Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What comes after death?

Marcy had wondered about it, one question that no amount of googling could solve (not that she hadn’t tried).

She also couldn’t ask someone else.

---

marbles: What happens after death?

👑Sasha 👑: someone's feeling dark

annabanana: yeah marmar, what brought this on?

marbles: I was just curious

---

Even she didn’t know.

(And Marcy was sure that she was talking to her while Marcy was dead).

(Which wouldn’t that make her dead too?)

“Hell if I know.” Blonde hair tossed over her shoulder lazily, she considered the thought with a critical focus. “I have been to an afterlife or two, but I’m not sure what happens here.”

“Here in Amphibia?” She hadn’t even considered that she might have a different afterlife than the one on earth. 

The only thing worse than being separated from Anne and Sasha now…

...was being separated from Anne and Sasha forever.

It’s not like she didn’t deserve it.

But it still stung.

“Here in your reality.”

“So Amphibia?” 

And she was gone.

---

Marcy had learned from a young age that she wasn’t good alone.

Whether that had come from everyone’s apparent distaste for her or her parents consistently ignoring her, she couldn’t quite say.

But then there was Anne . 

And Anne changed everything.

Anne was well-liked.

That meant, if Marcy was with Anne , she was well-liked too.

(Sort of).

And then Sasha came along and she was even more well-liked than Anne .

(Oddly enough, for very different reasons).

She’d been told she was moving and her breath caught.

Without Sasha, without Anne , Marcy was alone.

And when Marcy was alone, no one liked her, no one paid attention to her, no one cared for her.

( She would later ask if Marcy cared for herself at all. Marcy delayed the answer until she had disappeared again and then refused to bring it up again).

(Which she muttered under her breath, was part of the problem).

(Marcy ignored her ).

Because, really, Marcy didn’t have to like herself. Marcy didn't have to pay attention to herself. She didn’t have to care for herself.

Because, (as she reasoned), she had so many other things to like and pay attention to and care for.

( She did not seem to appreciate this philosophical reasoning as much as Marcy did).

She had Anne and the Vagabondia Chronicles and Creatures and Caverns and Sasha and every ounce of anime-television-entertainment-book-speech-music-media that her phone allowed her to access in the golden age of information and technology.

(This created an hour long discussion when she asked what Marcy thought of musicals. Marcy’s delve into theatre had been light, but enough to create a conversation that lasted up until she disappeared again and couldn’t ask her any more questions she didn’t want to answer).

---

Why do you cut out when I’m calm?” Marcy’s gaze fell to the edges of her pajama bottoms (apparently that’s what she was wearing this visit). 

“There are scientists that check up on your vitals. Jack has to get me out before they show up.”

“Who’s Jack?”

“My partner with all this.” She shrugged. “He got me stabbed, so I get to use him like a taxi and back up with the threat of telling my parental guardians.”

“Parental guardians?”

“I don’t have parents, but I do have my parental guardians. And if they knew Jack got me stabbed, they’re reaction would be nothing less than permanently lethal.”

“Isn’t everything permanently lethal?”

She smirked. “Not with Jack.”

---

She was confusing like that, mentioning impossibilities.

Offhandedly remarking about a con or a job or something that shouldn’t have been real.

But that was as normal as things could be with her .

She ’d never mentioned her parents before.

Well,

Marcy wasn’t sure that she hadn’t mentioned them.

She ’d just never used the words “mom” or “dad” or noted much about her family.

She mentioned roommates, siblings, and some weird combination of the two.

The way she ’d described it hadn’t been like anything Marcy had experienced. 

She asked Marcy about her parents, though.

---

“Why did you want to run off, travel forever?” Raising her eyebrows over a nonexistent cup of tea, a pair of aging eyes stared her down. “Wouldn’t you miss your parents?”

Marcy shrugged offhandedly, her own unreal cup in her grip. “I love Sasha and Anne more, I guess.”

“But, wasn’t there hesitation? Anything?”

The question took some time to answer, the statement traipsing through her brain before she said it. “No.”

---

Her parents weren’t that bad, Marcy knew.

They just had expectations. 

They weren’t particularly fond of their daughter’s antisocial behavior and odd obsessions.

And they didn’t want her to be different.

---

“They didn’t let you get tested?” She furrowed her brows, face filled with the desolate realization of something she knew but didn’t want to. “For anxiety, adhd, autism, anything?”

Marcy shook her head, hands somehow trembling in their translucent form ( she must have been tired today). “I did my research and it seemed like it could line up. For once, everything was starting to make sense, but--” she hesitated. “That wasn’t what they wanted.”

---

She could remember the ghost of a memory, in the shadows of her foggy mind.

“Marcy, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Our daughter isn’t like that. People like that, they’re wrong in the head.”

“They make up words to excuse their poor behavior. You’re not looking for an excuse, are you?”

She’d shaken her head furtively, receding as far she could into her hoodie and down her seat, a packet of library printouts in her hand.

---

“That’s bullshit.” She said it so frankly, it was startling. “Marcy, mental health is a thing. If anyone tells you it isn’t, they’re wrong, okay? Our minds can be just as different and altering as the rest of us and sometimes that just changes how we are. I remember when I first got diagnosed, it was almost cathartic. We go around, thinking there’s something wrong and when you realize what it is,” she shook her head, “and that there’s help, you can get allowances and plans for it, it’s like a weight has been lifted off your chest.”

“You were diagnosed?”

“Depression, anxiety, PTSD, to name the big ones.” She shrugged. “It is what it is.”

---

Careful footsteps made their way down the hallway.

Gaze held, breaths short, two figures nodded at each other as a heavy, iron door came into view. 

The taller one spoke first, his long, grey coat undone. In the darkness, you could just make out a pair of icy blue eyes, a concerned face that normally held an attractive smirk.

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

The smaller of the two shook her head, face pulled into a grimace. “I still need to try.”

“You know, I feel like our deal should be over by now.”

“I’ve still got the scar.” She narrowed her eyes, dragging it open. “Besides, what else are you going to do? Drink yourself to death?”

“I’ll have you know I’ve done that multiple times to surprisingly positive results.”

“Alcoholism isn’t coping, Harkness.”

“So you’re the queen of healthy coping mechanisms now?” He raised an eyebrow. “Miss Suicidal-Hero-Complex?”

“At least I try to do something with myself.” She glared and slipped through. “What have you done with all of your eternity since Thirteen?”

His mumbled response went unheard.

Chapter Text

Sasha remembers the moment quite clearly.

Patrol is boring, but it means she’s trusted with a sword, so it’s better than nothing. 

With Anne, Marcy, and the Calamity Box gone, there’s not much any of them can do.

Not much else she can think of.

Besides….

Blame is never something that Sasha Waybright has ever wanted to deal with. 

It was always someone else’s problem, someone else’s doing. 

Only, sitting there, watching the heavy doors of the throne room close, the thought had dared enter her head.

Am I a bad person?

Of course, it was directly after where they’d realized who Andrias really was and dealing with his monologue-filled rise to power, Marcy’s betrayal, Anne’s blue powers, the portal, Marcy getting impaled--

And their escape.

She only remembered snatches of time, images, sounds, nothing fit together.

And right now, remembering was the last thing she wanted to do.

The very last. 

Patrol was nice, in some ways. 

An army of robots at Andrias’ beck and call meant they needed to be especially careful, no matter how far away.

On top of the fact that everything was genuinely trying to kill you in Amphibia, it meant that she needed to be as focused as she could if she wanted to stay alive.

Which meant no time for thinking.

And doubting.

And letting that doubt destroy everything you thought you knew about yourself.

Which is why she noticed the noise while she was definitely not thinking about the fact that Marcy Wu might-possibly-most likely-could-be dead.

A crisp, metallic sound echoed in the farthest reaches of the trees, something she hadn’t heard since Marcy had made her watch that dumb blue-box show.

Maybe Andrias got an upgrade?

Nodding her head to the location of the disturbance, she let Grime know as she crept through the underbrush. Sword drawn, she ducked under an especially annoying branch before stepping into a clearing. 

Where most spaces in Amphibia held some sort of terror or suspense hidden underneath, glancing around, the space seemed oddly pleasant. Pine needles scattered among grass blades softened the sound of her boots, the light filtering through branches almost picturesque.

She supposed the underlying horror was present in the hallucination.

At least, it had to be a hallucination.

She and Marcy were the only two humans left in Amphibia.

There was no way that she was actually seeing what she thought she was seeing.

(Maybe the combination of stress and lack of sleep was beginning to get to her).

Because there was no way this was possible.

There was no way that, at the edge of the clearing, there was someone else.

Not a frog.

Not a toad.

Not a newt or a robot.

A person.

Gazing deeper into the woods, blonde hair shone, strands floating around her face as they escaped the braids that wrapped around her head and curled down her left side, brushed behind a sharply pointed ear. 

A black coat fit snugly around her, the bodice tight but the skirt and sleeves beginning to billow out. Pockets of varying tones of black patterned the front, every inch filled. Buttons undone, she could make out a pink sports bra with a short lavender skirt, also billowing out around her legs. 

(Talk about impractical). 

Thin, netted gloves fit both her hands, her left distractedly swinging around a pink baseball bat. A pair of heavy combat boots (similarly colored) spun around, giving Sasha a better view from her space, half-hidden in the undergrowth.

If Sasha had first thought there could be something in common with the two of them, that hope was dashed. 

She was certainly older, though shorter than even Marcy from the look of it. (Maybe sixteen, seventeen?) Two carefully observant eyes scanned the trees, too old for how young she appeared. On her left cheek, a scar ripped through pale skin in a rough cut, an imperfect diamond that trailed down as if she was crying a permanent tear. What she’d originally seen as an obscured gold headband fully revealed to be an intricate gold crown, rose colored stones entwined in their strands. 

She looked too delicate to be in Amphibia, almost too delicate to exist. Something behind her expression trembled, constantly attentive. Eyes flitting about, it was as if a strong wind could shatter her completely.

Obviously, it was a hallucination.

“Asshole.” Setting the bat against a log, the hand delved into a pocket, taking out a phone, her brows furrowed in annoyance. “Harkness, you are such an asshole.”

Did hallucinations talk?

She was sure they could. 

Maybe?

Shaking her head, she stowed it back, candy-colored boots slowly crushing the underbrush beneath her footsteps. 

“You are too, if you’re not going to reveal yourself to me, whoever you are.”

Do hallucinations acknowledge you?

Aren’t they supposed to be targeted to you specifically?

Awkwardly, Sasha maneuvered out, the insufferable twig in question barely missing her eye.

“Ah.” A cryptic smirk curled up her lips. “Sasha Waybright.”

Her breath caught. “How do you--”

“The thirteen year-old captain of the cheerleading squad at SJMS.” Tilting her head to the side, Sasha swore she could almost see her fear. “But you might be fourteen by now, she didn’t know. I've got to say, that’s a lot of war crimes for someone so young.”

Shaking her head, she steeled herself, scowling. “How do you know who I am?”

“I know a lot of things from a lot of different sources.” She rolled her eyes. “Really, I want to be here less than you do. Turns out having a partner with an unreliable traveling device can backfire on you, who’d have thought?”

“I’m taking you back with me.” Remembering the sword in her hand, she raised it to strike. 

“To quote William Shakespeare’s The Tempest : ‘put thy sword up, traitor; for I can disarm thee with this stick.’” She shrugged at her empty hands before reaching for the bright pink item. “Or bat, in this case.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Really?” An almost manic smirk fit her face as she shook her head. “You naive--”

Sasha lunged.

Hitting her blade out of her hand with an annoying clang, she dropped to the ground. Spinning a leg around, Sasha felt her balance give out, palms catching herself just before she hit the ground. A combat boot collided with her jaw before the girl had sprung off from her hands to land on her other side and, leaving her both defenseless and swordless.

Why did I give them my other sword?

Right, because Andrias effing obliterated Toad Tower and Wartwood isn’t exactly known for weapon production.

Grumbling, she slipped a dagger from her side pocket, holding it aloft for a moment before her assailant had knocked it out of her hand, letting it skitter across the ground. Swinging the rose-colored blade closer to Sasha, she let herself wince her eyes closed before it stopped.

Blinking her eyes open, she could almost meet her reflection in the sword inches from her neck. Flitting her eyes up, the girl smirked.

“Impressive, but don’t embarrass yourself.” Shrugging, she tossed it over to the side, expression sobering. “If you try to pull another dagger on me, you should know I’m probably carrying more and I’ve been doing this sort of thing since I was a kid. I’m trained to be able to hold my own against something eldritch if the need requires. You’re a kid.”

“You've got a baseball bat.”

“If it can work for Harley Quinn, it can work for me.”

“I’m barely younger than you.”

“No.” Her expression didn’t change. “You’re really not.”

“What are you doing here?” Glaring, she brushed herself off as she stood.

“I’m trying to find someone else, but someone forgot to charge his stupid techie bracelet and dropped me off here because he’s an asshole.”

“You mentioned that.” She blinked. “Wait, who are you looking to find?”

She brought a finger to her lips with a carefully crafted smile. “Spoilers.”

“Who are you?”

“More spoilers.”

“Are you always this much of a dick?”

She paused for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“How does anyone stand you?”

“I could ask you the same question.” 

The statement hurt more than she wanted it too. “Excuse me?”

“You’re kind of an awful person. You’ve betrayed your friends multiple times, tried to kill the people they love at least twice, and attempted to help begin a fascist army. Also, when your friends got ticked that you were being so manipulative, you threatened to send them home without being able to return because you have major control issues. Like, I had a former warlord live with me, but she had a ton of abuse and toxic indoctrination and is still more tolerable. You just appear, from what I’ve seen, to be a privileged prick that hasn’t grown out of throwing a temper tantrum when she doesn’t get her way and blames everyone but herself. Also, your relationships with Anne and Marcy were based on a toxic need to have others vindicate your feelings of superiority, though,” she shrugged, “I don’t know everything yet. At least Marcy has intense regrets and some signs of abuse to back her reasons for betrayal, not that that’s an excuse. Like, both of you have yet to understand that your actions have lasting consequences but she sent you guys to a magic world to escape losing the only two people she feels genuinely love her and you started commanding an army because you were bored. Not that it makes what she did okay, it’s just an interesting parallel. Almost like Prospero and Antonio, but maybe I’m just too stuck on The Tempest . Iago and Othello, maybe Macbeth and Banquo?”

“How do you--”

“I said I know a lot of things from a lot of different sources, darling.” Running a strand of hair through her fingers, she blinked. “I know this well. Also, I might be mad. It all depends on the day or the excuse.”

“You’re insane.”

“I just said that.” Sighing, she began pacing. “You are just a child and I can’t exactly blame you for your stress reaction, but it doesn’t excuse the toxic person you were before and how, while Marcy and Anne have grown over their time here, you’ve kinda gotten worse and were only halfway decent to stop someone from trying to conquer everything. You all need therapy, but yours is definitely going to be the most intense.”

“Wait,” the full effect of her words fell over her, “how do you know that about Marcy?”

“I said I was going to visit someone, didn't I? Do try to keep up.”

“You can reach her.”

She nodded. “But you can’t, yet. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Explain.” The handle of the sword once again grasped in calloused fingers, she raised an eyebrow. “Or I'll make you.”

“Darling, we've already done that once. It didn't end well.”

“You hadn't mentioned Marcy then.”

“Believe me, I know a thing or two about going ballistic for the people you love.” Almost unconsciously, a hand went up to her scarred cheek. “But I'd still win and you can't afford to be injured.”

“What have you done with Marcy?”

“Nothing,” she scowled at the ground, “I can't do anything to get her out of there, that's all up to you, Titania knows when. The only thing I can do is talk to her subconscious.”

“What--”

“Don’t ask, I really don’t feel like explaining.”

Silence fell over them awkwardly as Sasha Waybright, for the second time in recent history, found herself with no idea what to do. 

(It was happening more often than she’d like to admit).

Is this what everyone else feels like all the time?

“What can you tell me?”

Two aging eyes fell on her again. “She’s stable. Leviathan has her locked up in a stasis tank in the basement of the Newtopian castle, no doubt to use her as a vessel for some orange-eyed Lovecraftian elder-god. You’ll either get to her before Cthulhu gets his tentacles in her mind or have to get her back in some Winter Soldier/Save The Cat arc.”

“And what will you do until then?” She narrowed her scowl, ignoring how unreasonably hard it was to read the warped mirror in front of her.

“Try to protect her mind, teach her how to avoid him .” A sorrowful smile marred her formerly confident, emotionless grimace. “I know what it’s like to have an invader in your mind.” Her confusing conflicting emotions were cut off by a few bars of a song emitting from her pocket.

Sasha blinked, face scrunched in confusion. “Is that Womanizer? ”

God, how long has it been since I heard Britney Spears?

Damnit Sasha, priorities!

“Yep.” Sighing, the girl pulled out her phone. “What’s up, asshole?”

The response went unheard, but Sasha couldn’t have imagined it’d have been positive. 

“Let me check.” Jamming her shoulder up to her ear, she dug around the cavalcade of pockets, finally extracting a thin, silver, object. “Okay, I’m right outside Wartwood. My coordinates are--” she trailed off, muttering a stream of unintelligible numbers and sounds. “Did you get that? Okay, it’s 7:33. Pick me up soon, dumbass. Love you.” 

She rolled her eyes, both items disappearing into their respective pockets once again. “Immortals have no concept of time.”

“Who was that?”

“My ride, a family friend.” She smirked. “Twice my age and I’m the one with impulse control.”

“You’re leaving?”

“You three are the only ones I’m going to talk to.” She shrugged. “I didn’t even plan to talk to you today, but that at least knocks something off my todo list.”

“Us three? Do you mean Anne too?” Her eyes widened. “Can you reach her?”

She held a finger up to her lips. “Spoilers, darling.”

“But--what--”

“Highness, please tell me you haven’t interfered too badly.” A distinctly male voice fit the man that emerged from the edge of the clearing, hands in the pockets of a long grey coat. 

“I actually follow the rules, you’re the one that always messes around with fixed points.”

“And characters.” He smirked. 

She groaned. “I walked right into that one. Anyway, asshole, can you get us out of here?”

