Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A lot of things had happened today that Vintage wasn't expecting. His struggle and eventual defeat at the hands of Blue Team was definitely the most obvious, even if he had given them their victory, and was overall for the better. But right now his focus was on how unexpectedly good Crusty Sean's food was as he sipped on a Run Speed Tomato Shake. The new side of town certainly had its benefits, even if it did bring its fair share of flashes from the past.

One of them was approaching him right now, half way through a triple fried galactic shwaffle, although how the purple inkling could eat one of those so quickly was still puzzling to Vintage. Skull takes the spot next to him and leans against the wall behind them, and continues to eat. Cod, was this his way of resuming their post battle conversation? Still as quiet as ever. Vintage has to hold back from 'Tch'-ing out loud, and settles for an eye roll from under his bangs instead.

He glances back over at Skull, who swallows his food and rests the fork back down on the plate. "You were good out there," he says. "You have perfect control of your weapon, and Omega and the others are all so skilled…" Vintage reads the rare sight of a smile in Skull's same old eyes with ease, but it still shakes him. "You've built a good team."

Vintage watches as Skull takes another mouthful of food quickly under his bandana. Seems he still doesn't take it off - some things never change, he supposes. He can't help but stare at his ex teammate, unable to comprehend the compliment he's just been given. He's not sure how to process something like that. Not from Skull.

"You're strong too, Skull," he finally admits. There's a pang of guilt in his chest as he realises Skull watched several of his matches, but he couldn't even stick around to watch the entirety of the S4's Clam Blitz victory, like he still held something against him. Maybe that was fair, considering their history. "I wasn't able to watch your matches," he half lies, "but Omega told me about one of the matches she saw. She told me that you…" you were different, he wants to say, but... "...that you've improved. But you were always strong."

"Not truly," he responds, "but I'll have to give her my thanks when I next see her." He seems to leave the conversation at that, choosing to continue eating instead.

Dammit Skull, always one to make it awkward! Vintage chews on his straw for a bit, trying to think of what to say. He settles for a "How's Aviators?" as he looks back up at the taller inkling.

"Excellent. His aim is precise, and he utilises the features of his weapon perfectly," Skull responds, and Vintage has to hold back a sigh. Unsurprising that he's praising his co-captain's team utility. Skull seems to stop talking entirely, but Vintage does a double take and notices he's actually chewing. He watches Skull swallow the food and turn back to face him.

"He's also an amazing friend. He's always there if I need him, and he's always telling me about the things he gets up to with the Glasses Gang." Skull turns back to the crowd of people eating and celebrating, and spots Aviators conversing with Full Moon and Half Rim. The visible tops of his cheeks soften slightly with a mild purple glow, and Vintage would almost think he looks dreamy if it wasn't for the intensity of his brow. "I'm glad to have him as a companion. I try to look out for him when I can."

Vintage's shake seems to sour at that, and he takes the straw out of his mouth and holds the drink to his chest. He looks up at Skull and finds himself a complete mix of feelings. Is Skull just rubbing in his face the fact he knows that's something Vintage craves? He thinks back to Double Egg following him around Goby Arena, to the times the spiky-haired inkling had insisted on following him to his favourite restaurant, to the battle he'd just had. His team cares about him, at least a little, and cod is he lucky to have that. They care about him outside of battle, outside of his rank. Sometimes it's hard for him to care about himself outside of his rank.

He cares about them too.

But he always has cared too much, hasn't he? Now he cares too much about his rank and back then he cared too much about a cold and dismissive team leader Skull. But Skull wasn't like that anymore. He seems to have changed, grown up, moved on completely and Vintage is still stuck secretly craving his approval. He's better than him and it's still not enough: it doesn't make up for how much care he put in back then only to be met by a brick wall. He looks up at Skull and can't shake a feeling that makes him feel sick.

He still cares, at least a little. Seeing someone he once considered a friend suddenly open up to him a little all these years later is disorientating, and it takes him back to all those years ago, where moments of Skull being open were like rare gems in the dark cave their team was becoming. Vintage has seen him without his bandana. He knows Skull doesn't need it to be unreadable.

But there's always been subtleties to Skull, and they seem more obvious now. Vintage is deep in thought and turmoil himself but he still notices the changes in Skull's expression: the taller squid is thinking too, and making no attempt to hide it. Vintage would almost expect the new Skull to take his bandana off entirely to eat if he didn't know what an important comfort item it was to him, and he only knew that because he made the effort to know the old Skull.

And now Skull is trying to make the effort to know the new him, and he truly doesn't know what to do.

Fortunately he doesn't have to, as Skull breaks the silence again. "Your last battle was really good. There's definitely sparks of new team work starting to show between you and the rest of the X Blood." Vintage isn't looking at him anymore, but watching the crowd instead. It's so hard to keep himself composed, on the inside. Using his peripheral vision, he sees Skull's gaze also fixated on the nothing in front of him as he hovers over his words. "...Battles are better when you have fun with your friends, not just when you work with your teammates, aren't they?"

Double rushed ahead and used his bomb rush to protect him. Omega had wasted half the durability of her baller to tank a charger shot for him. Red Sole had backed him up when he asked. Afterwards, they had all congratulated one another on their new found tactics. Battles were there to be enjoyed, as Goggles had reminded him.

"At least that's what I think." Skull wasn't letting the awkward silence sit between them for too long, despite still eating. "Blue Team have a unique way of making every moment during and after battle enjoyable," he continues. "As do the S4, when we're not arguing for once," he adds with a small chuckle.

