meds, a heating pack folded and ready from the night before.
“This the kind of bad that needs a hospital?”
Killerwatt thought about it. “...Not yet. Let’s see if it passes.”
They trusted his read. Always had. But they stayed close.•

Chapter Text

• As the heating pad warmed, Electra helped ease him into a better position. Pillows tucked behind his back, one under his knees. Their hands worked gently — practiced now. Never rushed.
When the pad was finally pressed against his abdomen, Killerwatt let out a soft sound — not relief exactly, but something like coping.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling.
“You didn’t sign up for this,” he said quietly.
“I did, actually,” Electra replied. “I just didn’t know what this would look like.”
He glanced over at them — messy hair, sleepy eyes, voice still thick with morning.
“And now that you do?”
They leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth, soft and without urgency.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”•

Chapter Text

• They stayed like that, sitting side by side in the soft gold of sunrise. The pain didn’t vanish, but it dulled — like it understood that in this light, it had less power.
Killerwatt watched the way Electra’s fingers looped loosely around his. Not holding tight. Not trying to keep him from slipping away.
Just… present.
Still choosing him.
He didn’t say thank you. Didn’t have to.
He just squeezed back.•

Chapter Text

•After a while, the gold softened into something gentler — the kind of light that makes everything look a little unreal, like the world itself is still deciding whether to wake up or keep dreaming.
Killerwatt leaned back first, slow and deliberate, until his shoulder brushed Electra’s again. Their warmth was steady, a quiet pulse against the morning chill.
“Think we should try to sleep again?” Electra’s voice was rough-edged but soft, words slipping out like they were afraid to break the moment.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Might as well.”
They shifted together, settling into the blanket heap they’d abandoned earlier. Killerwatt stretched out on his back, and Electra curled up beside him, not quite touching — but close enough that if one of them moved even an inch, they would be.
The air smelled faintly of ozone and damp grass. Somewhere in the distance, something mechanical clicked, then went still.
He felt the exhaustion creep back, heavy and slow, but not cruel this time. Just… there. Like the body remembering it had survived another night.
Electra’s breathing evened out first. Killerwatt listened to it, let it anchor him. He stared up at the faint trace of dawn still hanging above them, and for a long time, he didn’t think about everything waiting beyond this quiet.
He just thought about the weight of their hand earlier — the loose, open trust of it.
Before sleep pulled him under, he reached out, fingers brushing Electra’s wrist. Not to hold. Not to ask.
Just to answer.
And when they stirred faintly, half-asleep, and their hand drifted to rest over his — the last of the ache eased, just a little more.•

Chapter Text

• The sun had fully breached the horizon now, stretching across the bedroom walls in slats of gold. Warm light caught in Electra’s hair as they sat cross-legged beside Killerwatt, their hand still loosely held in his.
The pain was still there — low and steady in his gut like a warning bell. But manageable. And more importantly: not alone.
Killerwatt turned his head, blinking slowly at them. His voice was gravel, still worn from the night.
“You slept at all?”
Electra shrugged. “Enough. You?”
He gave a half-smile. “Define enough.”
They both chuckled softly — not because anything was funny, but because the alternative was silence again, and this moment didn’t deserve silence.
After a few quiet minutes, Killerwatt exhaled. “I think I could eat.”
Electra perked up, just a little. “Yeah?”
He nodded. “Nothing big. Maybe eggs. Toast. Something that won’t fight back.”
“I can do toast,” Electra said, already sliding out of bed.
Killerwatt tilted his head. “You burning it again?”
“Every time,” they smirked. “Tradition.”•

Chapter Text

• The kitchen was sun-drenched and quiet, the old radio on the counter still blinking “12:00” from the last power outage.
Electra moved around the space with comfortable clumsiness — barefoot, one hand still sore from the fall a few days ago. They dug out the bread, dropped slices into the toaster, then flicked the heat too high anyway.
Killerwatt rolled in slowly, taking the long way around the table to avoid the squeaky board. The ache in his side made his jaw tight, but he masked it well enough. His movements were cautious but deliberate — each one a small act of defiance against the body that refused to cooperate.
“You sit,” Electra said, pointing at the corner of the table.
He obeyed, arms crossed, smirking as they stared down the toaster like it owed them an apology.
“You really gonna serve me burned toast after everything I’ve survived?”
“It’s part of your rehab,” they said. “Toughens you up.”•

Chapter Text

• The toast popped up — predictably too dark — and Electra scraped it with a butter knife, making it only marginally better.
They plated it with scrambled eggs — simple, just salt and pepper — and slid it over to him.
Killerwatt stared down at the plate. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t perfect.
But it was made for him. With love. With effort. With quiet, stubborn care.
He looked up. “Thanks.”
Electra sat across from him, nursing a cup of black coffee. “Don’t thank me till you try the eggs.”
He did. They were actually good. But he said, “Tastes like rubber.”
“Liar,” they grinned.
“Maybe a little plastic.”
He smiled around the bite, and Electra laughed, a soft sound that settled into the space between them like sunlight.•

