Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“And you said that the swarm was in this sector?”

“Yes, the others reported the Gridbugs swarm was last seen in the Terminus sector and have since migrated southward.” Tron said.

The Program could hear the User on the other end of their contact muttering something around the lines of ”Terminus… Terminator, of course.”. “Sam?” He questioned.

“Right. The Swarm. How big should we be expecting it to be?”

“Average sizes range from two-hundred to three-hundren gigabytes. But within the Grid they’re never larger than one hundred.”

Sam had to pause to try and scale the usage of storage space into a physical sense. The Program could guess his Users obvious confusion and added, “It isn’t enough to destroy the city, but it’s large enough to warrant extermination.”

“Y-yea, got it.”

The barren waste of the Outlands was the last place - in Trons’ opinion - the absolute worst place for a User. Even with new Disks and restored code, the security Program couldn’t - did not - believe that Sam would be safe. Navigating the Light Runner across the jagged landscape, he watched for any sign of blinking lights or shifting masses that signified that the Swarm was close.

Outside, Sam could see that just ahead was a massive storm. Contained within a narrow valley, flecks of white tore across his vision in a mad dance of wind. ‘Wh - is that a blizzard? How’s there snow inside a computer?” He asked, stunned.

Tron glanced out of the corner of his eye, pausing at the edge where wisps of white - snow, so that’s what Users called it - pelted against the hood. “This is just another element of the Outlands.” He stated factually.

“It is? Seems kinda weird, oddly specific design for just stray code.” He mused.

Squeezing the steering wheel, Tron faced back up to the storm. “Kevin also added it as a… deterrent for outside threats.”

“Oh.” Sam said quietly.

Tron resisted the urge to comment further at the ineffectiveness of this addition. Speaking about Sams father was still sore for both of them, but after a tense moment, the son of Flynn jumped out of the Runner.

“Sam!” Tron didn’t hesitate to follow, shocked at the action but more so dreading what the User was planning, “Sam, wait! Get back! It isn’t safe outside!”

He found the User kneeling at the very edge of the ‘blizzard’. Tron knew the stance well enough, he could see Sam’s eyes narrowed and mouth pressed into a firm line. The interface of light infront of him scrolled through the raw code at a pace even Tron had difficulty following. Lines were mentally erased, shifted and soon the effect was clear.

The storm began to slow and soon froze entirely. Tron could count each individual fleck of white, which then began to dissolve and float upwards in the new form of glowing lines. Disappearing into the clouds above. Sam blinked hard, before falling back on his rear and whipping a forearm over his face.

“Geez, I shouldn’t be that tired.” He stretched as he stood, looking over the now empty canyon, “I think it might come back though. I don’t know exactly how to work with this kinda code. It’s all… messy.”

As impressive as it was, Tron frowned. “The next time before you plan to… do something like that, please do so in closer proximity to the vehicle. I - we still don’t know where the Swarm could be located.”

“Well, that’s fair.” Sam admitted. “I’ll try to keep that in mind. But it worked out, didn’t it?”

This Users penchant for sudden action, Tron decided, was proof he was a son of Flynn. “I suppose.” He mumbled. “We still have the Swarm to deal with.”

“Yea, they're just on the other side I’m guessing?”

“Yes. That’s what the report specified.”

Driving through the empty canyon is much less harrowing with the lack of buffeting winds rocking the Light Runner. But Tron can see how Sam’s thighs jump against his hands while his head keeps swiveling between each of the windows. It’s been getting worse the longer their drive progressed. He can see the nervous energy, can practically feel it radiating of the User.

The canyon’s exit is closer than the Security Program expects, but as far as he can see or sense, there’s still no sign of a single Grid Bug. Until he looks over to the edges of the canyon walls. There it is, crawling across chipped, black, stone-like material before it scuttles over the top and disappears.

Looking back to the User, Tron is relieved to see that he hasn’t noticed. Yet. Tron stops the Runner, which snaps Sam out of his sight seeing. “What’s wrong?” He asked. “Did you see something? Is the Swarm here?”

“No, stay inside the Runner Sam Flynn.” He ordered. Stepping out himself, Tron turns to face the User. Who’s hand is already moving back to his side and away from the door. “Sam Flynn, I am only leaving to scout the area. The Outlands code is unstable and may collapse at any moment. Stay inside the Runner.”

In contrast to the brash dismissal, Sam responds well to Tron’s stern tone. “Alright.” He relented. “How long will you be gone?”

“No more than five nano-cycles. If the ground does collapses, leave the area immediately.”

“Wait, what?”

Tron only narrowed his eyes, his flat tone and clear implication stunning the User. “No, no way am I leaving you here. I’ll stay here but no way in hell am I leaving you.”

The Program doesn’t want to argue, the looming threat urging him forward, commanding him to eliminate it before the User comes to harm - can not let it happen again - so he simply noded and jogged past the mouth of the canyon. Part of him sung with regret, having lied to a User. But Tron justified it with the iron-clad directive coded into his being.

Drawing his Disk’s once he’s out of sight, Tron looked up to the looming rocks. Walking horizontal to the wall, he scanned with his eyes and his sensors. Soon, the Security Program pinpointed the same target. Throwing his Disk in a trained arch, the Bug exploded into burning red voxels that clatter to the floor. They bounce and roll to a stop by his feet before they dissolve back into the System.

Tron doesn’t need to hear the skittering of pincers against the ground to tell him he’s gained the attention of the Swarm. Separating his Disks, the Program lets calculations, probabilities and strategies run at lightspeed across his vision. The numbers that run by make him freeze for only a moment. Just looking at the crawling masses, Tron can see that it’s more, much more than just a few hundred gigabytes.

But he doesn’t stop. Throwing his first Disk, it cuts a path of crimson pixels through the swarm. The empty line is quickly filled back in by the oncoming stream of Bugs that pour out and over the canyon, flooding over like a waterfall of insects. The Disk soon richoches back into his hands and Tron sliced a wide, downward arch at the creeping edge of the Swarm, inching closer and closer to his feet.

Some get by however, but they’re too small and too few to do enough damage. Their acidic bites only driving Tron further on. Crushing Bugs under his heel and turning swaths of them into piles of voxels. Some get lucky and manage to crawl up his arms and bite at his hands. By then, Tron can only guess he’s eliminated a third of the Swarm.

He tried to dash back, put space between himself to give himself the briefest reprieve. The movement sends waves of shock and each step causes flares of warnings to fill his HUD. It makes no sense to him. But then Tron finally looks down at the damage. His armor code is peppered with tiny bite marks, glowing stark neon blue. They’re all across his feet, calves and thighs.

“Glitch it.” Tron cursed, forcing himself away from the pooling bugs. He cleared another brief path through the Swarm, giving him just enough time to clean the Bugs off his shell.

The Program can feel them furiously gnawing at his code. Then Tron suddenly yelled out and collapsed as he feels boiling fire coarse through his entire body. He has just enough time to realize that a Bug has managed to make it up to his Disk Dock and push himself up onto his forearms as the Swarm descends on him.

By now, the Programs abandoned any sense of finesse and blindly thrashed and screams. Ripping and slicing Bugs off his body while they eat away at every part of his being. Ending up on his back as he rolled and tried to crush as many of them as he can. Tron roared as he felt one beginning to burrow its way into his right leg

“Holy shit, Tron!”

“S-Sa-am!” The Program can only just manage to push himself up on cracked arms and watch as the User rushed into his vision. “Sa-aa-m. Ru-run!”

Whatever energy the son of Flynn radiates seemed to draw the Gridbugs towards him. Tron heard the User cry out and curse as they begin to chew away at his body. Tron’s shaking too hard, the Programs afraid he’ll fall apart just from the vibrations. Sam’s screaming is chocked, but the Program knows the pain, but the User still hasn’t run.

“Fuck, Tron stay awake - agh, shit!” He shook at his shoulders, trying to drag him back, “fuck, fuck! Come on, think of something, think of something! I’m not letting us die to a bunch of digital god-damn mosquitoes!”

The Program managed to wrap a hand around Sam’s leg - it’s wet, why is it wet? - and gave a vain attempt to push the User away. Another grunt of pain above him and suddenly Tron sees Sam crash his hands against the floor of the Outlands.

Bright, burning tendrils of white race up and behind Sam. Then Tron is suddenly yanked upward as he hears rumbling growing steadily louder behind him. The canyon walls behind them collapse and cascade across the Swarm. It washed across the remaining Bugs, leaving nothing but chunks of slowly dissipating code.

Tron can feel his own code slowly knitting back together as Sam fumbled with his Disk and after one last agonizing moment, pressed it back into the Dock. The tunnel burrowed into his legs seals shut, the pits and bites disappear and his suit regenerates in a matter of micro cycles. His vision finally comes into focus-

-and that’s when he sees the red.

’Rinzler’ his mind screamed. Pushing himself back with newfound strength, Tron looked down to his hands where red smears over his circuits. It takes him a moment to relax, seeing how the residue is rubbed off without effort.

“Sam, you didn’t have to do that-“ He started.

Then he sees the train of red, the lights of his suit reflecting the steaks. It lead up to a steadily growing circle of liquid. Sam lying on the edge, the fluid sluggishly draining and dripping out from dozens of holes littered across the torn material of his jacket. Everywhere. All across his legs, thighs, arms and chest.

“Sam?” Tron called, his voice almost inaudible. Nothing. Sam was still, he was never still.

“No, no.” He crawled over, staining his hands with more of the red - failed, failed, failed, User derezzing, dying - as he shook Sam by the shoulders. “Sam! Sam, wake up! User please! User! User!”

Now the circuits across his hands were drenched in opaque crimson. Tron watched, horrified as Sam’s face slowly grew paler, his skin became cold and his lips turned blue. “User, Sam, Sam no. No again, not again please. User please wake up!”

