Chapter Text
It hadn't been long since Spoke last saw Jamato.
A day, or two. Not even that; a multitude of hours at best.
He'd come back home, climbing over the metal fence as he often had to. Told Mapicc that whatever the important job-related urgency wasn't that big of a deal after all. He seemed annoyed, a bit, but ultimately let it go and went back to heating up sandwiches.
Right, then they had sandwiches for dinner. Some bread, some butter, tomatoes, and ham. Mapicc accidentaly burned the bread again, but it was fine, because Spoke had grown used to the taste of coal over the long period of time they'd known each other. They laughed about it a little, as usual, and one of them wrote down "new toaster" on the grocery list for the fifth time over that month. Spoke couldn't remember whether it was himself or Mapicc to pick up the pen and scribble it on the note. It wasn't like it mattered. Neither of them was going to remember to take it shopping next time.
Throughout the rest of the night Spoke hadn't thought about Jamato at all; or so he told himself.
That was the evening. Then, something, and afterwards something else entirely. Whether sleep came after or between the two of those was a mystery, even to himself. Perhaps it hadn't come at all.
At last, there was morning. Early, early morning, and the gradual return of the sun, as to the apartment as it did to the world. Fortunately, Spoke didn't have to see it, from his room with a window facing west.
He sat on the carpeted floor and stared forward, at the box of fireworks he'd placed in front. They'd been right where he left them, hidden at the bottom of the closet. He kept his word to move them, and there they ended up — at the center of his room, awaiting for some miracle to happen. Spoke did too.
The box kept staring at him in mockery, like Jamato did earlier. It couldn't have been anything but mockery under that mask. Spoke kept staring back, unwilling to falter under his gaze. He was better than that.
The betrayal hadn't stung as much when he sat by the kitchen table, eating a burnt sandwich. It hadn't stung when he laid in bed, dreaming of sleep. It stung when he sat on the carpet, expecting something alike salvation.
Unfortunate, that his salvation was asleep in the next room over. Or long gone behind the corner of their street. He couldn't bring it to decide which one of them would it take to fix this mess. Even if it was Mapicc, blatantly obvious.
Sure, Jamato hated him. Or he didn't, and just… needed some time. Either way, Spoke wasn't going to take the blame off his shoulders. If it weren't for him, he wouldn't have ended up in this situation; helpless, as much as he didn't want to let that word get into his head.
He hadn't done anything wrong. Not on his own. Sure, he'd accompanied Jamato in various scenarios, some better, others worse, but that hadn't made him a bad person. He wasn't a bad person. Never had been.
He wasn't quite sure what he was, but knew exactly what he wasn't. It didn't matter what Jamato had to say about that.
The electric clock on his bedside table buzzed with the announcement of another passing hour. Six in the morning. It had been nine since he'd seen Jamato. He frowned, even though there was nobody around to see it; he should stop thinking about it, like he did the evening before. That evening was good, even if already past.
In just a second he'd forget about it all, and jump right back into his usual theatrics.
Even if it was a long second.
It seemed to end only thanks to the sound of sloppy footsteps just outside the room. The wooden floorboard creaked as it always did, making it particularly difficult not to notice whenever someone walked past.
The door opened with a squeak, and there stood Mapicc, slightly disheveled and still half-awake. He must have slept well; Spoke had almost gotten to envy him for it, had he not realized to lead himself away from such train of thought the moment it made an appearance in his head. This was no matter to envy Mapicc over.
"Dude, what the hell?" His friend rubbed his eyes, then blinking twice to get accustomed to the view. The confusion came as, frankly, no suprise — Spoke usually wouldn't wake at first alarm. "It's five."
Six. It was six.
"Yeah," he mumbled, eyes settling back on the box. It wasn't pristine from any angle, appealing to touch from even less of such. Still, he gravitated towards it, cue some strange fascination which had developed towards its components. "Yeah, I know. I've just been… thinking, that's all."
"At this hour?" Mapicc yawned, rubbing at his eyelids again to ward the weariness off. He eyed the cardboard box on the floor with something akin to interest. "…All I'm thinking of is what's for breakfast."