This is the first conversation I’ve seen happen that doesn’t involve amphibians in how long?

“Not when you ask it like that.”

“Fine. Captain ‘too cocky for his own good’ Harkness, can you get us out of here?”

“Of course, highness.” Giving Sasha a small wave, he pressed something into the gauntlet on his wrist. Grabbing his arm, the girl did the same.

“I’m sure this isn’t the last time we’ll see each other. Do be careful, darling.”

And, in a flash, they were gone.

She stared at the empty space.

What the--

“Sasha, I heard voices.” Grunting as he edged his way out of the brush, Grime stumbled beside her. “Is everything okay? Do you need me to kill something?”

She shook her head mutely. 

“I think I’m going crazy.”

He blinked, turning to look at her with his good eye. “What?”

“Whatever,” fixing her face into the perfect image of nonchalance, she fit her sword back into her scabbard, “it’s not important.”

“Are you sure?”

No, no, it’s not okay. 

But this isn’t a game anymore.

“Yeah.” Desperately hoping he didn’t notice the lie, she shrugged back through to Wartwood. “We shouldn’t abandon our post.”

“I’m sure this isn’t the last time we’ll see each other.”

She couldn’t tell which one she’d prefer.

Chapter Text

She couldn’t quite remember when it started, when she started visiting her. 

It had been a while--that she knew. 

But time was--different here.

---

“Christ, what do they have her in? I thought you said this was for kids.”

Before the pair stood a ceiling-high cylinder of glass, filled with a thick, clear, liquid, a number of dark-colored tubes, and her unconscious form.

Delicately, the smaller figure approached the glass, tentatively reaching a hand out, tears glistening in her eyes. 

“How could he? She’s just a child.”

“You are too, you know.” Leaning over what appeared to be a computer, the taller of the two scanned the screen. “I’m going to get her files to see what they know and their schedules.”

“Jack, I’m half your age.”

He glared over the console. “Less than half.”

“That’s still older than most.”

“No kidding.” He laughed dryly. “Do you want to try?”

“You won’t leave me to die?”

“Your parentals would kill me. Permanently. I’m not ready for that.”

“Alright.” Letting her eyes flutter shut, she lowered herself to the ground, a hand still reaching out to the thick glass. Breathing in, she let out the first few notes, her other hand grasped around a pendant on her chest.

The air tinged with a feeling that hadn’t been felt in the stone halls for longer than one could remember.

Hope.

---

Marcy felt--

Well, Marcy felt.

Her brain, foggy and unresponsive, couldn’t imagine the last time she actually felt something, was conscious enough to sense anything more than silence.

Blinking her eyes open (they could do that?) her gaze was assaulted by a painfully white space. A void, more like it. Colorless as far as the eye could see. 

Until her gaze landed on another figure, a few feet away from her.

Blonde hair fell across her shoulders, different from the hair of the other blonde she’d become so used to. Her eyes were different too. Her face was young, but older than Marcy’s own, her eyes much too old for the youth they were trying to portray. A black coat littered with pockets fitted itself around her form, clasped up to her chin. A pair of eyebrows raised in an excited smirk.

“Hey there, Marcy.”

She screamed.

--

“What happened?” Leaning over, her small, blond figure fell over gasping.

“She severed the connection.” Shaking her head, she blinked blearily. “But it was her, she was there.”

From the computer-like object, an alarm rattled off. 

“Sensors were triggered, she’s under stress. Someone’s going to come down to check on her. Highness, we’ve got to go.”

Nodding, she complied, holding onto his arm as he typed something into his bracelet.

---

“How was your day?”

“Marce, you don’t need to ask.”

“No, I want to know.” She sighed, eyes cascading over the void space. “Nothing has happened for--I don’t know how long.”

“Okay,” Smiling, she leaned back on the palms of her hands, “It was pretty normal--Dodie did set the kitchen on fire, though.”

“That counts as normal?”

“First time in a month.” Noticing Marcy’s perplexity, she elaborated. “Okay, so maybe I should start from the beginning.”

---

The senses were slightly more familiar this time (at least it wasn’t such an unnatural feeling).

She found herself returned to the same space, the same pair of ancient eyes fixed in a teenager’s body.

“Please don’t scream.” Fear flickered through her face, holding her hands up. “If you’re afraid then your vitals change and they come to check on you.”

Her inner panic settled, if only for a moment. “What do you mean my vitals change?”

“We’re not actually doing this.” She stopped. “Well, we’re doing this, but not physically. We’re talking subconscious to subconscious.”

“What?” Her eyes went wide. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Ames and I have been testing this spell for months so I’m grateful it actually paid off and I can talk to you.” Her own eyes flitted around the space. “I can sense stuff, but it's never been like this.”

“So where am I?”

“Suspended animation tank.” She said it so normally that Marcy had to take a moment to realize what the words meant. “Your wound was immediately cauterized, thank Titania, but it still did serious damage. This way, the bastard who impaled you can keep you alive and heal you slowly.”

“What--” She cut her off.

“I know it’s a lot, but I need you to breathe in with me. Four counts in, four counts hold, four counts exhale.”

She followed her instructions, repeating it twice. “They’re monitoring my vitals.”

“My guess is because you were so incredibly important to the king before and he’s going to try to preserve that. It also seemed like he had a rather personal relationship with you and is taking on the same sort of warped sense of care that Thanos had with Gamora.” She shrugged. “That or it’s Disney and they can’t exactly kill a protagonist.”

Is this what I sound like to Sasha and Anne? “So I’m dead?”

“Mostly dead.” She smirked before her expression sombered. “For Lizard King or whatever, this is the best way to heal you and keep you secret at the same time.”

“Andrias.” She resisted the urge to throw up (could she throw up?). “King Andrias Leviathan.”

Staring at her with ancient eyes, she blinked slowly. “You mean to tell me you trusted someone who’s last name is basically an Eldritch horror?”

“I don’t have a lot of friends, okay?” Marcy gulped, willing the tears (could she cry? It felt like she might) to stay at bay. “I just--I just--”

“Don’t cry.” She held out a hand. “I’m not here to judge you, okay?”

“You should.” The words fell out of her mouth roughly, voice becoming hoarse. “I’m terrible, I almost got my friends killed because I didn’t want to be alone. It was all about me, wasn’t it? I just had to--”

And the senses were gone.

---

“It’s not your fault you know.” Marcy almost didn’t realize she’d come back, feeling once again seeping through, her brain slightly jilted from its stupor. “You’re thirteen, your brain hasn’t really developed to understand long-term ramifications. I really doubt this is what you were thinking when you were offered a mystery world away from reality.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look up. “I still did it, though.”

“Yeah.” The other girl (could she call her a girl? She seemed more, there was something clearly inhuman about her --was this what she was manifesting after death?) paused awkwardly. “You really screwed up, I’ll give you that. But that doesn’t make you a terrible person. You just don’t have the best strategies to cope with all your emotions. No thirteen year old does, hell, a surprising number of adults don’t. Look, Marcy, just because you made a mistake doesn’t mean you’re suddenly an unethical, selfish, prick.”

“How do you know my name?”

“It feels like you’re deflecting.”

She looked up, words biting and growing in anger. “How do you? How do you know any of this? How do I know I can trust you?”

“Breathe,” her hands came up again, “take some deep breaths and I’ll tell you.” A few, slow exhales later, she nodded. “Look, you’re part of what we call an alternate reality. Specific events have to play out to keep everything stable, you know, canon events. My job is to protect the canon of alternate realities such as yourself.”

“That still doesn't explain everything.”

She winced. “Look, I have methods of finding out canon events. Once I found this place--weird story for later--I wanted to make sure that I could keep everything canon in between the hiatus, but I also thought that you were probably feeling awful and alone. You, Anne, and Sasha are all going to need intense therapy when this is over, but it’d probably be good if you don’t immediately have a mental breakdown when they get you out of here.”

She shot up at the mention of Anne and Sasha. “Do you know what’s going to happen?”

“Sorry darling.” She dragged a finger across her lips. “Spoilers.”

“You sound like River Song from Doctor Who.” Marcy groaned.

“That’s bound to happen with the amount of time I’ve spent with her.”

“Wait, what?”

Her face fixed itself into a picture of insufferable secrecy. “Spoilers.”

She glared. “That’s cheating!”

“That’s kinda the point, darling.”

“What are you even doing here?” Glancing around the space, Marcy’s eyes were assaulted with what appeared to be a limitless volume of white. “How can I communicate with your subconscious?”

“Is mentioning a spell not going to be good enough?”

“I just don’t get it.” She blinked, scanning everything in sight. Her mind raced without anything to think of. Ideas reached for data that slipped past her grip of understanding.

“Welcome to life. Would you believe we’re all mad here?”

“Not really.”

“Then, kid,” she smirked, “it might be time to start.”

Chapter Text

Walking down the steps of the library, Anne gazed out at the streets of LA.

Was it really home, anymore?

The question had plagued her as soon as she’d stepped through the doors of her house into the familiar entryway, photos lining the wall depicting her entire life.

Or, what had been her entire life.

She’d had to beg her mother to let her walk to the library alone (though, she might’ve garnered points for wanting to go to the library in the first place).

(That never would have been something she’d chosen before--everything).

It’s not that she wasn’t happy to be back and it’s not like she didn’t cherish every moment with her family and the Plantars together, her two families combined under one roof. 

It’s just that, after everything. After months in a completely different world (where everything was constantly trying to kill you), the chaotic monotony of LA was no longer as comforting as it had been. 

Priorities changed after you spent months working hard for survival, after your best friend tried to kill you and your family, after you channeled ancient powers from an even more ancient unknown origin. 

After everything, going back to biking to help her parents at Thai Go and gossiping about Suspicion Island just seemed--pointless.

Marcy could be dead. Sasha was on her own. Andrias had the Calamity Box.

And Anne was going shoe-shopping and helping her mom bake.

After months of desperately wanting to go home, home was no longer home.

The chance to be on her own, the chance to have some peace that wasn’t interrupted by Sprig’s constant stream of questions or the screaming of Polly and Domino trying to kill each other, she’d clung to it whenever she could. 

Her parents weren’t exactly open to their formerly missing daughter walking around LA unattended. She couldn’t understand how her mother had finally relented, dropping a purse on her desk.

“Check in every hour, be home by 5:00. Don’t take the Plantars with you.”

Anne had lunged for the opportunity, giving her a quick hug before tearing out of the house so she couldn’t change her mind. 

The Plantars were another thing entirely. Large talking frogs were weird (even for LA) and with the amount of photos that had been taken that first day, she was just waiting for characters from the X Files to be pounding at her door.

Though, of course, when she thought of that, she remembered Marcy. Her excitement as she had showed Anne and Sasha her favorite shows on Halloween.

Then, of course, she remembered the sound of Andrias’ fiery blade slicing through her, the whimper of Marcy’s barely audible “I’m sorry...For everything.”

It seemed like everything reminded her of Marcy or Sasha. Places they used to go, the carvings Sasha would leave everywhere, Marcy’s random facts and favorites. 

The first time she really went grocery shopping with her parents, they passed mint chip ice cream and she broke down crying in the frozen foods aisle.

(Definitely not one of her prouder moments).

The library hadn’t shown her what she’d needed and reminded her even more of study groups, getting too excitable and getting kicked out, finding Marcy by the trail of books she’d dropped.

So, in search of something , she continued to walk down the sidewalk, eyes trailing across storefronts, noting the changes that had occurred over the months. As she walked, she found herself missing the odd familiarity of Wartwood, walking down to the shops with the Plantars, avoiding the odd giant insect that tried to eat the town.

Good memories.

Even with the chaos of LA, the city never got quite as medieval with its monsters. 

Right ?

Her distracted daydreaming came to an abrupt end when she heard a familiar sound.

The distinct lumbering of heavy metal legs, long arms swinging around wildly, gun charging with its beam of light. 

One of Andrias’ robots.

Running towards the origin of the noise, her heart pounded in her ears.

Come on blue powers, please work .

“Goddamnit you tinman.” A young, feminine voice echoed through the alleyway.

Wait, what?

Peering into the fight, Anne found the robot (different from the one from the market) already occupied with a pair of teenagers.

“Hey, Blair, a little help?”

“What am I supposed to do?” A dark haired figure winced at the scene, eyes flitting about worriedly at the small, blonde girl sparring with it a few feet away. “Can’t you just stab it?”

“Stabbing’s too small, transfer the pain.” She grunted, dodging a blast from its arm. 

“I can’t, Alice. It doesn’t have flesh.”

She cackled, back against one wall, ducking under a lumbering arm. “I am so quoting you for that.”

They rolled their eyes. “Can you kill it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I have to do everything, don’t I?” Grunting as she pressed her back flush against the brick, she kicked off, tilting the heavy thing to lumber in a different direction. 

Unfortunately, that direction was Anne’s.

A pair of red mechanical eyes blinked, raising the heavy arm to extend towards her. 

“Hey!” Ducking clunking fingers, she took refuge beside a nearby dumpster.

“Alice, it’s a kid!”

“Shit--hey, metal asshole, over here!”

The robot ignored her, puncturing through the metal sides like paper, sharply pointed hand edging towards her.

“What, you’re ignoring me?” Her voice wavered in confidence, worry slipping through.

Anne ran across, the arm following her, trailing the dumpster with it. Slamming the metal box into the building’s side, she ducked to avoid the various shrapnel. 

Great. This is how I’m going to die.

Blue powers, seriously, any minute here!

Cupping her arms over her head, she inhaled sharply, waiting for the first contact. 

A sharp ringing of a shot echoed throughout the small space, the robot slumping over, fingers falling, unusable. 

“That’s a harder thing to ignore.” Leaning over the metal carcass, the blonde girl (Alice?) held a sci-fi looking gun aloft. 

“Does Jack know you stole his gun?”

“Consider it collateral.”

“For what?”

She cocked her head to the side. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The ringing in her ears slowed. Carefully, Anne unwound her arms and legs from their compact position. Shakily, she willed herself to stand. Looking up, two pairs of alarmingly bright eyes stared back at her. 

“Are you okay?” Abandoning the robot, the dark haired one (Blair?) walked over to her. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, wincing her eyes shut again. “No, it didn’t get to me.”

“Thank Titania.” Alice walked over to her, stowing the gun into a pocket. “I am so sorry, it was jammed in my coat. I should’ve gone for it sooner, we were just hoping to get its hard drive so we could figure out how and why that Lovecraftian asshole sent it.”

“Lovecraftian--” something in her mind clicked. “Do you mean Andrias?”

She nodded, eyes searching her face. “You--you’re Anne, aren’t you?” Her expression brightened as she turned to her partner. “We were looking for you!”

“How do you know my name?” She backed up, nearly tripping over a discarded can. 

“Marcy told me.” She said it as if it was the most normal reason. “She gave me your address. We were looking for you when we ran into that thing.” She gestured vaguely to the hunk of metal.

“How did Marcy tell you? Is she--”

“She’s not awake, she’s in stasis. Look,” glancing around, she and Blair locked eyes, a silent conversation passing between them, “is there somewhere else we could talk? Less public?”

“Sure.” Still eying them warily, she stood. “There’s a coffee shop a few blocks from here. Would that work?”

“Public but private enough for a conversation, smart.” Nodding, Alice stepped over the discarded arm. “We should probably do something about this, though.”

“Yeah.” Blair grimaced. “The less they know the better.”

“Here,” from a pocket in her coat, she handed them a small half-sphere, “send the love. I’ll take care of the camera.”

“We’re sending it to Harkness, not Charlie.” Rolling their eyes, they took it and placed it on the chestplate. “We’re not angels.”

“It sounds so much cooler that way.” Hefting herself up to the slightly-intact lid of the dumpster, she skated across to a blocky white camera fixed to the side of the building. “You know, last time I was here, they didn’t have these.”

Blair typed something into the sphere, watching it flicker before disappearing altogether with the robot. “Last time you were here, Marilyn Monroe was still alive.”

“Which was the last time worth visiting LA.” Pulling back a side panel, she severed a collection of brightly colored wires with a knife that had somehow come out of her sleeve. “This should work.” She jumped down, nodding to her partner. “Anything else?”

“What if they notice the cause? It’d look like a coverup.” 

“It’s going to look like a coverup anyway, but you’re right.” Slipping the gun back out of her pocket, she aimed it at the lens. Turning a dial on the side, she pulled the trigger, the shot splintering the glass and metal, flaming gobs of plastic melting down the side. Satisfied with herself, she grinned at Anne. “Now, darling, where did you say we could go?”

---

Cautiously, Anne led them down the street and around the block, her mind spinning. Thoughts entered the barest levels of her understanding before she’d shoved them to the side in favor of other, more pressing items.

The most important thing, though, the word that beat all the others:

Marcy.

Marcy told them something.

She talked to Marcy.

Is she lying?

She knows Andrias.

What do I do??

“Anne, is this it?” Alice’s voice jolted her out of her head, tennis shoes stopping in front of a familiar facade. 

“Yeah.” She gestured to a table before wincing at a brightly colored sign.

Tables for customers only.

“Here.” Taking a mask out of one of the pockets of her coat, Alice nodded to the doors. “I’ll get something. Do you have any allergies, love?”

Anne shook her head. “I don’t need anything, though.”

“You might.” She shrugged. “If not, I’ll eat it.”

Without another word, she walked through the doors, leaving Anne and Blair in awkward silence.

“Do you want to sit?” They gestured to a nearby table, partially hidden from the street with a potted shrub. She nodded hollowly, following them to sit around a small, round surface covered in mosaics. 

Thoughts still swirling through her head, she traced the edges of the sea-colored stones. Blair pulled their jacket closer around them, despite the warmth of the day. 

She took a moment to really look at them. (She was at least going with ‘them’ because she honestly had no idea what their gender was). Dark hair contrasted their almost ghostly pale skin, cropped close to their head. A pair of strikingly green eyes scanned the tabletop, fingers nervously playing with the edges of their sleeves. If Sasha was here, she’d remark how much they looked like a vampire from one of the trashy novels they snuck under the covers of sleepovers. LA was known for heat and today was no different. However, they were clad almost entirely in black, save for the grey cloth sleeves of their jean jacket. 