Tron could hear his speech becoming fractured, words breaking up into malformed stutters. He could do nothing. The Program - failed directive, failed his Users, failure, failure, nobody’s protector - knew nothing about Sam’s code. No knowledge on how to keep the liquid so vital to his survival contained.

Reaching behind Sam’s back, Tron found the edge of his Disk and tore it off. He hesitated for a moment, only a moment, but he couldn’t spare even a moment more.

Afterwards, after sliding the Users Disk back into place. Tron could think again. With his head bowed above the User, hands in his lap and circuits stained, he whispered to the sleeping User.

“Please, forgive me son of Flynn.”

Chapter Text

Across the street, Tron pauses at the entrance to the Armory when he sees Sam Flynn leaning against the side of the building, idly shaping the raw code of the air.The User doesn’t seem to notice him, but Tron can’t help but wonder. There’s nothing left for the Son of Flynn here.

He hadn’t expected the User to ever really return to the Grid, there was nothing left for him here but bad memories. But every time, Tron would see the beacon alight in the background. Some Programs would run at the sight, some would curse the Users for ever existing. For Tron, he doesn’t know anymore. He can’t deny how much he owes them, they’re the reason he’s whole - or as whole as he can be nowadays.

“Oh, Tron.” The code quickly dissolves as Sam strolls over, “Heya, I was looking for you.”

The Program flinches at the sudden acknowledgment and struggles to keep his eyes on the User.

“So, uh, I know we don’t really talk too much. I mean you don’t talk much in general, but that's not the point. I was just wondering about what you’ve been up to since… well I just wanna know what's going on.”

The way Sam talks is the same, scatterbrained manner he finds most Users - even if it’s a very limited statistic - communicate in. “My function to protect the Grid is still my priority. There have been reports of Gridbug swarms which may prevent substantial reconstruction.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.” Sam comments. “And I assume you’re going to grab some gear before you go out?”

“Yes,” Tron says.

“So, it sounds like a big issue,” He adds. “Maybe I could come along? Being a User could be handy.”

“No.”

Tron sees Sam do a double take at the authority in his voice. It surprises Tron as well. “Gridbug swarms are dangerous. There is no need for the unnecessary risk.”

“Surprised Dad didn’t try to invent digital bug spray for this kinda thing.”

The mentioning of the late User makes Tron pull his shoulders tighter into himself. Sam must’ve realized the change in air between them. Given that he says nothing and makes no remark, Tron assumes - hopes, mostly - that Sam has asked all his questions. So he steps by and into the main lobby.

“Hey, wait a sec-”

When he feels the hand graze the top of his shoulder, the Security Program whirls around in an instant. Tron grabs the hand and twists it back. Sam cries out in shock and pain and that's enough for him to release the User. Looking down to his hand and the User clutching his wrist, Tron turns heel and runs.

Faintly, Tron hears the pattern of footfalls ringing through the empty hallways. But they begin to fade and the Program thanks Sam that he decided not to pursue him. Running through the halls, he searches frantically for any sign of the one Program he needs now more than ever. Selfish as it may seem.

Tron finds him - to his surprise - where he least expects him. As he walks up the spiraling staircase, he sees a short hall that opens up into a wide balcony. And hovering above the entrance, a pair of shining, white-clad legs kicking idly in the air.

“Ram?” He calls out. “Is that you?”

“Tron?”

The Program steps past the Siren’s dangling legs and turns to see his friend - he’s always been so much more to him, more than he can confess - perched on the short overhanging. Ram leans back on his arms, looking over the blank expanse of the Arena.

“I didn’t think I’d find you here.” Tron says.

“Got tired of staring at empty rooms.” Ram shrugs. “Besides, it’s nice out here. Without the whole derezzing for entertainment, at least.”

The way Ram talks, Tron almost assumes he’s being genuine in his flippancy. If it weren't for the hard glare behind the Program’s eyes, narrowed directly at the glass box where Clu used to watch - killing Programs of his own volition, ordered and obeyed, no questions ever asked .

He squeezes his eyes shut, the faintest hint of a whimper escaping his throat. “Hey,” Ram breaks him out of his flashback, folding a white gloved hand over his, “Tron, are you okay?”

Tron doesn’t want to say it out loud, so instead he just shakes his head. “I don’t blame you. Not after everything. Do you want to talk?”

“I do, but… it’s just,” He struggles to find a word - any word - that fits the description of whatever he’s feeling. “I’m sorry.”

Ram tilts his head. “For what?”

The Siren tilts his head, the same face and the mess of curls, it’s almost too much to contain. Tron pulls his hands out from under Ram’s and burrows his face inside. Pressing hard at the side of his temples as he struggles to find something to say.

“Tron, Tron, hey. Listen, it’s okay.” Ram says, but he doesn’t try to push his hands away, “you don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong, Clu-”

The Siren pauses when he hears a bitter laugh come from the shaking Program. “That’s just it,” He says in an almost hysterical tone, “Clu didn’t force me do anything, Ram. He lied to me about just one thing, one thing and that was enough. I was so stupid, I should’ve figured it out sooner.”

‘Wait, what do you mean Clu didn’t ‘make’ you do any of that?” Ram asks, confusion colouring his voice, “What sort of lie would make you go around derezzing Programs without question?”

Ram is trying to be helpful, Tron knows this. But as his grief turns to anger, the distinction becomes harder to remember. His response comes out in a growl. “He told me that he was my User. Clu re-wrote all of my memories, switched his place with Flynn. And that was all it took for me to become his loyal puppet. Do you understand it now? That was all it took. Just. One. Lie. And I became nothing.”

The Siren can see more so than hear how agitated Tron has become. Narrowed eyes, clenched teeth, flaring circuits and fingers digging into the code of the roof they sit on. “Well, I do understand part of it now.” He begins. “But Clu tampered with your memories. You’re not the one who-”

“That doesn’t deny the fact that I’m still responsible.” Tron cuts him off. “I still obeyed all of his orders.”

“And how would you ever figure out that Clu wasn’t your User?” Ram insists. “I’m not going to let you wallow in guilt that isn’t yours to bear.”

“Then what should I do!” Tron finally breaks, screaming into the open air. “If I couldn’t even save you, how could I have figured out that I was being used for cycles for genocide?”

The outburst suddenly makes Ram stop, arguments fizzling away. “Save me?” He questions.

“Of course, you don’t remember, do you?” The Program says in a tone that’s returned to the defeated, bordering cynical attitude.

“I - well, I get flashes. Pieces of memory that aren’t fully coded in my Disk,” Ram says meekly. “But you’re not wrong.”

“You derezzed. Before the Grid, on an older system,” Tron continues, ignoring the shocked expression of the Siren, “We were conscripts on a Game Grid. A tank came across us just before you could cross a bridge. There was an explosion and… that was the last time I ever saw you. How could I ever fight for the Users if I couldn’t even protect you?”

Looking down at his hands, Ram tries to connect the new information to his state of being. The memories make sense now, but how he came back from nothing is something he decides to question later.

“What happened after that?” He asks. “What happened to the system?”

Something flickers over Tron’s face that almost passes too fast for him to read. Melancholy, happy nostalgia, bitter sadness and then impassivity. “The system was saved, but I don’t know what became of it afterwards.”

“I’m willing to bet you had a hand in saving it though.”

“I did,” Tron admits. “But it wasn’t just me. Kevin Flynn was there too. And… and my User.”

“Flynn isn’t your User?” Ram asks.

“No,” He says, with a tone that clearly implies finality.

“Still,” Ram continues, “I bet your User would be proud of you. You helped to save two systems, that’s got to mean something.”

“And how did I do that?” Tron asks dryly.

“You said it yourself, you helped to save our old system. And Quorra told me about what you did, even if you slamming into Clu’s Light Jet was just plain crazy. That gave them enough time to get to the portal. If you didn’t do that, their ride would’ve derezzed and we wouldn’t be speaking right now.”

He makes sure to keep eye contact throughout his speech. When Tron doesn’t respond, Ram takes a risk and pulls back one of the Program’s hands. Cupping them in his own and settling it into his lap.

“Even if I… derezzed, I don’t think it was your fault. I’m still here, aren’t I?” Rams lip curves in a soft grin. “And I already told you, I’m not letting you wallow in guilt that isn’t yours.”

Tron scoffs, but it’s better than nothing. “It’s odd, you haven’t changed that much from before.”

“What was I like before?” Ram asks, now leaning firmly on the Security Programs side. Tron simply rolls his eyes.

“Almost exactly the same. An incorrigible pain in my side.”

“Good. You need it.”

It’s a double entendre, even if Ram doesn’t entirely know it. “I suppose, but…”

Ram looks up into his eyes. “But?”

Tron swallows, even if there’s nothing clogging his throat. “I’m sorry. I just - thank you for listening to me.”

“Of course. You deserve it,” Ram says, nuzzling back into his shoulder, “you deserve good things Tron.”

The Program chews at his lip, contemplating how true that may be. But he decided to just soak in this moment while he can. As much as he loathes it, opening up to Ram feels good. Even if it hurts seeing him and knowing Ram doesn’t remember their first cycles together. Bitter as they may have been, at least Tron knows that them memories are his. It’s the only solidarity he has.

Looking down to the actuary-hacker turned Siren, Tron is almost reluctant to leave. The gentle curls brushing against his shoulder and the lazy contentment on Ram’s face is so familiar it hurts. He remembers lying across cells, that frustrating barrier between them. Laying side by side at the spring of fresh energy, just being together. Happy.

Tron can almost forget what priorities he still has. “Ram, I’m sorry but I need to leave.” He carefully nudges Ram off his shoulder, “there’s-”

“Shh,” The Siren smiles coyly and presses two fingers against his mouth, “you don’t have to explain. Go. I’ll be here.”

He’s stunned by the action, but Tron just shakes his head and hops down from their perch. “Thank you Ram.”

“It’s nothing. Now go be a hero.”