Chapter Text

• They didn’t talk about the appointments coming up. Or the check-ins. Or the pain that would likely flare again before nightfall.
But for now, they had breakfast.
Two people. A quiet kitchen. Scrambled eggs and burnt toast.
And for the first time in a long time — the day didn’t feel like something to survive.
It felt like something they could share.•

Chapter Text

• After breakfast, the apartment felt hushed again. The kind of quiet that lingers after pain has passed — not quite peace, but the breath before it.
Killerwatt shifted in his chair near the kitchen window, rubbing absently at his side where the pain still lived, dull but pulsing. Electra rinsed the dishes, still humming some half-remembered tune under their breath.
They turned to him when the last plate hit the drying rack.
“You need help with the shower again?”
Their tone was soft. Casual. Like they were asking if he wanted tea.
Killerwatt hesitated, running his tongue along the inside of his teeth. He hated asking. Still. Even now.
“…Yeah. I think so.”
Electra dried their hands and crossed to him, resting their fingers lightly on his shoulder.
“Want company this time?”
He looked up. Caught their meaning. Saw the gentleness in it — the invitation, not obligation. The yes only if you want.
“…Yeah,” he said, after a beat. “I do.”•

Chapter Text

• The bathroom is already warm when Electra leans in to adjust the water, steam curling up like soft tendrils. They glance back at Killerwatt, seated in his wheelchair just inside the doorway, wrapped in one of Electra’s oversized T-shirts. His hair’s damp from where they’d washed it earlier in the sink—messy but soft, curling slightly around his ears.
“Temperature okay?” Electra calls, holding their hand under the spray.
Killerwatt nods. “Yeah. You always get it right.”
“Perks of dating a literal electric boy,” Electra grins, flicking a spark between their fingers dramatically before turning the water down just a notch. “Alright. Ready when you are.”
It takes a moment, but Killerwatt’s used to the rhythm now. Electra helps him transfer gently—never rushed, never patronizing. Just steady hands and warm murmurs. The shower seat is smooth beneath him, already warmed with the steam. Electra kisses his forehead once he’s settled, their palm resting against his cheek for a beat longer than usual.
“Still doing okay?” they ask softly.
Killerwatt looks up, eyes wide and still holding flickers of nervousness—like ghosts that haven’t fully left—but he nods again. “Yeah. I like this.”
They step in behind him, letting the water cascade over both of them. Killerwatt leans back slightly, letting the warmth soak into his skin and bones, his eyes fluttering shut. Electra’s hands move slowly, tenderly—washing his shoulders, then down his arms with a loofah that smells faintly like orange blossoms.
“I missed this,” he says after a moment, voice quiet under the sound of the water.
“What, me washing your pits?” Electra teases gently.
Killerwatt huffs out a small laugh. “No. Just… this. Being close. Feeling okay in my body. Not fighting everything.”
Electra’s hands pause. Then they press a kiss just below his ear. “You don’t have to fight it here. Not with me. Just exist. That’s enough.”
Killerwatt tilts his head back slightly, resting it against Electra’s shoulder. Water trickles down both their faces, and for a moment, the world outside the shower fades away. No rehab appointments. No scars. Just warmth. Just steam. Just soft breaths.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Electra wraps their arms around him from behind, resting their chin on his shoulder.
“Always,” they whisper back.•

Chapter Text

• By the time they roll into the mall parking lot, the sun is low and golden, painting long shadows across the pavement. Wrench is the first to park, her boxy repair truck form gleaming beneath the setting sun. She lets out a mechanical huff as her hydraulics settle.
“Everyone remember the buddy system,” she grumbles over the intercom. “No getting distracted in the electronics store for forty-five minutes, Joule.”
“That was one time!” Joule shouts from across the lot, their dynamite decals catching the light like little explosions. Their human form hops out of the driver’s seat, hair already windblown and wild. “And I found the best Bluetooth speaker of my life, thank you very much.”
Volta, sleek and frosty-cool, rolls up beside them and lets out a soothing hum. Frosty air coils from her vents, even though she’s only here to chill—not chill things. She transforms casually into her humanoid form, slicking her icy white hair back.
Killerwatt sits in his chair next to Electra, who’s helping him adjust his scarf—just enough for comfort, not for aesthetics. They didn’t dress fancy, but they matched just a little. Killerwatt’s black hoodie has lightning bolt patches that mirror Electra’s boots. Not planned. Probably.
"Y’all ready for snacks and poor impulse control?” Electra asks, adjusting their rings and offering their arm to Killerwatt.
"Ready as I’ll ever be," he says, wheeling forward as Wrench opens the accessible ramp for them with a clunky ka-chunk.
Inside the mall, it smells like cinnamon pretzels and nostalgia. Everything’s a little too bright, but the noise is comforting—a low-level buzz, like the inside of a beehive. They move as a loose unit, drifting toward the food court like magnets drawn to the scent of fries.
Volta walks beside Killerwatt, occasionally dropping an ice cube from her fingers onto people’s unsuspecting shoulders just to watch their confusion. Electra chuckles every time, nudging Killerwatt with a conspiratorial elbow.
Joule disappears for a hot minute but comes back with four different bubble teas.
“I couldn’t decide,” they say unapologetically, handing Killerwatt a lavender one without asking. It’s his favorite. He sips and tries not to smile too wide.
“Hey, we should go to that little comic shop on the second floor,” Killerwatt suggests, energy sparking a bit brighter than usual.
Electra grins. “You thinking manga haul or vinyl stickers we’ll pretend we won’t impulse-buy?”
“Both,” he says simply.
Wrench, who’s somehow acquired an armful of practical hardware supplies from a kiosk that definitely wasn’t a hardware store, snorts. “Nerds.”
Volta leans over and whispers something about getting matching phone charms, and Killerwatt flushes a little, half-horrified, half-delighted.
And for a while, that’s it. No appointments, no reminders, no looming past. Just an evening with his strange, glitchy, loyal crew. Laughter echoing up the escalators. Wheels gliding smoothly over tiled floors. A hand resting lightly on the back of his chair. Electra humming along to a song in the food court that neither of them know.
Just being.
Just existing—surrounded, held, safe.•