“I know this is weird, but we’re here to help.”

“I’ve heard that before.” She snapped before shaking her head. “How do you know Marcy? Where is she?”

“Alice actually knows that one. I haven’t been to Amphibia myself. Varian’s going through something and I don’t have her same abilities.”

“Same abilities?”

“It’s a long story--Alice would know better--” Their face broke into an expression of relief as the girl in question walked out, one hand grasping a trio of paper bags while her other one clutched a coffee mug. Grimacing, she pulled out a chair.

“Everything’s so freaking expensive here. And that’s coming from a New Yorker.” She passed them each a bag. “Marcy said you liked oatmeal cookies best so I got you one of those.”

She took it hesitantly. “You’re right.”

“Anne Boonchuy, I owe you an explanation.” Leaving her own unopened, she took a sip from her drink. “What do you want to know first?”

Questions bounced through her mind before she landed on the one that surpassed the others. “Where’s Marcy?”

“Marcy is in the dungeon of Andrias’ castle in a suspended animation tank. I know this because I’ve been able to visit her.”

She nodded mutely, pretending to understand, her mind overwhelmed but genuinely grateful. “How? How can you talk to her if she’s in suspended animation?”

“I can communicate with the barest levels of her mind. Her brain isn’t completely shut off, because then she’d be dead. My abilities allow me to perceive levels of the psyche. For most, it’s just the weakest, what you see and hear. However, if I use a specific spell, I can directly communicate with someone who’s unconscious.”

“How?” Her eyes widened.

“You know how you have your blue powers?”

“You know--”

“She told me. You’re connected to an ancient power? So am I, in a way.”

She glanced over to Blair who shrugged. “Don’t look at me. None of us understand her abilities.”

“That’s another reason why I wanted to introduce myself to you.” Alice took another sip. “I’ve been dealing with explosive powers I don’t understand personally since I was eleven. For other people, since I was three.” She stuck a thumb at her partner. “My sibling over here healed a skinned knee of mine the first day I met them.”

They nodded, blushing slightly. “Mine is less connected to ancient magic and more I was born like this.”

“Also, Dodie’s been highly combustible since she was four.” Alice nodded. “We have a ton of fire extinguishers for a reason.”

Anne narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying?”

“Everything you’re going through? Isn’t the weirdest thing we’ve heard this week.” Setting her drink down, she met her eyes, expression softening with genuine care. “I’ll answer any questions you have about me and how I know Marcy. I’ll tell you everything. You’re probably going through a lot and,” her eyes flitted over to her sibling, “we can help.”

“Really?” Her gaze blinked back and forth between them cautiously.

“It’s not like we can lie.” Blair shrugged, smiling.

“You can’t--”

They both shook their heads. Alice smirked. “Iron also hurts like hell if you ever feel like you want to dispatch me.”

“We talked about this!” Blair rolled their eyes.

“I didn’t give her a dagger this time.” She gestured up her arm. “No stabbing myself has occurred.”

Anne blinked. “Have you stabbed yourself before?”

“Mulder was taking too long and my kid needed help.” She rolled her eyes. “He just sat there gaping like a fish.”

“Okay, I want to get back to that, but I have some more pressing questions.”

“Totally.” Opening her bag, Alice took a bite of a chocolate muffin. “Just direct it to Blair first, if you could. I’m starving and my cramps are hurting like a bitch.” Her eyes widened. “Shit--sorry for swearing.”

Blair sighed, resting their head in the palm of their head. “What she means is, go ahead.”

---

“It wasn’t a stabbing, so to speak. He was just refusing my perfectly logical explanations and Dodie had been kidnapped, so I decided to show rather than tell.” Alice rolled her eyes. “It was barely a prick. Believe me, I know what a stab wound feels like.”

Anne was about to ask about what she meant by ‘knowing what a stab wound feels like’ when the generic melody of her alarm interrupted her. Checking her phone revealed the time of 4:45.

“Shoot, I have to get home.”

“No problem.” Blair smiled, glancing over to their sister. “Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, actually.” Taking an envelope from a pocket, Alice handed it to her. “Everything that we’ve monitored about Marcy, the castle’s security, everything is on the flash drive. I included our numbers if you want to get in contact. If not, no offense taken.”

“Are you kidding?” Anne stowed it in a pocket of her own. “You aren’t saying that I’m insane. There are very few people I’ve met that are weirder than me. Actually,” she paused, “you guys might be it. Also, Marcy.”

“Yeah.” Alice nodded. “Do you want me to give her a message? I’m going to see her tomorrow.”

She pondered the thought. “Tell her I love her.”

“Anything else?” Blair raised their eyebrows.

She shrugged. “I don’t know where I am with anything else, but that’s the most important thing.”

“That’s very mature of you.”

“I kinda had to mature with everything.”

“Which is why you can always call us.” Alice met her eyes, her own ethereal eyes seeming to look into her soul. “You’re not alone, love.”

She nodded slowly, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s a weird thought to consider.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

“Thanks.” Her phone’s alarm interrupted her again. “Okay, now I actually have to go or my mom’s going to kill me.”

“You should probably go then.” Looking around, Blair took Alice’s arm. “You've got our way home, right?”

“Yeah,” in her hand, a small, gold pocket watch shone in the late afternoon sun, “I wouldn't leave us stranded.”

“Athens?”

“Fine, I wouldn't leave us stranded in LA.” She gagged before turning to Anne again. “Let us know if there's anything you need.”

She nodded, watching the pair slip down the street, ducking into an alley. 

Her own steps plodded down the familiar sidewalk, the memory in her mind. 

They don't think I'm weird.

She knows Marcy.

That night, sitting cross legged on her bed, she felt the thick paper of the envelope between her fingers. Taking a breath, she broke the seal. A flash drive fell onto her lap, a piece of notebook paper floating down with it. 

Picking up the delicate page, she scanned the words. 

Hey Anne,

If you need us, our numbers are at the bottom. 

Darling, please remember to take care of yourself. We can't do everything, but neither can you. Give yourself some grace, we're only a phone call or text away. 

With love,

AM & BW

Give yourself some grace. 

It was a weird feeling. 

She'd always taken care of Marcy, reminded Sasha to remember to study. 

Watching over the Plantars with her superior height and, now, superior knowledge of what they saw as an alien world. 

Even now, there were things she couldn't tell her parents about, things she had to protect them from rather than the other way around. 

It was odd, reading the letter, being able to talk with people so carefree. 

It was odd, but it was nice to be the one taken care of. 

Chapter Text

“I kissed a girl and I liked it

The taste of her cherry chapstick”

Marcy felt herself blush as soon she registered the lyrics filtering through the space. (Or blush as much as she could like this). “What’s with-”

She rolled her eyes, waving the lyrics away. “Sorry, it got stuck in my head. Jack made it my ringtone in his phone to get back for his being Womanizer in mine.”

“Why’d he do that?”

“To tease me.” An odd sort of grin played on her lips. “I mean, it’s not inaccurate but he knows how annoyingly catchy it is--”

Everything else she said was drowned out by the blood rushing to Marcy’s ears as she registered the meaning. As if noticing, she blinked.

“Hey, love, what’s--”

And she was gone.

---

“Do you want to explain why you freaked out last time?” She had returned with senses almost unremarked. Only when Marcy felt them did she realize they’d been gone.

That they could be gone.

Play it cool. “What?”

“That is the soonest that your sensors went crazy in forever. What gives?” She raised her eyebrows, fixing Marcy with an impenetrable stare.

“You just mentioned--” she trailed off.

“Yeah?”

“That it was accurate.” 

She blinked. “What? That what was accurate?”

“The song.”

“Wha--oh.” Realization flooded through her face. “Wait, why? Don’t you live in LA? California is pretty open from what I’ve seen.”

“You go to a Catholic school, you’re Catholic.”

“I’m also Pro-Choice. What does that mean?”

Taking a few deep breaths, she let the sentences shakily stumble out in a feeble explanation.

“You’re gay.”

“Bi actually, but yeah, in the umbrella.”

“You’re Catholic.”

“My closest other Catholic person I know is bi too, so, I don’t see how that changes much.”

“But they said it was a sin, that’s what the Bible says.”

“Bullshit.” Again, Marcy was struck by the frankness. “The only anti-gay passage was most likely misstranslated against pedophilia--not that they’re going to deal with that one the same way--and is in a list of rules in Leviticus that were declared void after the Ten Commandments besides the fact that braiding hair, seafood, and mixed metals in jewelry and mixed fabrics in clothes are also in that list and no one’s condemning my one straight friend to hell for Dutch braids and a cotton blend tee.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, there’s so many other reasons she’d go to hell, but that’s not the point. In Europe, at least for a bit, there were Catholic priests blessing gay weddings. There’s literally no point to their homophobic rhetoric besides their own privileges and I take the meanings of kindness in the book, not the church and its centuries of fallacy as the word of God. I mean, ‘love thy neighbor’ trumps them all, doesn't it?” She smirked, as if laughing at an inside joke. “Most schools in liberal areas just call BS or dance around the issue. Did yours not?”

“Not my school.” She looked down at her feet. 

Fitting it’s the uniform today.

The uniform she had shed as soon as she had literally any alternative.

Irony strikes again.

“You’re thinking loudly, what is it?” Leaning over, she rested a hand on her closed fist. Eyes pierced hers, curious but not demanding.

It was still a weird difference from the looks she was used to. Even with Andrias.

“But it makes you different.”

“So---oh.” She grimaced with the realization. “ They didn’t like differences.”

She shook her head. “It just wasn’t talked about. It was there, but when they brought it up it was--less than appreciative.”

Understatement of the decade.

“Well, being queer isn’t anything that’s wrong. It’s everywhere in nature--”

“I know!” She winced. “That wasn’t very persuasive, though.”

“I mean, I grew up surrounded by people who weren’t straight. I mentioned the one straight friend. Gays kind of congregate I’ve noticed.” She shrugged. “I never had to come out. I just gave my guardians finger guns from the couch and said I was bi and their response was: ‘no duh--what do you want to watch?’”

“Lucky.”

“Believe me, I know.” Shaking her head, she brushed the illusion of a strand of hair out of her eyes. “My girlfriend’s parents were less cool about it and--some of my roommates’ parents too.”

“You have a girlfriend? I thought you were dead.”

“For the last time, neither of us are dead.”

She narrowed her eyes. “But you’re not human.”

“No, not completely.”

“Is she human?”

“Who?”

“Your girlfriend.”

“Oh!” She nodded. “Yeah, she is.”

Questions brimmed at the edges of her mind, all too many ideas threatening to spill over. 

“Why were you so sensitive about it, though? You weren’t disgusted or anything, you were surprised.”

Damn. So close to another subject.

“You’re deflecting?” The claim sounded weak even to her.

“Nope. Try again.” She smirked dryly. 

“I don’t know how to describe it.” Her eyes once again fell to the shoes that weren’t really there.

“That’s okay.”

What? 

She looked up. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re not ready to talk about it yet or you just don’t want to talk about it, that’s perfectly okay. I’m not an interrogator.” She shrugged, giving Marcy an expression so painfully genuine it hurt.

“Okay.” It was a perplexing thought to consider.

“Do you want to keep explaining Vagabondia Chronicles to me?”

“Yes!” Her head bobbed up and down excitedly, before taking a few deep breaths to describe it as calmly as she could.

She smiled too as Marcy launched into an explanation of the magic system and its impact on the subsequent culture.

That was another perplexing thought to consider.

---

Because she couldn’t describe it, not fully.

It wasn't a feeling that was easy to describe (it wasn’t even really a feeling she thought she ever could). 

All she knew was that she became even more awkward but also wanted to be around the cause of her even-more-awkwardness because it felt right .

There was just something right about being around her, holding her hand, fingers intertwined as they swung it back and forth as one of them went on about something. 

There was something right about hugging her, burying her chin into her shoulder and holding her tight because even when things were awful, Marcy had her.

There was something right about Anne .

She’d known the feeling, vaguely acknowledged it back in California. She hadn’t completely acknowledged what it was then but now she knew. 

She could pinpoint those feelings, what it meant now. 

But, she couldn’t say it out loud. 

She couldn’t bring herself to tell her , to even fully mull over the concept. 

Knowing without dedicating the proper time and care to it.

She’d never done that before.

But, she’d never had a crush on anyone before.

Much less her best friend since--basically birth. The one person she knew would take care of her no matter what, the one person who would love her no matter what.

Well, not so much that last one anymore, but that was another concept she didn't feel the need to dedicate the time to. 

Of course, she somehow seemed to know.

---

“It’s an okay feeling to have, if you have feelings for a girl, or someone who’s nonbinary, or if you’re reconsidering your gender. I’m mostly throwing out those last two to cover the umbrella because it seems to be the first one, though all of them are perfectly healthy options.”

“How--”

“My girlfriend has incredibly accurate gaydar and I’d like to think I’ve picked some skills off her. Also, you just don’t seem straight to me. I’m not totally sure how to describe it.”

“Is that just something you can tell?”

“The longer you realize that you’re gay and in the gay community, the better you get at it. It’s a fun skill. But also everyone always doubts theirs which is why it’s so hard to get a girlfriend when you like girls because you’ll both be flirting with each other for two years and not realize it until you finally ask her out in an adrenaline filled rush and are that surprised when she says yes.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

“That seems like it comes from experience.”

“Yes,” she nodded, “definitely.”

“What do you do with a girlfriend?”

“It’s basically like having a best friend but you also get to kiss her. Gwen and I have been together for two years and we were friends for two years before, so we kinda knew most of each other’s weirdness--not that it’s not awkward sometimes, but we’re at a pretty comfortable space where we just, for the most part, can exist near each other in tandem. Like, we go on dates and celebrate anniversaries and shit, but we can just hang out and watch Brooklyn Nine Nine and be complete dorks in front of each other.” She blushed, grinning. “We both know each other’s mental health issues too, so she knows when I don’t want to be touched and I give her introvert time when she needs to be alone without getting upset, knowing each other’s triggers, that sort of thing.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Why do you ask?”

She blushed. “No reason.”

—-

“I wish we could play something.” She glanced around the familiarly vacant space, mouth in a bored line. “I mean, there needs to be something other than my garbage fire of a personality to keep you entertained.”

Marcy laughed dryly. “That’s an interesting descriptor. Incorrect too, for the record--”

“--Bullshit--” She rolled her eyes.

“--as I was saying.” Marcy couldn’t help her own smirk that curled up her nonexistent lips before it sobered. “Playing games isn’t something I’m clambering for right now.”

“Right, sorry.”

“It turns out freedom ain't nothin' but missin' you

Wishin' I'd realized what I had when you were mine”

“Where did you even come from?” Scowling, she brushed the words aside, the melody disappearing with it. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“What song is that?” As soon as she’d said it, Marcy felt the piercing stare return to her.

“You don’t know the masterpiece that’s Taylor Swift’s Back to December ?”

“No.” She shook her head.

Sasha had, of course, gone through a Taylor Swift phase before she declared the artist “overrated” and anyone who listened to her “basic and dumb.”

That, of course, had been the month when Vagabondia Chronicles 4 had come out, so Marcy had been excitedly distracted until Anne had filled her in afterwards.

“I mean, I don’t listen to that much music anyway.” Again, the eyes of disbelief and horror were on her. “I prefer more of a plot or something I can interact with.”

“Okay, scratch gaming, we’re going to listen to Taylor Swift until you properly appreciate her masterful storytelling.”

“For that, you’d have to have a ton of her songs memorized.”

“Watch me.”

“Do you mean: ‘listen to me?’”

“Same difference.” Above their heads, the white void melted into a mess of colors.

She must be thinking hard.

“You want a story?” She smirked before wincing her eyes together, a melody bouncing around the space.

Is that a melody or sirens?

“He did it

He did it

Este's a friend of mine

We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine”

---

“So, if all of Folklore is connected, then did Betty take back James?” 

“That’s the thing. Taylor said they ended up together, but if we want to look at the entire album as cohesive, then it would seem like he died--”

“-With My Tears Ricochet !”

“Exactly!” She pumped a fist in the air. 

“Because it seems like he could have gone off to war with Epiphany --”

“But if it’s not connected--”

Marcy groaned. “It’s more interesting if it is.”

“Is it to you?”

She had visited four more times since the first song (which she said was called No Body, No Crime and from an album that came out last December. Apparently, she had gotten a copy of the album the January of the year before because someone in her family won a poker game with River. Marcy had no idea what exactly that meant, but it wasn’t particularly important).

She wasn’t lying (though she said she couldn’t lie anyway) when she said she knew a lot of songs. 

Marcy liked talking with her , but it was nice to have a different sort of distraction.

Just, lying there (or was it floating since none of this had any actual substance?) with no pressures or expectations, or anything she had to do but listen and enjoy , it was the most carefree since--since--

She couldn’t quite remember.

That's vaguely concerning .

But, at the same time, it wasn’t. Marcy Wu had never been one that wanted to be carefree. There was always so much going through her mind, so much to do whether it be assigned by herself or others.

But, that was before she was (technically) unconscious in a suspended animation tank and the barest sense of her consciousness was dredged up to converse with her in an attempt for her to keep her alive and functioning (and also not have a complete mental breakdown when she emerged).

Marcy liked stories, and besides the story of her (which she doubted she’d ever completely understand, much to her chagrin), it was nice to have one that was completely separate. 

Something that was completely fictional.

Down to earth.

As confused about everything as she was.

“Is there an album that you find yourself relating to more than others?” She interrupted Marcy’s train of thought. “Or any songs?”

“You, with your words like knives

And swords and weapons that you use against me”

That wasn’t one she was especially excited about bringing up.

“You have pointed out my flaws again

As if I don't already see them”

Differentsongdifferentsongdifferentsong

“It's you and me

That's my whole world

They whisper in the hallways”

Okay, that’s worse.

“Folklore.” 

She raised her eyebrows, a knowing smile fitting her lips. “What about Folklore specifically?”

“There’s mistakes.” She winced her eyes shut. “There’s mistakes and imperfections and it’s messy and raw and that’s what I feel like now.”

“That one made me think of you too.” She nodded. “There’s a lot that goes wrong, but there’s forgiveness and atonement.”