It's only a hint, but Vintage immediately remembers the rare sound of Skull's genuine laugh. It was like music to him back then, and that tiny chuckle from under that bandana was like someone humming that favourite tune you haven't heard in years. It was so casual, and yet it brought back all these feelings at once. Who on earth WAS this new Skull? So casual with his emotions, so casual when he spoke of his care for his friends, so casual when he walked over to his ex teammate and leaned on the wall next to him. Why couldn't he have been like that back then? Why couldn't Vintage have had that?

"Vintage." Skull suddenly addresses him. His tone is firm, but without malice, and the blue squid in question finds himself terrified and intrigued all at the same time. He gives Skull a small noise of acknowledgement, and watches him turn fully to face him properly.

"I want to catch up with you sometime," says Skull. "Properly. If I'm remembering details about you correctly, things are a bit… public here for your liking."

Well, yeah, duh, anyone who's known Vintage for five minutes would know that, but the shorter inkling still appreciates the thought, even if it's the bare minimum. A long time ago he wouldn't even get that. He can tell Skull's trying to make an effort. Skull doesn't know himself the way Vintage does.

"That would be fine," responds Vintage. He feels a bit half hearted, leaving it at just that. Shoot, what could they even do together? He stares at the plate in Skull's hand and the obvious idea smacks him so hard in the face Vintage almost face palms as punishment for his own stupidity. If there's one thing he knows time hasn't changed, it's their shared love for food. Isn't there a new place open that he's had eyes on? He wasn't completely sure of its location, but he was sure that with Skull's better knowledge of the area (he had lived around this part of town longer) and him there to stop the taller squid getting dreadfully lost, they might be able to find the place. Together.

Vintage coughs awkwardly. "There's a new place open I've been meaning to check out," he says, and looks up to Skull for approval.

Skull only gives him an inquisitive stare.

"They, uh, have a good dessert menu," he continues, shoving one arm into the pockets of his windbreaker and dropping the one holding the empty cup to his side. Skull raises where one of his eyebrows would be.

"Interesting. When are you free this week?"

Vintage tilts his head in thought. "Not tomorrow. Red and Double are planning a party for our -" he was going to say victory, but that didn't happen. "- for how well we did in the tournament."

"Can you do the day after?" Skull asks, with almost a hint of uncharacteristic desperation. Vintage cares about them catching up (and maybe patching things up, at least a little) more than he'd truly like to admit, but Skull seems to be subtly doing the admitting for both of them. Vintage would find it endearing if he wasn't so aware of Skull's past. He's just glad his ex teammate chose to keep it to himself and try to move on, rather than claim the team break up for some sort of sick bragging rights.

Shaking that thought aside, Vintage is free the day after. "Sure. I'll meet you here, and we can go find the place." Vintage pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts to key in the passcode. "Do you need my number?"

"...I still have it."

Vintage stares up at Skull and lets the taller inkling have a free read of his expression, because cod, what the shell did that mean? He'd deleted Skull's the day the team broke up, and he'd gotten a new phone since. Who keeps a number that long?

Skull doesn't seem to bat an eye though, and just keeps talking. "If you need mine, I can text you later."

Please do, Vintage wants to say, because this new Skull is all too inviting, but he briefly remembers himself. "Yes. Do that."

"Of course." Skull takes one last bite of his food, and then gets up from the wall. "I should go," he says. "I left my E-Liter with Rider and Aloha and Cod knows what those two have done with it." He gives the other a brief wave. "See you around, Vintage. Take care of yourself."

Vintage doesn't say anything back as he leaves, and just watches him walk away, the gold of his shoes catching in the sunlight. Vintage feels transfixed for all the wrong reasons when the rest of his team, no, his friends, walk over to greet him.

Double Egg breaks the silence. "Vintage!" he exclaims. "You finished your drink already?"

Vintage momentarily remembers the cup in his hand as Red Sole snatches it up from him.

"Do you want another one? My treat! It's the tomato one, right? Or do you want something to eat instead?" Her positivity is infectious, and Vintage finds himself offering his own tiny smile back to her.

"I'm alright," he responds, "but thank you for offering."

"Hey, I want a free drink," says Double. "I'm part of this team too!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Red starts to strut off to the Crust Bucket, and Double dashes up behind her. "You didn't ride the tower to almost victory, did you?"

Their friendly bickering fades out of earshot as Omega leans in to comfort her brother. "You okay?"

"Yeah…" he leans back into her a bit. "You were right," he continues. "He is different."

Vintage knows some part of him still cares about Skull. Some part of him is still looking to him now as he crowds around Army's cooking pot with Aviators and the other S+ rankers. Vintage can't hear a word he's saying, but he can tell his former teammate is weighing in on the conversation, and watches the purple inkling say something that makes Aloha scream with laughter.

See you around, Vintage. Take care of yourself.

Maybe some part of Skull cares about him too.

Chapter Text

"Are you sure this is the right street?"

"Yeah, I'm sure… I think."

"...you think?"

"The trees seem familiar, but… I thought that door was blue, not red."

"... you've been directing us using door colours?"

"Army said it was near that place he gets obscure spices from, and that's the place with the blue door." Skull wraps the debate up with a tinge of pride in his voice as Vintage buries his face in his hand. It seems Skull's knowledge of the area was… limited, and Vintage's apprehension had stopped him from being more confrontational about it. Well, some things truly never change.

"He should have drawn you a map," Vintage grumbles, and pulls his phone out of his pocket to open up a picture of the place, and see if anything in the background might give them a hint of what direction to go in. He zooms in on the device and brings it up to his face for a second, only to pull it down and notice Skull's already out of eyeshot. How does he do that?