“Hero.” Tron echoes the word as he leaves. The way Ram says it, he almost believes it’s true again.

Stopping to retrieve a Light Runner, Tron exits the building. But he starts as Sam suddenly pops back into view. “Tron! Shit, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to freak you out like that.”

He takes a step back, having almost forgotten that the User had insisted that he come along. The apology isn’t what he expects either and he takes longer than he wants to respond. “I - no I should be apologizing Sam Flynn. It was wrong of me to lash out like that.”

“Yea, well I should've known not to grab you like that,” Sam counters, shaking out his wrist, “I’ll remember that. Anyhow, I assume that’s the Light Runner?”

Trons shoulders fall. “Yes, but it isn’t safe for Users in the Outlands-”

“I’m pretty sure it isn’t safe anywhere for me.” He insists. “It can’t be that bad. And if anything does happen I could probably code a way out of it.”

“I can’t-” Tron pauses his line of thought. Knowing the Flynns, Sam may lose interest and return to another task. But with the myriad of threats that lurk within the city itself - and judging by the fact Quorra wasn’t present tells him that he has nobody else looking out for him - it’s a much safer possibility to keep the User within his line of sight.

“I… suppose.” He relents. “Gridbugs are not a high priority threat.”

“Sweet.”

Rezzing up the Light Runner and stepping into the driver's seat. They make their way to the edges of the Outlands and towards the coordinates Tron has downloaded into his memory. The User beside him still radiates excitable energy. Tron takes one last risk and dares to hope for the best.

Chapter Text

Blinking, Sam doesn’t expect to see the warm orange light of his cargo box home. Pushing himself up, he grunts at the movement. Both arms are tense and sore. In fact, as the sensation returns to his body, almost everything feels dull and aches.

Gingerly lifting his head to try and see why Sam feel like he face planted into concrete. But looking down at his legs and arms, there’s no discernible reason. His clothes are intact and he’s lying on his couch like he just woke up from a bad hangover.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Then he sees the glowing stripe down his jacket and turns his head to see a familiar white Siren sitting in a matching armchair, who holds a glass of energy in one hand and a book in the other. “Ram?” He asks. “Wh - what happened, where’s Tron?”

Closing the book and mumbling something the User can’t hear, Ram swallows the remaining energy and sets both down on the table. “I don’t know, he hasn’t told me anything yet. How do you feel?”

“Pretty shitty if you want the truth,” Sam replies, gritting his teeth as he pushes himself into an upwards position, “didn’t expect that to be so brutal.”

“What were you expecting? A hoard of aggressive Bits?”

He chuckles, even if he doesn’t quite understand the joke. “Very funny.” Sam looks behind Ram and to the city below, trying to ignore the fading thrum of pain. Unfortunately, his thoughts turn dark. “But what happened to Tron? Did he make it out okay?”

His blood goes cold when he sees Ram’s face when for a moment, he sees the Sirens face devoid of any merith. It’s gone in an instant, but it raises his concerns for the Security Monitor. “He’s okay. Tron dropped you off here. He wasn’t damaged, if that’s what your worried about.” Ram shrugs. “But what about you? Are you alright?”

“I’m pretty much fine. Just sore all over.” Reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, the User flinches back at the slight sting the contact brings. “Well, I think I’ll have to head out soon. Did the Portal close while I was out?”

“No, it’s still open.” Ram says. Reaching under the table, he pulls out a full bottle and begins pouring another glass and hands it to Sam, “you should probably get going. Quorra is probably waiting.”

Swinging his legs around and muffling another hiss, the User hesitantly sloshes the glass around before taking a small sip. Frowning at the dry and slightly bitter taste Sam’s always known energy to taste, it does dull the ache in his joints and decides to spare the effort to swallow the rest down.

Idly, Sam remembers that he was lying on the same couch that he and Quorra found both Ram and Tron passed out, drenched in energy and very thoroughly exhausted by means that he tries hard not to think about. Shaking the image out of his head, said Siren takes the chance to stand and walk to the door.

Ram derezzes the doorway and stands by the entrance. “Come on, I think I can get you a Light Jet.”

“Y-yea I’m comin’.” Wiping away the last dredges from the corner of his lips, Sam stands and makes his way outside. Despite the fresh energy, the rush of activity from before manages to have thoroughly exhaust him.

The halls are still barren, with only the long lines of light for decoration. Ram pretends like the lack of other Programs doesn’t unnerve him, even if he can’t understand why. As they walk, Sam thinks about coding in plants or paintings into the buildings and streets.

Eventaully,. Sam works of the confidence to ask the question lying on his tongue. “Hey, um, so is it okay if I ask about you and-”

“You mean when you found us overcharged after interfacing in your apartment?”

“Uh, yeah. That.” The blunt, somewhat crass nature is unexpected, but Sam appreciates it, “so, are you two a thing or is it more complicated than that?”

The Siren gives another humourless laugh. “I don’t have a glitching clue. We were just so happy to see each other and.. Well, you know.” Another tired sigh. “I don’t even remember what we were. I know we knew each other and… and something about being held together. He blames himself for my derezzing.”

Wait,” Sam freezes before the door to the apartment at the statement, “you died?”

“Apparently.” Ram says. “And with everything that’s happened since, Tron blames himself for everything that Clu - for everything he’s done.”

“So… it’s really complicated.” The User absentmindedly rubs at his neck before speaking up again. “Guess this means you get a new start. Both of you. Maybe your past was good, or bad, or whatever. You two take it one step forward together.”

Ram takes a moment to consider the Users advice. “I doubt I’ll have an easy time convincing Tron,” he crosses his arms and looks towards the now open - still devoid - streets, “I’m willing to bet nobody short of his User is gonna get it through his thick code.”

It’s times like this Sam wishes he’d known Tron before the Rinzler incident. But he can’t find it in himself to ask the Siren when it’s so clearly a sore subject. The rest of the walk and the subsequent flight are just as silent. Without the threat of gunfire, weaving through the floating heidron network is much easier than Sam expects. He doesn’t object when ram decides to follow him to the Portal, but he can’t help but wonder why.

The another question hits him. “Wait, how’d Tron get us both here? Those bugs,” Sam shivers at the phantom sensation of dull, acidic chewing, “they did a number on both of us. And I think… I think I passed out, I lost a lot of blood. So how am I still alive?”

Ram just shrugs again. “Tron didn’t tell me.”

Looking down at his arms, Sam wonders how the Program kept him alive. “Then tell him thanks that he kept me breathing. And that I’m not mad for the whole pinning me to the floor and not decapitating me.”

When Ram laughs, this time it’s followed by a small grin. “He certainly needs to hear that.”

Docking just by the Portals edge, Sam hops down and looks up to the shining beacon of light that’ll send him home. Turning back to say his farewells, he finds the Siren staring.

“Ram? Hey, don’t clock out on me.” The User snaps his fingers under his nose.

“Hm, oh.” Shaking his head, the Program steps down beside him. But his face remains fixated on the portal. “Sorry, it’s just so different. Seeing it up close.”

“I guess its.”

After a moment, Ram asks, “Do you think I could meet my User?”

“You remember your User?” Sam wonders.

“Well, not entirely,” The Siren actually looks sheepish for once, eyes flickering and rubbing at the back of his hands, “ His name was… RK-something. I don’t know the rest. But if I ever got the chance, do you think I could… visit the User world?”

As much as he wants to say yes, Sam thinks the idea over. “I’m not sure what’d happen if you did though. I didn’t even know if Quorra would be safe going through.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Ram says, but Sam can see the disappointed tone in his voice. “I’d probably explode, or something.”

“Well, if me and dad survived here, I think your chances are pretty good.”

Offering his hand, Ram smiles at the User and shakes. “See you man. Don’t know how long it’ll be until I can see you guys again.”

“I’ll keep watch over Tron while you’re gone.” Ram says, in a way Sam reads as almost protective.

“Got it, hope you two figure everything out.” Sam gives one last flippant wave as he walks across the bridge and into the light.

Watching the User disappear as the Portal closes minutes after. Ram looks back to the city, then down towards the short beach below. The backdraft from the dissipation light rushes through his hair and tickles the sides of his face. Spending one last moment to look over the landscape, the Siren takes the pilot seat of the Light Jet and soon twin ribbons of light disappear back into the floating maze.

::::

Sam doesn’t remember closing the lights and locking the arcade. The drive back to his apartment is just a rush of cool evening wind that does little to relive his now palpable exhaustion. When Sam finally manages to park his motorcycle and slip under the garage, he can only offer Quorra a sleepy smile and rub the exhaustion away the best he can.

“Sam, you look really-”

“Tired, yea, guess it’s that bad.” He stifles another yawn as he rubs at Marv’s ear while he pulls out his dogs bag of food.

“Did something happen on the Grid?” Quorra asks, pulling the dog into her lap and rubbing at his belly.

“Yea, Gridbug swarm. Remind me to make digital bug spray before I go back. Lil shits nearly chewed me alive.”

“Did you try to take one by yourself?” She says in a startled tone.

“Nah, I’m fine. Had Tron with me.” Setting his bowl down, Quorra picks out the scoop still left in the bowl.

“You’ve got a meeting at ENCOM tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Shut up.” He groans, drawing out the ‘u’ as he ascends up the ladder to his room.

He rolls up his shirt and tosses it vaguely towards the rest of his dirty laundry - he needs to remember to do that too - and bury his face into the pillows. Sam wonders if his sheets have always been this soft as he passes out. But his awakening is much less peaceful, nearly rolling off his bed as he feels something run across his back.

“Ack!” Sam thrashes for a moment, kicking off his bedsheets. Marv’s head pops out from the pile of blankets and comforters, shaking his tail and letting his tongue hang freely. “Oh yea, pretend like you’re innocent.”