“Not if you look at it as all connected.”

“But, it’s not really all connected, Marcy. Each song isn’t shoved into a narrative you want it, they’re each their own narrative in themselves. Some are connected, but each song has its own perspective, its own independent idea of itself. Kinda like how everything is in the real world.”

That sounded too contrite.

“But the love triangle three are connected.” 

“Because some fit into a connected narrative, but that’s because they were written to. Just like how we’re connected to others in our own collective. Marcy, life’s not forced, we can’t jam ourselves into other narratives. We only have to figure out where our own fits and how it differs from others’.”

“That’s deep for a Taylor Swift album.” She tried to brush off the weight of the words, still settling into her like sand seeping through an hourglass.

“That’s as deep as a Taylor Swift album is supposed to be.” She smiled softly.

“Can we listen to more?”

“Totally.”

Chapter Text

Sasha wasn’t sure that she’d see her again. 

Patrol the next few weeks was majorly uneventful (save for the regularly scheduled evil robot army and similarly evil plans of frog-based destruction).

All in all, Wartwood seemed as safe as it could get.

That’s one of the things that was so surprising about the note.

She’d trudged into her room, fully planning on spending the night going over plans and trying to get sleep (though, she figured that was more of a prayer than a requirement).

There, on her bed (or what counted as one--frog she missed her castle), a simple notecard had scrawled a quick message.

If you want to talk

The clearing.

I’ll be there at 9:00

Come alone or I don’t talk.

-Me

It took her sleep-deprived brain a moment to comprehend who ‘me’ was until it hit her that a notecard specifically came from the human world. 

There were only two beings she knew of who could possibly access the human world.

And only one of them would announce it by placing a notecard on the pillow of the second-in-command of the burgeoning resistance.

(Namely, someone who didn’t give a shit that she was the second-in-command).

Muttering a faint excuse to Grime as she left, boots plodded down the familiar terrain, approaching the destination in question. Eyes warily scanning for signs of danger, (whether it be from the author of the note or the woods themselves that had an annoying habit of producing things that tried to kill her), she almost didn’t notice the noise.

She wasn’t sure when exactly she caught onto the lilting notes--it seemed as if she’d passed a barrier that let her hear. 

Sasha, for the record, sang. So did Marcy and Anne in their own (what she had previously deemed less talented) ways.

This voice was different.

It sounded as if the singer had both training and some innate ability, her voice almost hauntingly captivating. Whether magic or not, it was the sort of voice that you couldn’t help but be transfixed by, raw and natural, as natural and as old as any of the other sounds in the woods. The longer the song lasted, the more it seemed as if it’d be wrong for it not to be there--some way that it trailed up and down fitting into the landscape at the barest threads of its fabric. Ethereal, she couldn’t help but make her steps even quieter, ears picking up as it became louder. Once she was able to make out the words, it hit her.

She knew this song.

Peeking through the leaves of a bush, she made out an uncomfortably familiar person leaning against a tree. The deep crimson of the moon shrouded her in a rose-colored glow, shining in the similarly colored stones of her diadem. Eyes shut, long blonde hair spilled down her shoulders, swaying back and forth in the breeze.

“I remember tears streaming down your face when I said I'll never let you go

When all those shadows almost killed your light

I remember you said don't leave me here alone

But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down

You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now

Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound

Don't you dare look out your window, darling everything's on fire

The war outside our door keeps raging on

Hold onto this lullaby even when the music’s gone, gone

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down

You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now

Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound

Just close your eyes, you'll be alright

Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound”

“I knew I could find something of home here” Her head lolled towards the bush, slowly opening her eyes with a soft smile. “And I’m surprised that you chose to come, though I had a feeling you’d like Taylor Swift.”

Awkwardly clunking out of the foliage, Sasha glared. “I figured you wouldn’t come back if it wasn’t important and, for the record, I don’t.”

Lies.

“No,” she shook her head, “you do. You found the song familiar, didn’t you?”

“I watched the Hunger Games, so what?”

“No,” she shook her head again, an infuriatingly serene smile on her face, “you liked her at some point, you still do, I bet and you just hide it.”

“Look, I don't know what Marcy told you--”

“She didn’t tell me anything. I don’t fish for information, Waybright. You would’ve been around six when Red came out and eight when 1989 came out. After the drama, it was trendy to hate her, but you didn’t really.” She pierced her with a stare that was painfully gentle but even more painfully knowing, easing herself up to pace back and forth. “Because you could see yourself in her, you’re the sort of kid who would rely on her, on someone who you could see yourself as. She’s relatable, that’s true, and a lot of her earlier stuff focuses on someone being greater than their small community. You felt that. Someone deeply insecure, terrified of a lack of control in a constantly unsteady world. In her stories, it was a way to be your own hero, have your own comfortable goodness, your own peace, wasn’t it? You always want to be better than everyone, but you didn’t like how she could fall, despite her talents, despite her power. It was another reminder of instability.” She said it all being so disengaged, so distracted from the accuracies she predicted.

“How--”

“Your nature is surprisingly textbook.” She shrugged, brushing past her. “Was any of that accurate? I was just spewing my first thoughts.”

“How--”

“If you understand someone’s music--the music they listen to and the music they make, you can tell a lot about the person. Music shows how we react to the world, what we lean on for comfort, what we find appealing, what and how we relate.”

She hoped that didn’t mean what she thought. “Music they make?”

Pausing with her back to Sasha, fingers scrolled through a barely-visible phone. “I heard your song, it was pretty cute. Kind of reminded me of Lizzie with vague Marina vibes, mostly in the lyrics. It was like a baby Bubblegum Bitch or Homewrecker or Primadonna . Primadonna ’s one you definitely need to listen to. I’ll put it on the list.”

“Cute is not what--wait,” she blanched, “what list?”

“The list of songs that you need to listen to.” Spinning around on her heels, she waved a familiar teal case in one hand while her own gold one fit in the other, a cord dangling between them. 

Her hands instinctively went for her pockets.“Is that my phone?”

“You’re surprisingly easy to pickpocket. The thick material and layers means you don’t notice something being removed.” She tossed her the item in question. “There’s a few albums for you in case you get bored.”

“Is that why you asked me here?” Scowling, she shoved it in a closer pocket. 

She shrugged. “One reason. Also, the only other humans you’ve seen in the past five months are two girls your age with similar origins and only slightly more emotional understanding. If you want to ask anything, I’m someone else who has vaguely similar experiences--vaguely--and has done this shit. Believe it or not, I’m probably one of the few older people that understands you--vaguely, I’m not big on war crimes.” Something lit up on her face.  “And another question. Why do you sing about relationships?”

“What?” She felt her cheeks heat up in an uncomfortable scarlet, trying to piece together the complete meaning of the rapid-fire words.

“‘Heartstomper,’ ‘Heartbreaker?’ You were pretty honest in the chorus, but I wondered. You’re thirteen--or fourteen, I still have no clue. Still, thirteen’s not really the age of intense romantic heartbreak yet, or being a big enough heartbreaker to scar someone, at least in my experience.” She, again, turned on her heels. “You are basically a child--don’t give me that look, you may be in Amphibia, but you're still a kid--it makes me wonder. Is it just you wanting to grow up faster or something else?”

She scowled “Why do you care?”

“It’s just that sometimes we try to manifest ourselves in who we want to be.”

“I’m the captain of the cheerleading squad!”

“And I have exactly sixteen forks, what does that have to do with anything?” She smirked at the end of the sentence, like she’d just made an inside joke Sasha couldn’t quite place. “Everyone hurts in some way. True it’s some more than others but unless you’re aro you’re going to deal with romantic heartbreak at some point in your life.”

Sasha willed the blush at her cheeks to remain at bay. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Something I wanted to look into, I guess.” Shrugging, she halted her pacing, leaning against the tree. “As for you, I have no idea why you came here.”

“I thought it was urgent. Why else would you come here? Is there news about Marcy?” Instinctively, her hand went to the hilt of her sword.

“If you bring out your knife it’s going to be this whole thing.” She waved it away, as if she encountered a blade pointed at her regularly. “No, for the most part, nothing’s changed--if you don’t count us listening to music and Cthulhu's bitchy approach.”

The sword remained. “If an elder god is coming for Marcy’s head, why are you listening to music? Why aren’t you helping?”

“Have you ever read A Wrinkle in Time ?”

“What does that--”

“Well, have you?”

“No duh, everyone has to read that at some point. It was Marcy’s favorite book for years.”

“Rather inaccurate in travel, but that’s not important.” She shook her head. “There’s a scene in which Meg faces ‘The Black Thing,’ an eldritch evil that infects the mind and uses others as hosts. How does she defeat it in herself?”

“Love or something like that.” Sasha shrugged, stowing her sword away.

“That’s how she saves her brother. What I’m asking is how does she get to that, how does she protect her own mind?”

Her mind drew to a blank. “Doesn’t she recite something?”

“And what is music if not love recited?”

“Are you always this cheesy?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that, it’s true. Music can help us learn about ourselves and understand things we can’t fully comprehend or put into words. It can both help Marcy realize her emotions and pinpoint things she needs help with and protect her.” Her face fit with an annoyingly self-satisfied smirk. “Two birds, one bullet.”

“It’s two birds, one stone.”

“Not in my house. But don’t you see? That’s why I gave you music, it’s why Marcy and I listen to it so often. It’s our greatest way to understand ourselves and the world around us. Like mindfulness but without the silence.”

“Okay.” Nodding slightly, she relented to agree. “What does that have to do with my music?”

“Originally because I thought you were kind of a toxic piece of shit and I wanted to see how your music changed that conclusion. Which, it did show how deeply insecure you are--”

“You know what--”

“But it just clicked with me why you focus on the popularity and the cold-shell exterior. It’s fear and it’s trying to make yourself someone you’re not. Trying to make it like you're the one breaking hearts instead of having a broken heart.”

“You need to shut up.” Again, her hand went to the hilt of her sword.

She rolled her eyes. “I always need to shut up. What? Do you not like having others point out your insecurities the way you point out theirs? I must say, this all makes you seem slightly more human in my eyes. You don’t like that, you want to be better, above, without fault. It’s the opposite of forcing yourself to be perfect, it’s the outward perception that you’re already perfect and the world is the one that needs changing, it’s the fault of everything else.”

“I said shut up.” Fingers white as they gripped, she unsheathed the sword. 

“So I am right.” She smirked, expression so self-satisfied.

Sasha lunged.

Through, nothing?

“How dumb do you think I am?” From the other side of the clearing, she waved. “Believe me, the warlord taught me to never stand so unprepared if I was going to piss someone off.”

Wait, what?

How?

Sasha’s eyes skittered around the space, bouncing around where she’d been standing. “What did you do?”

“Illusions, dear. They’re not nearly as false-appearing as you’d think.” Pulling the collar of her coat closer to her, she raised her eyebrows. “Before you ask, no I don’t teleport. You’re easily distracted and I can monologue for days, so it was pretty simple.”

“Who are you?” Scowling, she kept her sword raised in front of her.

“I am me, well I call myself ‘me’ like anyone else, but I don’t primarily go by ‘Me’ like a name. She’s someone else entirely. I should call her, though, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her and Clara--”

“Answer me.” Stepping forward, Sasha narrowed her eyes. “No games. Who are you?”

“I don’t give my name, so you and your Barbie-colored sword can back off or face my consequences.” A hand delving into a pocket of her coat, she met her cold glare with an icy one of her own. “If you need to call me something, call me Royal.”

Sasha couldn’t help but scoff. “Royal?”

“Yes.” Hand lifting out, fingers grasped a small, gold pocket watch. Flipping it open, she dragged a finger around the hands (Sasha couldn’t quite see how many there were, but it was definitely more than three). “Royal. If you absolutely need me, my contact information is in your phone. Though, there’d be a decent chance it’d be Jack so do be careful.”

“Wait.” Her eyes widened as the ground below her (Royal?) began to shimmer, a thin white-gold line tracing back around her heels. “Where are you going? Stay or I’ll--”

“Or you’ll what?” She tilted her head to the side, smiling innocently as the line spread, wrapping around in a circle, a deep, shining, dark-colored, not-liquid pooling in its arc. “Darling, I have things I need to do. You’re not the only traumatized human child in a fantasy realm, believe it or not. I also don’t take well to almost being impaled. If you need me, I’ll be there. However, now.” She winked, heels leaning back. “Allons-y!” 

And, again, she was gone. 

And, again, Sasha had more questions than answers.

Grumbling as she trudged back, her hand instinctively found her phone. Pausing to lean against a tree, she scrolled through to see what “Royal” had added. 

In her music library, she found an update.

RECENTLY ADDED:

Fearless (Taylor’s Version) (Taylor Swift)

Speak Now (Deluxe Edition) (Taylor Swift)

Red (Deluxe Edition) (Taylor Swift)

1989 Deluxe (Taylor Swift)

This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things (From: Reputation (Taylor Swift))

Lover (Taylor Swift)

Folklore Deluxe [Explicit] (Taylor Swift)

Evermore Deluxe [Explicit] (Taylor Swift)

The Family Jewels [Explicit] (MARINA)

Electra Heart [Explicit] (MARINA)

Love + Fear (MARINA)

Savages [Explicit] (From: Froot (MARINA))

Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land [Explicit] (MARINA)

Love Letter (Malinda)

Lizzie [Explicit] (Various artists)

“‘Some albums.’” Rolling her eyes, she checked her contacts. Finding nothing, she checked the notes app.

( Downloaded off “Royal’s” Phone )

Look, you probably hate me (fair, I might say).

(As stated, I’m a hell of an annoying person).

(And I mean, I’m not your biggest fan, so, it’s all fair).

You are currently at a crossroads and might need help.

Even though you’ve been kind of terrible, no one deserves to be in your position and have dealt with all that trauma at such a young age.

I have people that I know that are specifically not me if you want to talk to someone who is less of a walking disaster.

(Also, my ethics textbook is in your kindle app. Kant and the others may be bastards, but there are some things in there you could possibly find useful--mainly no war crimes).

Also, if you’re wondering how I’ll be able to download everything, 

I’m very good at my job, illusions, and distracting people.

If you want to ignore this and delete everything, that’s up to you.

Anyway, here’s my info if you need to contact me. Yes, it will go through even though you don’t have service--I have my ways (aka some tech people that can do more than my measly ability to set up my Uncle’s wifi router),

Yes, if you prank call me, this will become a “boy who cried wolf situation” and I will start to ignore it because I’m in the cleaning process of another power-hungry leader of a magic world that tries to take over a human world (with a cult thing) I’m dealing with on top of other stuff.

My Number:

Typed out in the same, basic text was a phone number. Sasha’s thumb skated over to the “delete note” icon before it caught her eye.

P.S

Marcy really loves Folklore

She misses and loves you and Anne

 (Though she is prepared for you not to forgive her--it’s your choice)

💕 AM

Sighing, she stowed it back into her pocket, boots clumping back through to her “bedroom.” Passing a snoring Grime, she dug out a pair of long-abandoned earbuds.

It’s not like I’m sleeping tonight with any of that.

Plugging them in, she scrolled over to ‘Folklore,’ tapping on the first song in the list.

“I’m doing good, I’m on some new shit

Been saying yes instead of no

I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn’t though”

She didn’t remember when she fell asleep.

Lying there, listening to the lyrics, she let the melody wash over her and shut her eyes.

As if no time had passed, she found her eyelids fluttering open to light streaming across her the next morning, Grime leaving a note about how she was finally sleeping and he didn’t want to lose a hand on top of an eye, so he’d let her rest.

She’d slept.

Shaking her head, she got up, shrugging into her armor.

She hadn’t had a nightmare.

Stowing her phone back into her bag, she whispered the sentence out to no one in particular. 

“Thanks, Marcy.”

Chapter Text

“Have you considered what you’re going to do when you get out of here?” 

Marcy raised her eyebrows. “You mean if I get out of here?”

“I said what I meant.”

“And you meant what you said.” She couldn’t help but notice her dry smile at the reference. 

“As proud as I am of you for that, we’re not getting off topic here. What happens when you’re out of stasis?”

“Are you sure I’m not dead?”

“Yes, Marce, I’m quite certain you’re not dead.”

“Afterwards, we defeat Andrias.” She shrugged as if it was the most normal conclusion. 

“What about after that? Your long term future?”

“Then I go home. If they’re still there.”

“If they’re still there?”

“You haven’t met my parents, Alice. I’ve been gone for months.”

“You could always stay with me.”

“What?”

“I mean, there’s an extra bed in the library and there’s always space in the Tree.”

“The Tree?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Long story--still. If you need a place to stay, my door is always open.”

“What would your family think?”

 “They wouldn't mind. You'd probably have a few chores to help around, but we have a habit of adopting people.”

“You live in New York, don't you?”

“And my uncle lives in London and you're here. We have our methods of travel.”

That was certainly an option. 

---

She'd often wondered (when she had the sense enough to) what she would do if Sasha and Anne didn't forgive her. 

She didn't expect them to. 

Sasha never forgave anyone for anything, no matter how small. 

While Anne was inclined to easy forgiveness (as present in the case of Sasha), Marcy doubted she'd entertain the same sort of sympathy in Marcy's betrayal. 

(Sasha had reacted to the unnatural and stressful environment--Marcy had brought them there in the first place). 

She was obviously under the impression that Marcy’s sins were significantly more forgivable than Sasha's, but Marcy still had her doubts. 

And, as they always appeared with her doubts, her parents gave insight. 

(Of course, they weren't really her parents, but their prepared reactions concocted in her mind). 

(And, having known them all her life, Marcy was inclined to believe in the accuracy).

She saw the expressions they gave her after a long rambling speech, the sort of look she got when she forgot to do something or came back from school with the D in gym class.

They would share a look, eyebrows furrowed, before turning back to her. Her mother would sigh, head in her hands as if she couldn’t fathom how her daughter had been so careless. Her father, on the other hand, took on that scary type of quiet before glaring at her.

“What did you think you were doing? You only cared about your own self interest, didn’t you? After everything we’ve done for you. Fed you. Clothed you. Put a roof over your head. This is how you repay us?”

She could see Anne and Sasha with similar expressions, the words just as biting but hurting more somehow.