Chapter Text

• They’d just left the comic shop, Killerwatt grinning behind a small stack of zines and stickers, when Electra slowed their pace near a neon-lit storefront tucked between a plant shop and one of those weird capsule toy vending walls.
The sign read: “Needle & Spark – Piercings & Jewelry”
Electra tilted their head, eyeing a display of opalescent studs in the window. “Hey, mind if we stop here for a sec?”
Killerwatt looked up, curious. “Yeah, of course. Thinking of getting something?”
Electra gave a small shrug. “Maybe. Haven’t gotten one in a while. Thought it could be fun. What do you think—nose ring? Maybe a brow?”
Killerwatt smirked. “You’d rock both.”
They stepped inside together, the shop buzzing softly with ambient music and the hum of sterilization equipment. Everything was sleek and clean, but cozy too—walls lined with jewelry that sparkled under the lights.
A heavily pierced person behind the counter gave them a lazy wave. “Hey folks. Browsing or bold today?”
“Thinking a piercing,” Electra replied, browsing the wall of rings and barbells. “Something small. Subtle.”
They glanced back at Killerwatt, who was rolling slowly along the counter, peering into a case of septum rings. Electra caught a glint of something behind his ear and squinted.
“Wait… do you already have one?”
Killerwatt blinked innocently. “A few.”
Electra crouched a bit to look closer. “How many are we talking, exactly?”
Killerwatt smiled, a little too sweetly. “Mmm. Fifty-three.”
Electra stood there for a beat, processing.
“Wait—what?”
“Fifty-three piercings,” Killerwatt repeated, pulling back his hoodie just a bit to show the multiple studs lining the cartilage of his ear. “Used to get them when I was… feeling a lot. It helped.”
Electra’s expression softened as they leaned in to see—tiny gold hoops, silver studs, even a constellation arrangement along the side of his neck that was half-hidden by his collar. Their fingers hovered, then gently touched one of the pieces.
“Damn,” they whispered. “You’re like a walking jewelry case. A really hot one.”
Killerwatt chuckled. “Flatterer.”
“Okay but—where are they all?”
Killerwatt’s grin turned absolutely feral. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Electra nearly choked, laughing so hard they had to lean on the display case. The shop worker behind the counter looked up and just raised an eyebrow in approval.
“Okay, now I have to get one,” Electra said once they’d caught their breath. “Can’t be the only one without some hardware.”
“Welcome to the club,” Killerwatt said, smug.
They both sat while the piercer prepped a station—Electra deciding on a sleek black titanium hoop for their nose. Killerwatt stayed beside them, fingers brushing against their arm as the needle went in.
Afterward, Electra admired it in the mirror, eyes shining.
“You like it?” Killerwatt asked.
Electra turned to him, grin wide. “Yeah. But mostly I like that I’m finally catching up to my partner’s secret life as a metal gremlin.”
“You’ll need like fifty more to even come close,” Killerwatt said, bumping his foot gently against Electra’s.
“Oh, it's on.”
Outside the shop, Joule took one look at Electra’s new piercing and screamed.
“You got one without me?! I live for body mod day!”
“Relax,” Electra said. “There’s time. And apparently Killerwatt’s been hiding a piercing empire under our noses this whole time.”
Volta blinked. “Oh, you didn’t know? He’s basically magnetic.”
Wrench just shook her head, muttering, “Kids these days…”
As the group wandered back toward the food court, laughing and half-teasing each other, Electra reached out and gently threaded their fingers through Killerwatt’s.
“I really like learning new things about you,” they said quietly.
Killerwatt smiled down at their intertwined hands.
“Stick around,” he said. “There’s a lot more under the surface.”•

