Work Text:
She meets them in the fudge fields.
Specifically, the toffee-flaked roads that surrounded the vacant volcano. They're spine-tinglingly smooth and faint swirls sweep across the many meters they cover; stretching from the sparser volcano summit to the candy forests lying at the outskirts. And Vanellope, as always, was mucking it up.
Scuffing her heels against the smooth surface, creating an uneven line of little dents and such. They’ll just be gone in the morning; the tracks always de-scuff themselves. She takes that as a challenge, moping along after another attempt at sneaking into the race tracks. Hands in pockets, mouth set in a slight pout. A sad face she’s trying to twist into a glare, because she doesn’t care anyway, that dumb snowflake tracks wasn’t her favourite anyway!
Oh, sparse candy trees, you look more dismal than I do, she thinks, puffing up her cheeks in a held-back sigh.
Then she hears it. Jabbering. Huh, not like the usual squeaky, frothy voices of the NPC’s. Nah, these sound way different. The doughnut police? Racers?
Her guard goes up like fizz in a freshly popped soda and her shoulders creep up to her ears, and yet she creeps over. Like a little phantom.
And there, at the very edge of the candy-cane forest, are two dudes. Just hangin’. Well, one of them is hanging all right, from a single-stripe and seemingly trying to get that sucker down. His companion stands at the bottom, back straight, balancing all chipper and beamy on the balls of his feet.
She’s never seen these guys before. Squinting in both puzzlement, interest and amusement, Vanellope casually approached, side-stepping slightly. Not too close now. She’d learned her lesson, getting close to folks.
They’re both peaky fellas, she remembers thinking. One, the guy in the tree hoisting his leg up on the next branch, is all marshmellow -candy hair. It looks like a helmet, what with the way it clings to his head, and all white. He looks like a ghost; a ghost in a pink-striped tailcoat suit. And he’s got bunny ears and a tail! Vanellope barely concealed a snort, not even bothering to cover her mouth. Gosh, all the puns, she can’t wait.
His face throws her for a bit of a loop, because his pale skin is glossed over in faint sugar, sure, but there’s lines tugging at his lips, winkles??? Not even King Candy had lines like those!
Down below Guy Number Two is the same, minus those laugh lines – in fact he could pass as ten years younger. Before and after, was she right? Heh. He’s all Marsh-haired, but his clothes are softer, practically fluffy, cream and white. Guy looks like a banana milkshake. Smiling like one two.
“Shouldn’t we just get the doubles?” He calls up, his voice bubbly and soft, and she almost snickers because this guy would never last long against the Racers; they’d tear his darling face apart, poor bloke. His buddy grunts up above. Oooh, sour puss. Vanellope edges over, bit by bit.
And then Two’s eyes fall on her, surprise lighting up his sugary face, and suddenly all of her confidence zaps.
They’ll know who she is.
Just ‘cause she hasn’t seen them before doesn’t mean they haven’t heard of the dreaded glitch. But no. Worry etches itself onto her face and he sees it –
“Oh.” Two murmurs, peering around as if looking for something or someone. He smiles faintly, “Hey, Kiddo, You okay?”
BLONK.
A branch hits him. One’s been kicking the heck out of it from above, apparently, and he’s supposed to be waiting on beck and call to catch it.
Vanellope grimaced so hard her teeth almost cracked. Two was flattened. The branch pins him like a rolling pin on flour.
Little sparkles dance cartoon-like around his head. Vanellope can’t help but reach out and poke them – they dissolve like bubbles. Neat-o.
A small thud made her jump, unwillingly, and she backs off upon meeting the far sterner gaze of Guy Number One. Frowning in a most unreadable way, he strode over and yanked the branch off his brother with a heft and a grunt.
He tugs him up and jostles the stars out of his eyes, “Mousse, ya grody, I told ya to be attention!”
“But Marsh!” Two emphasise, gesturing amiably, “A person!”
Vanellope, feeling weirdly unsure again, leant back. Ready to take off at the first moment of trouble, and she’s gonna – especially when the older guy’s gaze finds her.
Then the grouchy look and frown slips, and he smiles a bit; on side of his lip tugging upward. “You lost, kid?”