(Maybe because she knew that, at least before everything, Anne and Sasha really loved her).

Anne’s eyes narrowed, Sasha's scowl violent, she could picture the icy harshness of their voices. “Marcy--”

“--Hey, love. You’re thinking loudly. What is it?” Snapping herself out of her stupor, Marcy found herself back in the expansiveness of the white void, sitting cross-legged, surrounded by nothing. 

Nothing except her.

Blonde hair had been tied back with a long, pale, gauzy green scarf. Her dress, patterned with leaves and vines held a similar hue, darker colors falling into a light, flowing skirt. Her eyes, too old and too different for a human, looked at her, painfully gentle and genuine.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Them.”

“What about them? Also, which ‘them’ are we talking about?”

“Anne and Sasha ‘them.’”

“Oh.” She paused. “This is one of the first times you’ve mentioned them without my prompting. At least I think it is.”

“Is it?” Her mind raced, trying to resurface the proper answer. “I can’t remember.”

“It’s like how you keep forgetting my name.”

“You’ve never told me your name.”

“Not that you remember.” She shook her head, face filling with distant sorrow. Brushing it away, she fixed her face into something pleasant. “Do you want to talk about them?”

“About who?”

“Anne and Sasha.”

“Right.” She nodded in a way that she hoped would seem convincing. “I remember that.”

“Don’t lie, Mar.”

“It’s just--” she stopped, trying to piece together the right words, “It’s getting harder to think.”

“It’s getting harder to contact you, too.”

“And you know why that is, don’t you?”

She blinked before nodding slowly. “Yes.”

“Have you told me before?” 

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me again?”

“Andrias isn’t just keeping you here for leverage or out of a warped and toxic sense of love.” She grimaced “He’s got another agenda.”

“What’s he going to do with me?” She said it with surprising calmness, stoic maturity. 

I mean, he already impaled me and put me in a tube. Is there anything else that he could do that would be really surprising?

“Do you know A Wrinkle in Time?”

“Yeah!” She nodded excitedly before sobering. “It’s my favorite book--at least it was.”

“Do you remember the villain in it? The--”

“The Black Thing, they called it. Why?”

The faintest hint of tears sprung at the corners of her eyes (could she cry here?) “Andrias has a secret, Marcy.”

---

“I didn’t mean to, I just didn’t want to be alone.” She blinked back tears, so real she could almost feel them. “But I messed it all up and now Anne’s gone and Sasha's still stuck here and he’s going to hurt everyone and he's going to use me to hurt everyone--”

“Marcy--” Her voice sounded hoarse, if she’d repeated the name over and over without her noticing. “Marcy, I know you’re upset, but I need you to breathe. It’s getting harder to contact and they’re--”

And she was gone.

---

“How much time do I have left?”

“This isn’t a death sentence, Marcy, you’re going to make it out of here alive.”

She shook her head. “You can’t know that.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“Here.” dragging a nonexistent hand across her cheek, the picturesque image of healthy skin disappeared. 

Four thin strands carved their way down her left cheek, creating what looked to be an oblong diamond. At its highest point, a deep, dark colored mark fit as if something had caught, ripping skin away. Trailing down to her lip, the final strand so delicate and thin you could barely notice if it weren’t for how dark it truly was against her pale color. 

“I hide it with glamour. Even here, it seems to work. Marcy, I got this when someone tried to take the people I love away from me.”

“It looks like a shooting star.”

She smiled sadly. “If you say so. The same woman, their,” she shuddered, “mother, backhanded me twice. The first was an accident. The second was because she wanted to ruin my face. She said she wanted to know how much they knew of me so she knew how much she had to ruin me.” Shaking her head, she steeled herself. “That’s not important. What is important is that it’s not my only scar, but it’s one of the many I got from protecting the people I love. Even if I knew what was going to happen, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. Marcy, I love you. I may--” she choked out a sob. “I may not be able to shield you from it completely, but I’ll do my best to protect you.”

“Okay.” Shakily, she nodded, trying to piece everything together. “You’ll get me out of here?”

“I may not be able to directly, but I’ve told Anne where you are and if not her and Sasha, I’ll send someone. I can’t interfere with canon, but I’ll do my best, love.”

“But--”

And she was gone.

---

“Jack, we have to get her out of there.”

“You know--”

“Screw canon. If I followed everything to the letter, half my family would be dead and the Blights would still be stuck with their parents.”

“Blights took weeks of planning--”

“It was not weeks.” She laughed humorlessly.

“Still, your family has significant decades of material to back them up.” He stopped pacing, taking her by the shoulders. “Alice, you can’t protect her from this.”

She wrenched out of his grip. “She’s not going to have any control. It’s going to infect her mind and give her all kinds of realities that she can’t bear and she'll be a mess when it’s gone. If it’s ever really gone. Harkness, she’s only thirteen.”

“You were eleven.” The look in her eyes told him that was the wrong thing to say.

“It’s not the same thing, but, yeah, I was. Yeah, I deal with it now. I had a family that cared for me, I had therapy--even still. Do you want her to end up like me? Suicidally impulsive, always ready to sacrifice herself, having panic attacks for god knows what reasons? I can’t interact with strangers, Harkness. I flinch whenever someone tries to touch me. I can’t look a man I don’t know in the eye because all I see is him.” Using the palm of her hand to brush away tears, she shook her head. “If I can’t get her out. I’m making him hurt.”

“Alice--”

The edges of her lips turned up in a dark, haunting, grimace. “I barely know what I can do, but I know it's enough to make him hurt. To make him regret. To make him feel every ounce of pain he's ever felt, he’s ever given. I’ll make him understand the consequences for what he did to her.”

“What would Anne--”

“Anne is thirteen too, Jack. They all are. None of them should have to deal with this.”

“You shouldn’t either--”

“Who cares?” She rolled her eyes.

“Alice, you were a mess after,” his eyes skated over to her scar before dropping, “you can’t do this to yourself, okay? I know it’s a lot, but you are still a child too.” He glanced over to the tank, Marcy’s body glowing with a faint orange tinge. “This isn’t over. We’re going to get her out of there, alright?”

All at once she seemed to crumple, hot, heavy, tears slipping past her eyelids, stinging as they traced the edges of a worn, jagged, scar. “How?”

“We go home. We get your family to help.” Something sparked in him he hadn’t felt in time longer than he could properly remember. “I’ll call the Professor, I’ll call everyone.”

“Then what?”

He wiped a tear from her cheek. “We give them hell.”

Bright eyes met his, her expression cold and harsh. The expression, the understanding of someone with a much more dangerous knowledge than initially considered. “I think I might have an idea how.”

Chapter Text

annabanana has added (2) to the conversation

YourQueen: Hi Anne!

annabanana: Alice?

YourQueen: Yep! Blair’s currently not on their phone, one sec. Lemme bug them

Griffin: Hi Anne!

Griffin: I was playing darts with Clint

YourQueen: *losing at darts to Clint

annabanana: Hi!

annabanana: okay, I’m not totally sure where to go from here

annabanana: basically all my other text chains were with Marcy and Sasha

annabanana: and they’re not here 

YourQueen: I could maybe get u in contact with Sasha, but she’s tried to kill me twice in the two times I’ve met her and I recently got my ass kicked by something else, so…

YourQueen: If u wanted, I could send Jack. 

YourQueen: she can't kill him

annabanana: does Sasha know ur in contact with Marcy?

YourQueen: yeah--almost led to a 3rd attempted murder 

annabanana: honestly, you can’t force Sasha Waybright to do anything. 

annabanana: and we have a bit of a rocky relationship rn

YourQueen: bc u grew in amphibia and became more confident and realized her control issues/toxic behavior and she didn’t really grow

YourQueen: and ur original relationship/Sasha’s personality was incompatible with an equal footing and feelings of genuine vulnerability??

annabanana: how?

Griffin: It’s a thing she does

YourQueen: I’ve talked to Marcy and Sasha and kinda filled in the blanks

Griffin: she likes psychology

YourQueen: benefits of being in therapy since ur 11 😘

annabanana: wow

annabanana: yeah, u guys are weirder than me

YourQueen: darling, u have no idea

Griffin: are u doing okay?

annabanana: idk

annabanana: I've been looking thru the files u sent me

annabanana: this is everything Andrias has on Marcy?

YourQueen: yeah, pretty much. I can update u when we get more info

YourQueen: like, his technology is slightly better than steampunk/avatar during LoK

YourQueen: his robots are made based on production and not stability so they’re easy to kill since he wants quantity over quality (tho I don't totally understand how he's able to use technology that no one seems to have created there)

YourQueen: Jack’s been hacking him when he gets bored while I talk to Marcy, so there’s a ton of lil things he’s been able to screw with

YourQueen: tldr--Andrias thinks he’s Tony Stark, but we could f***ing obliterate his tech with a 2000s laptop (seriously, his computer programs are roughly nineties levels at best, even with the weird nature of his tech) and also Jack’s occasionally a professional criminal so we can do a fair bit of damage within our limitations

annabanana: Wow

annabanana: that’s a lot

Griffin: u should see the bulletin board she’s got.

YourQueen: Bc ur children and u shouldn’t feel like you’re shouldering this on ur own (also, literally anything is better than reading a Tale of Two Cities)

YourQueen: literally--anything

annabanana: are u in school rn?

YourQueen: AP english 

Griffin: why are u doing this to urself, Alice?

YourQueen: bc I like analysis and Dr won’t let me meet Dickens until I finish his dumb book

YourQueen: and it turned out really well with last year’s Jane Austen project

Griffin: u got stranded in the nineties and Dodie got kidnapped

YourQueen: a 95% on my essay and i got Dodie back

YourQueen: really well

annabanana: wait, what??

YourQueen: 😉

---

annabanana: any news on marcy?

YourQueen: pretty much the same.

YourQueen: there’s something eldritch that Andrias wants to stick in her brain, so I’m fighting that with her

annabanana: does she know?

YourQueen: she keeps forgetting

YourQueen: but she remembers me and lyrics to stuff, so it’s working well enough

YourQueen: she talks about u a lot, u know

annabanana: really?

YourQueen: yeah, she really misses u

YourQueen: we’ve been working on dealing with guilt and forgiveness

YourQueen: she also explains vagabondia chronicles to me when it gets too heavy

annabanana: can u tell her I have her switch?

annabanana: I’ve been playing it and it’s honestly really fun

YourQueen: I bet she’d love to hear it

YourQueen: she never really thought u and Sasha paid attention to the stuff she brought up

YourQueen: identity has been another fun conversation

annabanana: I should’ve been better

YourQueen: No.

YourQueen: Anne, you can’t change time and you were an amazing friend to her.

YourQueen: none of this is ur fault, u really need to remind urself that. Ur not alone.

annabanana: how weird is it that I’ve known u for less than a week and I trust u

annabanana: but, I'm still waiting for u guys to turn on me, I just really don’t want to be alone

YourQueen: that’s fair. Anne, you’ve gone through so much and you have been betrayed. You don’t need to trust us completely yet, but we’d both rather die than hurt you. (Blair’s sitting next to me and they agree, for the record. Idk where their phone is--pretty sure dodie’s using it for some experiment)

Griffin: 01100010 0110111101110111 00100000 01110100 0110111 00100000 01001000 01101111 01101111 01110100 01111001 00101100 0010000 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01110010 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100 01100110 01110101 01101100 00100000 01110011 01100001 01110110 01101001 0110111 01110010

annabanana: ??

YourQueen: I should probably go check on her. Be kind to urself, love. 

---

YourQueen: how are u doing, blue-power-wise?

annabanana: idk

annabanana: I get really tired after using them and they haven’t resurfaced in a way that I can use for more than 30 seconds since amphibia 

annabanana: but, at the same time, I really can’t focus on anything bc

YourQueen: amphibia

annabanana: yeah

YourQueen: want help?

annabanana: what do u mean?

YourQueen: idk, but if u want us to stop by again we could. We’re decent with helping emotional-wise and also kickass wise

YourQueen: Even if u don't want to use ur powers, u should be able to defend urself

Griffin: bc we care about u

YourQueen: and I really need an excuse not to read dickens 

annabanana: seriously, it can’t be that bad

YourQueen: Anne.

YourQueen: I’ve been stabbed.

YourQueen: multiple times.

YourQueen: some of those times were with iron.

YourQueen: when i say anything, I mean it.

annabanana: sure. Would Saturday work? 1:00?

YourQueen: see u then 😉

Anne’s eyes skated over the words, the simple, happy text a reminder.

They’re coming on Saturday. 

You just have to make it to Saturday. 

Her chest heaved as she slid down the side of her bed. 

Can I make it to Saturday?

The Plantars were downstairs watching Clone Wars for the umpteenth time.

Her parents were out at the restaurant. 

She hadn’t been alone like this since--

When had she been alone like this last?

It was just the stress and the danger and Sasha, no matter how awful, being stranded and Marcy’s body in front of her, falling to the floor, the weak “I’m sorry” she’d muttered as she fell, voice straining with the effort. 

Like she thought she was dying and that was the last thing she’d ever say, saying it with such desperation.

The room seemed to cave in on her.

Drawing her knees to her chest, she panted, struggling to breathe.

Her mind couldn’t focus.

MarcythinksyouhateherandyouleftthemthereandAndriasisgoingtotakeovertheworldandyouhavenoideawhattodoorwhotocall--

Who to call?

Struggling for air, she reached for the phone, her thumb brushing the call button.

Sitting there, rocking back and forth, feeling like the world was going to collapse around her, she listened to the dial tone. 

“Anne?” Blair’s voice responded faintly. “Are you okay?”

“Can’t breathe.” She choked out the words.

“Okay,” their voice flooded with realization she couldn’t quite understand, “Anne, what’re five things you can see?”

“What?”

“Five things you can see. List them.”

Her gaze bounced around the space. “My rug.”

“Good.”

“My phone, my desk, the red button,” panting, she forced the sounds, “my wall.”

“What are four things you can feel?”

“My heart pounding, my carpet, my socks, my--” she sputtered, trying to find something else. “My bed.”

“Really good job, Anne. What are three things you can hear?”

“Your voice, the street--my own voice? Does that count?” She felt her breathing slow.

“That totally counts. Two things you can smell?”

“Candle and,” blinking, she glanced around, “detergent.”

“One thing you can taste?”

The world settled around her. “My spit.”

“How do you feel now?”

Breathing calmer, she gave herself a moment to realize everything. Fingers grasping the edges of her comforter, the soft material passed through her fingertips. “Better. How?”

“It’s a grounding technique. They help focus you when you have a panic attack.”

“Is that what that was?” 

“I don’t know, I can’t see you. But that’s what it sounded like.”

“Can--” she cursed herself internally for the way her voice wavered. “Can you guys come over? Now?”

“Do you think your parents would be okay with it?” 

“They’re not here and--” she paused again, taking another breath, “and I’ve never experienced anything like this. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay.” Something shuffled on the other end. “We’ll be there in a second.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The call ended.

Letting out a breath, Anne felt herself crumple against the side of her bed. Closing her eyes, she tried to keep herself from crying. Her chest tightened, that hollow ache that she’d felt since coming home returning in its painful husk.

What now?

She didn’t have much time to consider the thought before she’d noticed the edges of her vision swimming.

That’s not good.

But, it wasn’t her vision swimming. Crackling in the corner of her ceiling, her blank, chipped, paint fizzled away, a colorful, inky sort of darkness expanding around a rough outline.

What the hell?

As the substance churned, she could begin to make out an image.

Or more than an image.

Or shoes.

Two pairs of shoes. 

In another moment, the people connected to the shoes revealed themselves as Alice and Blair crashed through to her floor. Anne stared at them, blankly, before glancing back up.

The murky colors dissolved, cinching away until nothing was left.

“What?”

Alice glared at her sibling. “I told you we should have gone the normal way.”

“She sounded stressed.” They scowled back. “Deadbolts take time.”

“This is how you travel?”

“Most of the time.” Sitting up, Alice brushed herself off, glancing around wearily. “Sometimes we hitch a ride with a friend.”

“Are you doing okay?” Blair searched her face, eyes clouded with concern.

“I mean, I wasn’t, but the portal showing up in my room is a pretty good distraction.”

“Yeah, finding a distraction is a decent way to deal with a panic attack.” Alice nodded.

The word sent a shudder through her. “Are you sure that's what it was?”

Blair shrugged. “We weren’t there to see you, but it sounded a lot like one.”

“I’ve never had something like that before.” Her gaze brushed past them, mind churning with confusion. 

“Well, panic attacks can come from anxiety or another mental illness, but they can also come from a response to trauma. And--” Alice’s sentence petered out. “Well, that’s definitely something you’ve experienced.”

“So, what? Am I going to keep getting them?”

“Maybe.” Grimacing, Blair shared a look with Alice before continuing. “I’d say probably given the circumstances, but I’m not a psychologist.”

“We could get you in contact with a therapist, if you’re interested.” Alice cut in.

“How do you know so much about this?” Turning back to look at them, she asked the question hesitantly.

“Therapy. And lots of it.” Alice smirked. “We’ve both been dealing with them for years. Overtime, you get used to it.”

“How?” She couldn’t picture the thought. 

Just accepting that feeling? Breathing uneven, the constricting chest, all the pressure?

Worried you’re going to die?

“Eventually, yes.” Blair nodded, face set into a grim line. “It takes time, but you notice triggers and find ways to pull yourself out of it.”

“Or friends to pull you out of it.” Scooting back to sit beside her against the bed, Alice nudged her shoulder. “What happened to you in Amphibia was something that isn’t going away as soon as you’re home. You went through something few adults could. It’s important to take time and focus on your mental health.”

“Because I have so much time on my hands right now.” She rolled her eyes. 

“Which is why we’re here to help.” Sitting next to their sister, Blair smiled softly. “No one person can take the weight of the world on their shoulders.”

“Believe me.” Alice winced. “As the reigning champion of attempting, it never works.”

Blair rolled their eyes. “And I end up needing to heal you because you have no self-preservation.”

Alice stuck her tongue at them before relenting. “Yeah, it’s not normally the best course of action.”

“Not normally?”

“Okay, not ever.” Sighing, she leaned back against the comforter. “Anne, I hope you know how lucky you are to be an only child.”

