Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You’re all alone now. You’ve lost everything. Your mask, her quipu, the BB doll... Gone.

You thought you had the power, that you were the one fated to lead them unto extinction... yet here you are, alone.

Walking the beach was a solitary task, usually.

It was his 5,229th Beach when Heartman finally came to terms with the fact―thousands of solitude, and piercing through them all, the eternal silence. Three minutes at a Beach, sixty times a day. Surprisingly short interval in the world of the living, surprisingly long to comb the timeless, black-sanded shores. He wondered how aged his soul, his Ha, would become before he could catch up with his family.

His Beach was connected to others. Didn’t mean he himself was connected to the very people. More often than not, Heartman walked stretches of empty beaches―trodden before him, if they had moved on already, or smooth without blemish, if they were yet to die. It would be extremely rare to stumble upon a Beach of a wandering soul. Even then, they’d only lift a blue-tinged forefinger to their lips as they disappeared beyond the waves.

The absolute, impregnable silence of the afterlife.

A familiar jolt and he’d return to the world of the living. The world of sound, colour, heartbreak.

He came to find solace in the soundless solitude. He stopped shouting their names at the Beach a long time ago. He’d find them, one step at a time.

You thought you were in control. That this was your role, your dream... The verge of victory, of oblivion for one and all... Herald, executor, pawn.

The Sixth Stranding was narrowly avoided. The world soon returned to its everyday mundanities―its last few batch of BTs, unforgettable knowledge of the afterlife, and irreversibly damaged human hearts. Life would go on. So would his quest―the Beaches, after all, were still there.

Heartman jolted awake on the sofa, having missed most of Die-Hardman’s inauguration speech. He vaguely looked around, just to catch Sam disappearing through the door.

It was the last he would ever see of the unsung hero.

He was itching to return to his laboratory, to sink into the solitude again without having to subconsciously fret over humanity’s future. His soul was there on the beach―he was a dead man, essentially, right?

Fragile brought him back, then soon departed with a sad smile and a spark of chiralium. He was left staring alone at the snow-rimmed lake. A reflection of Heartman’s heart-shaped heart: dark tar, void of meaning ever since he saw his wife and daughter walking away into the waters.

So when―how did the world of the living worm its way into this emptiness? he wondered.

He tried to get himself back into routine: the study of the Death Stranding for twenty-one minutes, his continued search for the other three. Dotted by a few moments of pleasure, sifting through the variety of records and films he had in possession.

The chiral network, as unstable as it was, helped. Deadman called in quite a few times, even joined him on a twenty-minute film screening. Lockne―and Mama―called as well, sharing surprisingly warm greetings as well as new technological discoveries.

He did tense up when Die-Hardman called. The man was still the head of Bridges, he could have just―listened in and dropped by without warning, he supposed. So it was rather surprising―then, in a strange way, endearing, when it simply turned out to be a casual call. The President was obviously not accustomed to small talk. It was, however, interesting to hear the points he brought up about early Second Millennium culture. Made him feel more human.

Fragile sometimes appeared at his doorstep, hauling orders. Heartman once offered her a break, at least to wait out the snow. They had a pleasant talk looking over his music collection―that is, before he crumpled onto the floor mid-discussion. He had forgotten that the AED was on mute. Fragile kindly moved him over to his customary bed―and not-so-kindly laughed about it for weeks after.

It was not difficult to notice that everyone deeply missed Sam. Heartman did, as well―how could one not―so it was only natural that he found himself looking through the myriad of records and memory chips Sam had brought in, all those months ago.

It was how he came across the journals.

God particle? Hah. A stupid name for a stupid goddamn fool.

He wondered why nobody had commented on these records―or read them at all. It was not difficult to connect the dots. Perhaps now that the Last Stranding was over, everyone thought it best to leave it be. Good sense not to kick a wasp’s nest.

Yet Heartman read on.

It was fascinating―the spiral this man was on, who started so much as an ordinary porter, with just a little bit of help to survive. Less of a help than a curse―considering where DOOMS originated from―yet that was what led him to Fragile.

Fragile. Heartman thought about what she had told him―a difficult confession, happened only after so many visits to his lab. The sacrifice she made, the revenge she sought, the final choice given to the villain of her story.

And her lasting uneasiness.

“I don’t want to see him, ever again,” Fragile spat through gritted teeth. “But―” she faltered.

But, Heartman repeated the word as he reached the last few entries of the journal. The man’s memories of his uncle, the entrapment at the Prepper shelter, all the violence in the name of love. Then―the murder, the discovery of his power. A power built on cadavers.

“One minute remaining. Please hold onto something secure,” the AED announced. So he sat back down on the bed, mind uneasy even as he was pulled away into the dark.

Perhaps it explained how he ended up on that Beach.

This was your life, Higgs. Your tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and righteous fury...

Signifying nothing.

―Journal #23

He opened his eyes to the familiar expanse of black sand, the waves gently crashing. He saw footsteps before him―walking parallel to the beach, interestingly, neither towards the water nor the hills. A Beach of a soul who has not yet crossed. There was hope in today's search, Beach number 230,597.

