Work Text:
Visiting something you thought was lost felt similar to running a hand across a painting that had been covered by years worth of dust. You knew exactly what was behind it, and remembered the memories tied to it, but you were afraid to see what was different - and you were afraid of going back to the time when it was lost. Maybe that’s what initially made Sora hesitant to slip into the Grid again. He knew that, even though it were a Sleeping World - it had connected itself to where he’d been before. Space Paranoids, the Games, the I/O Tower. Boarding the Solar Sailer to defend and conquer to reach the objective. How many years had passed since the moment fingers slipped through his own hands? How many years had left since the day he realized that a security program finally returned to full functionality and he helped make it possible?
Sora was there, leaning against the keyboard of the computer, arms crossed, tightly folded over his chest as he stared elsewhere but at Kairi’s face. Where her expression was something out of concern and interest. Her eyebrows furrowed as she waited for something that might never happen. For the words to return from Sora’s lips, to continue his thought.
He reached for my hand. . .
Tron is still in there.
If only he believed that now. Moments passed but still Sora remained silent.
“You’ll never know unless you try, Sora.”
“Kairi -”
“You don’t know if he is or not, remember? That was just a dream world. Part of the Mark of Mastery. He could still be in there. Doesn’t hurt to try. . . right?”
The arms wrapped around themselves squeezed and Sora looked away even more. As though he were telling himself no. One hand lowered and pushed a few buttons. There, littered on the main screen of the computer was his digital self, dancing with Donald and Goofy.
Thank you, Friends.
“And if not, you always did tell me that you really liked riding on those bikes. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad of an idea to return back.” That was true. Sora had always went on and on about the Light Cycle bikes. The speed of them, the feeling behind them, the fire that pulsed through him when he rammed a Heartless or two into the digital walls, watching them vanish byte by byte and derezz right in front of him. It was elation all wrapped into adrenaline rushes. He hated to say that the Games were something to fuel the energy that had once been sapped by other means. Sora’s index finger tapped against the edges of the keyboard before shoving himself off the side.
Kairi’s face lit up with a silent smile.
“You’re right, there are some things in there that I do want to see again. Space Paranoids and the Grid are connected now. Might be a bit weird to get to but we’re going to the Grid first. I saw a lot more of it, and I know a few things there.”
The sound of typing wasn’t erratic. It was slow, hesitant. One finger at a time, but maybe slightly faster than what it could’ve been before. Sora thought for a moment and then tapped one more key, backing away with a finger point gently in one direction.
“You may want to stand back, Kairi.” And she did, as the bright light started to pulse from the large emulator on the wall. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Oh please no rush.” Kairi waved to Sora before her hands rested on the wall where she leaned. A blast of light hit Sora, coding him before slowly syncing him into the world byte by byte. Like his design had been cut out and reformed. He stood there, frozen in place as he began to disappear. “Say hi to Tron for me. If you see him. . .”
The blast into the Grid was almost instant. It nearly sent Sora off his feet. His balance was awful since he hadn’t been here in years. Catching himself on his hands and knees, Sora finally saw his reflection. Had it not been already raining on the black and neon cyan world, he would’ve been crying. Sora’s eyes glowed, the lines about his body shimmered with their nostalgic gleam of gentle blue. He reached up with a trembling hand and ran it across the helmet pressed to his head, stopping when he felt the glowing screws at the back. They were warm to the touch.
When he stood, Sora felt taller, more animated. He reached his hands out, resting them up to gather raindrops in his palm. Blue, with bursts of cyan. Down his body his eyes flew. He looked quite different. At his side was some weird baton. Nervously, Sora reached for it, plucking it off his hip with a clink noise. The side of it held a crown symbol. Squinting, Sora squeezed it, watching as the Keyblade took the shape of an elongated spear. He forgot he’d been firm about having Wheel of Fate around.
The pulsations of cyan glimmered along with its layers of black. The Keychain was still there as Sora spun it, hearing it make its usual whizzing noises and buzzes before he clanked it against the ground. Digital cracks burst through the ground as he laughed, letting it shrink back so that he could rest it against his side again.
“Nifty thing to do for the Keyblade. Guess the Grid must’ve changed since I last. . . remember. Unless. . . That was just how I thought it was.”
Now.
To find who he was looking for the entire time.
What were the odds that other Users would be around. The further Sora walked through the digitized city, looking both in and out of place, the more he realized that those walking around him were indeed Programs. Set for the world, from their own Users and with their own lives. Some greeted him, to which he greeted back, others eyed him and wondered why a small Program was walking around.