Chapter Text

• Everyone’s scattered across three food court tables now. Joule is trying to convince Volta to eat a warhead candy without flinching. Wrench is pretending she’s not invested in the outcome. Electra is sitting close beside Killerwatt, both of them sharing a tray of too-salty fries and one giant drink with two straws.
Electra glances sideways, catching the way Killerwatt’s fingers absently trace one of the piercings on his ear—a small, silver hoop at the very bottom of the lobe.
They tilt their head. “That one got a story?”
Killerwatt pauses, just a beat, then nods.
“Yeah. That one was the first.”
Electra leans in a little, quiet. Listening.
[Flashback Begins – A Few Years Ago]
The hospital room was white and humming. Always humming.
Killerwatt sat propped up in bed, his wheelchair parked at the foot, untouched for now. His hair was buzzed shorter back then, more out of necessity than choice. A halo of faded bruises marked his skin, fading slowly, like storm clouds breaking apart.
But his eyes—they were sharp. Present. Tired, but still his.
A nurse walked in. Cool boots, lip ring, piercings up one brow. The kind of person Killerwatt would’ve been too afraid to talk to six months ago.
“Hey,” the nurse said, holding a small sealed kit. “We’re clear to do it. Just the one, right?”
Killerwatt nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.
He’d asked three times. Waited two weeks. Fought harder for this than he had for most things in his life. But it wasn’t about the piercing itself. It was about doing something—something chosen. Something real.
He took the kit with careful hands. His fingers shook, but the nurse steadied him with just a calm presence. No rush. No judgment.
They sat together while Killerwatt pierced his left earlobe, breath held tight, shoulders stiff.
It stung.
It bled.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, he was in control.
He looked in the mirror above the sink afterward. Just a tiny glint of metal. But it felt like a flag planted in unfamiliar territory.
This is mine.
This body. This name. This path.
Killerwatt.
He whispered it to himself again, watching his reflection with unfamiliar steadiness.
Killerwatt. Killerwatt. Killerwatt.
Not a phase. Not a nickname. A truth.
[Back to Present – Mall]
“That one…” he says now, tapping the earring gently. “I did it in the hospital. Just one tiny stud. But it felt huge. Like I was saying, ‘I’m still here. I’m still me. No matter what happens next.’”
Electra’s eyes soften, and they reach out to brush their fingers just above the earring. “It suits you.”
Killerwatt smiles. “So do the other fifty-two.”
“You are so dramatic.”
“Bold coming from someone who just got pierced on a whim.”
“I’m whimsical,” Electra says, mock-defensive.
“You’re something,” Killerwatt murmurs, grin spreading.
A burst of laughter erupts from the next table over—Volta has won the candy challenge and is holding up her prize: a tiny plush dynamite stick Joule must have fished out of a claw machine earlier.
Wrench just mutters, “This is why I should’ve stayed in the truck.”
Electra threads their fingers through Killerwatt’s, and he lets himself lean into the touch, surrounded by the gentle chaos of the people who’d become his family. His map of piercings might be built from hard days—but here, now, every one of them shines.
And they’re all pointing forward.•

Chapter Text

• Killerwatt is rolling slowly beside the handrail while Electra stands behind him, resting a hand on the back of his chair. Joule is ahead of them, loudly arguing with a vending machine about whether or not it ate their dollar.
Killerwatt snorts quietly. “Still doesn’t know how to use those things.”
Electra smiles. “It’s endearing.”
He glances at Joule and smiles, softer now. “You know… they were there for number two.”
Electra raises a brow. “Piercing number two?”
Killerwatt nods, the memory already tugging at his mouth—half laugh, half warmth.
[Flashback – About Two Years Ago]
The garage was cluttered. Not in a messy way—Joule’s space was always loud, chaotic, but organized somehow. Like a bomb was constantly mid-explosion, but everything landed exactly where it was supposed to.
Killerwatt sat in an old office chair in the corner, fidgeting with a bent paperclip. The first earring glinted in his ear. The only one, at the time. He still felt self-conscious about it, unsure whether he could really pull it off or if people just humored him.
Joule was welding something across the room, mask lifted up onto their forehead. Sparks danced, music blared, and the air smelled like warm metal and too much sugar.
They spotted Killerwatt and immediately bounced over. “You’re making your ‘I’m about to do something reckless’ face.”
“I don’t have that face.”
“You absolutely do,” Joule said, dropping into a crouch. “What are you thinking? Shaved head? Dye job? Tattoo of a toaster on your ankle?”
Killerwatt snorted. “I was… actually thinking of another piercing.”
“Ohoho.” Joule’s eyes lit up. “Go on.”
He hesitated. “I just… I want to feel more like me. The me in my head. Not just the body I woke up with.”
Joule didn’t say anything for a moment. Then they got up, rummaged through a toolbox, and came back with a small piercing kit still in its wrapper.
“You know I’m certified, right?” they grinned. “Apprenticed at a shop back in my riot girl phase.”
Killerwatt blinked. “Of course you did.”
“You trust me?”
He looked at them—really looked. At their ridiculous tank top, their chipped nail polish, the grease on their cheek. And underneath it, something steady and unshakable. Joule was chaos, but never unsafe. Never cruel.
“…Yeah. I do.”
They picked a second earlobe piercing—symmetry felt right. Joule worked fast and clean, humming along to the music the whole time. It hurt less this time, or maybe Killerwatt was just ready for it.
When it was done, Joule handed him a mirror.
“You see him?” they asked, voice gentler than usual.
Killerwatt stared at his reflection. The second stud shimmered beside the first—just a little shine. But it was like a missing piece clicked into place.
“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think I do.”
Joule beamed. “Then he’s real.”
[Back to Present – Mall]
Joule finally wins the vending machine standoff and turns back toward them, triumphantly holding a mystery snack bag.
“Victory tastes like preservatives!” they declare.
Killerwatt laughs, full and bright.
Electra leans in. “You’ve got good people.”
“I really do,” Killerwatt says, watching Joule spin in a slow circle for no reason at all.
His second piercing catches the light—just a little shimmer. A reminder of the day someone looked at him and saw exactly who he was… and never questioned it.•