Vanellope is at a loss. She glances over her shoulder. They were talking to her, right? “Um.”
“Oh. I know you.” One – Marsh? Attests, and she cringes – but there’s no malice, just interest and maybe a foggy something else in his expression she can’t quite put her finger on. “You’re that kid. Von ...?”
“Vanellope Von Schweetz!” She blurts, then quickly plays it off with a shrug. Swinging her arms back and forth – got to be casual, cool and stuff. They weren’t biting or hollering, or glaring like she was gum on their shoe. “Resident Hood-wearer.”
The older guy clicked his tongue against his teeth, “Oooh, the Trouble maker. I quiver in my boots.” He’s grinning, though, and Vanellope snorts.
“You betcha!” Though there’s a weight in her stomach at the memory of the last fiasco. Tittering, Two – Mousse? Shrugs and steps forward, hands on his jacket.
“I’m Vanilla Mousse. This is my older brother Marshmallow Hare!”
“Good ta meetcha!” Vanellope takes his hand and shakes it jubilantly, and he meets the rather vigorous gesture with a chortle. “Good thing you told me, I can’t keep callin’ you ‘One and Two’ in my head!”
Maybe she sees the way they share a quick, millisecond glance, but she doesn’t care to remember.
...
She runs into them again after the arcade closes, and she’s...happy. They’re gathering food, because, it turns out they aren’t programmed with a home. They’re background NPC’s, there for – dare she say it? Eye candy?
“Too old for that, kiddo.” Marsh drawls, with mild, snarky humour. The suggestion sends Mousse into giggles, though.
She helps them gather up yummy branches, seems they always tried to get the single-stripes. Since they’re bigger.
But instead of eating them, these crazy stooges set ‘em on fire. Firewood. Campfires that smell like cherry and cream. She had no idea they could do that.
She one-ups them by showing them the abandoned level.
Marsh stares around as Mousse flounces about, looking and touching everything, ooh-ing and aa-ing. He’s frowning thoughtfully; laugh lines tugging slightly back into being. “You live here, kid?”
Vanellope’s ‘My home is cool’ smug smile falters just a tad. “Well, yeah, I mean...I can’t exactly bunk with the others, can I?”
Somehow, somebody else realising how bad it is instead of ignoring it makes it worse. But then Marsh keeps coming by; he helps set up the doughnut bed and wrapper blankets. They light up the place by nicking lights from another game. He – frets? But always waves it off when she teases him about ca-ring.
Mousse is not as subtle or quiet about it; Vanellope doesn’t know how she’s managed it but suddenly she’s been adopted by these guys. Mousse fusses and jokes; they have pie-throwing competitions that drive Marsh up the wall; they sneak under the audience stands during races to watch – turns out these guys snuck about a lot, too. She’s not the only trouble-maker.
On the other-game note, Marsh tends to leave now and again, insisting they both stay behind while he snags a few things. Oh man! She’s been mentored by a criminal! Such edginess. Vanellope questions him about it, but he never says anything. Grouch.
She doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t either, she almost falls into the cola-lava once and he freaked out and yelled – she laughed it off but something in her flinched. He apologised later, said he was worried. Did that thing where he avoids eyes and shrugs. Mousse looked strangely morose through it.
Mousse is the fun one, Marsh responsible. Classic twins – only they aren’t, apparently, despite looking near identical. The differences is age, somehow. Programming’s weird.
The brothers avoid the Racers and anybody who isn’t a silly, simple-minded sentient candy piece like the plague. They don’t even get near the Pastry Police. Vanellope wonders why – did they step on old King Candy-Pant’s puffy shoes?
But she disregards it. Days and weeks go by, then two years. It’s a blur.
...
One hadn’t planned on something like this.
Hacking into the system, sure, disguises? Top Notch. They took no chances. Well, most of the time. Sneaking in to watch the Races, for just a taste of that nostalgia, for that comfort – that risk was small and they blended in well with the candy-crowd. Not that the sugary Racers scanned the stands or anything.
It had been so long, he’s almost forgotten what it was like to live in a way smaller stadium, for the sky to never change. He forgets that he looked way different in the mirror once.
Well, substantially anyway.