That’s when Sora stopped.
They all thought he was a Program? Really? What gave them that idea? Reaching behind him, Sora felt the Identity Disk buried between his shoulder blades. It was smooth, practically snuggled there like a part of his body. That’s how he remembered it. Being in his world gave him a sense of pain that wrapped around his heart like a thorn, squeezing it until he found himself pressing his own hand against his chest plate, trying to will it to stop.
You can do it.
You can get through to him.
“I failed that Quorra. Even you saw that. . . But I know that he’s still in there. Rinzler wouldn’t reach for my hand unless Tron himself was reaching much deeper to break free. If I find Rinzler. . . I find Tron.”
The more he walked, the signs that were once pink and violet, blue and green now altered to orange and yellow, like fire and honey. CLU. Without knowing, Sora was already glaring at the symbols that glowed, clenching his fists before turning away. This was all CLU’s fault. Messing with Tron before he had a chance to truly become who he wanted to be. Was this. . . moving forward from that or was this. . .all before that? Was that Sleeping World a leap into the future or a blast from the past? What year and time was it? How many. . . what was the word? Cycles? Passed. . .
Sora was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t feel someone smash into his shoulder, knocking him into a building with an audible thump.
“STOP RENEGADE!”
Shaking it off, and pushing himself away, Sora could just barely make out in the distance a figure in white, speckled in green, designs vaguely familiar. Wow, being the Grid now did do more harm when he hit against something. They must’ve updated their pain boundaries, with absolutely no discrepancies.
“Tron. . ?”
Tron is alive?
The figures that were chasing the other were clad in black and orange, gleaming so brightly that Sora was sure nobody would ever mistake them or not run into them on purpose. They stood out perfectly.
“Hey, wait a minute!”
Excitement bolstered through Sora as he ran to chase them. They were riding Light Cycles. There was no way he’d be able to catch them. Not like this. Patting his body, Sora found - right next to the baton meant for his Keyblade - yet another. This time it was shining a different color. Obviously it had to be what he was thinking. Racing forward, Sora jutted outwards, letting the Cycle program straight onto the road of the Grid before blasting forward. It was like he’d remembered it: Blue and cyan, with a hint of purple. Sora’s first thought was that Kairi would’ve loved to race across the pavements with one of these.
“Hang on Tron, I’m coming.”
Shifting forward, the Cycle blasted into hyper speed, until he’d completely caught up with the guards that had been chasing the Renegade - or. . . Tron? Perhaps. Sora shifted until he was between both their bikes.
“Not very nice to pursue someone who obviously isn’t doing that much wrong. Is he disobeying the law, officers?”
“Beat it, Program. Before we Derezz you for interfering with the law.”
“Oh okay, sure - I’ll follow orders. . .” Within several seconds, Sora slammed the edge of his Cycle left and then right, whipping out Wheel of Fate to swing and spin it against their bodies, knocking them completely off their Cycles. “If I were a Program. I’m a User.” Swerving to halt his Cycle, Sora nearly fell off his own seeing as how the Renegade stopped upon realization that he was no longer being pursued.
Sora’s was now face-to-face with the Renegade’s. That glow of white, that helmet - it felt so different and yet so familiar to Sora. His leg rested on the floor so that he could halt and get a comfortable position. Neither spoke, but it was Sora who broke the ice first, a waver and tremor in his voice.
“. . . Tron? . . .”
“. . .” The helmet shifted and Sora tilted his head, confusion and fear wrapping around him.
“It’s me, Sora. You remember me, don’t you? I know it’s been years, but I saw you fall and -”
“I’m not the Tron you remember. Nor am I THE Tron.”
Horror struck Sora’s visage and his hand fell onto the cycle’s handlebars. That’s why they was called the Renegade. Droplets smoothed down Sora’s face before he realized that it was raindrops, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“But, is Tron -”
“. . .” The Renegade moved to get ready to drive away, to reach Sora screamed and held his hand out.
“ Wait! Please! I knew Tron a few years back, we fought together, to take back the system. I don’t know what happened to him. I mean. . . I saw . . . something happen to him. I just need to know he’s okay. I have to know he’s okay. Even if you’re not him, can you at least give me some sort of answer?”
“I can’t help you.”