"What's for breakfast?" Spoke repeated, glancing up at him again, a part of him faintly hopeful to hear something other than sandwiches this time around.
"I mean, I don't know. Sandwiches," there went his hopes.
Although he paid attention to the way he could see Mapicc continuously staring at the box on the floor, instead of his face. It was convenient, he'd figured. Makes it all the easier to convince him to cooperate; not that he would ought to refuse it, either way.
"These look sick," at last Mapicc gave an offhanded remark directed at the fireworks in question. Admittedly, they didn't really look that appealing, considering the cardboard was mostly put together using cheap tape, but the sole fact it whad been explosives placed in the middle of their apartment must have served its role as intriguing enough. He'd simply said anything that would direct the conversation onto this rail, and Spoke figured he'd been waiting for him to do just that.
"Of course they do, Mapicc," he grinned, suddenly back in his spirit. "'Cause they are."
His friend moved from the doorstep, crouching down so that the two of them could've been at a more or less equal eye level.
"Yeah. Though, like," Mapicc's gaze now flicked from Spoke to the box, and back, "you're staring at it weird. At—" he lifted his head to look at the electric clock, "six in the morning, no less. And you've been weird yesterday, too."
"I haven't been weird, what are you on about?" He swiftly moved to defend himself, even though it was no actual attack, nor insult. But he hasn't been weird; not enough for someone to have noticed, surely. Granted, Mapicc knew him better than anyone in the world, and his eyesight wasn't bad at all.
"Eh, you know," Mapicc shrugged. "You've been off ever since dinner. Just like… weird, man."
Spoke had already opened his mouth to keep denying the assumption, but Mapicc beat him to it before he could speak.
"And like, I get it. No big deal. I mean, looking at this whole… thing," he gestured first towards Spoke, and then the box, "it's just some job-related crap. I get it, really, because I know this stuff can be a pain in the ass, but I feel like you might be beating yourself up over it too much. Kind of."
And there really wasn't much Spoke could do about this. Especially since it was just Mapicc, whom he did need to ask a favor of, after all.
He sighed.
"Yeah, maybe a bit," there was the confession. "I've just been… thinking, you know, how to… I don't know. Make them work, I guess?"
Mapicc silently nodded in comprehension.
"Like, I got them from a, uhh…" Spoke hesitated for a second. "From a coworker, who's now not really in the picture, let's say. They said something along the lines of "dangerous, unstable stuff" and all, and left."
It wasn't a lie, exactly.
"Ehe," Mapicc nodded again. "So, it's on you now?"
"Well— Mostly, yeah."
"Cool, cool," was all his friend commented. "I've always wanted to dissect a firework."
There Spoke laughed. Not mockingly, of course, more alike a chuckle, but laughed nonetheless. Because that was all it took for Mapicc to insert himself right where he'd intended for him to. No persusion at all — none that he would use with others, at least. There was fundamentally no need to, when Mapicc was right where he wanted to be just as well.
Jamato really did mean nothing at that point. All for the better.
"Yeah, we're gonna do just that," he smiled, rising to his feet, Mapicc following as he straightened up. Nothing beyond the two of them in that moment really mattered. Spoke had been right, above all, and that knowledge brought satisfaction like no other. "So, we could—"
"We could get to it later?" Mapicc cut him off, again that day. "Like, I mean, I have work," he added, seeing the questioning look sent his way. By sheer distraction Spoke had forgotten about that part. "Look, it totally sucks, I know, but I got a long shift today, covering for some people, so…"
He seemed almost apologetic, scratching at the back of his neck. Of course, Spoke should have forseen this — Mapicc wouldn't wake up at six in the morning had he not anything to do that day.
Sure. So be it. He said something in response that didn't entirely register in his memory, and Mapicc laughed, and they moved to the kitchen, complaining about something related to the correlation between absurd work hours and annoying coworkers, and he'd found himself sitting by the table, burnt sandwich in hand. Again. It must have gone somewhat like that.
Mapicc kept talking, about something he wasn't able to focus on.
"—And apparently they were supposed to sell the company, but the buyer backed off at the last moment."