His Boston Terrier seems happy to just run circles around his room while Sam pulls himself up from his bed. Stretching out, most of the soreness from yesterday's events seems to have evaporated. But as he slowly rubs away the faint dizziness that seems to follow him from yesterday and the gunk from his eyes, Sam can’t help but notice how bright his room is despite there being only one window.

Then he looks down to his arm. That’s when he sees the glowing.

All the way down his arm. Glowing blue hash marks all along his arm. Sam traces with his eyes how the marks are covering erratic patches over his arms, shoulder and disappear past his waistband. Running to the bathroom and hastily pulling off his jeans from last night. The haste seems to aggravate the marks, sparking dull fire at the friction. Sam sees more of these glowing marks running down his thighs, calf and peeking just below the base of his neck.

Sam doesn’t know how to react, so he hastily pulls on a shirt and shorts before calling out in a slightly hysterical voice. “Quorra?”

“What is it Sam?” Her own groggy voice perks up at the same time her head becomes visible from the ladder leading up to his room. When she sees the nervous confusion writ on Sams face as he gestures vaguely to the lights branded onto his skin, Quorra can only stare.

“Quorra, what the heck is this?” Sam asks, both of them now sitting on the edge of his bed. The ISO gingerly holding out one of his arms and gliding her fingers over the marks. “Ow, ow! A little gentler net time?”

Her eyes crease at the edges while she ignores his complaint as she analyzes the marks. “Sam,” She finally speaks, “what exactly happened when you and Tron went out to eliminate that Swarm?”

“He told me to stay by the Light Runner.” Sam begins. “I heard a bunch of noise from the other side of the canyon we were parked in and after a bit I checked it out. Then I - I saw Tron with all those bugs crawling all over him. Then those things were on me next. I did something to the walls of the canyon and it took out most of them. Then I went to repair Tron’s code and then that’s when I passed out. Next thing I know I’m waking up in the apartment we made.”

Frowning again, Sam sees his foot tapping an erratic pattern against the floor. “Anyways, does any of that explain why I’m suddenly growing circuits?”

“These don’t look like circuits, Sam.” Pulling up the sleeve of her pajamas for comparison, he can see the uniform, straight lines of her circuits contrast to the sporadic and slightly duller placement of his own. “I think, I’m not sure how, but I think this is Utility Code.”

“Utility Code?” He parrots. “So-”

“Think of it like… like a Programs bandaid.” She starts. “It’s like a patch we input directly into the base code if we can’t get to a Repair Program fast enough and need stabilizing. Usually they’re removed after the damaged code is repaired but I don’t know what… what this means for you.”

The lightbulb clicks in the back of Sam’s head. “This is how Tron kept me alive.”

Quorra nods, still focused on the new markings. “Do you think you could remove them?”

“I don’t think I should.” He says cautiously. “Not now at least. And even if I did, if Utility Code is input into the base code, that might make it harder to pull out.”

The idea of picking around what makes him, him is an uncomfortable idea. Even knowing Tron had the best of intent, it still leaves Sam with an unpleasant taste. Eventually he just sighs and pulls his arm back into his lap.

“Okay, this is fine. These aren’t so bad. I'll just wear jackets for the rest of the week,” Sam says, now fishing around for clean pants and a semi-formal shirt, “ god I hope Alan doesn't find out.”

Chapter Text

Sam expected for the new patches of light to only be a minor inconvenience. Even as he draped the jacket over the long sleeves and the sensation sent embers crawling up his back, Sam didn’t think about it too hard. Grabbing a brief piece of untoasted bread and pouring more water for Marv - he makes sure to thank Quorra later for feeding his dog - and called out a brief goodbye.

It isn’t until he mounted his Ducati and took off onto the streets is when he noticed the problems. Controlling the pedals with he feet takes more pressure then he remembered, his calves going tense at the slightest movement. The bumps he runs over which normally never affected his skills, now cause a palpable irritation all along his lower back.

Driving faster isn’t the smartest thing to do in these circumstances and Sam knew it, but he figured that the faster he’d get off the road the faster he gets to Encom and avoids Alan’s tired exasperation. Though he figures the older man is already present, despite it being entirely too early in his opinion.

Parking in his usual spot - directly in front of the doorway. Sam figured that since he owned it it’s perfectly legal - he has to spend several seconds rubbing at his neck and shoulder while stretching out his back in an unelegant manner just to work out the long line of stiffness he’s unacustomed to.

Waving hello to the intern sitting at the desk, already burying his freckled nose into his screen, snapped up and straightened as his boss walked through the door and hastily pushed back his brown curls. “O-oh, Mr Flynn. Good morning. Mr. Bradley and Mr. Mackey are waiting in the boardroom three, floor fifteen. They were discussing something about...ah, I think it was the budgeting. I heard them talking about the latest projects. N-not that there’s anything wrong with them, of course!”

A small, nervous laugh comes from behind the counter. But Sam just finds the interns shyness a welcome levity. He spends a moment trying to recall his name, snapping his fingers absently.“Thanks, uhh, Brendan right? Yea, thanks. You can just call me Sam though.”

“Of course Mr - Sam. You’re very welcome. Have a good day!”

Before beginning his long climb, he turns and waves to the intern. “You too kid. Don’t go blind.”

As he began his long climb, Sam saw the younger man mouth the words he said, before the realization hit him. Going up the stairs may have been somewhat more exhausting, but Sam always enjoyed the exercise. Along with the fact that he’d get the chance to briefly see each of the other people and ask about their own projects.

Alan had advised to build some good faith with the employees of the company overall, but emphasized those below him. And given his surrogate fathers history, Sam decided it was advice worth being applied. He also found the in-person discussions much more stimulating than the blank text of a report.

Though the problems with the patched code didn’t disappear.

By the time he made it to the fourth floor, the strange combination of soreness, itching, warmth, and general irritation was becoming unmanageable. Hastily leaving his chat with the artists working on new visuals for a rebooted TRON game, Sam made his way to where he hoped was the bathroom.

Checking for anyone using the stalls, the young CEO turned in the mirror and pulled up his shirt high enough that he could see his glowing shoulder blades. “Never gonna get used to this.” He mumbled.

The shining hash marks that wrapped around his torso don’t appear any different than this morning. The lights across his body now emphasized by a thin layer of sweat from the odd heat expelled around the code. Wiping away the beads across his forehead, he grazed a hand across the glowing skin. Immediately, Sam hissed at the way the contact feels like rubbing cactus needles.

“Shit, shit, okay. This… this is still okay.” Sam ends up divesting his whole shirt and grabbing a handful of dry towels.

Setting his shirt away from the bowl of the skin, he turned on the water and soaked the papers with the coldest possible setting. The itching is soon replaced with flushed cold, which Sam would take any day. Pressing the wet paper down his arm and against his sides, it lessens the itching back to manageable. The coarse texture of the paper still stings, but the pain faded fast enough.

Just for added measure, he splashed his face with more cold water to clear his head and shook off whatever remained of the water from his hair. Pulling his shirt back over his head, Sam takes one last look in the mirror. ”You can make this work, okay? Yea, yea. This isn’t that bad.”

He swears that he hears one of the artists snickering - Mar-something? Maria? Mandy? - as he leaves.

::::

“Richard, you’re being too rash. Sam will come at his usual time, we can organize a meeting if you want.”

“You and I both know that child isn’t ready to run this company. It had direction and now what are we doing? Making games?”

Sam stepped out of the elevator and once he did, it wasn’t hard to hear the two aforementioned men talking. He could guess that they were both irritated. Even with Alan’s neutral tone, Sam knew what his exhaustion sounded like. He didn’t waste time stepping inside.

“Mornin’ Alan, Mack.” He smiled, seeing the way the other man’s lips curl at the nickname Alan and Sam both know he despises. “Brendan downstairs told me you wanted to see me?”

Alan simply says nothing, but makes it a point to turn so he’s indirectly facing Mackey. “I - ah, Mr Flynn - “

“Sam.” He corrects, now crossing his arms.

“Yes, Sam. We were just… deliberating about the merits of your latest, um, newest thresholds for the company.” He began.

The younger man can guess that Mackey knew he heard everything. But he gestured for him to continue. By now, it seemed that he’d gathered enough of his composer he’s no longer stuttering.

“I’m just worried for the state of the company. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I’m just worried that something bad may happen.” Mackey said. “I do know some people who have experience in coaching young entrepreneurs.”

Sam frowned at the offer, then decided to smirk. “I’ve already got a coach,” He stepped towards Alan, who still somehow managed to maintain that odd mask-like neutrality, “and he’s already Chairman.”

He watched as Mackys pale face went red with a mix of embarrassment and rage. “Thanks for the concern, is that all you wanted to chat about?”

The former chairman is either too angry, or too unwilling to concede. So he simply mumbled ‘no’ under his breath and stepped past and out of the room. Watching him go, Sam let’s go a tense sigh and leaned against the glass table.

“That was unnecessary.” Alan commented. “But he would’ve kept me here till the rest of the board showed up.”

“Glad I could help.” Reaching up almost subconsciously, Sam briefly scratched at his throat but then switched to rubbing at his neck, “still way too early to be up doing business shit.”

The young CEO saw Alan duck his head toward his now fidgeting hands, now realizing that he’d pulled out the pager he still carries.

“Hey,” Sam reached for the older man, only to remember the irritation of the patches and pull back,”you doing okay? Are you okay Alan?”

“I’m fine.” Alan said in the tone Sam knows is just he default tiredness, but still concerns him all the same. He paused his fidgeting and tucked it into his belt before finally looking back to his eyes.

“Sam… you never told me what you found. At the arcade.” Alan asked, without presenting the question.

Sam sighed again and dragged a hand through his still damp hair. Lying hurts and Alan might know, but explaining the truth is something he doesn’t want to add to Alan’s shoulders. “A lot of stuff, really. Old notes on a project he called the Grid. Maybe it was a game, I saw some drawings and notes of code. It was too faded to read.”