Heartman walked on, side by side with the prints before him. It seemed to stretch into eternity, unchanging.

The Beach was always timeless. Heartman knew he had three minutes, but could never fathom exactly when those minutes would come to an end. He may be resuscitated at any time, before he could overtake the owner of these footprints. He felt a rather uncharacteristic impatience bubbling up his chest―and walked a little faster.

Unexpectedly, a black form caught his eye.

As he came nearer, Heartman discerned a curled-up form. A huddled, cloaked human figure, his back turned to him. He didn’t seem to notice anything yet―perhaps asleep. The sound of Heartman’s footsteps was absorbed into the absolute silence.

Heartman paused, perhaps too close, and looked over the figure pressed into the sand. The man was curled up―fetal―his hand gripping the cloak tight around him, as if it were the only barrier against the finality of the Beach. The still-wet tar glistened from the surface, its yellow stripes peeking from the inside. His face was the same as Heartman had seen in records, only the dirt and the weariness making it look more gaunt.

It was him. Heartman swallowed around a lump in his throat, nervous. What should he―

The man suddenly opened his eyes, pale blue-grey staring straight into Heartman. He jolted, scrambled to sit up as Heartman took a floundering step backwards.

“What,” Higgs whispered. His face, through all the grime and tar covering it, was so alarmingly open, vulnerable. The voice felt harsh, raw―who knew how many years he spent in this utter silence?

“How―”

Heartman, for all his verbosity in the world of the living, could not say anything. He stared, eyes locked with the pale, desperate gaze of the other, lost for what to do.

Then he felt the warning pang.

Higgs’ expression shifted. Openness now replaced by pure fear, brimming from his eyes. As Heartman fell to his knees, Higgs grabbed his shoulders―leaving stark black prints on the blue suit. Heartman winced as the fingertips dug into flesh. He already felt the pull, too late to say anything now―

“No, don’t―” Higgs’ voice cracked, rising too high. “Please, don’t go,”

One sharp intake of breath, and Heartman stared up at the soft-lit ceiling of his lab.

Chapter Text

Pacing the well-padded floor, Heartman argued with himself. He had twenty-one full minutes to do just that, after all.

So it was Higgs. One Higgs Monaghan, if he remembered the name correctly, was still alive. Heartman immediately corrected himself. Nobody can be said to be truly alive at the Beach. But he, the Ha, was still there. Higgs obviously took the second choice that Fragile gave. Obstinacy. Pride, perhaps, refusing to surrender even there. Or another plot, still hung up on the Extinction Entity? Yet he seemed quite—desperate, for the lack of a better word, as anyone would be after—

Heartman stopped in his tracks, recounting the months. How in the world—that long, and on the Beach, even—

“Five minutes to cardiac arrest.”

He threw up his hands, then let them go limp at his side. It had been quite some time since he ever felt this frustrated—brimming with words yet unable to do anything, no clear, measured-out solution in sight.

He could talk to Die-Hardman. But what advice could he give? There was enough on the President’s plate.

He should talk to Fragile. But how? For her, it done and over with. Better to leave old wounds alone, especially those that were not his to begin with—regrets notwithstanding.

“Three minutes to cardiac arrest.”

Or he could just ignore this entire incident. Forget that this Beach ever happened. Sitting back down on the bed, he turned towards the monitor, hand raised and ready to type. Entry #230,597: no sign of them still, nor any useful research material, no need to revisit. End record.

No need to—

“Two minutes to cardiac arrest. Please proceed to a safe location.”

Please, don’t go! The man had cried. The image of that streaked face seemed to cross Heartman’s view, the words sharp in his ear.

Words echoing his own. His very cries, wrenched from him while he was dragged away from his family’s final silhouette. The utter fear of being left behind, making him Heartman to this day.

The same fear, resonating.

“One minute remaining. Please hold on to something secure.”

Oh, well, Heartman sighed. He reset the chiral hourglass with a little more force than necessary.

He opened his eyes to find the cloaked figure just a few steps ahead of him. That saves some time.

Higgs was curled up again, hugging his knees. At the sudden arrival, however, he staggered up on unsure feet. Eyes were much more guarded than the first time—fight or flight written all over.

“You,” he rasped. “You’re back.”

“Yes,” Heartman replied, and immediately fell at loss for words. He couldn’t be more ill-prepared.

Higgs stared for a moment, eyes narrowing, then—“Why?” Ah, of course. The most obvious question, and at the same time, the most difficult. Heartman opted for diversion.

“Are you Higgs? Higgs Monaghan?”

Higgs’ eyes widened at the sound of his own name—Heartman vaguely remembered that it must have been just too long since the name was called. Then, all too sudden, the expression shifted. He could almost see the gates slamming down over vulnerability as thin lips twisted into a half-sneer—lines of accustomed cruelty.

Oh, Heartman thought, wrong move.

Before he could interject with anything, Heartman was slammed into the ground. He quickly felt the futility of struggling—Higgs pinned him down easily with an iron grip at his neck, a man hardened through his long, tiring history of battles. The sneer turned into something more vicious as he stared down with cold eyes, tip of their noses just short of touching.