“Please. . . just tell me. You must know something. . . anything. . .” Sora’s fingers gripped tightly to the Cycle, fearing that he’d fall if something weren’t to keep him solid on the seat, or steady in reality. The pulsations of his body caught the attention of the Renegade, who still hadn’t moved from their location. They could’ve, they should’ve moved right then and there - especially since this was strictly something to keep hidden. The Revolution wasn’t full yet, it was happening, but for what many knew. . . The Renegade was either Tron or someone wishing to be Tron - pretending to be Tron. “He’s my friend. . .” It was the last break in Sora’s voice before the boy slumped against the Cycle, waiting for answers he may never get.
“What kind of Program are you?”
“Huh?”
“Your body, you glow - are you an ISO?” Of course the other Programs glowed, but it was more a solid glow, like a glowstick - it didn’t pulsate or glimmer like the symbols on the ISO population.
“No. No I’m. . . I’m a User.”
The hands on the Renegade’s bike tightened, and the body underneath the helmet flinched, jolted with either surprise or disgust. There was silence again, save for the pelting noises of the rain against the metal. Then, with a sudden rise in their form, the Renegade rose, forcing Sora to eye back up, watching with pure intention.
“. . . Follow me.”
As promised, Sora followed. Things moved from their familiar structures of black and greens to a more concealed, almost mountainous environment. Sora feared that he would lose track of the Renegade, whose Cycle was strangely much faster than Sora’s, but he figured maybe they had an upgraded Cycle or a different and better model. Not that Sora would complain, he was trailing right behind at a decent distance, there was no harm in anything like this. Nerves hissed through Sora’s cells and he gripped at the bars, thinking back to what this could all mean. If anything. . . The Renegade confirmed nothing but didn’t deny anything either. It felt Sora hopeful but fearful. If he was being led somewhere that he regretted later on, he figured he’d never enter the Grid ever again. At least not for a long time.
Narrow and winding roads didn’t go unharmed however. When darkness loomed overhead, Sora could tell things were beginning to grow slightly snowy, pitching flakes everywhere. The beams on the Cycles did help to protrude light outwards to see better but even still. . . Sora had to squint, making sure the Renegade remained in his sights at all times. A lot easier said than done of course.
“So. . . are you taking me somewhere special? Does it have to do with Tron?”
The Renegade turned their head briefly before sighing, though Sora couldn’t quite hear that. The blustering winds didn’t aid at all to this endeavor.
“You’ll see soon, I can’t explain it. Just keep this between us, if you can.”
“I promise.”
Once they finally broke through, they slipped to a halt on the Cycles, right above a large building. Sora looked up and noticed, briefly, that a figure had moved, maybe to conceal but they were so high up it was hard to tell just who exactly was in there and who exactly was down below with the Renegade. Sora had no choice but to follow, bringing the Cycle up through the baton and following up the stairway. It was nice to hear the clanking of their shoes across the flooring. The dimly lit lights were enough to attract any sort of attention out of Sora, who spun around with intense interest before the hand from the Renegade touched at his shoulder.
“When we get up there, I need you to stay in the shadows. I shouldn’t be doing this, because this is all kind of hush hush as it is.”
“I guess you really don’t want others finding out?”
“It just. . . it needs to be the right time is all.” And with that, Sora nodded as they rose up the staircase together. Sora held tight to the railing as they moved. Things felt so oddly comforting, though he couldn’t see much. Almost like things were just perpetually dark around the Grid, but maybe that was all right. He could hear the sounds of a fountain pouring its water down the stream, splashing into a pool surrounding it. He wasn’t even up to the Renegade’s chest in terms of height, but at least he figured he must’ve grown a little. Sora was eternally grateful that he hadn’t needed a suit change. His body emanated its beautiful pulsing lights, dimmed but not blinding as they wove up and up and up.
“You say your name was Sora?”
“Hmm? Yeah, why do you ask?”
“Just curious.” The Renegade held his hand out to force Sora into a halt before he whispered: “Stay here. Just for a little bit.”
“Of course. Wait. . . What’s your name?”
But the Renegade was already gone, walking through the open frame of the room. Sora leaned in, making sure no portion of his body was seen, completely concealed within the shadows. There was the sound of something on the other end of the room, like a sludging noise, before Sora swallowed and leaned just a little bit more.
“You weren’t out of the chamber for long were you?”
“No, actually - I just went back in. Did you get what I asked?”
The Renegade chucked something toward another Program and that’s when everything clicked in Sora’s head. That voice. . . he knew that voice so well. Like it never changed, was never reprogrammed, no longer repurposed.
Tron. . .
Sora felt himself grow increasingly relieved, eyes clouding before he clenched his fists to contain himself, leaning just slightly more to listen.
