Chapter Text
Is it possible to never run out of energy? Is it possible to never be tired? Is it possible to feel like you’re running on air with little to no effort whatsoever?
Because when he’s being dragged by the hand from an old childhood friend that he thought he’d never see again (and he technically hasn’t seen him again - this is all a dream, isn’t it? ), it sure feels like all of those things are possible.
“So!” Wright begins, letting go of Miles’ hand. As the sun shines down on the grass field, the sunlight hits and reflects off of the characteristic and unmistakable spikes of Wright’s hair. It’s almost blinding, in one way or another, the way his eyes trail over the glowing points.
“Are you the real Miles Edgeworth?” Wright asks, yet again. He circles Miles this time, creeping around him to closely examine him as if he could find an error that would blow his cover as a figment of his imagination.
Miles clicks his tongue, annoyed. “The real question is, are you the real Phoenix Wright?”
Wright bursts into laughter that almost sounds musical to Miles’ ears, as he doubles over in front of him. “Touché. You have me there. Even if I say yes, who can say? Maybe I’ll just lie -- or maybe I’m just a figment of your imagination.”
He suddenly puts on a straight face. “Or maybe… maybe you’re the one lying. Maybe you’re the figment of my imagination.”
Miles listens to the ramble, blinking at the man in front of him.
“You talk a lot.”
“Mmm…” Wright tilts his head, pondering that statement. “Yeah, you seem pretty real, alright. That’s what they all say. Maybe you are the real Miles Edgeworth.”
“And maybe you are the real Phoenix Wright.”
Miles glances around.
The scenery in front of him blurs slightly.
“Woah, Woah, don’t look or think about it too hard. Otherwise, you might get rid of it.”
“Get rid of…” Miles squints, hesitating. “... what?”
“Of the background, of course! It took a long time to conjure it. Watch this--” Wright says eagerly, closing his eyes and putting on a concentrated face. Suddenly, there’s a horse right in front of them, letting out neighs as it kneels down to eat the grass at its feet.
Miles flinches at the sudden appearance.
“Sorry, I should have warned you. Here, I’m going to conjure a unicorn.”
Sure enough, after a couple more seconds of Wright’s intense thinking, a unicorn appears about ten feet away from them.
Miles gapes.
“Right? It’s really cool.” Wright steps forward, patting the unicorn’s mane. “Unicorns are pretty damn amazing.”
“Unicorns don’t exist,” Miles can’t help but mutter.
Wright tilts his head. “It’s right here. Seeing is believing, right?”
“In this day and age, sometimes you can’t believe what you see. People just believe what they want to see.”
Wright frowns at that. “Touché. Still. It’s pretty real here, at least. Wherever this is.”
“What is this?”
Wright shrugs. “How should I know?”
Miles wants to shout, well, whatever this place is, you need to figure it out and then come back. If this is where you’ve been all along, then you should know where you are. Did you run off to some make-believe fantasy land? Is this some sort of sick show of yours? Where the hell are you, Phoenix Wright?
Wright turns away after the shrug.
Miles can’t shout anymore.
He ends up grasping tightly at his bedsheets, glaring at the ceiling above him, as if the bumpy texture of the material was mocking him.
(White mocks him when just before, everything seemed so vivid.)
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
-
“Gee, Mr. Edgeworth, you look like you’re in a bad mood.”
Miles gives Detective Gumshoe a blank stare, as if to say, really? I didn’t notice.
He doesn’t hate Gumshoe. In fact, he likes him the most out of everyone on the force. But as much as the guy meant well, sometimes he unintentionally did things that were, simply put, infuriating.
“Someone get up on the wrong side of the bed, Edgeworth?” Some unimportant co-worker calls out, mockingly. The like usual is implied.
Miles rolls his eyes.
“I’m going to give you the decency of pretending I didn’t hear that,” he mutters to himself, as he quickly makes his way to his office and closes the door shut behind him.
-
Gumshoe pops into his office sheepishly five minutes later.
“Gee. You high-tailed out of that situation real quick, didn’t you, Mr. Edgeworth?” Gumshoe laughs wholeheartedly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Yes, well, I’m gay, he wants to respond.
He bites his tongue.
He hasn’t breathed a word of his sexuality, so he’s not letting one snarky comment about gay people walking fast out himself to his co-worker, no matter how friendly he is.