"Skull!" he shouts, tucking his hands back into his pockets. Vintage should be familiar with the scene at hand - it was not uncommon for their leader to get their old team lost on a semi-regular basis - and yet all he's familiar with is the vague feeling of annoyance at the purple inkling. He takes a few steps forward, and shouts out for Skull again.

Suddenly, Skull peeks his head back around a corner just in view in a way Vintage would honestly find funny if it wasn't for his current mood at the squid in question, and his complicated feelings about him, and the fact that he's spent all morning thinking about what he's going to say and psyching himself up for this confrontation. He just shakes his head as Skull beckons him over. "I don't think we've checked this street yet."

"Fine," replies Vintage as he follows Skull round the corner. "But if this is the wrong one, I'm asking for directions."

Skull doesn't have anything else to add - his mind is supposed to be focused on navigation, but his thoughts are preoccupied completely by the squid next to him. He's not proud of his past, quite the opposite, and Team Purple and the S4 had marked a new era in his life all together: he'd planned to put Vintage behind him, and focus on working his way up the newly formed ranked system, trusty scope in hand. He'd made new friends, found new teammates, and had new battles with new opponents. But nostalgia could be one shell of a drug, and a cruel one too - you partake in a rerun splatfest and guess who you run into? At least he'd tried to be civil. Tried.

Vintage was a blast from the past he was not expecting; an unexpected new chapter of character development; an unfriendly reminder that his lack of action will always have consequences. He glances to the side at Vintage and years worth of repressed guilt hit his chest hard. How long had it been? Three, four, five years? How long had he tormented the squid next to him? How had he pushed his whole team aside? It was a miracle Aviators had stuck with him, and one he reminds himself of every day. How lucky he is to have a companion like him who still cares. Skull may have finally broken the news to the S4, but only Aviators knew the details. Only Aviators could truly accept that part of him.

Skull's not even sure he can accept it in himself. 

His troubles at the time were not an excuse for his actions, but at least it gives him a small understanding of why his past self acted the way he did - at least it offers a crumb of an explanation. That old team's strength had driven him colder the better they got. Every victory cemented in his head that battle mattered above all else, and his attitude should be forced to change. He was a keen young sniper and a damn good one at that, and he needed his team to support his path to success, until the new ranked system was put into place. One day he would be validated through experiences and his title, and every day there would be a new opponent for him to fight, one even stronger and more interesting than any of the ones before them. That indulgence in challenge and intrigue would sustain him. That was all he thought he needed to be happy.

He was wrong though, and it took four blue inklings to finally nail that point home to him: that having fun and working together was just as interesting as a strange composition or a team gimmick, and lasted past the three minutes of a turf war. That enjoyment for enjoyment's sake with people you care about is just as fulfilling as a worthy opponent or an eight flavour sundae. That he had no right to push away a boy who deeply, truly cared for and admired him for almost two years.

He had cared about him too, deep down, but he couldn't admit it to himself. The moment he would have admitted they had something special would have been the moment his whole world view was shaken, and he supposes fifteen year old him wasn't emotionally mature enough for that. Fifteen year olds rarely are, and neither was the young impressionable Vintage. Skull tries not to focus on the things he cannot change, but sometimes he wishes someone could go back and give that fifteen year old sky blue squid the hug he needed, and reassure him that he's so much more than a placement in a tournament or an arbitrary rank. That someday, there will be people who care about him unconditionally and show it. It would bring a tear to his eye if this was his first time thinking about exactly how much he regrets.

Skull's never been more glad he's wearing his bandana in his life than today.

They're halfway down the street when randomly, Vintage stops walking, and it takes a couple more steps before Skull snaps out of his mile-a-minute thoughts. He backtracks to up him as Vintage sighs in frustration. "Okay," he says, and tucks his arms into his pockets. "We are lost."

Not a first, as far as Skull is concerned. You just look around for someone familiar, or a fan, and ask them to point you in the right direction. Or text Aviators. Not that he was going to bring Aviators up - last time the pair had discussed him, Vintage had tensed up, and that was the last thing Skull wanted right now. Instead, Skull looks over the area for anyone he recognises. Vintage appears to be doing the same, but in an opposing direction, choosing to focus on the path they've taken so far, while Skull investigates the path up ahead. It takes them both far too long to realise what's right in front of them, just across the road.

Sheldon is standing at a table, albeit a little impatiently now. Miss Marie seems to be insistent on new recruit Gloves as Agent 4, with Agent 3 around for assistance. But the octarians are very overwhelming, and he feels they could use someone watching their backs and picking off the little guys. He's not too sure which of Goggles's friends are actually any good in battle apart from the ones he's heard about elsewhere: Vintage, Emperor, the S4. And what a miracle to find two of that list just wandering around town! He's trying to put together a plan of action in his head, when the shorter of the two inklings grabs the taller by the arm and guides him across the road towards the folding table. Surprising.

"Sheldon," Vintage addresses him. Neither Skull nor Vintage have talked too much to the horseshoe crab, but anyone who's played turf war knows who the weapons engineer is. Vintage holds up his phone and shows him the address they've been looking for. "Do you know where this is?"

Adjusting his goggles, Sheldon reads the screen. He does, in fact, know exactly where this place is, as it's only one street over, near that cooking shop that recently rebranded from a sea aesthetic to a fiery one, but his brain immediately starts ticking away with ideas. This would be an ideal way to lure these two back to Octo Canyon, and he could always find food for them after. Shell, if Skull's airheaded reputation was true, he might get away with it completely. The average citizen wasn't exactly aware of who the octarians were. The salesman hesitates for a moment, before answering the question.