Chapter Text

• Killerwatt runs his fingers across the spines of sci-fi books as Volta and Wrench argue about whether dystopias or cold war thrillers make better metaphors for emotional repression. Electra, a few feet away, is thumbing through a queer poetry zine but watching the three of them from the corner of their eye.
Killerwatt, not quite looking at either of them, says quietly:
“You know… the industrial bar? That one was with you two.”
Volta’s eyebrow lifts. Wrench pauses mid-rant.
“Oh,” Volta says, voice soft and static-smooth. “That day.”
Wrench lets out a slow, measured breath.
Killerwatt smiles faintly. “Yeah. That day.”
[Flashback – 18 Months Ago]
The rain was falling in sheets across the garage roof. Wrench’s workshop was half-lit, the kind of warm, low light that made every corner feel safe. Shelves of carefully sorted tools lined the walls. Diagnostic screens blinked in quiet sleep mode.
Killerwatt sat on the edge of a padded bench, fiddling with a steel barbell between his fingers.
Volta stood nearby, arms crossed gently, humming along to the lo-fi beats crackling through the old stereo. Wrench leaned against the wall, sipping coffee from a travel mug that said BOLTS BEFORE BOYS.
No one was talking much. But the quiet wasn’t awkward—it was held.
“You don’t have to do this today,” Wrench said, finally. Calm. No pressure. “Doesn’t make you more real.”
“I know,” Killerwatt replied. “But I want to.”
Volta stepped forward. “Why this one?”
He swallowed, tapping the spot along the top of his ear where the bar would sit. “Because it’s supposed to take forever to heal. And I want something that doesn’t just mark where I’ve been. I want something that means… I’m planning to stay.”
Wrench’s eyes softened. Volta’s mouth twitched into a small, understanding smile.
Wrench took the piercing kit from the clean table and laid it out on a sanitized tray. Volta rolled up their sleeves and helped with the prep, moving with cold precision and quiet care.
The barbell was polished steel. Clean. Sharp. Long enough to stretch across the upper cartilage of Killerwatt’s ear. A bold one. Hard to miss.
He didn’t flinch when the needle went through. But when it was done, his breath shuddered slightly.
“Still with us?” Wrench asked.
“Yeah,” he whispered.
Volta handed him a mirror.
He stared at the bar for a long moment, then spoke without looking at them. “Do you think I’ll ever… feel like I’m finished?”
Wrench shook her head slowly. “You’re not a machine, kid. You don’t have to be finished. Just functional.”
Volta added, “And loved. That helps.”
The rain kept falling. The lights flickered slightly as thunder rolled past.
Killerwatt sat there with both of them in silence, warm and alive and surrounded.
He didn’t say thank you.
He didn’t need to.
They’d already heard it in the silence.
[Back to Present – Mall]
Wrench grabs a paperback and thumps it against Killerwatt’s shoulder. “Still got that bar?”
He nods, brushing his hair aside to show it: silver, slightly scuffed, but shining like a promise.
“Still healing,” he says.
Volta gives him a slow, approving nod. “Good.”
Wrench hands him the book without asking if he wants it. “You’re keeping this.”
Killerwatt looks at the title:
“Things That Refuse to Break.”
He smiles.
“I think I already did.”•