“We should begin training you some more. You’ve improved since our latest test but they’re also getting quicker out there, and smarter. You’re getting -”
“Can I ask you something?”
“. . .” The other tilted his head, squeezing the device in his hand and then looking back up, almost offended but also numb to the notion that the Renegade just interrupted him. “You may. What’s this about, Beck?”
Beck.
So that’s the Renegade’s name. Sora swallowed and leaned left, shifting so that he was standing straighter. He hadn’t gotten a look at the other’s face, nor did he know what Beck looked like. Sora could, however, feel that his heart was leaping right into his throat as the moments ticked on.
“Years ago, or even just recently. . . have you come into contact with what we call Users?”
The sound of moving feet brings Sora hesitation. Was there going to be any answer that he wanted to hear? Something that was never fully addressed? His hands rested at his chest plate, one finger tapping against the back of his hand, before he looked down.
“I’ve met a few. Users don’t come in frequently, in fact - it’s almost unwise for them to. You know how Flynn was with things like that. Safety for all, not just Programs. Users were always considered superior to that of Programs. Elite.”
“Do you remember any?”
Silence.
C’mon. . . just say you’re who I think you are. Just say you remember me. . .
“Yes. I do. One in fact, unlike any other. It was years ago, but the MCP had confiscated my functions and left to abandon me in a prison in the mainframe. I thought I’d be held up in that cell until my own system shut down. And that’s when he came in. He got us out and helped me save the System as a whole. I thought at first he was a Program, equipped with such unusual functions, but upon further examination, it was quite clear he was a User. A brave one at that.”
“And? Was friendship clouding your judgement then?”
“No, actually - not at that age. In fact, he and I became fast friends. I never would trust anyone else with my programming in their hands as much as I trusted him. Years have gone by since then and I’m sure he’s managed to continue on his journey. We left it at quite a. . . open ended note but. . . it’s nothing that shouldn’t be continued.”
Sora’s heart snapped in half.
“Why not?”
“Beck think about it. Users go on with their lives and so do we. He’s got a life out there, as we do here. Besides he’s. . . probably forgotten all that’s happened here. Pretty sure that kid’s got a mind that whirls like a high tech monitor - it would be impossible. Things move on.” There was the hint of disappointment in the other’s voice. “. . . People move on. You can’t wait cycles for something that doesn’t return. And you can’t risk cycles standing there thinking it was meant to last.”
Beck turned his head, toward the opening where he’d just come through, as Tron was looking at the device he’d just been handed.
“I think he would miss you very much actually.”
There’s the hint of a glare in the other’s expression before he himself eyed the very opening. It’s faint, but something is glowing on the other end, and he moved closer to Beck before anything else happened.
“I believe I was clear when I said I didn’t want anyone else aware -”
And then the figure approached. As calm and cool and collected as it was those years ago. The same glitter that shone across the armor, beaming through the stripes in the suit. Those same blue, now greying eyes. Of course he was slightly taller now but as soon as Sora had gotten the courage to step out, everything had gone deathly silent.
“. . .”
Sora’s hand moved up into his hair before he smiled, this time it widened even more than it had when he was given the liberty to add a dancing function to Tron.
“Heya Tron. Long time no see, huh?”
How about it, guys?
Singin’ Tron? Dancin’ Tron?
“Sora. . ?”
“I had to make sure you were okay.”
“How did you get in here?”
You, my friends are the new password.
“Same way I always have. I guess the Grid connects to both for Flynn and myself back at Radiant Garden. I know things are different, and I know you’ve got a lot on your plate but I -”
It didn’t take long for an arm to jolt outward, grasping Sora by the hand and pulling him forward. Straight into what he’d never forgotten those years ago. And yet it still stunned him for more seconds than he wished.
Is this what Users do when they’re sorry to say goodbye?
It’s a first for me.
Think of it as a promise that we’ll see each other soon.
“Tron. . .”
Sora’s arms fell at his sides, only to grab at the wrists when Tron finally pulled back, hands at his shoulders. “It was a promise.”
“You truly haven’t changed my friend. I thought -”
“Never.
I couldn’t forget you. In fact, I was hoping you wouldn’t have forgotten me.” It seems you’re not Rinzler now. . . maybe there’s still time. . . maybe there’s still hope. Guess that Sleeping World - THAT Grid, was the wrong Grid after all.
Tron’s expression went soft for mere seconds.
“Never.”
Then Tron looked to Beck, grimaced, and then looked to Sora again. The grips on his shoulders tightened, and Sora gasped slightly.
“. . . We need your help.”