Despite herself, she felt a smile begin to ghost across her lips. “Not so much anymore now that we have the Plantars at home.”

“Oh yeah,” Alice grinned, “I’ll bet that’s an interesting development.”

“You have no idea.” Smile definitely present, she let her head rest against Alice’s shoulder. 

A moment of peace.

She should have known that it wouldn’t last.

Barely having the chance to close her eyes and appreciate it, the door banged open.

“Get away from her, you monsters!” Polly burst through, brandishing a meat tenderizer.

“Yeah, you fiends!” Sprig followed behind her, his slingshot loaded and ready.

“Hold on--” She was cut off by Polly’s war cry, launching herself at Blair.

Panting, Hop Pop appeared at the door. “Get ‘em, kids.”

“Alice, the baby’s trying to kill me!” They let out a shriek, holding her off at arms length.

“I see that.” Alice dodged a shot from Sprig, scowling at him. “Don’t shoot that in the house! Who raised you!”

“Guys!” Again, she was interrupted as Polly screamed again, angrily flailing with a hand grasped around the handle.

“Stay away from Anne!”

With (sadly) not much effort Alice wrenched the slingshot out of Sprig’s grip, a hand pressed against his forehead to ward him off. “Really, what finishing school did you attend?”

“We’re being attacked and you’re quoting Beyond Belief ?”

“Brilliant observation, Holmes--ack.” She dropped Sprig, cringing away as he wrapped his tongue around her wrist. “What the shi--”

“Sprig! Polly! Stop!” Eyes burning with the faintest echo of blue, the two paused, Sprig still hanging off of Alice’s arm. “They’re not attacking me.”

Unwinding himself, Sprig fell to the floor. “Then who are they?”

“And how did they get here?” Inches away from Blair’s face, Polly’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. 

“They’re friends.”

“I thought Sasha and Marcy were your only friends.”

She took a moment to glare at Sprig. “They’re not, but these are new friends.”

“We met behind an alley two weeks ago.” Blair supplied, shrinking away from Polly’s glare. 

“Real innocent sounding.” Alice rolled her eyes.

“I mean, that’s how we met, isn’t it?”

“How do we know they’re not spies?” Polly’s scowl etched even deeper. “Evil assassins sent by Andrias.”

Alice scoffed. “We’re not sent by Andrias. He doesn’t have access to people, especially our kind. Also, we both happen to have the barest sense of a moral code.”

“No comment on the assassin part?” Sprig narrowed his eyes with trademark suspicion. 

“Real innocent sounding.” Sighing, Blair held their head in their hands.

“We’re also not assassins. Or Spies. Or hitmen. Or contract killers of any kind.” Alice held her hands up in surrender. “Happy?”

Sprig blinked. “What’s the difference?”

“Spies aren’t always sent to kill,” still dangling from the handle, Polly began with concerning confidence. “Hitmen are normally mob-related contract killers. A hitman can be considered a contract killer but a contract killer isn’t necessarily a hitman.”

“Then what’s the difference between them and assassins? Is it a test or a permit or something?” He squinted, as if trying to understand everything.

“I mean, an assassin has a level of skill.” Alice scoffed. “ Assassinatemeans to kill a political figure but in the modern day, assassin’s sort of become a title for notoriety for people with that specific skill set.”

“There’s a difference in fear between hearing the words ‘contract killer’ and ‘assassin.’” Blair continued.

Alice nodded. “Anyone who gets paid to kill someone is technically a contract killer. An assassin is someone in the business, someone who gets a sense of respect. There’s a difference between the Black Widow and the hired killers from Macbeth. Hitmen and assassins primarily come from the dark web or some shady organization but people without that option can normally turn to a public sex offender list--” Her eyes widened, sentence stopping abruptly. “And you are children so you don’t need to know any of this.”

“I do!” Polly looked up at her, eyes shining with a concerning glint.

“No, you don’t.” Peeling her off from the handle, Hop Pop glared. “And you know so much about this because--”

Blair and Alice shared a concerned look. Wincing, Blair shrugged. “I like true crime podcasts?”

“And I’ve watched every episode of Elementary.” Alice offered.

Anne sighed. “Can we talk about this somewhere that isn’t my bedroom floor.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Relieved, Blair shot her a grin.

Sprig’s suspicion returned. “I’m still not convinced that they’re not going to try to kill us.”

“Hypothetically,” Alice grimaced. “Would it be helpful to say that if we wanted you dead you’d be dead already?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not saying that.”

Blair sighed. “And you say I’m bad with people.”

“Diplomacy’s a process.” Alice scowled.

“This conversation needs tea. Or hot chocolate. And by this conversation I mean me.” Anne gestured to the door. “Kitchen?”

Polly’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t over.”

“Understood.” Blair nodded, eyes awkwardly landing on the meat tenderizer in their hand. “Anne should I--”

Standing, she grabbed it. “Yeah, I can take it.”

---

“...so we have no interest in killing any of you. Or causing you harm.” Seated at the dining table, Alice sighed. “So can you please stop waving that fork like you’re going to use it to kill me?”

The fork in Polly’s grip didn’t waver. “Just give me an excuse to use it.”

“Anne, I think the baby wants to kill me.” 

“It’s a phase she gets with new people.” Rummaging around the cabinet, Anne couldn’t help but smirk. 

“For the record, you knew a decent amount of that hitman stuff too.” From beside her, Blair turned on the burner. “And you’re way younger.” 

She could hear the scowl in Polly’s voice. “I’m not a suspect of colluding with Andrias or Sasha.”

At the mention of Sasha’s name, Anne dropped the canister she was holding.

Thankfully, Alice didn’t remark on it. “The only thing I’d like to do with Andrias is behead him and Waybright could never afford me.”

“If you've been to Amphibia, have you come in contact with her?” Anne pretended to root around some more, ears aching to hear the answer to Hop Pop’s question.

“Twice.” Alice sighed. “And both times she tried to kill me. She’s in Wartwood and she knows that I’m in contact with Marcy. If the Disney channel Electra Heart wants to contact me, she has my contact information.”

“Does she seem evil?” Sprig spoke up again.

“She’s not evil. Evil’s a big word, kid. She’s protecting Wartwood, at the moment, so apparently not trying to conquer the world. Still, she’s a bit Regina George for my taste.”

“Anne is what she’s saying gibberish to you too?” 

Finding the right box, she got down off the stool. “They’re references, Hop Pop. At least I think they are.” She handed the box to Blair. “Who’s Electra Heart?”

“Music thing. Also a bit hypocritical.” The kettle whistling, Blair took it off the stove. 

“I have yet to commit war crimes.” Alice rolled her eyes. “It’s completely different.”

They smirked, accepting the mugs Anne passed them. “Says the person who got into a fight with a fourteen year old over the summer.” 

“It was self defense!”

“After you chewed her out in the hallway?”

“I take issue with people bullying my kids. She had it coming.”

Anne blinked. “You fought a fourteen year old?”

“Undercover work over the summer.” Alice shrugged. “You could say it’s a long story.”

Either too scared, too tired, or too confused to say more, no one else offered a question. 

Which, because nothing today could go right, meant the truly horrible happened.

Hop Pop felt awkward.

Looking back, Anne really should have said something.

“So, Alice, do you have a boyfriend?”

The mugs in her hands clattered onto the countertop. Heat rushing up her cheeks.

“Hop Pop! We talked about this, man!”

“It got too quiet!”

“It’s fine.” Looking over to Alice, she didn’t seem particularly mad.

Or violent.

A smile fit her expression, laughing dryly.

“I’ve had worse questions during an interrogation. And, no, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“See,” she scowled at him, “there’s no point to that question--”

“I do have a girlfriend, though.” Anne stopped mid sentence.

“Wait, what?”

Alice inspected her nails, nonchalantly. “If you want to ask someone about a boyfriend, Blair’s got one.”

“And I’m not answering any questions about him.” Glaring, they set the tray of mugs on the table, sitting next to her. 

“Hold on--” Anne blinked. “You have a girlfriend?”

Alice nodded. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked.” Shrugging, she took a sip. “Someone,” she raised her eyebrows in Blair’s direction, “says I talk about her too much.”

Rolling their eyes, they took a sip of their mug. “They’ve been together for a year and a half. It feels like longer since she never shuts up about her.”

“Oh, please. Like you’re any different with--” She was cut off as they elbowed her.

“I didn’t know you were gay.” Mulling over the thought, Anne pulled out the chair next to her. 

“Bisexual, actually.” Alice winked. “Blair’s pansexual.”

“What?” Hop Pop’s eyes bugged out.

“It means ‘all genders.’ I’m not attracted to cookware.”

“It’s like those robotics nerds Polly watches!” Snatching his own mug, Sprig seemed especially proud of making the connection.

“Yeah,” Alice took a sip, nodding to Polly, “if you like robotics, then I’ve got a lot of people for you to meet after this. One of Gwen’s best friends is into robotics, actually. She built a whole mech with her dad.”

“No way.” Eyes wide with admiration, the fork slipped from Polly’s hands. Turning to Anne, she nodded. “I trust her now.”

“Because she promised you robotics help?” Anne raised her eyebrows.

“What can I say? I’m easily bribed.”

Alice smirked. “A girl after my own heart.”

“So her name’s Gwen?” Sipping her drink, Anne looked over the edges of her mug to gauge her expression. 

“She’s called Gwen, yes.” Alice nodded. “I don’t give out names. It’s a faerie thing.”

“So, what’s she like?”

“If I were you, I’d run.” A hand cupped over his mouth, Sprig whispered to her. (Well, ‘whisper’ would be the wrong word. He was still getting used to quiet octaves). “She almost got me married.”

“Not cool, dude!”

Alice laughed. “I’m pretty sure I can handle an overzealous thirteen year old.” Turning to Anne, she grinned. “She’s amazing. She does ballet, she’s done it since she was four--so she’s incredible. I’m in awe of everything she’s able to do, it’s insane. She’s super smart and wickedly funny and she plays drums in a band. That’s actually where she is right now,” checking her phone, she nodded, “I’m picking her up after practice.”

“You’re dating a drummer? Is she in a rock band? Are your parents okay with it?” 

“Is she cool?” Polly spoke up.

“Yes, yes, yes, and she’s a lesbian, so definitely.” Alice smirked. “I think she’s pretty cool. Or as cool as you can get with a 3.7 gpa and knowing the lyrics to every single Taylor Swift song in creation.”

“So she’s a nerd?” Polly’s eyes narrowed, trying to piece everything together.

“A pretty cool nerd.”

“Do you have a picture?” Anne leaned over her shoulder.

“Yes. But why are you so interested?”

“Didn’t you say distractions are good when you deal with panic attacks?”

“When you’re in the middle of one, not necessarily comfortable and with hot chocolate.”

“Then I’m just nosy and bored.”

“Fair,” scrolling through her phone, she landed on the right image, “that’s her.”

The girl in the photograph grinned up at the camera, caught mid-laugh. A pair of bright blue eyes crinkled, an eyebrow piercing glinting in the light. Blonde hair hung down to her chin on one side, the other side messily shaved. She seemed to be wearing some white, black, and magenta hoodie. It took a moment for the image to click in her mind.

“That’s a cool Spider-Man cosplay. Or spider-woman?”

“Yeah,” Alice smiled at the photo, “you could say she’s got the best one out there.”

“That’s your girlfriend?” Sprig glanced up. “Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

He narrowed his eyes back at the image. “Perhaps.”

“If you want further proof, I could show you a video.” Blair’s lips curled up to a mischievous smile, eyes teasing. “Dodie sent me one she took last week.”

“God no.” Alice cringed. “No one needs to see that.”

“Consider it  payback for getting into my chocolate stash.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Anne, you have no idea how lucky you are to be an only child.”

Polly held out miniature hands. “Gimme.”

Balancing the phone against a mug, they leaned forward.

“I feel like we should document this.” An unfamiliar voice spoke up as the camera zoomed onto the exhausted face of Gwen. Hair rumpled but clean, she wore a sweatshirt dyed like the lesbian pride flag, brows furrowed with the complete lack of understanding.

“Do we really need to?” 

Beside her, Alice winced. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I don’t know!” She held up her hands exasperatedly. “I was on twelve shots of espresso and three red bulls at four in the morning after not sleeping for two days. I could barely come up with a coherent thought that wasn’t shaking.”

“And you decided to bake?” The camera shifted down onto a seemingly innocuous plate of cookies.

“Post patrol Gwen is not responsible for any actions after two AM.”

“Do you have a recipe you might’ve used?” Alice picked one up, turning it over in her fingers.

She shook her head. “I have no recollection of making them. I mean, I know I made them. I just have no idea how. Or with what.”

“But they are cookies.” The person behind the camera spoke up again, a hand reaching for it. “We really shouldn’t waste them.”

Alice slapped it away. “Dodie, we have no idea what’s in them.”

“They look normal enough.”

Gwen continued to stare at the plate, shaking her head slowly. “Why did I do that, though?”

“If this is how you’re like when you’re tired then I can’t wait to see what you’re like when you eventually get drunk.” 

“Am I the only one who finds it concerning that you prioritized baking over sleep?” Alice glanced over to her girlfriend worriedly.

She nodded, expression unchanging. “That’s definitely concerning.”

“So,” the camera shifted, “you’re like Amy Santiago but with exhaustion.”

“Yep. Fifty two hour Gwen is a baker.” She continued to nod. 

“To add to forty five hour Gwen being a painter and forty nine hour Gwen being a professional organizer?”

“Yep.”

“So what’s fifty three hour Gwen like?”

“Dodie!” Alice shot the camera a glare. “You are not pulling a Gina Linetti.”

Gwen smirked. “If you want to see depressed Gwen, that doesn’t require any lack of sleep.”

“Babe--” 

“We really shouldn't waste food though.”

Rolling her eyes, Alice cupped her face in her hands. “Neither of you are getting food poisoning right now.”

“So I can get food poisoning later?”

“Not now, doch .” Wincing her eyes shut, Alice sighed.

“ Ser'yezno, mama? ”

“Oí.” She glared. “Don’t get clever with me in Russian.”

“You started it.” Surreptitiously, the camera was set down, leaning against a canister.

“I just don’t understand how I did it. Or why.” Gwen continued to stare. 

“Fifty two hour Gwen has some great priorities.”

She raised a hand, too hesitant to touch it. “I mean, I have a better metabolism so--”

“Babe, no.” Whirling her around, Alice met her eyes, hands on her shoulders. “You’ve got to snap out of it. As the dysfunctional one in this relationship, you need to get it together.”

As Gwen burst out into laughter, another figure slid into view, sneaking a cookie off the plate. “Princess, I don’t think either of us can claim to be functional.”

“Yeah.” Dodie’s voice came from the person, long, honey-blonde hair trailing down her shoulders like Rapunzel. Though she was facing away from the screen, Anne could feel the impish smile wafting off of her. “And none of you can hold a candle to me.”

Whirling around, Alice’s eyes widened. “Dodie don’t--” Knocking over the canister, the phone clattered to the ground. 

The video cut out.

Four pairs of eyes turned to a painfully red Alice.

“What happened?”

“There were two batches in there.” She shrugged. “One was amazing and we still have no idea where she got the recipe. The other was primarily salt, flour, and baking powder. It was a slightly less painful Russian roulette.”

Sprig blinked. “Slightly?”

Blair winced. “We've only heard stories. We don’t know from experience.”

“Know from experience?” Anne stared at them.

“You can’t swing a cat in our house without hitting someone who’s been shot.”

“Swing a cat?” Hop Pop looked over to Anne.

“It’s a saying.” 

“Look, we know it’s weird.” Blair grimaced. “But we’re here to help.”

“And we’ll answer any questions you have.” Alice nodded, handing them their phone.

Polly and Sprig shared a moment of eye contact before jumping onto the table, Sprig in front of Alice and Polly in front of Blair (something they were undoubtedly not happy about). Their questions overlapped. It was all Anne could do to glance between them, catching snippets. 

“Have you run into my girlfriend? Her name is Ivy.”

“Nope. The only Ivy I know of is dating someone named Harley. And I've never actually met her.”

Polly stared up at Blair from the table. “Have you ever killed a man?”

“No?” Blair winced.

“Are you sure you haven't seen her?”

“Absolutely.”

“What’s the easiest way to knock someone unconscious?”

“That doesn’t seem like that’s on topic.” Blair wouldn't meet her eyes. 

“What fictional character are you most like?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Answer the question, prisoner.”

Alice smirked. “Want to be like Sadie Doyle. Probably most like Jessica Jones.”

“I don’t know either of those.”

She grimaced. “You’re not ready for them.”

“Do you know how to hide a body?”

“In theory, yes.” Blair winced. 

Polly’s eyes gleamed, toddling closer. “How?”

“I don’t really feel like I should tell you.”

“It wouldn’t be your body.”

“Your violence is concerning.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“What do you think of the Clone Wars?” Sprig sat, resting his chin on his hand. 

“Animated Series is superior.” 

His eyes widened in horror. “You dare--”

“Two words: Ahsoka Tano.”

“What about Anakin?”

“He’s whiny. She’s his Padawan. Obi Wan is annoyingly attractive and the droids are amazing. Seriously, watch it.”

“How do I do that?”

“I don’t know how streaming services work here.”

“No,” Blair held out a hand, as Polly continued her barrage of questions, “I am not telling you that. You’re a baby.”

“Babies can have plans.”

“Anne?” Glancing up at her, their eyes pleaded for an escape.

She couldn’t quite hold back her own grin.

Two very different worlds collided. 

One she trusted with her life and one she was beginning to trust. 

But, between her parents, the Plantars, and now Alice and Blair--

Maybe they actually stood a chance. 

Chapter Text

“I begged the core to consider an alternative host, but alas.” There was something scintillatingly evil about how sympathetic he sounded. As if, through a revolting farce of compassion, he truly cared for the poor girl he had strapped to a chair. 

It made Alice want to murder him even more.

“That slimy, despotic, sadistic-” Hands gripped the edges of the doorway, knuckles white with stress. She could feel herself shaking, feel her heart pounding in her ears as she muttered off a string of curses. “You don’t get to pretend to care. You don’t get to--” she flinched at the hand on her shoulder.