Chapter Text

• The front door clicked shut with a soft snick, and the world outside—the crowds, the bright lights, the food court noise—faded into the low hush of home.
Killerwatt sighed as the wheels of his chair glided over the smooth floor, the familiar creaks and soft buzz of his apartment greeting him like an old friend.
Electra stepped in behind him, dropping the keys into the dish by the door and toeing off their boots. Their new nose ring gleamed in the dim lamplight—subtle, but unmistakably them. They stretched, spine popping, then turned to look at him.
“You good?” they asked gently, hands resting loosely at their hips.
Killerwatt nodded, but slowly. “Yeah. Just… full. Not in a bad way. Like... emotionally stuffed.”
Electra chuckled and crossed the room, dropping onto the couch and patting the space beside them. “C’mon, come be emotionally overfed on me.”
Killerwatt rolled closer, letting out a little sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “You make a surprisingly good emotional pillow.”
“I’m excellent at it,” Electra replied. “High thread count. Good for snuggling. Probably electric shock resistant.”
That earned a soft laugh. “Bold of you to assume I don’t zap you on purpose.”
Electra held up both hands. “Consent, babe. Always.”
Killerwatt transferred onto the couch carefully. His body still had limits—scars that pulled and nerves that twitched unpredictably—but this movement was routine now. Practiced. And with Electra here, always a little easier.
He nestled into their side, letting his head rest against their chest. Their arms came around him instantly, strong and loose and warm.
“Today was… a lot,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Electra nodded, chin brushing the top of his head. “You did amazing. You always do.”
Killerwatt exhaled, long and slow. His fingers found the hem of Electra’s hoodie, gently looping it around his knuckles.
“Do you ever think about how weird it is?” he asked. “That I didn’t… I didn’t plan for a future. Not really. And now I have this. You. Our ridiculous crew. And… a nose ring I definitely didn’t know I was emotionally prepared for.”
Electra smiled against his hair. “It’s not weird. It’s growth. Or maybe stubbornness. Either way, I’m proud of you.”
Killerwatt blinked hard, then let out a soft noise. “Do not make me cry in the hoodie of a punk anarchist with glitter eyeliner.”
“Too late,” Electra teased, pulling him closer. “This hoodie has witnessed way more dramatic sobbing than yours. Cry freely.”
For a moment, they sat there in quiet. No talking. No pressure.
Just breathing.
Killerwatt reached up and ran his fingers over the industrial bar in his ear—still there. Still healing. Still his.
“You really like my piercings?” he asked eventually.
Electra tilted his chin up gently. Their eyes met.
“I like anything that makes you feel like you,” they said. “But yeah. I love them. They’re loud, and messy, and brave. Just like you.”
Killerwatt blinked. “Messy?”
“Affectionately.”
He laughed, and Electra leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth.
“You’re allowed to rest now,” they whispered. “You don’t have to prove anything. You’re already here.”
Killerwatt melted into their touch, letting the weight of the day slide off his shoulders.
Already here.
Still here.
And for once, that was enough.•

Chapter Text

• The room is dim, bathed only in the soft glow of the city lights spilling through the window blinds. Killerwatt lies curled up on the couch, Electra beside him, both finally sinking into a rare moment of stillness.
Suddenly, Killerwatt’s breathing catches—shallow, rapid. His hand shoots to his mouth, and his eyes widen with panic.
Electra’s head snaps up instantly. “Killerwatt? Hey, hey—what’s wrong?”
“I… don’t know,” he croaks, voice rough and small. His skin feels hot, but cold waves ripple beneath the surface. His body trembles.
Electra reaches out, steadying him gently. “Okay. Breathe with me, yeah? In—”
Killerwatt inhales shakily, but then a sharp spasm makes him wince.
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
Before Electra can move, Killerwatt turns his head to the side and coughs harshly, the sudden sickness overtaking him.
Electra grabs a nearby towel and presses it gently to his lips, rubbing his back in slow circles.
“It’s okay, I’m here,” Electra whispers, voice steady even as their heart races.
Killerwatt’s breathing is ragged now, and tears prick at the corners of his eyes—not from pain, but from the shock of being so utterly undone.
“Don’t try to fight it,” Electra says softly, helping him sit up a little.
From the hallway, a quiet shuffle—Volta’s voice, low and calm. “I heard… do you need anything? Medicine? Water?”
Wrench appears next, carrying a small bottle of electrolyte solution.
“We’ve got this,” Wrench says with a quiet confidence that grounds the room.
Killerwatt manages a weak nod, leaning heavily against Electra as the warmth of their touch steadies him.
Electra presses the cool bottle to Killerwatt’s lips. “Sip slowly. You’re safe.”
Joule appears at the doorway with a small tray: a bowl, some soft cloths, and a thermos of tea.
“Call it a midnight rescue squad,” Joule jokes softly, but their eyes are serious. “We’ve got your back.”
Killerwatt’s voice is barely a whisper. “Thank you.”
Electra brushes damp strands of hair from his forehead. “Always.”
The night stretches long and quiet as they stay close, a tangle of hands, blankets, and steady hearts, carrying him through the sickness like a tide they all ride together.•