The kid is a big surprise. They noticed her, before, of course – funny little tyke. Had a problem with coding. Goes to show, new technology has bugs too. Heck, he was careful about the ‘g’ word. Never uttered it.
She’s lost in a the world and so are they. Pfft. He feels old. But the boredom of the days are zapped when she creeps sneaky-like into their lives. Mousse adores her; they do dumb things and it’s like he’s raising two kids. They almost get caught by the Pastry Police – first time Mousse has been that near them at all – and he nearly knocks the mento pillars down with his hollering.
These two. Are going to kill him.
But they are good days. He talks about engines, about carts – Vanellope wonders how he knows and he lies exceptionally well about being bored enough to find out.
After a while he tries not to talk about racing. Because he misses it. To the bone. Man, what he wouldn’t give.
What the kid wouldn’t give. He hates denying her it; she keeps trying to talk him into sneaking into the cart-bakery, but he refuses. That King Candy’s no joke.
And when he finds out Vanellope can’t leave the game...well. He doesn’t tell her ‘no’ outright. He doesn’t have the heart.
He acts stern but that kid’s made a softy of him. So has Mousse.
Huh. When did he start calling him Mousse in his head, instead of Two?
...
The Turbo Twins were never twins; however the players saw it. Turbo was the eldest, the big-shot, the main show pony. Then One, NPC 1, then NPC 2. Two. The youngest.
When Turbo started getting hyped up on the glory, things went sour between the brothers. Don’t ask when it started, it grew in like rot and One remembered the times it came to a head and Turbo started playing favourite. He made no secret of the fact he was sick of One’s nagging and insisting that he tone back the act. Two, sweet, silly Two, didn’t know what to do when they fought and bickered. He’d freak if Turbo insinuated that he didn’t like his ‘Big Bro’ anymore – the idea of which made the kid sick with guilt.
It made One sick, to hear him mess with him like that.
Whenever Turbo held out the trophy, it would be thrust to Two’s side; knocking his helmet askew and making him snarl. His hand would lash out on the other side –
- But just gently, teasingly poke the youngest sibling’s helmet.
Things just got worse from there.
Turns out not even the vague scrap of consideration Turbo had for Two meant nothing, when pitted against his ego.
...
Vanellope wants to race.
Yeah, they get it.
Marsh frowned uncertainly at the seat-and wheels she’s trying to hammer together; while Mousse paints said wheels with a hum and a ditty. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea, kid.”
“Oh come on, Marsh, how else are we gonna do it if we can’t get a cart?”
“Well –“
An idea hits him. Boom, right on the nose. He blinks slowly, and grins. “Hey, kid, howsabout I share an idea I have with you?”
The two of them peer up at him, squinting in puzzlement.
...
An hour later, they’re perched on the tip-top of Sundae Mountain; a liquorish-bark sled sat before them. Vanellope is jumping p and down, staring at the sheer, sickeningly topsy turvey drop with undying glee. Mousse looks a little apprehensive.
Marsh, for once, is grinning from ear to ear.
“On your marks!” He barks, the familiar phrase rolling off his tongue as they settled into the makeshift sled, “Get set!”
“Um.”
“GO!”
Vanellope’s shriek punctuates Marsh shoving off the ice-cream drift, and they plummet down the slope at a thousand miles per hour.
Winds whips their hair back.
They barely miss crashing into a giant cherry; they swoop right off the banana slide –
And crash into mint-chocolate ice cream at the bottom.
Marsh pops out of the ice-cream, cackling slightly – then tugs his brother up –
The kid is still buried. Mousse lunges, scrabbling for her, clasping her hand. Blue static bounces along her fingers.
Panic sears through Marsh’s body, but he’s too late. His words are barely out of his mouth when his brother’s code flashes red, and Vanellope sees his face.
...
... They had to tell her the truth.
“Why – why would you lie to me?”
“Kid, we wanted to –“
“You could’ve – how could you...?” Her voice cracks and she turns away, Marsh feels guilt eat at him like gnats.
“If anybody found out, we’d be in for it – we’d have nowhere to go! Our game...”
...
They tell her about Turbo Time.
About their brother.
... The kid comes around, slowly.
...