"Yes! It's a new, uh, battle restaurant!"

"Battle restaurant?" asks Vintage.

"You didn't tell me it was a battle restaurant," Skull adds, his face scrunching up in confusion.

"I wasn't aware it was a battle restaurant," hisses back Vintage. Skull decides to not push it, and just adds a passing comment about how he would have brought his E-Liter.

"Don't worry about not having your weapons!" Sheldon exclaims. Cod, he wasn't aware of how much these two could argue, but this was starting to work in his favour. "Yes! We have our own weapons…" - he remembers the spare Hero gear he has in the back of his van - "...and gear! We have special gear too."

Vintage was kind of looking for a break, but according to recent reviews this place had an accidental tendency to make food spicier than expected, which had turned some customers away. He was hoping to try it, and leave his own review insisting they change absolutely nothing about this. He was not expecting to have to battle beforehand. How does a battle even take place in a restaurant? Wait, 'our' gear?

"...I wasn't aware you worked at a battle restaurant, Sheldon." Vintage narrows his eyes at one of the only people in town shorter than he is. Aside from the jellyfish, of course.

"I, uh," shoot, he was spitballing. What to say, what to say, what to say... "I, well, y'know, I'm uh..."

"He supplies the weapons, obviously." Skull unknowingly hands Sheldon the excuse he needs with a matter-of-fact tone.

"Ah, yes! Exactly. I'm the weapons supplier, and with it being new open I'm here to drop more weapons off!" Sheldon finishes with a smile, and Vintage seems to buy it.

"Okay then, where is it?"

Great, thinks Sheldon, this is perfect. He steps aside from the table and beckons for them to follow him into the alleyway behind him. Vintage pulls at Skull's shirt until the taller squid gets the idea and follows, and then he tucks his arms back into the comfort of his windbreaker, making a quick pace behind him. They round a corner and are greeted by Sheldon's totally not suspicious looking van.

"Here!" Sheldon opens the back up, and reveals a whole host of weird weapons to choose from. "The gear should be folded neatly on that side shelf, and you have free pickings of my artillery. I hope the shoes fit…"

Skull and Vintage watch as Sheldon clambers into the driver's seat. The taller of the two climbs inside the back of the van no problem, and gives the shorter an expectant look. Vintage rolls his eyes and follows him in, taking the seat next to him and shutting the door. The inside is covered in equipment, but the door locks most of the light out, and the back of the van is barely lit. There's a shine from the driver's position, and the low glow of two pairs of headphones.

"This is ridiculous," he grumbles. "When do we make our order?"

"Oh! Yes, um…" Sheldon is a little muffled from the front of the van, but there's a small window that links the front and the back with holes to allow speech to pass. "How about now? Whatever you guys want, anything's on the menu today."

"Ohagi." Vintage looks over to the source of the voice to see Skull is already investigating the reflective jackets folded beside them. He picks one up, and holds it up to Vintage, comparing their sizes. Vintage gives his trademark 'tch' and snatches up the jacket held in front of him. Skull doesn't comment, and just goes back to sifting through the gear laid out for them. There's shorts too, which is odd. Vintage wasn't expecting certain legwear to be mandatory. Guess he'll have to change that as well.

"And what about the other guy, hm? What would you like?"

"Ramen," he answers. "And do not hold back on the spice."

"I'll make sure not to." Sheldon notes down their food of choice, and double checks all the doors are shut via his mirrors. Thankfully, everything should be locked in place. Soon, inkopolis will be completely back to normal. The engine roars to life, and Sheldon makes a relatively quick pace, considering his two unsecured passengers. Ah well, not like squids have bones to break anyway.

Grabbing one of the shoes and pulling it on, Vintage discovers they fit quite well, and ponders for a moment over whether they might get to keep them, until he feels a harsh orange back to them that completely turns him off the idea. He zips up the jacket and slides on one of the pairs of sleek light up headphones. Thankfully, he's not wearing any headgear that might interfere with it.

Then he looks over at Skull. The purple inkling is sitting next to him, leaning over the length of his lanky body to fasten his boots into place. He watches as Skull removes his sweat bands and shoves them into his pockets, and fixes the sleeves of his jacket. His hands move to the headphones, identical to Vintage's, and he thumbs over the smooth texture and feels round to the connecting part at the back, and then up to his own ears, where his bandana is firmly tied, slightly pulling them back. He can't pull his bandana over the headphones due to the size of them, and tucking part of his bandana under them defeated the purpose of wearing them in the first place. Skull hesitates, and drums his fingers on the object in question. 

The dim light makes it hard for Vintage to read his exact expression, but he sees Skull's face scrunch up, and something inside him pokes him and tells him to reach out and console the other. He lifts the hand nearest to Skull almost subconsciously, but forces himself to put it back down again. He knows how much that bandana means to him, but it's not his place to try and intervene. At least not yet.

Skull closes his eyes, grabs the bottom of the bandana and brings it up to his nose and sniffs it, before letting out a long breath out. He pulls the headphones around his head and rests them on his shoulders, and then pulls the sides of his bandana over the top of his ears instead, and pulls the headphones up and over them. This hitches his bandana up a bit, and Vintage subtly slouches a little to catch a glimpse of his face from the side. He swears he spies the tiniest smile from Skull as their eyes finally meet once more, illuminated by the headphones at strange angles by odd colours.

Skull gestures to the neon tools littering the floor. "Should we pick our weapons?"