"Hm?" Spoke raised his head, back from getting a little lost in thought. "Uh, yeah, that's a shame," he muttered.
"Mmh, maybe," his friend shrugged, turning back to the fridge. "Not to me, but… maybe."
And, right, it didn't matter. Not at all. Mapicc might have complained all he wanted, but at the end of the day he at least had a job; and, well, Spoke might've not have had one, but matter of fact, he'd much rather hang around for one-time gigs. While they weren't much of a stable source of income, the pay was usually good enough to last a decent while.
Then Mapicc said something more, and it felt weird not to pay any attention to it again. He'd never been inattentive. Not like that.
"So you'll be back at four?" He asked, silently praying that whatever has been said before wasn't a question.
"More like five," Mapicc said in response, adjusting to the change of topic. If he had asked about something, it either had little value, or immediately got forgotten. "Depends on if the road is still closed."
"Oh my god, repairing a road cannot be taking this long," Spoke ran a hand across his face. "Can't have shit in this place."
"For real," an affirmation, alongside a nod. "We could… meet at the shed? It could spare some of the traffic."
"Oh, it's been a while. But, sure, I mean... Sure, yeah," Mapicc did have a point, he thought. "Sounds better than the basement."
"Dude, anything's better than the basement at this point."
So it was settled. They would see each other again late in the afternoon, by the open fields at the edge of town. A well-known to them spot, albeit left unvisited for the past few years.
The shed, as it was, hadn't officially belonged to either of them — in fact, they questioned whether it had an owner at all. It stood untouched throughout the months of highschool they've spent skipping classes and running from the world. Of course, that was long past; perhaps Mapicc — and Spoke, alike — had been far too optimistic to assume it still stood where it did.
But it wouldn't have hurt to check.
The day passed as they always did — lonely. Or it hadn't been lonely at all; Spoke didn't pay enough attention to judge it. But it's been there, somewhere in the background. A long, summer day.
All the while the shed still stood right where it always had. My some miracle it was barely visible from where Spoke stood by a wooden pole, a bag over his shoulder and a hand above his eyes, shielding them from the sun. Just a blur on the horizon, almost melting with the nearby trees; had he not spent most of his younger teenage years in this area with Mapicc by his side, perhaps he wouldn't even have noticed it.
They'd found it by accident, on a rainy day. It came out of nowhere, from a previously clear sky, much similar to this day.
He glanced up for a minute. The only clouds visible were brief and far away, so he assumed.
Nothing to worry about, then.
He cherished the peaceful quiet for a while longer. The only sound was the rustle of leaves as the wind started to pick up, alongside the occassional engine of a car slowly passing down the adjacent road. Spoke had stopped counting them after the third.
He didn't like waiting. It was stiff, mundane; not much to do, not much to say.
Jamato liked it, for some reason.
Although he didn't get to dwell on it too much, as a small bus drove past, up to the nearby stop. The door opened slowly, and there was Mapicc, exactly the same as he looked when they had last seen each other. He ran through the field towards the silhouette of his friend, as if the busy workplace rush hadn't yet left him.
It seemed funny, Spoke thought to himself, how looking at him would have made it seem like he'd been late for something, when Spoke was standing still in place. Wating, patiently.
"Oh, man," Mapicc spoke first as he stopped by his side, slightly out of breath, "I almost didn't make it to that bus."
"What, they kept you overtime again?" Spoke adjusted the bag on his shoulder, shifting his weight as to prepare for movement.
"Yeah, if only," he sighed, although a spark returned to his eyes as he looked at Spoke. Waiting, with expectation.
"I've got lunch, by the way," he mentioned in passing, as they both headed down a barely visible path in the field, Mapicc trailing right behind.
"Sick. I'm starving," he said, then added, "They only had shitty pancakes at the cafeteria. And coffee, but that doesn't count."
"I mean, coffee's also food. I could live on that if I got it for free," Spoke shrugged, looking around as if to admire the surroundings. It hadn't really changed since the last time the both of them wandered there; maybe a couple tree less, but that was about it.