He notices them when the Glitch is caught under the audience stands. The one showcasing cherry gum. The shrieks of the sentient rolls of bubble-gum drew his attention, and there she was – scampering down the race-track, dodging the infuriated racers.
And just when he thought she’d been letting up on the act. Vanellope hadn’t been sighted near the bakery or the major tracks in weeks and he was just starting to relax, and the little scrap popes out of hiding like a bug in the wall.
She’s cornered by Duncan and his hounds moments later, and he allows a small hum of satisfaction.
She’s ‘fending’ them off with a literal candy-cane yanked out of an audience member’s hands. Yeesh. He bites back the puns; now is the time for some good old reprimand. He’d been needing to blow off some steam; here’s the perfect chance to allow himself to glare.
Smiling all the time gets old, Bucko.
“Hey, Puffy Pants, I was just WATCHIN’ this time! I mean it! Don’t to – touch me!”
Oh, she made sure the guards didn’t – they recoiled when her code when spastic. King Candy forced down a sneer and smiled patronisingly, “Vanellope, didn’t we thalk about this?”
Just a hint of a warning tone, not to much now. The glitch glowers at him, all pouty –
“Wait, wait, hang on!”
“Stop the trial!”
Two completely unfamiliar faces, all sugar-glazed and out of breathe, scrambled into the fray; one hopping between himself and the runt – the other quickly taking hold of her shoulders like a trembling, worried parent.
And little niggles of suspicion go off in his skull when he meets the eyes of this apparent NPC. “And who might you be?” Eyes lidded, he lets them know that he’s isn’t amused or in for any public relations – he plays the part of a nice king when he’s in the mood.
“Marsh, Your highness, and she’s – the kid was just watching, it’s my fault –“
“We were watching her!” A higher voice. It rings in his head but he hides his alarm, he hides it well because he’s been doing it for years. There’s no way.
But meeting the softer, pale face of his little brother – knowing its him – he realises that yup, it very well can be.
Forcing a merry laugh, and you have to give him credit for it, King Candy refocuses his stare on ‘Marsh ‘ – heh, not creative are you, One? “Am I to believe you two have been hoodwinked into being this troublemaker’s minders?”
“Y- yes Sir.” Marsh says, and oh, Kind Candy knows he hates grovelling. He smiles slowly at him. Maybe this could work out.
The brat has been showing up less, hasn’t she? Seems One was good for something. “Oh-ho, then I suppose you’d better buy a babysittin’ book.”
Closer he steps, ‘gently’ prodding him in the chest. The slightest quirk of his eyebrows turn his smile into a glare, makes his merry mug menacing. Just between them; only One could see.
“Keep her out of trouble, my good fellow. Or it’ll be bad news for all of us.”
Smirking pleasantly, he grabs the now gleefully ironic NPC’s cheek and gives it a condescending tug, and waves them off. “Alright everyone! Calm down! The situation is handled – let them go.”
The guards look a little baffled, but One takes the chance – he skulks off; tugging the other two with him. The glitch blows an impressive raspberry, and something in him bristles at the insolence –
And he meets Two’s eyes for a split second. He doesn’t risk holding it for too long, but, his little brother is none the wiser.
...
It’s only when he gets back to the sanity and quiet of the castle that it truly sinks in. He’d gotten right into character back there; it was like no time had passed at all. So only then, when he was alone, did he mull over it.
He thought they were dead.
And yet here they were.
He knew why, of course.
...
If you think he taught One how to code-hack, you’re sorely mistaken. He wouldn’t teach that dolt to suck eggs. But when Turbo learned the little password that allowed him to mess with game play, turns the odds – well, he couldn’t keep quiet about it. So he showed Two.
“Oh. My. Gosh!” Two all but jammed his hands into his mouth as Turbo recreates the booster-pack into three instead of one; replicating sweet turbulence. “Think of how long you could go! Like, ohmigosh!”
Cackling lowly, Turbo elbowed the blue-suited character in the side, teasingly tugging his helmet down over his awe-struck eyes, “Keep your pants on, Kiddo, I’m not even gettin’ started!”
“Ey, I’m as tall as you are! And chicks dig blue.”
“Oh yeah? Well they dig red n’ white, sweet like candy-canes, baby!”