“If it was faded, then how could you see the drawings?”

’Shit.’

Alan sees his hesitance, the full pause of movement and the stunned look in his eyes and assumes the worst. Standing by his side, Alan sets a warm hand on his shoulder. “Sam, please tell me. Whatever it was that drove Kevin away-“

The contact and pressure makes Sam wince and flinch back. Now, Alan’s eyes are narrowed in on his form with an analytical intent he’s only seen on Tron. Suddenly he’s aware of the damp patches of his shirt where he dried off his face, the slightly messier hair and he worries if the patches still glow under the jacket.

Sam figured that he’s rather have Alan confused than worried that he’ll disappear. He sighed, letting his shoulder drop.

“Okay, fine. You win.” Already shrugging out his jacket, Sam throws it onto one of the plush leather chairs and reaches for the hem of his shirt.

“S-Sam what are you-“

Tossing his shirt into the pile, he feels the briefest sense of relief when he the heat trapped under his shirt eases away. He sees Alan looking over the glowing lines. Looking down, it still amazed and frightened Sam with how much the patches covered. Both his sides were a maze of glowing hash marks, the left climbing higher than the right. They crawled up his stomach and over his chest in a bright gash across his chest like a brand before ending over his shoulder.

Now that he though about it, Sam wondered how much blood he’d lost on the Grid before Tron could stabilize him. How long did Tron panic before he ultimately saved his life.

Sam watched as Alan’s face flashed through almost a dozen emotions all at once. Fear, confusion, curiosity, grief, frustration. But it finally settles on a firm conviction.

“Sam,” Alan’s voice is steel, only a sliver of concern slipping through, “what happened to you.”

Sam pushes himself up onto the glass and gave Alan a humourless smile. “You want the long or short?” He asked. “Maybe close the door, can’t let anyone else see… these.”

Giving a mute nod, he saw Alan turn and close the doors along with the faint click of a lock. Returning to stand at a respectful distance, Sam tried to compile the briefest possible explanation.

“Okay, so you remember the night you, Lora and dad broke into Encom?”

Chapter Text

“And the last thing I saw after me and Quorra disappeared into the portal was Dad and Clu… exploding. Then we were back in the basement of his arcade.”

Once he finished his recounting, Sam waited for Alan’s reaction and debated whether or not to pull his shirt back on. Alan had at least stopped staring at the glowing marks, now leaning on the long glass table with his hands digging into his silver hair. Sam can see the deep furrow in his eyebrows that hasn’t disappeared since he began talking.

Though there’s a hunch in the older man's posture that unnerved Sam. Familiar in all the wrong ways.

He can hear Alan muttering to himself, slowly recounting everything that’s happened in the last thirty years. “So that’s why he… always left at the worst times. He - I can’t… I thought your father was crazy Sam.”

Something in his tone makes the young CEO cock his head. “So? I’d think he was crazy too-”

“No, Sam I’m serious.” Alan insisted, his hand falling dead against the glass, “I thought Kevin was losing it under all that stress. He’d - whenever he’d talk about his ‘digital frontier’ he’d tell us all it’d change the world. I should have done something.” A humorless laugh. “But I didn’t stop him. He always smiled and told us to wait until it was done. Then it was just ‘figuring out the kinks’. Then… then your father never came home.”

“I… I don’t - that wasn’t your fault?” Sam said, his confusion tinting his words. “Alan, I told you Clu was the one who fucked over my dad. What do you have to do with any of this?”

This time, Alan turned to look him straight in the eyes. “Everything, Sam. Everything. If I’d pushed for answers then maybe Kevin would’ve told me. Or maybe I could’ve convinced him to stop the project altogether.”

“But then Quorra-“

“If it would keep your father in this world, wouldn’t you do it?”

“Maybe? But… no, no I wouldn’t.”

Alan blinked. Once. Twice. Then pulled of his glasses, readjusted and set them back on the bridge of his nose where they already began to slip. “Sam how - why? It’s your father.”

Tracing the lines of his own reflected light, Sam tried to form his answer. “I guess… I moved on? That probably sounds really bad and it hurt like hell, going through that as a kid. But at least I had Gram and Gramp and you and Lora. After a while I just accepted that Dad was gone, as good as dead.” Frowning, Sam set aside the harder memories that still lingered.

He looked back up to Alan, the older man still as confused as ever. Still listening intently to an explanation even he didn’t completely understand. “I’d probably take that chance as a kid, but now, I think I’ve had my closure. You don’t need to blame yourself for everything my dad did. I’m pretty sure you couldn’t stopped him from falling into Lora’s laser back in ‘82.”

“Still,” Alan persisted, “if I-“

“Forget about that.” Sam waved it away. “Look, neither of us can change the past. Some days, yea, I wish I could. Let’s just get some coffee and I’ll tell you more about what the Grid’s become.”

The promise of more caffeine is something Sam knew was one of the older man’s secret vices. He seemed to acquiesce. “Fine.” He said. “But promise me something, Sam.”

In the middle of readjusting his shirt - he’d never get used to that damned itching - Sam perked up. “What is it?”

“Promise me, Sam.” Alan repeated with that same, striking tone that hasn’t changed since he was eight. “Promise me that you won’t… disappear. Not again. Promise me that you tell me everything about the Grid and that you never forget… forget…”

Whatever Alan can’t say, Sam can guess that this is what he would have wanted to say to his dad. And with the results of his father’s work, Sam knows not to make the same mistakes but the near desperation in his voice cut through like a Disk.

“I promise.” He nodded. “I promise Alan, c’mon, I bet you’re dying to know what the inside of a computer looks like.”

Alan isn’t smiling, but the hunch is gone from his posture by the time they exit ENCOM tower.

::::

Ram watched as Tron carried the unconscious User through the doorway of Sam’s apartment. He could see the hollow look in the other Programs eyes, the distance they held like he was viewing him from across the Outlands. Tron wordlessly laid the User on his couch and left.

The Siren didn’t like the hopelessness present in Tron’s eyes, but there was anger buried under that. A fire, but not the steady flicker he always saw in the protectors eyes. Darker, colder, somehow inverted. It scared him.

Ram didn’t ask why Sam wasn’t awake or what had happened to them both. But he set a hand on the security monitors shoulder just before he left. “I’ll stay with him until he leaves.”

No response, save for a blink. He didn’t stop Tron as he walked back down to the street, disappearing into the city with a Sure intent of not wanting to be found. The Siren paced around Sam, counting the microcycles until he awoke. He worried that maybe the Portal would close before he’d wake, but thankfully that wasn’t the case.

Now soaring across the sky and past the floating heidrons, Ram flew lazy, low circles around the Outlands as he tried to spot any sign of the other Program. Everything about the edges of the city was a judoxposition of all the same and entirely foreign. The scraggy black rocks would’ve made any light from circuit or cycles easily distinguishable. But it was filled with overhanging, cliffs, caves and craigs that could hide them. Along with Tron’s scant circuitry, it’d be almost impossible to see him.

He didn’t expect his search to yield much fruit, but Ram had hoped for at least a sigh. “Glitch it, what happened Tron?” He muttered, landing on top of the apartment complex and collapsing the Jet into a Baton and clipping it to his side.

Finding a stairwell and descending back down to the apartment, Ram couldn’t find any evidence that anyone else had entered in the time he was gone. Even if he had, Ram doubted he’d leave a trace. All the spare bottles of energy were still accounted for, more than even he could finish. An idea struck, something to use his search for and a way to try and ease the growing anxiety surrounding not only his friend, but his home.

Grabbing a crate and hefting it up into his arms, Ram carried it downstairs and through the winding streets. Thinking for a moment, trying to recall the most popular locations, the Siren recalled how Program would often flock outside of the arena to socialize. The walk would be a challenge in of itself, given how his last outing ended. But he decided to overlook that factor.

The streets somehow seemed even more barren. Ram couldn’t even catch the fleeting hint of circuits in an alley or huddled under the debris of old buildings. Frowning, he made sure to keep his eyes open and surveying every movement he could see.

Ram saw nothing, instead, he heard it.

“It’s here! Go, run!”

“Oh glitch, glitch, glitch, get away. Get away from me you-“

“Frag it! Move!”

The sound of clattering like pebbles across stone was enough to make Ram draw his Disk and drop the crate unceremoniously, letting the bottles crack as he ran toward the noise. Soon he felt something kicked away by his feet and he looked down to see the slowly fading facets of voxels, outlined by his own light.

Anger boiled through his core. Clutching his Disk, Ram ignored the bite of its edge against his palm. “Who’s there!” He called out. “Show yourself.”

Looking up, there was no fleeting image of a foot or a helmet disappearing through the skyline. “What? Scared of a Siren?” Ram urged. “I know how to use this!”

He didn’t lower his Disk even when nothing but the hum of the Grid was his response. Stepping back while circling around the alley, Ram listened for any sound that might tell him something. Then he heard footsteps and turned back to the mouth he entered and realized that the crate was gone.

“Gridbugs.” He skidded out and followed the trail of dripping energy to the limping figure carrying the crate down the street. A pale face half obscured by their cloak turned in his direction, eyes wide and turned back and limped faster. “Wait! I’m not gonna hurt you! I just wanna talk!”

Giving chase was easy enough, the Program couldn’t get far. Ram saw him disappear down another alley, this one bordered with two caved in buildings that formed an entrance out of propped up debris and makeshift supports. Just before he could duck back into his hideaway, the Siren grabbed the hem of his cloak.

“Wait, wait!” Ram pleaded, keeping his hands firm at his sides. “Just listen, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Lies. Lies!” The Program shook his head maniacally, pressing the crate closer to his chest as he tried to tear off Rams grip, “I saw what you did to the others! What you did! What you did!”

