Chapter Text
The pain was foreign, unimaginable. They were holding him in place, grips tight and bruising, as his mind was split open by their memory scanner.
It was an intriguing piece of metal technology, simplistic in design and of medium weight. Yet just by being forced over his eyes, it was able to easily gain access to his memories, his thoughts and emotions, giving his captors the information they needed without the hassle of an interrogation. Yellow would’ve gushed over the device in fascination. In a better place, better circumstances.
His throat hurt from screaming, and tears were running down his cheeks. Every rewind was searing, violating. He hated it. He wanted it to stop, he even stooped so low as to plead pathetically, but his captors paid him no heed. They dug deeper, searching.
They crossed the scene in the Rocket Corp parking lot, and Yellow began struggling harder against his restraints. He was back there, ears assaulted by the horrifically familiar crunch of bone, the whack of the agent’s rod. Red and Green’s yells as they were knocked to the side. Blue’s cries as he rushed to stop them from taking Yellow away. His body slamming hard into the truck, crumpling to the ground. His voice choking out Yellow’s name even as he fell unconscious. Yellow flailed as he was dragged away, away from Red’s bleeding head, Green’s dislocated arm, Blue’s cracked ribs, as they just lay there. Unmoving. Almost as if they were…
Further rewind back. Back to the forest where they captured Orange and took him away, and he could do nothing but watch it happen. It had been over a day since Yellow had last seen him. He would do anything to see the orange hollowhead again, to see all of his friends, to go back home to the safety of the PC.
Flashes of the black hollowhead from their brief interactions. He was here too, strapped to a chair in this very box when Yellow was brought in, with a similar scanner latched over his eyes. Roughed up and defeated, with strange slashes all over his body.
Rewind, rewind, rewind. Yellow wasn’t focusing anymore. His mind was melting, static clouding his ears. He drowned in the endless agony, falling, until…
A loud click sounded, bringing him back. They were no longer sifting through his memories. Heavy silence, not even the weak shuffles of the black stick next to him could be heard. He didn’t have the energy to lift his head or question what was going on.
Whoosh. Footsteps suddenly thumped towards him, and the scanner was yanked off his face. He hissed as the sudden light exposure assaulted his eyes, worsening his growing migraine. Too bright, turn it off-
“On your feet,” a stern voice ordered. Yellow’s legs shook when he tried to comply, and he weakly shook his head in an attempt to convey that.
“Umm,” a hand flicked at his forehead, “I think he’s kinda out of it.”
“Too bad,” the first voice growled. “The boss said we had to move him.”
He yelped as he was yanked out of the seat, his vision swimming from the movement, nearly collapsing before being grabbed from another side. They dragged him along, his toes grazing the floor.
“Wh’re you t’king me?” He slurred, but got no answer, which hurt more than it should have. They had left the box and were now approaching some sort of grey metal rectangle. The worker to his left barked something at the other, and released his arm as he approached a pin pad and began typing in a code.
With a beep, the door to the cell slid open. The worker entered, pointing a weapon into the cell. “Stand down,” he said to someone as Yellow was pulled in. He heard someone’s breath hitch as a soft “Yellow?” escaped their lips.
He knew that voice. He knew he did, but his vision was beginning to cloud, and his thoughts were too heavy for him to remember the stick’s name, who he was to him.
Without warning, the second worker roughly shoved Yellow from behind. Disoriented and weak, he braced himself for impact, but instead of hitting the hard metal floor, his head collided with a soft but firm surface as arms wrapped securely around him. Whoever he had fallen onto was angrily yelling something at the worker, who shouted something back before stomping away. The door slammed shut, trapping them inside. The stick muttered something hotly under his breath, squeezing him tightly in a way that felt comfortable and warm, so unlike how the workers had treated him.
Fingers grazed Yellow’s cheek, travelling down to his chin and tilting it upwards. In the dim lighting, he made out a blur of orange, shifting and warping. His vision, his mind finally cleared enough for him to decipher the person he was with.
Orange’s eyes looked back at him, wide and wet. The best friend they had been looking for, their missing piece. He looked terrible, dark circles underneath his eyes, his scleras red from crying. But it was him. Orange was in front of him. Yellow had finally found him.
The two of them just stared at each other for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say, until Orange broke the silence. “Yellow,” he whispered again, the concern obvious on his face.
Yellow opened his mouth to reassure him, only to groan as the throb in his head suddenly flared.
“Cursors, are you okay?” Orange’s eyes darted frantically over his body. “That was a stupid question, of course you’re not, not after-”
“Or’nge,” Yellow muttered, sagging against his friend. The hollowhead trailed off, and Yellow weakly turned around and buried his head in Orange’s chest. He was sinking again, except this time, he was tucked away in his best friend’s arms, away from the dangers, the cold cruelty lurking outside. His body began to tremble.
“Hey.” Orange sounded scared. “Yellow, what’s wrong? Talk to me, please.”
Another pang of pain. Yellow inhaled sharply, eyes clenching shut.
A firm hand pressed to the back of his head, grounding and warm. It cleared some of the mental haze, enough for him to whisper, “hurts. Mind f’zzy.” He pressed himself closer to Orange. “Missed y-ou.”