Breath catching, she had to look up to remember Jack standing over her, his eyes etched with worry she hadn’t seen in a long time, but he’d known all too well during his centuries of existence. “We have to go.”

“No.” She shook her head, eyes fixed onto the image in front of her, Marcy struggling against her bonds, calling out for someone, anyone, her . Mind racing with possibilities and plans, she slapped Jack’s hand away from her shoulder. “I’m not leaving her there. She’s going to--”

“Marcy!” Cut off by Yunan or Olivia (in the stress and anger she couldn’t tell which), an angry orange sequence snaked up the rough iron coils. Blips of zeros and ones rushing through and with them, the suspense of ghastly, uncontrollable pain.

“Jack, we have to--” as the code reached her suit and Marcy let out a scream, jerking around, violently trying to escape as her voice wailed.

Guttural, painful

It reminded her too much of--

Ignoring whatever reasoning her mind could possibly try to produce, she pushed past Jack and lunged through the doorway.

Boots rough against the uneven, ancient, floor, she brushed away the thoughts pearling in the back of her mind.

Time, Alice.

Reality could--

Who gives a shit about reality right now?

Scream throbbing in her ears, the sound echoed through the room, steps oddly heavy as she tried to run, try to push past the slow-motion the world seemed to fall into before--

A hand grabbed her wrist, wrenching her back and spiraling through everything.

Cheap and nasty travel.

It wasn’t a gadget she was particularly fond of, nor was it one she knew particularly well.

And right about now, it was her least favorite thing in just about all of existence.

Catapulting through an expanse she couldn’t quite name, she winced her eyes shut as layers of something flew across her skin, like breaking surface tension in a pool over and over and over again. It was the sort of controlled free falling, manufactured to feel natural with that looming understanding that it clearly wasn’t. Not falling, but moving piece by piece, inch by inch.

It was a relief to feel the ground underneath her, stone sinking for a moment before hardening again.

“I need to go back.” Ignoring the dull ache of her body, the choking lack of air in her lungs, she rasped the sentence out.

“Highness, you can’t.” Jack (unfortunately) hadn’t face planted into the ground, sorrow reflecting off his face in the weak light as he stood over her.

Where the hell are we?

Brushing the question away, she stood. Annoyingly shorter than him, it didn’t stop her from glaring up with terrifying ferocity. “It wasn’t up for debate.”

“Reality could fall apart, Alice.” He stood his ground.

“She’s only thirteen, Jack,” shaking her head, tears pooled in her eyes, hot as she brushed them away with the palm of her hand, “she’s thirteen. I can’t just sit there--”

“If you get her out of it now she will die along with everything else.”

He’s right, you know.

Whose side are you on?

Still scowling, she kicked a pebble underfoot, grim satisfaction as it bounced off the wall and out of sight. “We’d have about an hour of time before it fell apart. We could’ve figured out something”

“Alice, the Doctor couldn’t do that, much less us.”

She shook her head, wobbling back and forth, heavy combat boots somehow unsteady on the immovable ground. “I’m not leaving her alone like that. He wouldn’t leave her alone like that either.”

“Hey,” sighing, she looked up at him again, brows etched in a glare, “we don’t have another choice.”

“If we had Blair--”

“If your sibling took part of the pain, they would’ve taken part of the orange thing.”

“It’s not fair.” Tears came again, tracing down her cheek in a hot, heavy torrent. Too sudden for her to try to stop them and, once they came, too endless for her to do anything other than wipe them away as more and more kept coming. “It’s not fair--I should be able to do something.”

“You will do something.” Kneeling down to meet her, he took her hand. “You can’t always protect everyone from everything.”

“I should’ve been able to protect her.” She shook her head, refusing to reach his eyes, sobbing mangling her sentences. “I don’t want her to end up like me.”

His response wavered, figuring out what to say. “We’ll get her out of there, she’ll be okay even if we have to call in an army.”

“Or Tetya.” Letting out another shaking breath, she dragged her palm across her welling eyes.

“Yeah, she's an army in his own right.” He sighed. “I’m sure she’d be willing to help if she can.”

“Bone from bone.” Her voice wavered, barely a whisper, but he heard it all the same.

“What did you say, highness?”

“It’s Nat’s threat. If someone hurts her kids and she gets the chance, she tells them she’ll separate them bone from bone.”

“So we separate Andrias bone from bone?”

She glowered, a normally bright (or at least passified face) darkened with malice. “If he’s lucky.”

“Believe me.” Jack shook his head. “I’m not about to stop you.”

Heart rate slowing, she let out a breath, forcing herself to stability. “I need to see Anne.”

“Do you want me to--”

She shook her head. “Just drop me off. I need to let her know.”

“About Marcy?”

She nodded. “And about me.” 

“Are you sure--”

“This is bigger than any of us thought. She needs to know.”

“Sure, I’ll drop you off.” Squinting at his bracelet in the low light, he glanced around. “Wait, where the hell are we?”

~~~

YourQueen: Hey, could I come over?

YourQueen: Something happened and there’s a lot I need to tell you .

That can’t be good. Wincing at her phone, Anne typed her a quick response.

annabanana: Sure. I’m just chilling in my room. Lmk when you’re here.

YourQueen: Here.

A hand tapped on her window. Sliding off her bed, Anne went to open it. 

Sure enough, Alice stepped through, sliding off the roof and into her room. Oddly enough, she wasn’t wearing her coat, simply clad in black sweater, wide neck clinging to her shoulders paired with equally dark jeans. Around her neck, silver and gold snaked their way across a milky white stone. Stowing her phone in her pocket, she shut the window behind her awkwardly. 

“Sorry. I really need to talk.”

“My room is on the second floor. How did you get on the roof?.”

Pausing to give her a pointed look, she gestured to the floor. “Mind if we sit? I don’t think I can do this standing.”

“Sure.” Leaning against her bed, it was easier to see the differences in her being. Dark circles under her eyes seemed more pronounced and hollow, breathing labored with effort, hair escaping her braid wildly. “Is everything okay?”

She shook her head, chin trembling. “I failed her.”

“What?” Which ‘her’ is she talking about?

“I couldn’t stop him. If I had, everything would have collapsed--” Wiping her eyes for tears that had begun to appear, she shook her head again. Back and forth, as if she couldn’t believe it herself. “Marcy’s been taken over.”

A simple sentence and Anne’s heart practically stopped, the single sentence she’d been begging whatever god there was that she wouldn't hear, breathing halted as she imagined it. “What?”

“I knew that Olivia and Yunnan getting her out wouldn’t work, but,” more tears fell down what looked like familiar tracks, “she screamed and screamed. I haven’t heard a scream like that since--” Alice cupped a hand over her mouth choking out a sob.

Her eyes watered, thoughts and emotions rushing past her faster than she could notice or control. Still, she couldn’t help but answer the question. “Since when?”

“Since I almost killed myself.” The sentence was barely a whisper, but she broke down crying even harder. 

Realization came flooding through Anne, an open dam, uncontrollable and overwhelming. A tidal wave of feeling she couldn’t bear to force down or ignore, the sentence trembling with an uneven cadence. “You tried to kill yourself?”

“Once.” She nodded, voice raspy and exhausted. “June. I thought it was the only way to get them out of there and then I thought I was going to be him --” the final words disappeared in heavy breathing. “I controlled someone. I didn’t mean to but I did.”

Wait, what? “You can control people?”

“Fae--ancient power. I don’t want to do it, ever. I don’t even know how to do it properly with the name or whatever but I was half dead and I thought it was him and,” Alice’s head shook back and forth, “I didn’t mean to but I’d sworn never to and I didn’t want to be like him. ”

Anne nodded, mind numb as she spoke, information coming faster than she could process. “Who’s him ?”

Alice shuddered a bit before speaking. “You know that I’m not technically sixteen--”

“You mentioned something like it, yeah.”

“The thing is, I was born approximately in 1595. Don’t ask. I’ll answer questions, just not now. My biological mother died and her best friend took me in, except--” another choking breath, “she was worried about protecting me from her husband. So, to save me, she made me her heir, a blessed faerie and hid me away in time and space and I don’t know, she doesn’t like to talk about it. The thing is, to be a blessed faerie, I share her powers and her feedback.”

Okay, try to understand. “Her feedback?”

“It’s all about balance, the balance of reality, we’re supposed to protect it. If it’s uneven then I have to relive whatever’s considered to be my worst memories. Except, I don’t really have power of my own so it's her power and her worst memories.” She paused, breath hitching. “So, since I was eleven I’ve had memories of--memories of assault.”

Whatever Anne could have thought she was going to say couldn’t have prepared for her final sentence. “What?”

“ He was abusive and terrible and when he couldn’t control her nearly as much as he wanted to he used magic to control her mind. My family--they've had different experiences with mind control. Mine’s different from theirs and it wasn’t my body,  but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Nothing they show in movies or shows prepares you for that. Screaming and screaming and no one can hear, seeing what you’ve done and having it remain on yourself, stay in your skin, stain your perception of you long after it’s happened. You fight and fight and overtime your mind just stops trying because nothing you do helps and it begs you to give up and makes you want to give up until you lose things. Lose memories, lose meaning, lose reason, lose yourself. Marcy is only thirteen. I can’t let her turn out like me.” She said the last sentence with violent disgust, startling Anne from her pained stupor, self loathing so venomous in the final word. “Anne, I’m a fucking mess. I flinch when people touch me. I get afraid of men. I can’t always trust myself. I’m covered in scars and some of them didn't come from other people. There’s so much--Marcy deserves so much better.”

Her tirade ended in more sobbing, arms wrapping around her knees as she buried her face into her lap. Anne sat next to her in stunned silence. 

What do you say to that?

What can you say to that?

“You said you don’t like being touched--” her word trembled, “--but could I hug you?”

A hesitant nod and she unwound herself. Wrapping her arms around her, Anne felt her shuddering breath. “We’ll get her back, I promise.”

“I know we will.”

~~~

“Highness, are you sure?”

“I’ve done the math. Two amulets with two different purposes.”

Leaning against the door to her room, Jack shook his head. “I still don’t like this.”

“He’s torturing a child, Harkness. He’s torturing a child and he’s feeling no consequences for it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You know it’s a Disney villain, right? He’s probably going to die at the end.”

“Death would be too kind.” She didn’t look up, finger trailing down the aging page. “If I can’t save Marcy now, then I can at least make him feel some of what she’s feeling.”

“Are you sure this isn’t coming as a response to your own trauma?” For the second time in the day, worry crept its way up his face. “Vengeance rarely--”

“--gives us the catharsis we want it to.” She finished, rolling her eyes. “Birds of Prey is one of my favorite movies, I know the line.” Coiling the wire around a midnight dark stone, she checked the page. “This isn’t vengeance. This is protection.”

“How exactly?”

“They’re kids. No matter what they’ve gone through, they’re not ready for this.” Satisfied with her work, she shut the book. “This gives them an advantage. This makes him unstable. This opens up a weak spot, a fear.” Her hands went to the back of her neck, clasping the chain around her. “I’ll provide a type of leverage.” Meeting his eyes in the mirror, she glared. “You heard her scream, didn’t you?” 

His breathing hitched, no doubt the memory that had been echoing in her mind for the past few hours now echoing in his.