"Yeah, 'cause you're weird. Coffee's not good food."
"Your magnum opus dish is literally, like, coal sandwiches, I don't want to hear a single word."
"Aw, come on, you love them" at this point Mapicc was walking not behind, but beside Spoke, having caught up to his energetic step. It was no big deal, even if he'd rather have him follow.
If the sky had lost some of its blue color in favor of a cloudy hue, neither of them bothered to mention it.
"Hey, it looks untouched," Spoke pointed out after a few steps more, as the outline of an old, wooden construction made itself more clear.
"Oh man, I thought we were going to see some ruins," there was a hint of disappointment in Mapicc's voice, because of course there had to be. "Like, especially after the storms last year. This thing must be older than my grandparents, how the hell did it survive that?"
"Who's to say? Maybe it got rebuilt," the suggestion brought a frown to his face. "Though, that would be… bad."
"Meh," Mapicc seemed unfazed. "It would be cool to see someone other than us still care about it."
He didn't really get it, Spoke thought.
"Yeah, but like," he slowed down for a second or two, "it's our place, you know? Kinda personal, and all."
"Dude, we don't even own it."
"No, but we might as well," he smiled; it was one of those expressions that presumed the world was their own to mold how they liked. "Nobody else is ever here, are they?"
Mapicc seemed to accept that with no questioning. Or, perhaps the questioning had only been internal; it couldn't have been of any significance if he hadn't voiced his opinion, after all. Over the long time they've known each other, Spoke had gotten used to his disagreeance when something didn't align with his mindset, and this was none of such case.
He stepped over a bush of roses, careful not to tear the fabric of his clothing on their thorns. They'd been growing in the area for ages, snaking out from the forest floor; granted, this was merely its edge, with few old trees creating a pathway at the edge of fields. It was thanks to that they've always managed to sneak by unnoticed. Even if their clothes did suddenly have to get stitched up far more frequently, courtesy of the roses themselves.
It seemed nobody had ever thought to get rid of them. Unfortunate, but entirely understandable — those flowers were so difficult to touch.
"…Damn, maybe you're right," Mapicc tilted his head as they stood before the shed. "It's exactly the same."
"Told you," Spoke grinned, gently pushing the wooden door open, as if one quick move was to cause it to immediately fall apart. Because it likely was.
The inside smelled like dry wood, rusty metal, and a thick layer of dust, visible in the air as a couple of lost sunrays fell through a crack in the wall. It might have not had been the best place for two teenagers to hang out back in the day, but it sure was perfect for them.
"Hey, look, my number's still on here!" Mapicc elbowed him lightly as he pointed to the wall on his left. He wasn't wrong; the phone number was still carved into the wood. Faint, but visible nonetheless.
"Oh yeah, it is," Spoke commented briefly, before moving on to swoop dust off the table in the middle. It croaked as he threw his bag onto the desk, but he didn't pay much mind. "Alright, let's see what we're dealing with here…"
The box was, of course, identical to how it had been in the morning; while Spoke did consider tinkering with it on his own, he'd ultimately decided against it.
Alongside the box, he took out a smaller package wrapped in thin, silver foil, and handed it to his friend.
"Lunch," was the only explanation he gave, but it suddenly made Mapicc all the more interested in it.
"Yo, I thought we were too broke for this," he raised his eyebrow as he opened the package, although half a shrimp with oyster sauce was already in his mouth. "I mean, I'm not complaining, but did you rob the place, or what?"
"Don't you worry about it Mapicc, don't you worry," Spoke flashed him a smile before leaning over the table. "Now, I don't really know where to start…"
Maybe Jamato would've known. But Jamato wasn't there anymore, and Mapicc had been far better, anyway.
"Dunno either," Mapicc shuffled closer to his side, still munching on a piece of shrimp. "We could test them out? See what it's all about?"
"…I don't know. Maybe that's a bit… risky," he muttered, Jamato's words from last evening replaying in his mind. He was not reckless. He would prove it regardless of whether than man was or wasn't there to see it.
"Mh, that's a new one. Man, it's a shed, nobody's gonna mourn it if we blow it up."