“Me too, Buttercup.” Oh. The familiar nickname struck something pleasant, yet heavily melancholic in his code. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he sniffled loudly. Why was he-?
Orange sighed, his breath fanning Yellow’s messy strands. “It’s okay now,” he lulled, resting his cheek on Yellow’s head. “I’ve got you, Citrus.”
Normally, Yellow would’ve felt uncomfortable with so much affection. He liked to keep his own personal distance at times, unwilling to be treated like glass, like something fragile and vulnerable. He should’ve pulled away, gone back to telling Orange that he was fine.
Except, at this moment, he didn’t want to. He craved the attention Orange was giving him, the tender hold he held him in as he cried, the pressure in his skull almost unbearable. Orange’s shirt began to soak with his tears, and yet Orange didn’t complain. He never did.
Yellow shook in his arms as he gasped through his tears.
“Sh, sh. Calm down Yells, you’re hurting yourself even more.” Orange pulled away slightly, holding Yellow by his shoulders as he allowed him the space to breathe. He frowned sadly as he noted Yellow’s glazed look and blown out pupils. Whatever that memory scanner had done to him, it had clearly messed up some of his cognitive functions.
Yellow looked lost, in pain, and so unlike his usually inquisitive self. It was unnerving, and Orange prayed desperately that the effects were temporary. That those bastards hadn’t damaged Yellow’s mind to a permanent extent.
Yellow hiccuped, redirecting the hollowhead’s attention. “Yells, you should sleep. Maybe you’ll feel better after getting some rest,” Orange suggested, unsure of what else could help in their current situation.
Yellow hummed compliantly, blinking slowly at him. “Y sl’p tooooo,” he poked at Orange’s chest.
Orange startled. Yellow tilted his head a bit, and a small smile unconsciously crept onto Orange’s face. The fact that Yellow, in all his pain, was telling him to sleep, to take care of himself; it was both endearing and somewhat relieving.
“I will.” He patted Yellow’s shoulder. “Worry about yourself for now, okay?” Orange shrugged his sweater off, folding it as neatly as he could. He supported Yellow’s frame as he tilted him to the ground, using his sweater as a makeshift pillow. It wasn’t a comfy arrangement by any means, but Yellow didn’t seem to mind, so it would do. Orange ran a hand down his back, watching as Yellow’s eyelids drooped. He was already tired and weak, and his breathing began to even out.
He was asleep in seconds. Orange’s hand stilled, and he watched the rise and fall of Yellow’s chest. He looked so peaceful, so unlike when they were hurting him. His thoughts, now unoccupied, drifted back to that terrible fragment of time.
Orange had been penned up in his cell, just laying around, when he heard the door to the facility click open and powerful footsteps stride in. They were quickly followed by a voice, muffled by walls but all too recognizable.
What is Yellow doing here?! His mind screamed in confusion, fear. He couldn’t see what was happening; they had barricaded his cell in fear of some “power” he was supposed to have (he would be having a long discussion with Chosen once they left this place). He ran his fingers over the cracks as Yellow’s voice became more strained. By some miracle, he found a broken area in the shield, and lifted it up.
The light blinded him momentarily, as he had been in the dark for hours. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Yellow inside the white box, in a chair next to Chosen. A worker held a metal device in his hands, and in a swift movement, he forced it onto Yellow’s face as two other workers restrained the stick. His heart leapt into his throat, and he began punching at cell walls, screaming for them to stop whatever they were about to do.
Agent powered the device and pressed a button, and not long after, Yellow began screaming. Gut wrenching, horrible screams that would haunt Orange for days to come. He pounded harder, angrier, shouting threats and cursing his captors, all the while keeping an eye on the screen where they were projecting Yellow’s mind for all to see.
He saw the fate of his other friends, and he froze. Yellow sobbed, making weak attempts to escape, and Orange’s legs shook as he grasped the wall for support. His stomach churned, there was too much blood, too many injuries. Green, Red, Blue. How could they? How dare they.
Suddenly, Yellow’s cries stopped. He slumped over in his chair, panting heavily, looking dazed. A worker poked him on the shoulder and he didn’t react, even when the machine continued to milk his mind for information.
Orange dropped to the floor, tears brimming in his eyes, hand pressed against his mouth. He didn’t know how much time passed after that, when they stopped the memory extraction, and Agent left with Chosen in tow. They eventually brought Yellow to him, and he was able to see for himself the devastating aftermath.
Orange had let it happen. He had watched them mess with Yellow’s mind, had watched his best friend cry and writhe to no avail.
He wasn’t able to stop them. Too weak to break out of his cell and save Yellow. Too limited to save Chosen from getting tortured. Too ignorant to unlock his powers when he needed them most, when his friends' lives were on the line and there’s so much he could do to prevent them from having to suffer. Useless.
Orange shook away his thoughts. No. Now wasn’t the time to think about this. Yellow needed his help now. If he couldn’t tap into his healing powers or get them to safety, the very least Orange could do was get Yellow something to replenish his energy when he awoke, and watch over him until something worked out. Orange couldn’t fail him again.