Miles elects to let out a sigh, tapping his pen against the desk. “The best thing to do sometimes is to walk away.”
“Huh, I suppose that’s true.” Gumshoe frowns. “It just sucks when that’s not an option. Then what do you do, when you can’t walk away?”
Miles blinks, completely at a loss for words.
“Ah, pal, I gotta head out,” he mutters, glancing at his watch. “Meetings again. See you, Mr. Edgeworth!”
The man quickly leaves the room, leaving Miles with that heavy thought hanging over his head.
-
There was no walking away, once upon a time.
von Karma brought him in when no one else wanted him. He gave him a stellar education, meals on the daily, and a roof over his head. von Karma gave him a home and a family of sorts, so he should be grateful, right?
How could he have ever thought about walking away from that?
(But von Karma’s cold demeanor was nothing quite like his father, who would congratulate him on every test, no matter what the grade. His father made sure to shower his son with affection and love, so he’d never forget it.)
(It works. He doesn’t forget it.)
(It makes von Karma’s cold deposition that much more painful.)
-
When he moves out into an apartment back in the States, he feels like he’s walked away enough. As an up and coming prosecutor, he’s striking out on his own, living a life that the von Karmas would be proud of.
(The truth is, was von Karma ever proud of him?)
-
When Manfred von Karma is arrested for the murder of Gregory Edgeworth, it all goes running down the drain.
The truth is, he hadn’t even come close to walking away. He’d still lived up to von Karma’s standards, trying to impress him, trying to be worthy. In truth, he still felt like the little kid who wanted to make up for the inconvenience he brought to von Karma’s life.
And now, von Karma is the one being taken away.
How do you walk away from this?
-
When all he’s ever known is the distant memory of love and childhood and affection as well as the following decade of cloaked misery and attempted perfection, is there truly a possibility of walking away from everything he’s ever known?
Is there a reason to?
-
Four years later, he doesn’t have a clue. He just dives headfirst into every case, trying to distance himself from his past. He doesn’t take time to think about it much, just goes through his daily routine.
-
Wright is already bubbling with excitement when he opens his eyes.
He’s back here again? The scenery looks different, but he doesn’t want to see Wright here. He’s still stuck on that stupid case, and before Wright can open his mouth, he snaps, interrupting him.
“I’m tired of your games, Wright. Where are you?”
“Geez, I was just about to ask if you were the real Miles Edgeworth.” Wright glances away. “I suppose that answers my question. Demon Prosecutor, huh? I guess the papers were right about you.”
Miles flinches.
He hasn’t heard that name in years.
“Demon Prosecutor..."
“Do you really forge evidence? Do you really... do you really do all of those… despicable things?”
Miles tenses up slightly.
After a short silence, he shakes his head.
“... Not anymore.”
Wright gives him a small smile. “Better late than never, I suppose.”
“I’m not a prosecutor anymore,” he blurts out.
Wright raises an eyebrow. “You’re… not?”
Miles swallows. He hadn’t planned on saying that, but he supposes it’ll help him in the long run. If, by the next dream, he still remembers this, then… then they’re not dreams. They’re visions.
And he supposes it’ll wipe that melancholy look on Wright’s face because it’s annoying and it’s making his heart hurt for some reason.
“No.”
Wright lets out a predictable sigh of relief.
“I was worried when I saw you in the papers.”
“Well, I’ve given up that life.”
“... You have?”
“I’m a detective now.”
“That has to be fun,” Wright lights up. “What are you doing right now?”
Miles laughs bitterly. “A missing person case.”
“Oh?”
“You’re the missing person.”
Wright stands there for a moment, processing that.
“I think I’ve always known that I wasn’t… real,” he begins. “Or at least in… reality, I guess I’d say. I don’t know.”
Was that… supposed to make sense?
“I think… I’m stuck somewhere.” Wright shakes his head. “But… I don’t think I’m dead. But I don’t think I’m alive either.”
Miles stills.
“What does that mean, Wright? What does-”
Wright's eyes grow wide.
His body feels like it’s floating again.
-
Miles wakes up to darkness once again.
It’s almost infuriating.
-
“Yeah, give me the case, chief, I’ll prosecute that faggot.”
Miles had clicked his tongue.
“Now, that’s not appropriate--”
“I’ll take the case.”