Chapter Text

• Morning light filters softly through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room. Killerwatt sits in his wheelchair by the kitchen table, a nearly full cup of weak tea in his hands. His skin is clammy, and his breath shallow.
Electra kneels beside him, voice gentle but concerned. “Hey, babe… maybe you should lie down for a bit.”
Before he can respond, Killerwatt’s body suddenly goes limp. The cup slips from his fingers, shattering softly on the floor.
“Whoa—Killerwatt!” Electra catches him, arms tightening around his chest to keep him steady.
But his head falls back, eyes closed, unresponsive.
Panic flashes across Electra’s face. “Killerwatt? Please—wake up!”
The sound of hurried footsteps fills the apartment as Wrench, Volta, and Joule rush in, alarmed.
“Is he breathing?” Volta asks sharply, leaning close.
Electra nods quickly, though her voice shakes. “Yeah… shallow, but steady.”
Wrench kneels down, checking Killerwatt’s pulse. “It’s weak. We need to call a doctor. Now.”
Joule pulls out their phone with shaking hands, dialing emergency services.
Electra strokes Killerwatt’s damp hair, whispering, “Come back to me, please. I’m right here.”
Minutes stretch like hours as they wait—Electra never letting go, Wrench and Volta supporting, Joule holding the door open.
Killerwatt’s chest rises and falls faintly.
His eyes remain closed.
The silence is heavy with fear and hope, as every breath he takes becomes a silent plea to hold on just a little longer.•

Chapter Text

• The room is bright but somehow still heavy. The blinds are half‑drawn, spilling harsh shafts of sunlight across the white sheets. Machines beep steadily, measuring the thin thread of life beneath Killerwatt’s skin.
He lies on the bed, so still it almost looks like he’s sleeping. An IV drips steadily into his arm. His face is pale, lips faintly blue. Tubes and wires trail from his body to machines that hum and blink.
Electra sits as close as the chair will allow, both hands wrapped around Killerwatt’s. Their thumb rubs circles across his knuckles, a motion as instinctive as breathing.
Wrench stands against the wall, arms folded, eyes locked on the monitors like they can hold him there by sheer will. Volta sits near the foot of the bed, elbows on knees, hair falling into their face. Joule paces, restless, fingers drumming against their thigh.
A nurse enters, looking stricken. “We’ve realized there was a dosage error,” she says softly. “He was given the wrong amount of medication during his last round. We’re doing everything we can.”
Electra’s voice shakes. “How wrong?”
“Too much. It’s suppressing his heart rate and breathing.”
Wrench’s jaw tightens, voice low but sharp. “How do you ‘accidentally’ do that?”
“We’re reviewing everything,” the nurse murmurs. “Right now, our focus is keeping him stable.”
The nurse leaves to fetch a doctor. The room is quiet again except for the rhythmic beeps of the heart monitor.
Electra leans closer to Killerwatt, pressing their forehead to his. “You’re still here,” they whisper. “Stay with me. Please.”
Joule stops pacing, voice cracking. “He’s a fighter. He always—he always comes back.”
Volta looks up, eyes wet but steady. “He’s tired,” they say softly. “But he’s still here.”
The beeping falters for a second, then steadies. Everyone holds their breath.
Electra squeezes his hand. “Do you remember the mall? The comic shop? You teased me about my piercing. You’re going to tease me again, okay?”
No response. Just the hiss of oxygen, the faint rise and fall of his chest.
Minutes stretch like hours. The doctor arrives, adjusts machines, calls for more medication. They push something through the IV. For a moment the monitor picks up—beep… beep… beep…
Then the line falters.
Electra’s head snaps toward the screen. “No. No, no, no.”
The monitor wails its flat, unbroken tone.
Joule’s hands fly to their mouth. Wrench moves forward instinctively, reaching for the bedrail. Volta grips the edge of the mattress like they’re holding the world still.
The doctor shouts for a crash cart. Nurses flood in, moving quickly. One starts chest compressions. Another prepares a syringe. The room is a blur of movement and sound.
Electra stays where they are, still holding Killerwatt’s hand, tears streaming unchecked down their face. “Come back. Please. You’re not done yet. Stay with us.”
Nothing. Just the relentless tone of the monitor.
The staff continue, but every second stretches further away from hope. Wrench turns away, jaw trembling. Joule sinks to their knees. Volta’s hands are pressed to their lips, eyes squeezed shut.
Finally, after what feels like forever, the doctor stops. The flatline continues.
“I’m… I’m so sorry,” the doctor says quietly.
The room falls silent. Machines click off one by one. The absence of sound is deafening.
Electra lays their head on Killerwatt’s chest, still clutching his hand. Their voice is hoarse but soft. “I love you. We all do.”
Wrench moves closer, placing a large, gentle hand on Electra’s shoulder. Volta slides an arm around Joule, who’s shaking silently.
They stand there together, the four of them, surrounding Killerwatt. No speeches. No noise. Just the weight of love in the space where his heartbeat used to be.
Outside, the city keeps going. Inside, their world has changed forever.•