He shot one more glance at the sleeping stick, quickly adjusting the sweater to cover his ears. Then he got up, walked over to the door and began to bang loudly. “Hey! I know you can hear me! My friend is hurt and he needs food and water right this minute!”
He kept hollering until eventually, a slam from the other side of the box made him flinch. A slit in the cell opened to reveal a very annoyed worker. He seemed a bit younger than most of the workers in the Corp, possibly a young adult.
“You’re quite the annoying one. Ever since you got here, I haven’t had a moment of peace! Don’t you know how to shut up?!” he screeched. Orange scoffed, meeting his glare head on.
“For your information, I never wanted to be here, and yet here I am. Worse, your lot dragged one of my best friends into this mess and hurt him!”
The worker looked past Orange to where Yellow lay. His brow furrowed. “Wait, the scanner affected him that badly?” He wondered aloud. “That never happened before, at least not with the black stickman.”
“Well, maybe that’s because, I don’t know, Chosen has powers, unlike us?” Orange huffed. “Or maybe your boss never used that thing on a literal kid before.”
The worker’s face paled suddenly. “Wait… kid?!”
He couldn’t be serious. “You didn’t know we were kids?” Orange’s eye twitched. Okay, he was officially done with this conversation.
“Why would Boss-”
“Are you going to get my friend what he needs or not?” Orange snapped.
The worker ran off. Orange bitterly assumed he had scared him off, but to his surprise the worker returned some minutes later with a water bottle and a small bag. He looked a bit green as well, something Orange found rather unusual.
“Here,” he handed them through the slit, refusing to look him in the eye. “I couldn’t find more than a couple of ration bars, since all the fancy food is locked up somewhere else. I found some medication though, it should help with his headache.”
Orange blinked, a little surprised. “Um, thanks,” he mumbled, considerably less hostilely than before.
“Don’t mention it.” The stick shifted on his feet, looking awkward, maybe even a little guilty. “I guess I’ll go now.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “Um, by the way, please don’t tell anyone what I did, alright? I don’t wanna get into trouble.”
“I don’t even know your name,” Orange deadpanned, “and you all look the exact same, like clones or something.”
“Right.” Silence. “Well then, I guess I’ll go now.” The slit was closed up, and Orange heard his footsteps retreat.
What in the name of Alan Becker was that? Orange groaned, dragging his hand down his face. This situation was starting to get ridiculous. He placed the items in a nearby corner and returned to Yellow’s side. His stomach grumbled in protest, but he ignored it.
Yellow shifted in his sleep, eyes scrunching a bit. Orange gently patted his shoulder until he settled again. It would probably be a few hours until he woke up. Orange considered listening to Yellow’s plea from earlier and getting some shut-eye himself. He was feeling tired after all.
But sleeping would mean that he would be inattentive to any and all occurrences. He needed to be alert, especially if the grey hollowhead came back. If they tried to take Yellow again, or hurt anyone else.
Orange sighed, leaning his head against the wall. He looked down at his hands. The very same hands which had spelled the end for The Dark Lord. Where he should have seen green flames sprouting from.
He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he had powers. That he had lived his whole life not knowing just how much potential he wielded. He could fly, shoot lasers from his eyes, and bring people back from the dead. Yet, flexing his fingers, he felt nothing. No heat, no godlike aura. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had used them during the battle, even though Chosen’s memories rang bright and clear. He was truly trapped.
His thoughts drifted to his friends, as much as it stung. Red would’ve hated the cell they were in. He would have used every bit of his strength to try and escape. There was a possibility that with his raw strength, he may have fared better than Orange, and may have actually succeeded in breaking free. Like Red, Green might’ve resorted to brute force, but with a clever twist. He would first figure out what weak spots the cell held, then target each one, strategically weakening the structure before landing a final blow.
Yellow would’ve given things a lot of thought. Even in the most dire situations he would never panic, only reflect. He would bide his time, calculate every possibility, and only when he deemed the moment right would he set a plan into motion.
Blue was like a churning ocean, an undertone of deadliness. He strived to protect his friends much like Orange, and would risk anything to do so if the situation demanded it.
But rarely, in situations like this, Blue was also a cool flowing river. When agitated, he would sit down, dousing the storm within and finding the center of his calm.
At this moment, Blue’s voice seemed to overpower the rest. Breathe, he said. Don’t worry about what you can or can’t do at this moment. Things may look bad right now, but before dealing with the rest of the world, you have to calm yourself down first. Focus instead on what drives you, gives you strength. Your core. Breathe.
They were in danger. Orange didn’t know why, but something in the air felt off. It was only a matter of time before disaster struck. If he wished to protect his friends and Chosen, he needed his powers. He needed-
“Why do you go by Orange?” Chosen had asked once. “Isn’t your filename ‘The Second Coming’?”
Orange crossed his legs, resting his hands on his knees, exhaling deeply.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Green. Red. Blue.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Yellow. Chosen
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Alan.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Protect them. I have to protect them.
Breathe in. Breathe out. His eyes closed.
It was all he could do as he waited.