Vintage picks up the items in turn. If he was in a better mood, he'd marvel at the craftsmanship. There's one resembling an octobrush, but the finish is much more modern, which is a little to his taste, but today is not the day he picks up a brush, of all things. Next he identifies a blaster - he's dabbled with them in the past, and so he puts it to one side in case there isn't anything better. He finds something long and sleek, with a small barrel for ink at the back. Picking it up, he handles the mid section of the weapon, and finds no additional adjustments.

"There's a charger here," he says, hoping Skull's paying attention. "It's unscoped, though."

Skull looks over at Vintage holding the weapon out with one hand, and continuing to dig through the weapons with the other. "Thanks," he says, and rests the back of the weapon on his shoulder, getting a feel for the weight of it. It's much more like a Splat Charger than an E-Liter, but he knows his way around both, scope or no scope. "I think the big silver thing at the back is a splatling."

Vintage leans over the makeshift armoury in front of him and spies the item in question. It feels like an older model of the Heavy Splatling, and it's ridiculously shiny. He hasn't touched the Heavy since the Ballpoint was released, but it was a simpler weapon to use anyway. If Skull could play with less range, he could play with less flexibility, and besides - both of their weapons look super fresh. He half wishes he could keep it.

"Are you two kitted out then?" asks the muffled voice from the driver's seat. Sheldon must have heard all the noise they were making. Skull and Vintage give two short sounds of affirmation. "Good. Hold onto your hats, or, well, headphones. The ride is a lot bumpier from here."

Suddenly almost all the light blacks out, and a sharp turn launches the two squids and their weapons into one corner. Before they even realise it, they find themselves half clinging to their weapons and half to each other. Another turn knocks them both back onto the makeshift seats, and they both land with a thud as their weapons crash in the middle. Skull has an arm half round Vintage's shoulder and Vintage grips him back at about the waist, with the splatling and charger locked tightly in between their bodies. They both hold on to their seats until the ride seems to calm down, when they simultaneously decide the coast is clear and break their awkward, interlocking embrace. Music seems to seep into the air around them, and they both recognise the voices of the Squid Sisters mixed in with funky beats and orchestral gestures.

"Alright! I hope you have your weapons to hand!" Sheldon looks over his shoulder at the two and nods his head towards the shutter side of the van. Skull and Vintage pick themselves up and hold their weapons of choice in position as the vehicle slows down. They hear a click, and then a whirr as the shutter starts to lift up. "This is where you take the stage! My secret weapon! Agent 4.2 and Agent 4.3!"

Music hits them both sharply in the face like the wind, and an action filled scene of octarians and strobe lights completely overwhelms their vision. They look at each other, then at Sheldon, and then back at the scene before them.

"Where are we."

"Skull! Vintage!" A somewhat familiar voice rings out from the chaos. It's Gloves, doing his best to wave out to them in between dualie dodge rolls.

"New members!" exclaims a second voice easily identifiable as Goggles. He manages to wave to them whilst avoiding a barrage of shots from the octotroopers.

"Go!" Skull and Vintage tumble off the van and straight into the action as Marie hops on top of it and Sheldon starts revving the engine. Vintage is starting to wonder what the shell kind of restaurant this is, but he can already hear the sound of Skull charging up a shot.

"I don't really get it, but we just need to beat them, right?" Skull looks over to Vintage, who gives him a brief nod before allowing the sniper space to aim his shot at a line of octarians. Vintage himself holds down the trigger of his splatling and begins to feel the barrel spin as the pressure builds up in the tank. He looks over his shoulder at the van, and catches eyes with Sheldon just before it leaves.

"Don't forget about our ohagi and super spicy ramen," commands Vintage. Sheldon gives him a nod and a wink. He can think about his past with Skull later.

Right now, he doesn't have to get it. Right now, they have octarians to defeat.

Chapter Text

Skull can't even be mad after Octavio is defeated, because the food he's given afterwards is too good to complain, and there seems to be an unlimited amount of it. He's not sure what kind of restaurant this is, or if it even is one at this point, because Sheldon refused him completely when he tried to pay. Goggles and Gloves had enjoyed drinks of their own, and Vintage had eaten more noodles than Skull thought was possible. He'd acted rather serious whilst walking around and shovelling in mouthfuls, his hands making quick and elegant use of the chopsticks, but Skull had seen his wide-eyed expression and slight baby blue blush when he took the first bite. They must be some good noodles.

They eat until they can't keep going. At first, they seem to turn it into a competition, challenging the other to eat more, but soon they're both only nibbling at their last portion and taking forever to chew and swallow. They both give up at the same time, and head out of the canyon with their fellow agents. They look up, and see the zapfish is back, twisted around the battle tower where it belongs. It snuggles its way into the neon signs, and glows faintly. It's quite beautiful, and Skull and Vintage are transfixed, staring up at it.

Straining his neck a little more than his taller companion, Vintage breaks the comfortable silence. "So much for catching up over food."

"Ha, yeah…" Skull puts a hand to his stomach and winces. "I think I ate too much."

“Tch.” Vintage does his best to not look at the purple squid and scowl. Why is he not surprised? His hands are buried deep into his pockets, but there’s a rustling noise as he fiddles with the lining. Skull glances aside at his companion, and reads the intensity of his simple expression. Vintage is just looking up at Deca Tower, but every muscle seems to be in use in an attempt to hold the nonchalant look on his face. They’d spent all this time together and yet they still hadn’t talked. 

Maybe some things will never change.

No, Skull refuses to allow that to happen. Just the thought of it makes him far too uncomfortable, and for a second he too finds himself also straining every muscle to not let that thought slip into reality. He has to take action immediately. He taps Vintage on the shoulder and then starts to walk off, passing the battle tower on the front side and heading towards Inkopolis Square News. Vintage’s expression relaxes into something more natural and annoyed looking as he watches Skull stare at him from halfway across the square and give him a beckoning nod up. Vintage rolls his eyes and swiftly walks up behind him, coming to a stand still just past Murch as Skull is plugging numbers into one of the vending machines positioned at the side of the tower.