“What I - oh.” Ram found the image file of the original Programs who!d first attacked himself and Tron during their reunion. “I - I’m sorry for… for what I did. But when they attacked us, I tried to talk them out-“

“Lies!” He shrieked, suddenly adjusting his grip and hurling the box of energy straight into the Sirens face.

It shattered on impact, spraying his vision with light and overloaded sensory data. It took him too long to reboot before he was shoved back to the ground by the other Program, now with a Disk in his hands.

“Frag - ack cut it out! I swear on the Creator I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ram struggled to hold back the pulsing rim of the Disk from cutting across his collarbone. With one hand pinned under his knee, the Siren grappled against the arms pressing the Disk down. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

If anything, that made him angrier. “You can’t hurt us again! I won’t let you!” He screamed. “I won’t let you use the Enforcer against us again! I’ll derezz you and I’ll throw your Disk into the Sea!”

“Tron?”

Both Programs laid stunned for one tense moment of realization. Ram laid wide eyed under him, something clogging his throat while he struggled to find the words to speak. “You mean… he - no. Are you sure it was really-“

“Tron derezzed cycles ago, glitched Siren.” The other snarled. “That beast Clu created… he isn’t Tron.”

“And you think I can control him?” Ram asked.

The Program cocked his head, confused, and slowly raised his Disk away from his head. “Don’t you?”

“Unless you count ridiculous levels of stubbornness and self sacrificing control.” Ram said dryly. “I don’t. He’s… I wanted to talk to him, find him. If he’s really doing what you said he was, I wanted to hear it from him.”

“That is far too much faith to have, Siren.”

Ram had a snark filled response lying at the edge of his lips. Then the Program above him showered down across his body in a cascade of fading blue voxels. The Siren stiffened, his eyes burst and everything went numb. There was a faint rattle surrounding him. Ram was shaking, jostling the remains. Above there was an arch of light that flew back to its owner's hand. Ram scrambled back from the pieces of the other Programs body, he didn’t even know his name.

Shakily getting to his feet, Ram forced himself to raise his Disk back at the attacker - couldn’t be, he wouldn’t - and called out. “Please, Tron, is it really you?”

Chapter Text

“Tron, please.” Ram begged. When the other Program above him didn’t even show a sign of acknowledgement, he pouted, re-docked his Disk and crossed his arms. “I’m not having a conversation with you hanging off the ground. It’s either that or I make my way to you. What’s it gonna be?”

He was relatively certain of his ability to climb, as long as the scaffolding held his weight. Though if he fell from that height, even landing on his feet was liable to create some annoying cracks across his heels and calves. Tron must’ve known it too. He jumped down from his perch and into the alley in an elegant arouch. Standing to his full height, Ram noticed that his posture was hunched.

He noticed something else. “Tron, take that thing off. I’m not cutting it away again.”

Looking at his friend was a disturbing thing, he looked too much like Rinzler even with his shining blue circuits. Taking a bold step forward, Ram reached out tentatively and brushed against the smooth, tinted surface. He pulled back when he saw Tron flinch back at the contact, but he wasn’t sure where else was safe to touch.

“What’s going on?” Ram asked, retracting his hand and letting it fall to his side. “Tron, talk to me. I’m not letting you run away from this.”

The Siren could almost imagine Tron narrowing his eyes behind the mask. “I’m not running from anything.”

“Then why are you wearing that again?” Ram demanded.

The security monitor hesitated. “It… it makes things easier.”

He’d hoped that wasn’t what he’d say. “Easier to kill innocent Programs?” He could hear the confusion filling his voice, clogging his throat and eyes. “You’re… why? Tron, why are you doing this?”

“He was not innocent.” Tron balled his fists. “ I needed to protect you.”

“This isn’t protecting, Tron.” Ram grit his teeth, forcing his voice calm but jabbing a finger towards the pile of pixels and shattered bottle of energy.

Tron followed his eyes, but quickly turned back to face the Siren. “He was attacking you, you could’ve died.” He said.

“I managed to talk him down!” Ram yelled. “You didn’t have to derez him! I was fine!”

“I’m not talking that risk!”

Tron’s voice roared over his own, filled with enough force to make Ram stumble back several steps. “You won’t understand.” Tron growled, now stepping forward with a predators slink.

Ram froze, looping in his head was the reminder that this was Tron, not Rinzler. He was safe. Tron wouldn’t hurt him. But his eyes flickered back to the now dissolving voxels of the other unnamed Program. The Siren snapped back to the present when he felt his Disk dock crash against the ungiving surface of the alley walls. Tron’s covered face pressed close enough his nose nearly touched the surface.

“I need to do this.” Tron growled. “I can’t - I won’t let anyone get close to you. Anyone could hurt you. I’m not letting that happen.”

Ram remained frozen under his gaze, stuck watching his wide eyes shake across Tron’s helmet. Then he felt something squeeze his wrists and tug forward. He looked down to see Tron’s hand pull him forward. “W-wait!” He said, trying to dig his wrists into the ground. “Tron, what are you doing!”

“I’m taking you back to the apartment.” He said simply. “You should know it isn’t safe for you to be here.”

His feet slipped on the floor as Tron only continued to drag him. “Of course I know that! I knew what I was doing!”

“Stop resisting.” Tron muttered with a hint of frustration.

“Tron, I’m not going to do nothing while - hey!” Ram tried to protest, only for Tron to suddenly flip him. His vision went sideways for a frightening moment before he found himself hanging off Trons shoulder facing behind him while Tron continued to walk. “Hey! Put me down!”

The security monitor grunted as the Siren squirmed in his grip, but the arm holding Ram in place didn’t budge. “So what?” Ram snapped. “You’re just going to keep me locked away until I derez from boredom?”

“Only once the Grid is safe.” Tron replied. “But you need to be protected until then.”

“The what’re you going to do when Sam comes back?” He challenged. Ram knew better than to dig into that subject, but he felt that Tron needed to hear that. “Are you gonna keep him away from all the other Programs on the Grid?”

The Program didn’t stop, but Ram could feel Tron’s grip grew tighter. “I… I fight for the Users. I will protect Sam from all present threats.”

“You didn’t answer my question, what are you going to do?” Ram demanded.

“Whatever it takes.” He said.

“Then does that mean you and I will be the only Programs left in this city?”

Tron finally paused his steps.

“ Whatever it takes.” He repeated. “I must keep Sam Flynn safe from all threats.”

“You know Sam won’t see it like that.” Ram added. Then after a moment's thought, realized something else.

He resumed his march, leaving Ram confused and with more questions. “Tron, listen to me, what did I tell you, right before you left?” When he gave to response, Ram’s eyebrows pinched together. “I told you I’m not letting you wallow in guilt that isn’t yours.”

Ram wasn’t even sure Tron was just ignoring him, or he’d somehow managed to block his audio - and with a helmet on, he wouldn’t be surprised - but he didn’t care. “User glitch it Tron, could you just; Put. Me. Down!” A moment of wild thrashing and a knee to his friends helmed face gave Ram enough leeway to roll out of the security programs grip and onto the floor.

He should’ve known it wasn’t enough to escape.

Tron recovered too fast for him to pull himself onto his feet. Ram could only turn and grunt as a hand pinned his shoulder to the ground while Tron’s shadowed figure loomed over him. The pressure almost crushing, he could swear that any moment his shoulder would crumble. “This is for your own good, Ram.” Tron repeated. “I have to do this.”

“Like frag you do!” The Siren yelled, both hands now around his arm as he struggled to make it budge, “glitch, Tron, could you just listen to me! Don’t you see how wrong this is?”

The ground beneath him had no give and with his back firm against the ground he couldn’t even reach for his Disk. Though if Ram could, he wasn’t even sure what he’d do with it. All he could do was stare up at Tron’s blank mask and glare. And somehow, it worked. Tron stumbled back and Ram threw away his hand. Crawling up, the Siren made sure he was far out of Tron’s reach.

Looking up, Ram could see he’d finally retracted his helmet. But Tron had fallen to his knees, his hands now burrowed in his hair. His mouth moved frantically, muttering incomplete sentences under his breath. He was shaking his head and his eyes were scattered. Ram was stuck questioning what he should do next.

Slowly, he was able to make out what the other Program was mumbling. “Alan-One.... oh Users I really…this is what Clu would make me… Clu… I’m acting like Clu.” His arms wrapped around his sides as Tron began rocking, stuck repeating the same phrase over and over, “users forgive me, oh User, oh User, Alan-One forgive me.”

Ram hedged a slow step forward, keeping a low crouch and held out a tentative arm. “Can you hear me? Hey, I’m here. Just… just listen to me.”

He remained kneeled in front of the other Program, trying to counter the stream of begging with soothing phrases. Ram didn’t know if it helped, he didn't try to think about that. “Look, we both have stuff we need to say. So… can we just talk? Please?”

Tron nodded, his muttering slowly beginning to cease. The Siren relaxed ever so slightly. “Good, okay. Um, you still want to know why I was in that alley. Well after I watched Sam leave, “ No visceral reaction came at the mention of the Users name, but Tron’s head ducked lower by a fraction, “I thought ‘hey, even I can’t finnish all this energy by myself.’ so I went to hand some out to the other Program who needed it in this sector.”

Tron didn’t smile. He did raise his head so he was looking Ram in the eyes as he spoke. But he flinched for some reason as he looked over his form. But now he knew the other was listening at least. “I know what you said makes sense. I knew what I was doing, it was my choice. I know everyone here is crazier than a swarm of angry Bits. I just wanted to do something good.”

Somewhere in the background, something went clang. Both their heads snapped up at the noise, their hands already halfway to their Disks. “Maybe we should head back to the apartment now.” Ram considered. “I bet you’d feel safer talking there, right?”

“No, the armory.” Tron replied. “I… I can’t be there.” His voice had returned to a familiar, neutral and even tone. But it didn’t sound hollow.