Chapter Text

• The sky is heavy with clouds, the city below a blur of lights and rain. Electra stands alone on the rooftop where Killerwatt had once stood, their hoodie clinging to their shoulders in the damp wind. The same building. The same view. A different weight.
“I can’t do this anymore,” they whisper into the night. “I thought I could carry you. I thought I could be stronger. But all I feel is empty.”
Their phone buzzes in their pocket — missed calls from Wrench, Volta, Joule. They don’t answer.
Rain slicks the ledge beneath their feet. As they fell.•

Chapter Text

• Wrench bursts into the stairwell, panting. Volta and Joule close behind, faces pale. They reach the rooftop door just as it swings open in the wind.
The ledge is empty.
A single lightning bolt charm lies on the ground where Electra had been standing, glinting in the rain.
Wrench drops to their knees, clutching it. “No,” they whisper. “Please, no.”
Volta’s hand goes to their mouth, eyes filling. Joule steps back, shaking, as the sound of sirens rises from the street below.
The three of them stay there in the rain, a broken circle around the space Electra left behind. No speeches. No noise. Just the raw, silent weight of another piece of their family gone.•

Chapter Text

• The apartment is quieter now. Photographs of Killerwatt and Electra hang on the wall — two bright sparks frozen in time. Wrench works at the kitchen table, Volta moves silently between rooms, Joule sits on the floor with their head in their hands.
They light a candle every night, a small flicker in the dark. Not because it fixes anything, but because it’s what they have left: a ritual, a memory, a promise to keep living even when it hurts.•

Chapter Text

• The apartment feels heavier now, quieter in a way that’s almost physical. The laughter and easy chatter that used to fill the rooms are gone, replaced by a thick silence that settles like dust.
On the wall hangs a carefully arranged collage of photographs — moments captured with Killerwatt and Electra: a blurry shot of all of them laughing at the mall, a close-up of Killerwatt’s ear lined with piercings, a candid snap of Electra smiling softly, eyes alive despite the pain.
Wrench is at the kitchen table, meticulously cleaning and tuning a worn wrench — a ritual they’ve kept, a way to ground themselves in something tangible. Every turn of the tool is an echo of the life they shared.
Volta is in the small living room, organizing a bookshelf. Their hands pause over a row of well-worn journals — Electra’s handwriting looping across the pages. They pick one up gently, fingers tracing the words as if trying to pull meaning from the past.
Joule sits cross-legged on the floor, headphones on, eyes closed. Music floods the room, a blend of songs that were once favorites of their lost friends — a bittersweet soundtrack of memory.
Volta sets the journal down and speaks softly, voice breaking the quiet. “I don’t think it’ll ever stop hurting. But I think… they’d want us to keep going.”
Wrench looks up from their wrench with a small, tired smile. “They fought so hard to stay here. To stay with us. We owe it to them to do the same.”
Joule takes off their headphones and nods. “It’s like… carrying their fire. We can’t let it go out.”
The three of them move to the wall, adding a new photo — one taken on a day out, where Electra’s smile is gentle but sure. Wrench pins it carefully beneath the others.
Volta pulls out the lightning bolt charm — the same one from the rooftop — and holds it for a moment before tucking it into a small box alongside other keepsakes.
Joule picks up a marker and writes on a blank canvas resting against the wall: “For Killerwatt and Electra — Always in our hearts.”
They stand together, a fragile but fierce family, bound by loss but determined to live.•

Chapter Text

• The sun rises gently over the city skyline, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and gold. The world is waking up slowly, the city’s hum beginning anew.
Wrench, Volta, and Joule sit together on the balcony, wrapped in cozy blankets, sharing a quiet breakfast. A small, worn photo frame sits on the table between them — Killerwatt and Electra’s smiling faces frozen in time.
Volta reaches out, fingers brushing the frame tenderly. “It’s been a long road.”
Wrench nods, eyes thoughtful. “But we’re still here. Because of them.”
Joule smiles softly. “Because of what they taught us — to love fiercely, to hold onto each other, even when it’s hard.”
A gentle breeze stirs the curtains, carrying with it the scent of rain from the night before and the faint, electric charge that always seemed to follow Killerwatt.
Wrench looks up at the sky. “I think they’d want us to keep living. Not just surviving — really living.”
Volta exhales, a soft laugh escaping. “Yeah. To find joy. To build new memories. To keep their light shining.”
Joule leans back, eyes closed, feeling the warmth of the sun on their face. “We carry them in us. Always.”
They sit together in companionable silence, the weight of loss softened by the strength of love and the unbreakable bond they share.
The city buzzes around them, full of life and possibility.
And as the sun climbs higher, the three friends rise from the balcony, ready to face whatever comes next — carrying Killerwatt and Electra with them, every step of the way.
The End•