The taller squid leans on the front of the machine as the metal spiral twirls with a whirr. “Grab yourself something.” A berry-red bottle clunks against the screen on its way down, and Skull crouches down to retrieve it from the bottom flap. “You’re gonna need the hydration.”

Vintage squints at him, but Skull just twists the lid off and takes a drink under his bandana, maintaining eye contact. Shaking himself out of his hesitation, Vintage inserts a few coins into the machine and plugs in the numbers for a simple bottle of water. The machine springs to life again, but Vintage isn’t as hasty to drink it, bending down slowly to grab the item and tossing it in his hands, leaving it unopened, for now.

Skull waits for him to step back over, and they begin to walk out of the square. Their steps aren’t in sync, but one never paces ahead of the other. The sun looks down on them from behind the occasional tiny passing clouds, and Skull takes another sip as they turn a corner. Vintage buries one of his hands even further into his pockets, his other hand struggling to grip the bottle as condensation forms. He moves from holding it round the top to gripping it at the cheap sticker label, and lets his arm swing naturally with the weight of it. The air around him is fresh, and the silence between them is peaceful, and Skull seems to actually know where he’s going for once. Vintage is warm under his jacket, but as they keep walking it starts to hinge on uncomfortable. His swing hesitates, and he glances at the bottle.

“You’ll have to open it eventually, you know.”

Skull’s on to him like lightning, and Vintage snaps his head round to him, eyes nakedly wide until his eyebrows sharpen, giving him something to hide behind. He tries to form words, but nothing catches in his throat. Instead, he stops in his tracks and brings the bottle up in front of him, furiously attempting to twist the lid off. Skull turns back to him, his forehead slightly crinkled upwards in surprise.

“...I didn’t say you had to open it right now.”

“I know that.” Vintage’s aggravated expression momentarily snaps up at Skull, but his height disadvantage causes the intimidation to fail, so he goes back to focusing on flailing with the bottle. His hands are wet from the condensation, and his grip fails him again, the corrugated cap rubbing his palms raw as he struggles to break the plastic seal. Between bursts of strength, he sneaks a glance at Skull, who seems almost concerned. But his worry just spurs Vintage on further, until the ball of his hand is red and his fingers ache, grooves carved into the sensitive skin.

Vintage squeezes his eyes shut and admits defeat with a huff, shoving the bottle out to the side in Skull’s direction and making it his problem. Skull tucks his own bottle under his arm and wipes his hands on his shorts before taking the bottle from Vintage and, using his shirt for leverage, opens it with a click. He twists the lid back on to make sure it doesn’t spill, and hands it back to Vintage with caution, and a curious expression. Vintage looks back and gently takes the bottle from him, carefully untwisting at the lid and succeeding in opening it. He takes a brief sip with the intention of fastening the bottle back up, but once the cold liquid hits his throat he’s drawn in, and chugs down a quarter of the bottle. The coolness contrasts with the heat of his gullet, and he can feel it as it makes its way down. It’s a strangely refreshing sensation.

“Better?”

Vintage feels his face heat up, but that gives him an idea for an excuse. “It’s warm today. That’s all.” He takes another sip for emphasis, and then puts the lid back on the bottle.

“It is warm today,” agrees Skull. The taller inkling takes a sip of his own drink, and Vintage realises he’s nearly finished the bottle. Him and his damn sweet tooth - this whole hydration thing was his idea and he still picks something sugary and fruity instead of a responsible bottle of water. 

Fixing his posture, Vintage gestures with the hand that’s holding the bottle, shoving the other back into his pocket. “Is that why you made us buy drinks?”

“Partially.” The two round another corner, and a flurry of bright green enters their vision. Past the upcoming park’s decorative metal gate, round trees illuminate the route ahead, the sunlight bouncing through the leaves and leaving shimmering patterns on the grass and twisting pathways. Bushes poke through the shiny fencing, beckoning to those passing by. Shades of emerald reach out to them under mix-matched shadows of foliage, and Vintage hardly notices they’re actually going in until he’s already followed alongside Skull deep past the entrance. The realisation that the destination of their walk is nearing stands unmoving in his mind as the shade of the trees blocks the sunlight, the sweat its warmth caused to form earlier accelerating in its cooling process, and his skin freezes over.

But for once, Skull knows exactly what he’s doing. He leads them through the central path, past the families with ice creams and the children with bicycles and the couples by the flowers. More trees loom ahead, even more densely packed, like thick, green walls of life, and the path thins. There’s a small sign that reads ‘Nature Trail’, and Skull watches as Vintage hesitates in confusion. Skull’s attempts to reassure him with his eyes, soft and remorseful. Vintage responds with what he thinks is his poker face, but a hint of determination slips through. They cross the threshold together, swallowed by the overwhelming uncertainty of the life beyond it.

All is quiet beyond the entrance. Twigs and old leaves litter the old chip wood path, but Skull doesn’t care, and lets the dirt tarnish the shine of his shoes. There’s a welcoming rustle from the bushes as his presence causes a bird to spring up and feel the air in its feathers. Sensing the movement, Skull looks up at the creature, perched on a low branch and staring back, and his limited expression shows a glaze of wonder. He turns his head back to Vintage and lets his eyes smile for both of them. Vintage lets his brow relax and stands next to Skull to watch the animal in question. Its head jerks back and forth a little; its body shimmers slightly where it catches the light; its tail shakes for balance, keeping the rest of it still. Vintage breathes in, subconsciously moving forward, his mouth forming a tiny ‘O’. They hold this moment together for what feels like a picturesque length of time. Someone could take a photograph of it to print on a postcard with a sentimental caption and nothing would appear out of place.