The Siren was about to ask ‘why not?’ until he recalled Tron’s repitance of the word ‘User’ - Alan-One was his User’s name? - and his extreme reverence. He couldn’t help but wonder how that hadn’t dissipated, but he didn’t begrudge his friends comfort. “Okay, it’s pretty close by. C’mon.”

Ram stood and offered a hand to the security monitor, hoping the other would take it. Tron seemed to consider it, but ultimately rose to his feet on his own. Ram didn’t take it personally. He decided against making a joke about being detained as they made their way forward. Opening the doors, Ram was thankful that none of the other stray Program had tried to break into this place.

He walked to one of the waiting couches, but now without the haze of panic and distress, Ram realized that his normally pristine white suit was stained with some sort of deep red substance. It was speckled all over his body, stark and noticeable. Tron had taken a seat beside him, but now had a harder time facing the Siren.

Looking closer, Ram could see the edges of crimson clogging the nooks and crannies of Tron’s own suit. He ignored it for now. “So, can I ask you something? About Sam, what happened to you two?”

Tron’s hands folded and fidgeted. “He wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. But I...I let him come with me. And the Swarm - it was too much. I didn’t know what to do so I had to write it Utility Code. A lot.” His hands were back on his face, exhaling hard and pushing his hair back. “Damage to Users, it’s so messy. It’s just… red. Everywhere.”

Now the red flecks made sense. “So, do you blame yourself for letting Sam be hurt? Or bringing him there in the first place.”

“Both,” Tron replied. “if I just said no, then Sam’s wouldn’t have to return to the User world with so many patches. I… I don’t even know if they’ll keep him alive outside of the Grid”

Ram pondered his response for a moment. “Did Sam know about Gridbugs?” He asked.

“A passing knowledge.” Tron admitted. “I had warned him of the danger. But it was my mistake to assume the threat wouldn’t be as bad as it was.”

“So Sam knew the risk too.” Ram said. “And it isn’t your fault that the Swarm was bigger than you expected. Though… what do you think would’ve happened if Sam hadn’t been there?”

The Program froze. Ram had expected some sort of critical comment, maybe just silence. This was a full body freeze, every twitch of his fingers had stilled. “Tron?”

“It… it would’ve been better if Sam had survived intact.” Tron confessed.

“Wh-no! How do you know he’s derezzed?”

“How do I know if he has!”

Ram curled his fists on his thigh. “Okay, fine neither of us know. But if Sam hadn’t gone with you, then… then - I don’t want to think about it either.” His throat had gone tight again. “What I wanted to say is… is that you don’t need to keep protecting us. No, wait, that sounds bad. I appreciate that you want me to be safe. It’s just… don’t try to tell me what I can do if you think it’ll keep me safe. I’m not your responsibility.”

The moment that passed next was tense as the sat silently side by side. Ram shuffled towards Tron an inch closer.

“I… I’m sorry for yelling at you so much.” He said. “Really, it’s nice to know you want to keep me safe.” Ram didn’t try to push his luck in getting any closer. Even if he would’ve enjoyed the contact.

“Do you really think Sam is still alive?” Tron asked.

“He better be,” Ram shrugged, wondering how long it would take for the User to return, “he owes both of us a crate of energy.”

The Siren didn’t see it, but there was a twinkle of amusement within other Programs eyes.

Chapter Text

Time passed, hours from the perspective of the Users translated to days for the Programs of the Grid. Tron had made it a habit to - if not sleep - then take shelter at the armory Ram had worked in before the Reintegration. Eventually he’d offered to clear out a storage space for his own room, but even that didn’t last long.

Tron awoke to the faint sound of snoring and dusty blonde curls tickling his nose. He smiled “Ram.”

“Mhm.” The Siren huffed out a reluctant breath, but he rolled off his front and sat up. “Is it time already?”

“Unfortunately.” He smirked. Setting a hand to the panel of light, the surrounding lights of their shared quarters traveled across the walls. Soon, the interior was fully lit.

Ram stretched long and hard, scratching at his disk dock for no particular reason. “I’ll get the energy, we’ve still got enough for everyone?”

“With the new spring’s you found, plenty.” Tron stepped of the frame and pulled up a screen attached to the wall, “how are the others? Is there anything else I should be worried about?”

“As if you don’t have enough already.” Ram jeered, pulling out a container and two glasses from under the platform, “but no, most of them settled in well. We might need some more tools for the Repair Programs. And some of them are complaining about… something. I’ll smooth it out for you, it really isn’t that major.”

“Are you sure?” Tron glanced away from his screen, pausing as he began to type in the new task in a long line of priorities, “do you want me there with you?”

“Nah, just something about who’s Disk is bigger.” He waved off. “A mechanic though one of the architecture programs made his shelter collapse. But you can come down with me if you’d like?”

He thought about it for a moment. “I trust your judgment. They know you best anyhow.”

“You’re not wrong.” The Siren shrugged. “But it’d be good to let you meet them. I know they’re curious.”

This subject was a touchy one, but Ram had taken a habit of bringing up the idea up more frequently through their routine. Tron never gave a direct answer but Ram knew why he never showed his face. With his reputation of a faceless, voiceless hunter over the course of hundreds of cycles, many Programs still feared him.

Ram made his way forward and stood behind him, now holding two tall glasses of energy. Draping one arm across the Programs shoulder, he held it out in front of the screen. “Don’t forget, even the might Tron-”

“-needs to eat.” Said Program finishing the familiar phrase with fondness and taking the glass without hesitation.”Thank you.”

“You’re going out to check the Delta Sector again?” Ram asked. “I’ve heard some of the newer incomers talking about another collective forming. Be careful.”

“Any word on who’s leading them? Or where they’re base is located?”

Ram shook his head, tickling his ear and letting his chin rest on Tron’s shoulder. “Just that they’re new and scared. A lot like the rest. Be careful, okay?”

“I will, I promise.” Tron took a sip of the energy, then let another smile slip across his face. “You always choose this type.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“Cause you like it, isn’t that enough.”

Ram reached out for Tron’s hand. The after a moment felt the security Programs fingers weave between his. “I suppose it is.”

::::

Stopping at the entrance to the Arena, Ram unloaded the boxes stacked high with fresh energy siphoned from their spring from the back seats of the Lightrunner. Gathering them in his arms and moving them all to the entrance, he gave one last wave as the screech of wheels followed Tron as he disappeared back into the streets of the city.

He waited until even the rumble of the engine disappeared from his senses before Ram finally pushed the door open and made his way inside.

The long hallway was filled with barriers of debris incase a Program mad enough to try and ride a Lightcycle through the sealed doorway and it would crash before they could do any real damage to the residents inside. Even if it made hauling several crates of energy more difficult that Ram had liked, Tron insisted on some sort of protection. Ram in reality, was more than willing to concede.

Coming up to the stairwell that made its way down to the bottom most level of the Arena, it gave Ram a broad view of the refugee Programs living within. It was a small community, a little more than a dozen. But it was a small step in the right direction. Ram smiled at the - at the time heated - argument he and Tron had over the idea of taking in so many Programs.

The use of the Arena specifically was something both had been unanimous on. With all the bad memories it contained, they’d wanted it to become a place where Programs came to find peace instead of derezzolution. A symbol of the new future for them all. Ram could just make out the shelters that had just recently been constructed.

On the ground below, one of the Programs pointed up. “It’s Ram! He’s here!”

The Siren grinned and left the crates at the top in favor of jogging down the staircase to meet them halfway. The benefits of having such a small community made it so that it became easier to get to know each of the residents. “Pax! Valt! Great to see you two again! How’s everyone been?”

“It’s great to see you too.” Pax smiled. “So far it’s good. But… well we still need some help with Grixus, I think he’s… well, being Grixus.”

“You know you need to stop letting him push you around.” Valt crossed her arms. “Grix keeps arguing about how the tools are all useless. Not like we get the luxury of a full Repair Bay.”

Ram sighed, but he kept his joking tone. “What else is new.”

Enlisting the help of the two, the Siren made his way downward and soon found himself once again swamped by the other Programs. He recalled how sometimes he’d faced the problem of having Program stealing bottles out of the crates before Ram could split them evenly. But with Tron’s discovery of more secure containment boxes, the issue had mostly been resolved.

Now, it wasn’t perfect. Hoarding and stealing still broke out, but Pax had proven to be a great mediator when Ram himself wasn’t available. “Please, everyone line up, you’ll all get your share.” Ram called over the crowd.

Valt stood beside them as Ram handed out cases of energy to those who could make it in line. Even with only one eye, Valt could still catch any Program who tried to make a move against the Siren. Pax crossed names of meticulously, making sure that they knew who had their rations.

“How’s Sept?” Ram asked, now carrying the last crate towards the largest shelter.

Pax’s fingers traced the edge of his datapad. “Grixus is doing what he can. He’s stable for now at least.”

“Think you could find any more tools to help him out? Not to say you’re not doing enough.” Valt added. “Though I don’t think he can save Sept’s arm even if he did have em’.”

“I have my friend working on that now, he’ll find something. I’m sure of it.”

Both Pax and Valt shared skeptical looks. But said nothing. Ram didn’t miss them.

Pushing past the flaps of their makeshift Repair Center, Ram was met with haggard smiles and lightened eyes. Programs who couldn’t stand waved, those who couldn’t wave called out with happy voices and those who couldn’t see still smiled as they heard his name. Grixus didn’t turn his head, firmly hunched over a display with a battered Program lying stomach first.

“We’ve got more energy for you guys.” Ram made his way through carefully, stepping around the perimeter where patients laid on the ground. He offered comforting pats, asked how they’d been and did his best to lift spirits. “Heya Maren, hope your hands feel okay. Ereve, nice to see you too. It’s me Pelv, yea, here’s your energy.”

“About time.” Grixus muttered from the back. Ram set down the empty crate and offered the two bottles of energy to him and Sept. The irritated Repair Program just shoved it away in favour of focusing solely on Sept’s damaged code.