“Pffft. Hey, what’s –“
“Nah, nah, lemme show you – you wan’ a health pack whenever you want, you gotta be sly about it. Scoot over, let me show you...”
Must have has the same idea. Not exactly the brightest tail-light in the car store, his little brother, but once in a while he hit jackpot in the thought department. Sneak into a game, lay low, hide,
Turbo was almost proud.
...
Some snatch of him is glad; a small weight he didn’t even realise was there lifted; he’s alive, and for a moment he feels – good. Its sours when he remembers One is also there.
...
Ralph didn’t get this guy’s deal.
Mousse was an oddball, Vanellope freakishly annoying to begin with – but they grew on him. But Marsh kept biting like a hungry hippo – Ralph had gotten trouble from people for game-jumping lodes of times, but this guy ranted at him until he was blue in the face. How dangerous it was, what was he thinking, he better get his butt back to his game, don’t you realise what happened?
“Yeah, buddy, I was plugged in back then! Whadda you know about it?”
It’s rough, to begin with. Gets worse when Ralph brings up the plan to get the medal back – by having Vanellope win the race.
Mousse is all for it, and they have a – a great time, actually, in the Cart Bakery. They almost get busted, and Mousse looks strangely uncomfortable when he sees Lord Puffy-Pants.
But Ralph forgets that when Cotten gets his verbal hands on them.
He and Vanellope fight. It’s not pretty. They leave him to stew and grumble in the woods and get ready to head out.
... Then King Candy shows up.
...
They’re fighting on the screen. Marsh only faintly hears Fix-It murmuring in alarm, “Ralph, look...”
Candy’s acting like a maniac. He’s swinging his cane like a sword, it barely misses the girl’s head – Marsh feels his insides constrict in horror.
“Kid!”
“I’m not letting you undo all my hard work!”
I’m not letting you stand in my way!
Nausea bubbles in his throat. No, no, no, it can’t be, it can’t be.
It is.
With a static-filled whirl, his elder brother looks up into the screen and his scowling face flashes in pixel-based malice. His brother, who almost killed them. Who killed Road-blasters. Who left them to rot.
It was him all along, after all this time.
Hatred burns inside of him like bile.
...
Vanellope doesn’t ask who Turbo is. Curling back against her seat, her eyes flicker over his face and loathing creases her features, “You – you?!”
He grins only murderously.
...
Inexplicably, their forms switch back. Their codes must’ve reacted to their Brother’s; the base binary. Felix looks ready to keel when he seems him, Ralph is about to verbally pummel him for his hypocrisy – FINE!
But One jumps up on a fallen stand and gestures, “C’mon, Wreck-It, we need to help the kid!”
...
Dark, green-tined sky. Okay. Giant, candy-themed bugs eating everything alive. Okay, Okay. Need beacon, says Ralph. Okay. When did Mousse’s – Two, his name was Two’s – inner voice start sounded so squeaky?
He hauls himself over the edge of the peak; landing flat on his back against the hard, uncomfortable mento cap below. His hands are no longer sugary, they no longer stick – he had to drag himself up here by his own merit. In the distance, shrill roars punctuate the whirling of wings. Gulping down air, Two forced himself to his feet.
A cherry-bomb stolen from the race-track lies under his arm. He staggers towards the centre, Ralph will catch up, he’ll get it started –
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The voice is unrecognisable; rough and vicious, it rings overhead like a death bell. A large claw lances into the ground in front of him – and terror streaks through Two’s brain. He staggers back, head flying back, mouth open –
The abomination he sees, sharp-toothed, many-clawed, teeth, teeth, vicious eyes staring right into him, that grin –
Turbo, It can’t, it can’t –
A flicker of red code and he sees a blur of pale grey and yellow, and his heart turns to ice.
Two shrieks and back-pedals, scrambling backwards, tripping and scrabbling at the mento floor as he goes – a bubbling laugh sounds behind him and he hears it slide after him, many legs clamouring around to intercept –
“Get back here, Little Guy!”
Like a mouse he’s chased; again the claw hand slams down in his path, sending him scuttling – again, again, his legs ache. He’s exhausted, he can’t keep, can’t keep...