It’s strangely natural.

Skull lets the moment flutter to an end as he steps away, giving Vintage the space to follow. Taking one last view of the bird, Vintage finds himself quickly trailing behind. The path narrows further up ahead, but the trees thin on one side, and let more sun in. Skull’s pace picks up a little as they approach it - a small bench, intricately carved raw in one piece from a log. It’s twisted and backless, supported by two thick legs buried into the dirt. One end is carved in such a way that the resemblance of a bird appears to be sat on the edge, and the other end twists round and down to the floor. Bushes and nettles guard the back, but the afternoon sun bursts in from behind and reveals the details in the trees on the opposite side of the path.

“Here,” says Skull, walking over to the bench and sitting down. He scoots over a bit to one side, and pats the spot in between him and the bird carving, placing his drink down on the twisty end of the bench. Vintage habitually rolls his eyes, but takes the seat next to him, handing his bottle to the wooden bird for safekeeping. The warmth from behind him relaxes the back of his neck, but his knee starts to bob. Skull has his legs crossed and his hands relaxed on his lap, but he’s fiddling with the green label on the bottom of his shirt, and drumming a finger on his thigh.

The silence burns between them. They’re wooden like the bench, and stuck to their spots like sweat. Skull’s brow is hot and his chest is cold and his throat is dry, his stomach twisted into one great knot. His juice bottle glares at him disappointedly, and when he sneaks a glance over at Vintage’s water bottle it only taunts him further. His lips part, but every word has already slinked out of his brain, and his tongue is bare. He thinks, hard, searching for something, anything to pass through his voice box and out into the air. Hidden under his bandana, his mouth opens and closes like a fish. He’s trying to remember how words are formed when Vintage forms one for him.

“So,” he begins. His gaze is fixated on the nothing in front of him.  “Why are we here?”

Skull looks down at his hands. With a breath out, he speaks. “I wanted to talk.”

“Talk then.”

Vintage’s words are just like him - short and snappy. There’s bark behind them, and Skull can sense it coming off him in waves without even looking up. He smells the familiar scent of his bandana, and feels the texture of his hands. They’re calloused in uneven ways from his E-Litre. Their rough exterior comforts him enough to speak the truth.

“...I don’t know what to say,” he admits.

Vintage’s words are on his teeth like knives. “You could start by explaining yourself.”

Skull’s face twitches in pain. He dares to move his head and break the lack of eye contact between them. He stays there for a moment, his breaths fracturing and bumpy.

“I…”

Vintage’s nails dig into his sore hand until he can’t take it any longer, and he turns and veers into the gap between them. “Well? Why did you do it, Skull? What was your reasoning this time?”

Skull’s taken aback by the snarl on Vintage’s face, but guilt steals his lexicon. His head drops a little.

“Why would you just split the team up? Why cut us all out like that?” Vintage’s face edges on disgust, his voice straight from his chest. “We all cared about it. We all cared about you!"

Skull’s shoulders tense up as Vintage demands a response from him, fists clenched. But Skull knows he’s all out of excuses.

“I know…”

“I cared about you!” The tension in the smaller squid’s body explodes all the way down to his fingers, bursting out in small, rigid lines.

“I know you did Vintage, I-”

Vintage’s voice appears to calm down, but his head starts to shake. “We were so close and then SUDDENLY you couldn’t care less about me. Suddenly, the only thing that mattered to YOU was battle.” His gestures are sharp and purposeful. “Why?”

Skull’s worst nightmares are all being confirmed in real time, and he’s helpless to undo it.

“Because, I-”

“This rank… this stupid rank…” Vintage’s voice starts to crack as he rambles. “It’s-it’s everything to me now and that’s your fault!”

Vintage looks at him with an intensity Skull doesn’t think he’ll ever unsee. The reality of what he’s caused shakes him to his core, and he wishes he could undo it all, or at least give the boy in front of him a hug, but it's not his place to try and intervene. Not anymore.

Skull’s body pleads with him. “I know that, Vintage, but-”

“Then why?” Vintage’s face is broken, and it hurts Skull to look at him. He’s blamed himself for being useless and ignorant and he knows he was wrong. Vintage venting his frustrations confirms Skull’s every worry and lets the shorter squid finally come to terms with them, but Skull can’t keep himself repressed any longer. “Why would you-”

“Because I was scared!”

Vintage halts immediately. The adrenaline keeps his blood pumping at a rapid rate, but he’s so bewildered his face slacks and his eyes narrow in confusion. He’d just felt his rage everflowing but Skull’s exclamation knocks the momentum out of him completely.

“I valued you. When we met, I…” Skull closes his eyes and breathes deeply. That moment is burnt into his memory, and he wouldn’t remove it for the world. Vintage is watching him, his body uncomfortably relaxing into Skull’s words and gaze as the taller squid opens his eyes, gently meeting Vintage’s. “You all meant a lot to me, but... showing that was…”

Skull hesitates. His eyes dart away from Vintage, then to the space between them, then to the water bottle absentmindedly observing his confession. Vintage leans into himself, bringing his hands back to rest on his lap. His anger is waning the more he listens.

“I was scared to care. If I truly invested myself, then… then it would hurt when all that inevitably went away...” To Vintage, the lack of logic is baffling, but then he still feels attachment to his arbitrary rank, Blue Team or no Blue Team. 