Maybe Spoke would mourn it. But that much didn't matter, it so seemed.
"I guess."
Then, a moment of silence, save for the quiet sound of Mapicc chewing his food; albeit that had also soon stopped.
"…You know what, maybe you're right," Spoke eventually admitted, the concern momentarily vanishing from his head. "Can't really contain destruction without evaluating the extent of it first."
"Yah, exactly," Mapicc smiled, perhaps at being proven right for once. "Though, you didn't really mentioned anything about, like, actual destruction before."
Of course he didn't. It was Jamato.
"It comes with the idea, Mapicc, it's fireworks. You've just said you wanted to blow something up," with a roll of his eyes, Spoke reached for a rusty pair of garden scissors to cut the thread binding everything within the box together. Not the safest way of dealing with such equipment, but it was the best he could think of. "Anyway, we wouldn't have to do a thing if that bastard hadn't said something about… whatever it was, I don't care anymore. Not even a word about what's actually up with it all."
There, the haunting image of Jamato materialized itself in his memory again. He would've had it all figured out by this point…
"Sucks," his friend kept watching as he worked, with the same fascination he once observed Jamato. "Must have been a shitty guy."
"Yeah, really was," he muttered, mentally far away as he examined the singular rocket in his hand. It looked fairly normal, for all that his knowledge entailed. Mapicc looked equally puzzled, although certainly less attentive.
It took a while before either of them spoke again.
"…Whatever, let's just go fire it," Spoke eventually sighed, for a lack of a better idea.
"Yep," Mapicc followed behind him as they stepped out of the tiny space. The air outside was much more fresh, with no lingering dust, although it simultaneously seemed unusually dry, in comparison to before. The dense clouds looming above them weren't a particularly good sign, either.
Spoke took a loose stick from where it stood propped up against the wall. It was a bit crooked, but worked well enough to tie the explosive and stick it in the ground; perhaps not a wise move, but Mapicc didn't comment on it, so it must have been good enough.
"You think I could add this to my CV?" Was all he asked.
"Definitely," Spoke stood up, hands effectively firework-free. "Do you have a lighter?"
"Am I supposed to have one?" Despite his expression clearly signalling he did not have neither a lighter nor a match, Mapicc still patted the pockets of his jacket in search for any. Obviously, with no success.
"…I mean, kind of," because he usually did. "Maybe I got something in the bag," Spoke sighed again.
Just as he took a step back towards the door to the shed, a lone droplet of water had fallen onto his cheek. Then another. And another. He paused for a second. It hadn't been tears, as those had a much different, saltier taste.
It was only unfortunately timed rain.
"Well, that's not good," he muttered.
The memory stung as they'd ended up, once again, hiding under the poor shelter of the shed's faulty roof, leaking water in places where it wasn't fully sealed. And they might have not been fourteen anymore, high school long since graduated, college dropped, but they still fell into the same place, under the same circumstances.
Spoke's hand traced the edge of the stick as it laid on the table, right beside where he sat. The rain had picked up too quickly for them to manage to detonate it, now banging against the wood and the metal.
Maybe Jamato was right, he thought. It seemed like the rain had only come just to spite him; as if the universe itself acted to prevent him from messing with its fabric. It didn't have to make sense as for how that would have happened, considering it was merely a measly firework, but it seemed that mattered little to Jamato himself.
Had he seen Spoke sitting in that shed, he'd probably smile under that mask, with the knowledge all he said was true, as abstract as it might have been.
"We got a bus back home in like five minutes," Mapicc announced from the other side of the room.
Hence Spoke couldn't allow his words to actually prove themselves correct. He was better than that.
"That's nice," he responded. A thunderbolt sounded out somewhere far away.
"We could make a run for it."
An unappealing suggestion, but better than spending hours cooped up in a dusty cabin. They weren't easily entertained kids anymore.
"…We should, yeah."
Two silhouettes ran through the field, repeating the steps of two teenagers half a decade earlier, albeit rushing in exactly opposite direction. They passed each other in memory; Spoke looked back only for a second, before Mapicc grabbed his hand, urging him to move forward.