Even under the patches it looked painful. Most of her back had been crushed by a fallen building, her Disk dock almost fully destroyed. Ram considered it a miracle Grixus had managed to even keep her functioning.

Ram leaned in to try and look in his eye. “I promise we’ll get you more tools to work with. My friends searching for them, he’ll find them.”

“Yes, you’re mysterious ‘friend’.” Grixus remarked, glaring out of the corner of his eye. “He’ll just miraculously come in and save us all. Just like the Users did?”

It was a low enough tone that not everyone heard. Ram pressed his lips tight and refrained from snapping. “He’s my friend and he helps me help you. I trust him to do his best. He’s not a User.”

“Doesn’t make him any better if you ask me. If he’s so important, why not show himself?” He challenged.

The Siren inhaled sharply, balling his fists and holding his tongue. Grixus ignored his reaction and just sighed raggedly. “Just go. I need to focus on my patient.”

Ram nodded. But not before he knelt down to face Sept. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

Even if she couldn’t raise her head, he could see the weak smile in her eyes. It was enough.

Stepping back to the entrance, Ram looked to his two confidants. “So, can you show me the broken shelter?”

“Sure.” Valt said. “Though, Ram, I need to ask you. Are you ever going to tell us who your supplier is?”

“He’s a good friend. Really, he’s just… shy. Doesn’t like crowds.” He insisted. “I know it’s a lot to ask for, but he’d a good Program.”

It was the answer he often gave. Either answer he gave would just prompt more questions. If he said it was Tron, they’d call him delusional. If he said Rinzler, they’d flee. Lying outright would risk the lie being discovered and he dare not risk loose the little good faith and trust he had. Maybe he could try talk to Tron about it again.

::::

Having been picked up behind one of the shattered buildings, Tron drove then away from the City and towards the edge of the Sea. Parking the Runner at the edges of the small outcropping, they sat with their legs hanging over the small cavern where they first rediscovered each other.

Ram leaned against Tron’s shoulder. “You never get tired of meeting here. Do you?”

“No, not really.” Tron curled his knee in closer as he let his gaze wander over the Sea.

“Think they’ll ever come back?” He asked.

Tron hummed to himself silently. “Some cycle.”

As much as both enjoyed the view and even with such good memories, both of them silently agreed to never change this spot because it held the best view of the Portal. Ram often wondered what went through the others head as they sat.

“Hey,” Ram decided to just ask. “What are you thinking about?”

“A lot of things.” Tron mumbled. “Just… what they’ll think of me again.”

“I’ll be with you when they do come back.” Ram reminded him. He followed his line of sight, across the heidron maze and crashing waves. “I wonder what my User is doing? Maybe I’ll ask Sam. Think you’ll ask him what Alan-One is doing?”

Tron blinked, looking down to his side with a soft, crestfallen expression.“If he’s still out there.”

As if summoned by his call, Ram shot up to his feet when he saw the ray of light light pierce the cloudy skies and shine like a beacon. Tron was almost knocked off the side of the rocks, then once he steadied himself, he realized what Ram had seen.

“I can’t believe it.” Ram breathed. “They’re actually - Sam is coming. Tron, Tron do you see this! This is - it’s-”

Tron had gotten to his feet, but he was frozen from taking any other action. Even Ram’s exuberance didn’t shake him back to reality. Distantly, he could see a thin ribbon light making its way through and across the Sea.

“Tron?” The Siren gave a gentle nudge to the security Programs shoulder, “Tron? I’m here. You’re standing beside me. Can you hear me?”

“I-I can. I can hear you Ram.” He nodded, even if the action was stiff and brief.

“Do you want to return to the city?” Ram asked.

Tron picked at the circuits on his fingers. “I’m… I’m still worried. I know you don’t want me to be. Just - It’s still there.”

He knew he’d be hesitant, but Ram didn’t mind. The Siren offered his hand and once Tron took it, Ram pressed it firmly between his palms.

“I want you to be happy. What you’re feeling is completely fair and I don’t want you to feel sorry for being sorry.” He said. “We can come back later, either way, I promise I’ll be there with you.”

Overhead, both Programs looked up to see the trails of thin light soaring overhead and through the skyline of the disrepaired city. Following it with his eyes, Tron stared long and hard even as it’s trail disappeared from Ram’s sight. He hoped Tron could see that he was being honest. Standing there felt like being fused to the rugged code of the Outlands, but he wouldn’t trade it form anything. Not even a glimpse of the Users world.

“Ram?”

“Hmm?”

He still looked tired, his storm grey eyes worn and pale like his skin.
Tron took a step forward, another one of his small smiles on his face. “Thank you, for everything.”

They drove off after the light.

Finding the Lightjet was a simple fair for both of them, after all, the apartments were the only point of relevance to Sam within the Grid. And even without them, Tron could see the tips of wings and engines peeking out and over the perimeter of the apartment roof. Parking once again in an adjacent alley, they walked out into the street. Waiting and watching the entrance with bated breath.

Once the doors opened, Tron felt the weight of a Recognizer crumble from his shoulders as Sam Flynn walked through no worse for wear. But then, against all better judgment, he stepped forward.

“Someone else is there.”

“What?” Ram cocked his head, surprised by the sudden reaction. “Tron? Tron?”

He heard Ram. Distantly. Something was tugging him forward. Sam had noticed him, it would’ve been impossible to not. Tron knee someone else was behind him. Someone new - I know you - stepped through the doorway.

Tron knew.

“Alan-One.”

His User. His User was standing before him and Tron knew it with the most certainty he had felt in hundreds of cycles. He hadn’t expected them to look so different. Ageing, Kevin called it. But the sheer force of energy surrounding his User - confirm Alan-One!- was as brilliant as a nova. Tron fell to his knees out of sheer awe and bowed his head. Fear and excitement pounding at his innards until it felt like he might combust.

“Sam who is…” He heard his User pause. Then, “Tron?”

He saw how Alan-One had suddenly kneeled to his level. Looking up, Tron had to hold back the prickle of emotion in his chest. “You remember me.” He whispered.

Dumbfounded, Alan could only said. “You’re the best security program I ever wrote. I never forgot you.”

That was enough.

As undignified as it was, as much as an invasion of his Users personal space, Tron couldn’t hold himself back. He gripped the sleeves of his Users odd clothes and pulled him forward with such force Alan nearly lost his glasses. Tron pressed his head against his Creators shoulders and buried the broken, happy sobbing that bubbled between the cracks in Trons mental dam.

Ram had made it back into plain view, though once he saw Tron embracing his User - this was the happiest he’d ever seen him - the Siren just grinned and remained quiet. Content to let Tron have his moment.

Alan recovered from the shock of being somewhat violently yanked forward quickly enough and soon his instincts kicked in once he heard his Programs muffled sobbing. Smoothing a hand down the others back - both Ram and Sam almost called out against the action - Alan felt Tron steady and his vice grip on his coat loosened.

“What happened while I was gone?” Sam whispered behind his hand to Ram, who’d carefully shuffled to the younger Users side.

“A lot.” Ram said. “There’s actually somewhere I wanted to show you first.”

“Oh, what is it?”

The Siren’s grin suddenly gained a slightly mischievous tilt. “You’ll see.”

Tron didn’t want to leave his Users embrace, but he also didn’t want to disrespect him either. So he slowly pealed himself away, trying - and failing - to keep his expression controlled. “It’s the greatest honour to meet you, Alan-One”

“I haven’t heard that name in a long time.” His User mused. “Really, it’s just as incredible to see you. I… Sam I can’t even believe this is happening.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty overwhelming.” He shrugged.

Looking to the younger User, Tron reigned in his face to finally resettle on his controlled expression. “Sam Flynn, please. Forgive me for what I had to do. It was irresponsible - I had hoped to keep you safe. I just hope that-“

“Woah, woah, where’s this coming from?”

Tron blinked from his place on the ground. Suddenly hyper aware of his Users gaze. “The Gridbug Swarm-“

“Yea, you saved my life. Alan knows already, don’t worry about that.” Sam went on. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough for pulling me out of there. You saved my life.”

Over his shoulder, Ram now had on the smuggest expression possible directed at Tron. After his initial shock had faded, he had to resist the urge to pout and settled for glaring at the Siren. “Anyways,” Ram cut in, “there’s something me and Tron started while you were gone. And you still owe us a crate of energy.”

“I’m gone for a day and you’re already fixing this place up?” Sam asked. “Man, you really are the best security Program.”

Alan stood from his spot, then offered a hand to his program. Looking up his Users arm and to his face, he found a soft smile that filled him with hope. Tron took Alan’s hand and pulled out the Lightrunner baton. “We’re in the process of converting the Arena into a ‘Safe Zone’ of sorts for the remaining Programs of the city. The reintegration damaged all the local infrastructure but the Arena remained intact. Most of the Programs are damaged but Ram’s been taking care of them.”

“I’m not sure what I can do for them.” Alan though. “But if I can find a way to help them, I will.”

“That’s actually an awesome idea.” Sam added. “I could probably check topside for how many of you guys are left. Coding barriers around the place might help. Maybe we could turn it into a community center?”

The security program didn’t miss how his User rolled his eyes as the Flynn began listing off ideas outloud for how to help. Rezzing the runner around them, he felt another warm jolt through his circuits when Alan-One took the seat beside him. As the others climbed inside, he heard his User mutter something about ‘no safety belts’.

Tron didn’t think it was possible, he almost expected to awaken back beneath the rolling, inky depths of the Sea. But this was real. Alan-One was beside him. Sam was alive and held not even a hint of ill will towards him. And he had Ram back.

The Siren leaned forward and over his shoulder. “Are you ready to see them?”

He squeezed the grips of the Lightrunner. “I am.”

“I bet they’ll be happy to see you.” Ram smiled.

And Tron - for the first time in over a hundred cycles - finally believed it.