“But battles...” Skull’s eyes drop for a moment, but he refuses to let fear stop himself from continuing. “Tournaments, weapons, they could offer certainty.”

Vintage breaks the gap between them with his hand. He places it for support as he turns around as well as he can on the tiny bench. With glassy eyes, Skull reaches for his bandana and leans his face into the hand holding it. His eyelids are a dam as he blinks, before hooking his finger over the top of it and pulling it down, past his nose, past his chin, and to his chest, where he stalls for but a second, finally dropping the item completely.

“I knew something as good as you was bound to leave eventually.” His voice is thick with disappointment, and the bare emotion shows Vintage who he truly is. “But I can keep battling forever. So I kept you only for battles, and hoped they would make me happy.”

Reassuring words are not Vintage’s strong suit, and a Skull this open is something he’s only ever seen in childish dreams, but his last remaining bitterness can’t help but melt away at the sight in front of him, as silent as he is. It still hurts, to know what it’s like to feel uncared for and betrayed, but that feeling is overwhelmed by the knowledge that if Skull had just talked, both of their pains could have been relieved. The time they had wasted on resentment and regret could have been replaced by an even closer bond, if only they’d had more maturity.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Vintage looks up, and Skull gives him a weak smile as he speaks. “I was so scared of you leaving that…” Skull manages to hold the smile, but his eyes start to break, and he rubs at one with the ball of his hand. “...that I left you first.”

Vintage reaches out and puts his hand on Skull’s shoulder, and Skull leans into the touch. Shuffling up to him, Vintage lets Skull bring his arm around his back and pull him into a hug, and Skull rests his head on Vintage’s, the way they used to all those years ago.

“You should have told me,” Vintage whispers into Skull’s chest. His cheeks can feel the soft and worn texture of the skull bandana, and his ears can faintly hear the three intricate rhythms of Skull’s hearts.

Skull closes his eyes and runs his hand over the flat edge of Vintage’s back tentacles. It’s smooth and neatly cut, with two artistic notches that Skull starts to fiddle with. “I know I should have.”

“I cared about you so much, Skull.” Vintage’s fingers dig into Skull a little deeper, the realisation of how much he still cares washing over him once again. His head shifts as he leans more into the squid in his arms, looking at the bright wall of leaves just across the path from him. Skull turns his head to face the same way and rests it on Vintage’s.

“I know you did.”

Skull pulls his arms right around both of Vintage's shoulders and Vintage grips him back even tighter at his waist, with nothing but lost time between them, slowly unlocking. Their breaths shake in a cycling rhythm, and the world seems to pause, as if allowing them the time to catch back up with it. The atmosphere around them is patient, and even the birds seem to wait for their unspoken permission to chirp again.

“Vintage...” Skull’s voice floats through the air to Vintage’s ear, soft and gentle, and the blue squid addressed finds himself almost annoyed that his refound friend is breaking the moment. But he lets Skull shift his body, and he looks up at him, sharp red eyes meeting deep purple, fixed to each other.

“On the way here...” Skull trails off a little, glancing to the side, but Vintage spies the telltale shade of pale purple, and smiles up slightly in response. Skull looks back, and continues his thought.

“I know we’ve both already eaten a lot today, but…”

Vintage’s eyebrows drop, and his smile sinks into more of a smirk. Of course he’s thinking about food. “Are you going to ask me if I also saw the people with ice cream?”

Skull’s generic blank expression returns, but his cheeks are still slightly tinted, and he’s raised where one of his eyebrows would be. “Maybe I was actually going to ask you whether you thought the ice cream place might still be open.”

Vintage gives a “Tch,” and punctuates it with an eye roll. “You have such a one track mind.”

Skull closes his eyes and smiles. “What can I say? I have taste.” He’s snapped out of his mild smugness by a bonk to the shoulder from a half empty water bottle. He opens his eyes to a playfully unimpressed Vintage.

“Shut up Skull.”

At that, Skull grabs his own bottle and stands up. “Okay, I’m not paying for yours now.”

“What?” Vintage slides off the bench and follows behind. “I think you owe me it after all these years of dealing with the effects of younger you’s inability to communicate.”

“Ha, touché.” Skull tucks his empty bottle under his arm and reaches for the side of his bandana, leaning his head down to pull it back over his ears, when Vintage intervenes.

“Wait, stop.” Vintage is as straightforward as ever, and Skull looks at him, confused. “Leave it off.”

Skull drops his bandana momentarily, letting it rest back on his shoulders. “Why?”

Vintage looks up at his ex teammate, exposed and expressive, and breathes it all in. He thinks about how freely Skull pulled his bandana down and he feels like he could stare at his dumb pointy nose for hours.

“Because you’ll get ice cream on it.”

At that, Skull starts to walk towards the end of the trail, and Vintage is quick to follow behind. “I can just wash it.”

“I know you, you hardly ever wash that thing.” Vintage loosely tucks his hand into his windbreaker, and lets the other swing the bottle freely. 

“Don’t you think I might have changed a little over the years?” Skull’s tossing his bottle as he walks, and Vintage watches as he nearly drops it.

“You might be more emotionally mature,” says Vintage, “but you’re still a complete airhead.”

“And you’re still as blunt as ever.”

Vintage squints. “Social interaction is hard.”

Skull thinks back to his failed communication, and to the awkwardness of their reunion, and about just how true that statement is, for both of them. He laughs, only briefly, but genuinely, and catches Vintage’s sweet smile in return. Time cannot keep them apart forever - it can only give them more excuses to talk.

“Tell me about it.”