“... Prosecutor Edgeworth?”
“I’ll take the case. I’ll push for a guilty verdict. We know he committed the crime. His… sexuality, that has nothing to do with our job.”
The Chief simply nodded.
“Now, see, why can’t you be more like Prosecutor Edgeworth?”
Miles just silently took the case files and retreated into his office.
-
Miles had lost faith in the court system.
When it all came crashing down in State vs. Edgeworth, he realized quite a few things:
-
One. Defense attorneys were not as bad as von Karma had led him to believe.
Mia Fey, standing there, with her unwavering belief, that was what had saved him from a false guilty verdict two times over.
There were some sick attorneys in the world, sure, but just like he had been a Demon Prosecutor once upon a time… no group could ever be fully good or bad.
Mia Fey was an exemplary defense attorney, for what it was worth.
-
And two. The court system was inherently flawed.
Three days for a trial. The defense attorney was incredibly disadvantaged. Judges tended to take the side of the state or the prosecution. Europe’s up and coming trial-by-jury works splendidly, it seemed. Here, there was just bias, and lies, and deceit.
Both sides working against each other, not for the client, but for their own personal gain. Both sides forging evidence, manipulating witnesses, doing all sorts of wicked things.
Miles sees that now, stepping back. Mia also seemed to be good, for what it’s worth.
… But what worth was one duo of prosecutor and defense attorney against the entire court system?
-
And now he’s a detective. He’s been assigned more and more missing person cases as of late, seeing as he’s been pretty good at finding missing people.
But Phoenix Wright continues to be a mystery.
-
“It’s you again,” Wright smiles. “Are you the real Miles Edgeworth?”
“The question is, are you the real Phoenix Wright?”
Wright snorts. “I believe I am, Detective,” he quips, a playful smile appearing on his face. Miles tries his best to not think too hard on the way it makes his heart jump. “But can I prove that? Not really.”
“... Where is this? What is this?” Looking around, all Miles can see is white that goes on forever. It’s… certainly better than black, but it’s unsettling how nothing else has formed around them.
“Uh…” Wright tilts his head, frowning.
“What’s going on, Wright?”
“I don’t know!”
Miles blinks, at the sudden outburst. Wright looks as if he’s confused, concerned, or maybe it’s all of the above.
“I’m stuck here, but I don’t know where here is. I don’t know where I am, or how long it’s been-”
Miles shudders.
“It’s been five years.”
“Five… years?” Wright looks down at his hands, processing. “... Five… years ?” He repeats, incredulous as if he’s wondering how that’s even possible.
“Wright, where are you?”
The question echoes.
Wright opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The mouth wavers, no, it’s moving, articulating, but no sound comes out.
Wright shakes his head.
“Miles, please,” he shakes. “Please save me, I -”
Neither has shown signs of moving, but Wright seems to be moving farther and farther away from him. Miles moves forward, but it doesn’t work.
Every step he takes, Wright seems to move another three steps.
“How did this happen!?” The words get more desperate.
Wright’s mouth opens wide, his eyes squinting shut. He places his palms on his temples and he screams (or does the equivalent of screaming), but nothing comes out.
“Wright!” Miles yells out, running to him.
There is no ground here; the white space keeps going on forever. It’s a simple background, nothing else. Nothing exists here. Except for the two of them, facing each other.
He feels like he’s running on air, the way that he runs and nothing is in his way. It feels like he’s defying every rule in the book, physics doesn’t matter, nothing matters. Not when Wright is right there, waiting for him, just out of reach, just a little more, and he can reach him, he’s, right, there-
Miles thinks this is what flying feels like. His heart pounds, beating like a drum, beating down like the way his feet bounce forward.
Wright’s eyes grow wide. He, too, moves forward, arms flying about desperately.
They’re both moving, but going nowhere.
They’re stuck in place, not moving, drowning, underwater, suspended in air, all of the above, and-
Wright brings his hands to his face, opening his mouth wider than he’s ever seen before. His face is filled with the desperation of men who find themselves backed in a corner, men who have nowhere else to turn, men that don’t see any other choice but to-
The void echoes back silence. Wright is to the point of tears.
“... Phoenix!”
“Miles!”
-
Miles’s breath hitches, opening his eyes to a white ceiling, messy sheets, and no Phoenix Wright in sight.