He throws himself forward to avoid another crash of claws, his stomach hits the floor painfully. The bomb tumbles away from him. A small gasp leaves his lips, he kicks off the ground, reaches for it –
The monster sees him go for it, his lips split in a grin –
And the long, finger-like claws coil around him, crushing his arms against his sides and snatching him off the ground.
Two hollers. There’s nothing else he can do sans weakly bucking his legs; the grip tightens as he’s brought face to face with the deranged, twisted face of King Candy –
The talon-like thumb presses against his mouth, smothering his cries.
He’s never been more afraid in his life – not since that day, not since everything almost ended. But now he sees teeth, and that malicious grin –
And it’s his brother. His brother is trying to kill him. Turbo abandoned them all those years ago and it still hurts, it always did, he remembers –
Vaneloppe sometimes spotted the cracks in his smile.
But then the grin on the monster’s face falters, just a little. The thumb sweeps away, letting him drag in a breathe. Two hacked out a few coughs before biting down hard on his lip as Kind Candy – Turbo – peered closer at him.
Finally, words.
“B-Bro, n-no, please, don’t, please – not you, Bro –“ He’s blabbering like a little kid, he hates himself for it but his eyes are glazing over, going all blurry.
The grip on him eases – he can feel it.
“HEY! Show Pony!”
Turbo’s face blurs back into being for a second as he looks up to see his other little brother glowering from the side, teeth barred and infuriated.
And Wreck-It at his heel, fists ready.
The monster’s smile cracks back into place, lined with bad intent.
...
Oh-ho, some team-up!
“Get your filthy hands off him, ya creep!” One practically spits the words out – Ralph doesn’t move, he won’t risk blowing the volcano – not while he has the youngest Turbo Sibling in his grasp. One looks set to burst.
Ignoring the quiver he can feel against his fingers, Turbo tossed Two into his non-dominant hand. “Yipe!”
“Oh, I’m not gonna hurt ‘um, don’t you worry.” Patronizingly, his eyes latched onto One, he taps the youngest sibling’s nose –
And lunges at him.
“But I’m sure gonna kill YOU!”
...
Fists flying. Mentos scattering. Dodging flashes of purple and black to avoid being sliced in two. All chorused by Two’s shrieks and pleads.
“Turbo, no! Please, please don’t hurt ‘em!”
And then Ralph’s one smash away from sending the mento plug tumbling into the cola – maybe he hoped the imminent danger would make the monster flee. But it doesn’t.
Two hits the ground, and Candy pounces on Ralph. The youngest sibling reaches out in a futile attempt, “NO! Ralph – One –“
It’s too late – Ralph is dragged into the air.
...
They watch the bugs close in on Vanellope.
They almost watch her die – and Ralph. The volcano nearly swallows them all.
But it doesn’t. Only one goes.
...
Two and One watch President Vanellope have an endearing insult-contest with quiet mirth. But it’s all for show. One’s grin is empty, Two’s is strained and his eyes are glassy.
The kid meets their eye, and her grin fades.
...
Vanellope lets them tangle with the code again; Ralph and Fix-It? They keep the secret. Things go back to how they were.
Only they don’t. It takes time, but it’s raw. They lost their brother twice over – well, Two did. One? He doesn’t seem sorry that Turbo is gone, but he isn’t happy. Its unfinished, unsettled.
They don their disguises, becoming advisors – taking Sour Bill’s place.
Things are good. They’re proud of Vanellope – they hang out with Felix.
...
Heck, he knows those little stooges are miserable. Laying low was his forte by now, but it was way harder this time round.
Turbo breezes here and there, waiting for an opening. A new game, maybe, an opportunity. But maybe some of that cy-bug programming is still jammed in his code, because he finds himself drawn back to Sugar Rush now and again.
Checking in on them.
He plans on making One’s life a misery, to begin with. He loves watching him pace and glower, angry that they didn’t get to settle things once and for all. Hil-arious.
... Not so funny? Two’s sullen mug.
Does he miss him, he wonders?
Course he does. Being with One all these years must’ve been driving him insane. But he always took the goody-two-shoes side. No backbone.
Turbo plans all right.
But for a while, he does nothing but watch them.