Chapter Text
Dandy did not sleep.
He sat on the edge of his bed in the small room above the shop, hoodie pulled tight around himself like it might hold him together if he squeezed hard enough. The light was off. The only illumination came from the thin strip beneath the door and the faint glow of the machines far below, pulsing through the walls like a distant, artificial heartbeat.
Astro was gone.
Pebble was gone.
The silence they left behind was louder than any screaming Twisted.
Dandy stared at his hands.
They were shaking.
Black ichor had dried beneath his nails from earlier—he didn’t remember when he’d hurt himself this time, only that the knife was back on the desk where he always put it afterward, cleaned, careful, methodical. Controlled. He hated that part most of all: how routine it had become.
“I’m tired,” he whispered to no one.
His voice sounded smaller than he remembered.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, hood falling over his eyes. For a moment—just one—he let himself imagine Astro there instead. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the bedframe, talking softly about nothing important. About stars that weren’t real. About dreams Dandy never let him see anymore.
I’m still here, Astro would’ve said.
The thought cracked something open in Dandy’s chest.
“I tried,” Dandy murmured. “I really did.”
He thought of the runs. The shop. The glares. The insults. The way they blamed him for everything while still buying bandages from his hands. The way Delilah’s voice still echoed in his head, sweet and poisonous.
Just a little more, Dandy.
You’re the only one who can handle this.
Don’t you want to save them?
His vision blurred.
“I believed you,” he whispered.
Something shifted in the air.
At first, Dandy thought it was another hallucination—another stress-born trick of his exhausted mind. The room felt colder. He smelled something unfamiliar beneath the usual metal and dust.
Perfume.
Clean. Floral. Artificially pleasant.
Dandy froze.
“…No,” he said weakly.
The light flicked on.
She stood near the door like she had every right to be there.
Delilah looked exactly the same.
Immaculate. Untouched by time or decay. Her expression was gentle, sympathetic, eyes soft with something that pretended to be care. She clasped her hands together, tilting her head as she took him in—hoodie, hollow eyes, shaking limbs.
“Oh, Dandy,” she said, voice warm. “You look awful.”
His heart slammed against his ribs.
“You left,” he whispered. “You— you left.”
Delilah sighed, as if disappointed. “I had to. Things were getting… unstable. You understand.”
“No,” Dandy said. His voice rose, cracked. “You said if I kept going, if I kept the Ichor operation running, if I let you do those tests—if I let you do them to me—they’d be safe.”
She smiled faintly. “And they were. For a time.”
His nails dug into his palms. “You used me.”
“I chose you,” Delilah corrected gently. “L-001. My first success.”
The designation hit harder than any blade.
“I’m not a number,” Dandy said, shaking. “I’m not your experiment.”
Delilah stepped closer, heels clicking softly against the floor. “You were always both.”
Memories flooded back without mercy: the restraints, the needles, the burning cold of too much ichor in his veins, the way his body had twisted and broken and changed while she watched and took notes.
“You became Twisted,” she continued calmly, “and you came back. Do you know how remarkable that is? Lethals are unstable. Failures. But you?” Her eyes gleamed. “You were perfect.”
Dandy felt sick.
“They hate me,” he whispered. “They hate me because of you.”
Delilah’s smile thinned. “They hate you because it’s easier than accepting the truth.”
She reached out, brushing her fingers against his cheek.
He flinched.
“You don’t need them anymore,” she said softly. “Gardenview is finished. The data is complete. Astro’s death was… unfortunate, but acceptable.”
Something snapped.
“Don’t say his name,” Dandy said, voice trembling with fury and grief. “You don’t get to talk about him.”
Delilah’s expression hardened.
“That attachment was your biggest flaw,” she said coolly. “Love makes experiments unpredictable.”
Dandy laughed weakly, tears spilling down his face. “You already took everything. What else do you want from me?”
Delilah looked at him for a long moment.
Then she answered honestly.
“Closure.”
She raised her hand.
The device was small. Clean. Efficient. Modified Gardenview tech—her specialty.
Dandy stared at it, realization dawning too late.
“You’re going to kill me,” he said.
Delilah nodded. “The world already thinks you’re responsible for so much. One more tragedy won’t change their narrative.”
His chest tightened.
“So that’s it,” he whispered. “After everything… I don’t even get to choose?”
She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.
“I’m sorry, Dandy,” Delilah said. “But you were never meant to survive the end.”
The surge was instant.
Pain exploded through him—white-hot, consuming, drowning out every thought. He gasped, body arching as black ichor spilled from his mouth, his systems overloaded beyond recovery.
As the world faded, Dandy’s mind reached desperately for one last thing.
Astro.
I’m coming, he thought weakly. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.
His vision dimmed.
The machines below hummed on, indifferent.
When they found Dandy’s body hours later, curled on the bed with his hoodie still clutched tight around him, the conclusion came easily.
“He finally did it,” someone whispered.
“Guess it was only a matter of time.”
No one saw Delilah leave.
No one knew the truth.
And no one ever would.