“So what if I am?” he snarled. “Did Fragile send you here? Regretting her own generosity, I expect. She really should’ve shot me herself there and then,” his eyes seemed far away for a flitting moment—then refocused.

“And you.”

“When you showed up the first time—” Heartman stifled a cough as the hand around his throat tightened. “Why didn’t you finish the goddamn job then? Had too much fun seeing the particle of God rolling around in the dust? All broken and pathetic?”

He barked a manic laugh. “You get a kick out of the half-dead clinging to you, like you’re a saviour?”

Higgs let go just as suddenly as he lunged. Heartman stayed on the ground for good measure and gasped for breath. All he could hope for was that his AED was not jostled too much.

“Well, what’re ya waiting for?” Higgs had taken a few steps backwards, and now threw his arms open theatrically. Heartman sat up, fixing his glasses with slight irritation.

“I’m not here to—finish the job, as you say. Fragile had nothing to do with this.” 

“Oh, really. And I’m supposed to―” Higgs drawled as he tilted his head sideways. Heartman quickly spoke over him, not willing to take another hit. He could feel his back bruising up already.

“Whether to believe me or not is up to you, but I am speaking the truth―it was entirely an accident that I arrived on your Beach. That is, I am assuming this is yours,” Heartman furrowed his brows a little. The last time Sam and Fragile saw him, they were on Amelie’s. But now that the EE was isolated―

“Yeah, it’s mine.” Higgs stared at him, quiet, guarded. “Who are you, then? I get that you’re Bridges.” His gaze flicked to the cuff, emitting faint blue light from Heartman’s wrist.

“I―well. Let me introduce myself.” Heartman finally stood up, brushing the mud from his jacket quite unsuccessfully. Higgs stood impossibly still, watching.

“My name is Heartman.”

“I am, as you noticed, a member of Bridges. It is a rather long story, but I have a unique condition that links me to the Beaches of others and―I happened to stumble upon yours, during one of my 230,597 visits. Ah, 230,598 now,” he could not help but correct himself, then debated internally whether to offer a handshake as Higgs simply stared, expression growing more and more puzzled.

“Just an accident,” he muttered finally, as he slumped down on the sand.

“Yes―” perhaps not entirely, Heartman thought to himself, remembering the journals. Growing rather awkward in the silence, he gingerly crouched in front of Higgs.

“I don't understand,” Higgs kept his gaze downwards. “You know who I am.”

“I suppose I do.”

“And what I did. All of it.”

Heartman held his tongue. A yes, too obvious.

“The question still stands, then. Why?” the man shook his head weakly. “The first time, yeah, maybe I believe you. But why return?”

Heartman furrowed his brow again.

“You asked me not to go.”

Higgs jerked his head up at that, finally meeting his eyes again. Frustration and despair―and embarrassment?―crossed his face in quick succession.

“Just pity, then? Another grand generosity?” his lips curled up again in a near-snarl―and Heartman felt a sudden, strange twinge in his chest. He did not want to see him smile like that. Ever.

“No!” he said, a little too hotly. “It’s not that. I’m here to―”

The last he saw was Higgs’ eyes widening. Too suddenly, darkness pulled him away.

How in the world, Heartman thought for the second time since meeting Higgs. The man was supplying a range of different―yet essentially same―emotions of incredulity to his mind.

He reset the hourglass and pondered. It was too soon to return from the Beach, he was so sure that they hadn’t talked that long. Then again, when had he ever held a conversation on the Beach? Perhaps perception of time in the afterlife was altered in a more complex manner than he had thought.

Almost running on autopilot, he recorded the second visit, then waited impatiently for twenty minutes to pass. First and foremost he would have to explain why he kept on disappearing at inopportune moments. Then he would have to answer the question, why―

Heartman stopped himself. What was he about to say in that final moment? I’m here to―what?

Eighteen minutes were fully spent racking his brain, down to every unused corner. Still, no answer.

Higgs stepped immediately into his space. This time, it was Heartman who staggered back, alarmed.

“Stop doing that!” he shouted, eyes bright with tears. “What the hell?! You were talking as if you weren’t here to―to end me, or pity me, then you just disappeared with no warning, again, and―”

His entire figure seemed to crumple. Heartman instinctively reached out and held him, remotely wondering if the AED won’t end up hurting him instead.

“—don’t. Don’t do that. I can’t do that again, I can’t―not after you’ve been here, I can’t just, stay put on the Beach, left behind—” Higgs stuttered between sobs wracking his body. Trembling hands reached up to grab Heartman, much like the first time. He slowly guided Higgs to sit down, still holding him in a loose hug.

“I’m sorry.” Heartman murmured. “Believe me, I would not leave like that if I had any say in it.”

They stayed, huddled together—the sobs gradually grew quiet. Forehead leaning on Heartman’s shoulder, Higgs took a long, shuddering breath. Heartman waited for a moment, then figured he might as well take the chance.

“I am connected to other people's Beaches, remember?” He started, running a tentative hand over Higgs’ back. An old, subconscious gesture of soothing a child. The man, about the same height as himself, suddenly felt so small in his arms. “Perhaps it is past due time that I tell you why.”

Higgs huffed. “Perhaps, yeah.”