“Where do you want me to take you?”

~~~

Andrias fell asleep easier than he thought he would. 

It wasn’t easy to watch Marcy scream and wail, her small, young frame pleading for help, relenting, anything.

It was a necessary sacrifice. 

A painful sacrifice, but a necessary sacrifice all the same.

Besides, with her as the host for his master, it meant less competition for the kingdom.

(Truly, who else was there to challenge his intellect?)

Time had revealed to him a petty nature, but it’d given him thousands of years of prosperity and accomplishment.

He was too close to success to let anything get his way.

Especially her .

Those were the thoughts running through his head as he eyes fluttered shut, sleep overtaking him.

(After all, it had been a taxing day).

Dealing with Marcy, the punishments of Yunan and Olivia, the promises of his master.

And, of course, cleaning blood off of the floors.

A revolting chore left to him with the secrecy of it all.

Thousands of years ago, it would have been an underling. 

Thousands of years ago, he would have been met with support and love instead of betrayal and shame.

(There was something wrong with the whole thing).

His people should have been clamoring for his affections, grateful to help the war effort, yet he found himself achingly alone.

He hadn’t felt this alone since--

It wasn’t important.

Thousands of years meant countless nights and countless dreams he’d experienced over his painfully long life. 

However, this wasn’t any of them.

He blinked inadvertently, but there was no point in blinking. Transparent hands passed through each other, looking out at an endless expanse of white. A ghost of a shadow of himself.

Odd.

Music filtered through the back, music he didn’t recognize. Another oddity. Andrias had never been one for music and its petty distractions, though it was something he’d had to become at least slightly acquainted with.

Maybe that was the first clue to consider.

Was the space white, though? Every time he blinked it seemed to flicker into black, a fog, an area he couldn’t quite piece together, gone before he could consider the meaning. 

As if mockingly, one instant revealed the words scratched in a pained and fearful hand.

Don’t Blink.

Of course, it wasn't there when he tried to look again.

More instruments added to the song, this time louder with the same trailing melody. He was sure he hadn’t heard it before, it didn’t follow traditional ballads or any of the fads that had flickered out of time.

But that wasn’t possible. If he couldn’t recognize it, it meant it came from another world. 

And that wasn’t possible.

He was the only one with the ability to travel.

And that’s when he saw her . 

A face flashed in for a moment, a small figure teetering at the edge of space. Blonde hair fell across her back in a tight braid, her eyes filled with unmistakable hate.

I don't like your little games

The lyric whispered past his ear making him turn his head.

Don't like your tilted stage

Again, he couldn’t piece where it was coming from, who could be saying it. Venom dripping across each word.

The role you made me play of the fool

The space flickered black.

Where was she? What was going on?

No, I don't like you

And there she was again.

An unknowable distance in front of him. Eyes too old, too odd and ill fitting for the tiny creature. Dressed in the same darkness that surrounded him, at first he thought it was a trick of the light.

For a fleeting moment, he considered she might be a savior.

Her eyes met his, raking over his fearful expression.

Red lips grinned.

I don't like your perfect crime

How you laugh when you lie

You said the gun was mine

Isn't cool, no, I don't like you

The mind is a perplexing thing, the brain connecting all functions of being.

At its pinnacle, thought is the root of all life.

When thought becomes infected, however. . .

Her smile stayed, hauntingly.

But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time

Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined

I check it once, then I check it twice, oh!

Pale, slender hands dragged across the space, flickers of light against the darkness. At her chest, a dark stone glowed. He barely had a moment to notice before the floor fell out from under him.

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

He felt bones crunch under stone.

I don’t have bones here.

How can I feel?

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me-

And he was falling and sliding and wincing his eyes shut for at least the barest visual respite.

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

This was not any type of magic he knew.

This was not any type of Amphibian magic.

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me do

And she smiled.

I don't like your kingdom keys

“Who are you?” He choked the sentence out as he felt himself collide with yet another surface.

They once belonged to me

Throughout his ordeal, she remained in the same place. Heels together in a perfect stance. Red lips smiling.

You asked me for a place to sleep

“Perhaps I’m karma.” She winked.

Locked me out and threw a feast (what?)

He would have responded if he hadn’t been falling again.

The world moves on, another day another drama, drama

But not for me, not for me, all I think about is karma

And then the world moves on, but one thing's for sure

Maybe I got mine, but you'll all get yours

She winked again, grinning as he cried out in pain, colliding with something else.

But I got smarter

I got harder in the nick of time (nick of time)

Honey, I rose up from the dead

I do it all the time (I do it all the time)

I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined

I check it once, then I check it twice, oh!

Stilled in the air, her hands halted.

He let out a breath of relief. Perhaps--

The thought was cut off by her laughter.

“Believe me, sire, you’re not out of the woods yet.”

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

She flicked her wrist, a whip of the same white-gold sparks edging out.

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me-

Coming towards him.

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

His mind reeled as she snapped it back.

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me do

With a collection of all too familiar images.

Memories.

How?

Brushing them to the side she looked up at him again, expression manically cruel.

“I’m sure you’re wondering who I am.”

“It would be the polite thing.”

Her head tilted, lips wincing. “No, I’m not going to tell you, I don’t think.”

“What are you?”

“What am I?” She tilted her head again, thinking. “Perhaps an avenging angel.”

His eyes narrowed. “Another human.”

“Oh, dear,” she shook her head, patronizingly, “don’t insult me.”

“Who else could there be that would desire vengeance?”

“Believe me, with my contacts, the list is long and painful.”

He blinked. “Painful?”

“What I’m going to do to you.” Again, she smiled.

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams

“You see, I am gifted with the ability to enter the mind and, as you must know by now, the mind and its reality is easily manipulated.”

“What are you going to do?”

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams

“I’m not going to control you.” Her gaze turned especially icy. “Even I’m not that cruel.”

His memory flickered back to Marcy.

“Then what do you intend to do?”

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams

“Hurt you.” She said it with a perfectly fixed smile. “You are destroying your land and hurting children for your egomaniacal plot of world domination. There’s nothing I’d like to do more than separate you piece by piece.”

She shook her head. “But, while you never see it on your flesh, you can feel pain in this sort of dream.”

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams

“Every day Marcy Wu remains under the control of the Night, every night I’ll be here. If you want your freedom, you'll need to grant her hers.” She brought the pictures up to her sight, flicking through the memories lazily. “ I’ll show you pain and terror beyond your wildest dreams. I can show you your memories, the memories you’ve tried to forget. Though, you don’t have to worry, I won’t be cruel enough to force you to see mine.” Her smile flattened to a line. “That would be much too evil.”

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams

“I don’t understand. What sort of sorceress are you?”

“Not a sorceress.” Dragging a hand across, she browsed the extracted images.

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams

“Witch then?”

“Not a witch either.”

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams

“Who else could have this sort of power?”

She laughed, what would normally seem jubilant, harsh and malicious. 

“Isn’t it obvious, sire?”

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams

“I’m a queen.”

I'm sorry

His breath caught in his chest. (Could that happen here?)

“There is no queen in Amphibia. Humans would never bow to a queen that wasn’t one of their own.”

But the old Taylor can't come to the phone right now

“I’m not from Amphibia and I’m no queen of humans. There are others of us you know. Others that are prepared to crush you should you impede on what isn’t yours.”

Why?

“You’re just a child! What could you possibly be the queen of?” 

Oh

“Chaos. Reality. Illusions. Take your pick.”

 'cause she's dead

“After all, sire, you’ll see them soon enough.”

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

“I’ve lived for thousands of years.”

“Then I’ll make sure it’s something you haven’t seen before.”

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me-

“Infecting my mind will do little to stop me, I hope you know that.”

“Oh, sire.” She had the audacity to roll her eyes.

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

“I’m not infecting your mind--”

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me do

“I’m on my way to destroying it.”

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

He steeled himself, refusing to let himself back down. “What makes you think you can stand admisdt what I’ve created?”

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me-

“Easy.” She narrowed her eyes, ancient, unyielding, brimming with hatred.

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

“You hurt my children.”

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me do

“Well, sire,” nodding at his frozen expression, she smiled that first, painfully cruel smile, “shall we begin?” 

Chapter Text

Once again, Marcy Wu could not feel.

Trapped in her own mind as her body is pulled along like a puppet.

Truly Rootless .

---

Sasha Waybright struggles amidst a burgeoning revolution in Wartwood.

Both trying to atone and trying not to crack under the pressure. 

Forcing herself to stay afloat in a sea of fear and loathing .

---

Stuck in LA, Anne Boonchuy is doing everything she can to get back to those she left.

While she goes home to a familiar bed, she knows two of the people she loves the most are stranded in a world that is not their own.

And she’s home trying to convince herself she’s the superstar everyone else sees her as.

---

From the outside, Alice Morrigan watches, as if on the other side of a mirror.

Once again.

Trying to keep Marcy as safe as she can be. Trying to reach out to Sasha. Trying to be there for Anne while her mind continues to shatter.

You’re still healing.

Hoping she can get through this without reopening Pandora’s box.

---

Marcy is in exile.

Sasha is trying to finally be clean.

Anne is looking for daylight.

Alice is praying they’re actually all ready for it.

Art 💕

Chapter Text

From the sickly light of her screen, the number glared up at her. 

Ten digits.

Mocking her.

Slumping her head against the wall, Sasha let out a sigh.

I should do it.

Why is it so hard?

What if it can’t go through?

Because, as she gripped the phone with shaking hands, she was scared. No matter what walls she tried to put up, she couldn’t lie to herself any longer. 

There was a war right outside her door.

And, despite their best efforts to convince themselves otherwise, she and Grime weren’t sure what to do.

They had no army, no tower, no plan.

The only thing they had to fight against an evil newt king who impaled one of her friends and sent the other frog knows where, was a small farming settlement. 

And, though the citizens of Wartwood had been doing surprisingly well with finally having a way to let out their years of pent up anger and aggression, it wouldn’t last.

No, they needed something.

She needed something.

She hit the call button before she could convince herself not to again. 

Weirdly enough, it seemed to go through. Where a blank “no service” screen had been for the past five months, there was a ringing, orderly text displaying the number of seconds.

What if it goes to voicemail?

Pressing it to her ear, Sasha couldn’t tell if she wanted it to or not. A torrent of emotions she was in no way prepared to deal with whirled around her mind. The same chaos she’d suppressed for as long as she could remember was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

“Who is this?”

Someone’s there!

Her mind went blank, mouth too dry to speak. 

“Klaus, we’ve been over this. No matter what your asshole brother says, prank calling my phone isn’t an option.”

“It’s me.”

Something shifted in her tone. “Who’s ‘me’? I’m having trouble hearing you.”

What if she doesn’t remember me? 

“Sasha Waybright. From Amphibia?”

“Wait, Sasha? What’s going on?”

“You said I could call you if I wanted to talk.”

“You’re actually taking me up on that?”

She bit back an insult. “Yeah. What’s the big deal about it?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t think that’d work for you.”

“Well, you don’t know me.”

“True. What is it?”

The sentence left her paralyzed. For all the questions she’d had, the worries she’d been too scared to voice, her mind went blank.

“A lot. Could you come over? I’m better in person.”

“You’re not going to try to kill me again, are you?”

She winced, the memory resurfacing. “No.”

“Give me five minutes. You’re at the Plantar’s house, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah.”

“See you then.” Her phone beeped, the call disconnecting. 

How does she know where I’m staying?

---

Five minutes isn’t nearly enough time for pacing and anxiety, but Sasha Waybright certainly gave it a run for her money.

Feeling worried, genuinely worried and concerned, was a new concept. 

It’s not that she hadn’t felt worried or concerned before, those emotions had lurked in the back of her psyche like any normal human.

But she hadn’t let herself feel them, hadn’t let herself accept that she was feeling them, before the disastrous fight at the castle.

Now they hung over every waking thought, looming in the corner of her mind with an ever present reminder of her failures and all the ways she could continue to fail.

Is this what Anne and Marcy feel all the time?

She wasn’t given the chance to ponder the thought, as her downward spiral was interrupted with a knock at the door.

Grime never knocks. That must be her.

Letting out a slow breath, she turned the knob.

Blonde hair had been hurriedly brushed out of her face, her black coat open to show a pair of jeans and a crop top with the words ‘bubblegum bitch.’ Leaning down slightly, she smirked. “Sasha.”

“Can you come in on your own or do I need to invite you?”

Rolling her eyes, she ducked down to walk through the doorway. “I’m a faerie, not a vampire.”

“You’re a what?”

“Faerie. Didn’t I mention that?” She blinked, pausing for a moment before shaking her head, “sorry, she’s right. I guess I didn’t.”

“Wait, you’re a fairy? They exist? Like Tinkerbell?” Sasha couldn’t help but laugh at the thought.

“ Faerie like A Midsummer Night’s Dream or Irish folklore. What?” She raised her eyebrows. “You’re in a magic frog world with a genocidal newt king and that’s where you draw the line?”

“Fair.”

Sasha got the chance to look at her. Really look at her. No fighting or aggression or suspicion overwhelming her senses. What had seemed to originally be perfectly porcelain, like a doll--

--or the daughter they wanted--

--held the proper uneven flaws of a natural face. There was still something off about her left cheek, the scar trailing down her pale skin, but the rest of her looked too normal and tired to be a facade. Blonde hair fell over her shoulders, a few small braids keeping the worst of it from her eyes. Her eyes, seeming much older for someone her age, showed her exhaustion, off color bags tracing the bottom lid. There was this sense of worn that seemed to exude from everything in her appearance: her face, her posture--

“So, you said you wanted to talk?” She raised her eyebrows again.

Right. Shit.

Just get it out with. 

“I’m not a very good person.”

She nodded. “Considering past actions, that seems a reasonable conclusion to come to.”

Sasha tried not to be taken aback but the bluntness of the words. “Yeah, well, I want to be better.”

“A noble pursuit.”

“Also,” she winced, the words coming out in an overlapping torrent, “Grime and I are in charge of protecting Wartwood and the resistance and I don’t think we really know what we’re doing. I mean, the only time we really succeeded was with the war hammer and even then--” the memory flickered in the back of her mind. “--well, my actions then weren’t actions I want to repeat. And now the surrounding area is being decimated and we’re fighting robots and--and I don’t know where to go from here.” Bringing her hands up to cover her face, she grimaced, feeling a hastily patched cut open back up as she brushed the shoddy bandage away in her anxiety.

“That’s a lot.” Her voice was surprisingly gentle. “What you’re feeling is a pretty fair reaction to everything that you’re going through right now. What do you want me to do to help?”

“What?” Sasha lowered her fingers slowly, daring to meet her eyes. “That’s it? You’re not going to chew me out or mock me or blame me--”

“I only did that earlier because I wasn’t aware you’d come to those conclusions on your own. Besides,” she smirked dryly, “you seem to be doing all that well enough on your own. Hang on, are you bleeding?”

Glancing down at her hands, a thin trail of blood had been painted across her fingers. “Yeah, sorry. No one knows human biology and cheer training didn’t really extend to open wounds like this.”

“Alright then, sit.” She gestured to the couch. “I’ll fix it for you.”

“What?”

Rummaging through the pockets of her coat, she held out a red pouch. “With the regularity of getting my ass kicked, I’ve developed some skills in the open wounds department. Seriously, if you don’t treat it right it’ll scar or get infected and then Grime’s the only one in charge.”

Grudgingly she complied. Back awkwardly straight, she watched the girl unzip it, opening it to reveal an array of bandages and--

“Why does it say ‘Alice’ in the corner?”

“It’s what I’m called.” She ran a finger along the embroidery with a smile. “It’s to distinguish my kit from the others, now--” she ripped open a packet. “This is alcohol, so it’ll hurt.”

“I think I can take it.” Sasha rolled her eyes.

She Alice smirked. “I just wanted to warn you so you wouldn’t think I was poisoning you or something. I really like this shirt and I don’t want to get blood on it.”

“Great priorities.”

“I heal, my clothes don’t.” Dabbing at the cut, she squinted. “Now, what do you want my help with?”

“You’d offer it just like that?”

“Yep.” Discarding the wipe, she unscrewed a medical looking tube. “This is neosporin. Whatcha want, Waybright?”

“I want to be a better person. You’re kind of the only other person I can talk to and you don’t seem to be too terrible.”

She shrugged, glancing around for the right bandages. “I mean I’m a bitch and an asshole, but I am a bitch and an asshole with a moral code.”

“At least you own up to it.” 

“Is that it?” Alice peeled back the wrapping delicately, taking tender precision to apply them to her forehead.

“You also said that this whole evil empire thing is something you’ve dealt with before.”

“As recently as this summer, yeah. Where else are you banged up?”

She was surprised at how easily she pulled back her sleeve. “Would you be willing to help us?”

“Sure.” Alice grimaced at the cut snaking its way up her arm. “As long as we see eye to eye on a few things.”

“Yeah?”

“I understand you’re stressed, but I’m not going to take any of your manipulative shit. I’ve worked with grifters, I know the signs, it’s only going to make me annoyed and probably snap at you back.”

“That seems fair.” Sasha nodded. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you the last times we fought. If someone tries to attack me, I will not hold back this time. I’m plenty good at getting myself almost killed on my own, I don’t need assistance.” She went about her work with a practiced rhythm, as if patching up stab wounds and praying mantis scratches was normal.

“I promise not to fight you.”

“Great. I’m also not going to tell you everything at all times. It wouldn’t be reasonable for me to overload your brain with unnecessary shit that you don’t need and/or my trauma is my own. I’m going to need you to trust me.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, trust you?”

“I mean, trust that if I don’t tell you something it's because it doesn’t apply to you.” Rummaging around, she grabbed a handful of bandaids. “There is nothing I want more than to help you, Anne, and Marcy stop Andrias and get back to whatever constitutes a normal life.”

“What if I don’t want a normal life?” Sasha couldn’t help the bite that saturated her voice

Alice’s stare met hers, unsettlingly piercing. “I’ve been doing this whole magic world thing since I was eleven, Waybright. I don’t mean you have to be cut off from Amphibia forever, just that this whole protagonist bullshit is only going to scar you and bring intense therapy bills for whatever mental illnesses you acquire.”

“And you know that because--”

She waved sarcastically. “Hi, I don't know if you've met me, but I’m not exactly the poster child for mental stability. It’s like you said earlier, you’re not sure what to do. Being thirteen years old isn’t a particularly good time to run an army. Children shouldn’t be forced to fight full out wars.”

“You’re barely older than I am.” Sasha scoffed.

“Not necessarily and I was going to have to deal with this shit anyway, so I might as well now.”

“That’s terrible logic.”

“I would just like to keep you, Anne, and Marcy as non-traumatized as possible.” Fixing the last bandage to her arm, she muttered under her breath. “The less like me, the better.”

“What?” Sasha blinked.

She ignored her. “When was the last time you ate?”

That’s a good question.

“This morning?”

Alice stared. “Sasha, it’s ten at night!”

“I’ve had more on my mind, okay?”

“If you overexert yourself too much then the rest of the resistance is going to suffer along with you.” Eyes narrowed, she got up. “I’ll get you something.”

Rolling her eyes, Sasha called after her. “We don’t exactly have a lot right now.”

“It’s called instant ramen, Waybright.”

“Why are you doing this?” She followed her into the kitchen, where Alice was bustling around. “We haven’t even come to an agreement yet.”

“You’ll think better on a full stomach.” Shrugging, she opened a cabinet door. “Yes! Bowls!”

“I’d like some more proof that you know Anne before committing to anything.”

“Fair.” Shoving the bowl onto the countertop, she scrolled through her phone. “Here you go. She took a video.”

Sasha took it warily, pressing the play button.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting.

But it wasn’t what she saw.

Alice and Anne sat on one side of Anne’s kitchen table, Hop Pop on the other with his arms crossed.

Something in her chest panged at the familiar sight.

It’s been five months since I’ve been there.

It feels longer.

The little one’s voice narrated in a whisper. “Anne and Alice have been trying to convince Hop Pop the world is round for the last ten minutes.”

“I’m just sayin’--it doesn’t seem natural.”

“There’s photographic proof, Hop Pop. And it’s not like anyone’s fallen off the edge.”

Something in her ached hearing Anne’s voice. As clear as it could be through the speaker, without the heavy weight it had carried whenever they’d spoken the last five months.

“Maybe they just haven’t found the edge yet.”

Alice groaned, her face hitting the table. “You sound like someone on facebook.”

“We don’t know how accurate those NASA pictures are and your human government seems shifty enough.”

“Shifty enough to hide aliens or military secrets maybe. Not an entire planet shape.” Anne sighed.

“Well, have you been to space to see the proof?”

“Of course not--”

“--I mean, yeah.”

All eyes turned to Alice, who, upon realizing what she just said, blushed furiously.

“What?”

“You’ve been to space?” 

“That’s not the point of this conversation.”

“It is now.”

“Remember how we talked about easing them in?” The camera panned over to another teenager, smirking in the corner with a mug. “Great going, sis.”

Alice glared. “If it’ll prove that we live on a globe, it’ll be worth it.”

Sprig jumped up into a chair from somewhere. “You've really been to space?”

“Blair has too!”

“Keep me out of this.” 

“How?” Anne stared at her, eyes wide and incredulous.

Alice winced, as if trying to come up with a reasonable response. “I know a couple people?”

“Multiple people, like multiple spaceships?” Sprig leaned over, inches away from her face with his boyish curiosity.

“Personal space, buddy.” Leaning back in her chair, Alice fished her phone out of her pocket. “What part of ‘my life is weird as hell’ do you guys not understand?”

Anne rolled her eyes. “There’s a difference between ‘frog world weird’ and ‘space alien weird.’”

“I never said anything about aliens.” She held her hands up in surrender.

“Yet.”

“Blair!”

The video cut out.

Sasha tried to hide her disappointment, sliding it back across the table. “So? What does that prove?”

Alice slid into the chair across from her, handing her a bowl. “There wasn’t any fighting, was there? Did she really seem uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable? No.

A little unnerved but in a fun sort of way.

I know what Anne looks like when she’s uncomfortable.

Hell, I’m the queen of making Anne uncomfortable.

“She was relaxed, mostly.” She squinted down at the screen, willing to see more.

Willing to see her again.

“Anne is probably one of the most emotionally perceptive people I’ve ever met. Especially after, well, everything , she seems to have a very good radar for reading people.” Alice shrugged, unwrapping a granola bar. “It is her job in the stones after all.”

“Yeah, heart.” Sasha stirred her noodles with a fork listlessly.

Irony strikes again.

“Do you need more evidence or can we come to an agreement?” She raised her eyebrows and took a bite. “Either way, you should eat that before it gets cold.”

She complied, relishing in the cheaply manufactured taste. “You really think you can help?”

“I’ve got a particular set of skills that applies here. I also have a friend I could bring in. As long as he doesn’t directly interact with canon, it’s safe. He recently got back from a war fighting,” she paused, “err--a similar sort of enemies. As cocky as he is, he’s really good at his job and he knows more about full scale army attacks than I do. I normally work in small teams and this is looking like that’s not going to cut it.”

Sasha blinked, a memory resurfacing. “Was he the guy in the coat?”

“Yep. Captain Jack Harkness. He’s annoying as shit but he’s pretty good once you get used to him.” She smirked. 

“Really?”

“I mean--” she cut off, eyes widening. Spinning around, she kicked her chair in through the door to the living room. It caught something with a grunt.

Shit.

Sasha knew that grunt.

Grime.

Alice rolled away as the war hammer slammed down just to her left. Jabbing a heeled boot into his chest, she slammed her foot down onto his hands, forcing it to open, and dragged the hammer across the kitchen floor by the handle as he yelled. Backing up, she gave him just enough time to resituate himself, her knees bending into a fighting pose, a pair of daggers sliding out of her coat sleeves.

Panting, she smiled dryly at Sasha, staring at the two, her dinner forgotten. “I assume you didn’t tell violent Iroh about our meeting.”

He snarled at her. “Don’t think it’ll be that easy to defeat me. If you hurt a hair on her head, it’ll be yours on a pike.”

“Grime, wait--”

Alice scoffed. “As if you could.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Grime, Alice, stop.” A pair and a half of eyes landed on her. “No one needs to kill anyone.”

“Please.” Alice rolled her eyes. “I was raised by a Widow. I’m pretty sure I can take on an elderly man with no depth perception.”

Grime’s hands went to his belt. “Would you bet your life on it?”

“No!” They turned back to her. Sighing, she scowled at Alice. “Has anyone told you you’re shit at diplomacy?”

“It’s come up.”

“Grime.” She turned her glare to her mentor. “Alice is a guest. I invited her here.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I may have,” she winced, “omitted a few things about my patrols.”

“Like an entire other human?”

“Not a human--”

“Not the time.” Alice quieted when faced with her scowl

“You mean to tell me Andrias’ portal brought another human into Amphibia?”

“No, she has her own portal.” He stared at her. “Her own portal we can’t use.”

“Why?”

“Because--Wait, why?” Blinking, she turned to Alice, her mind blank. “You never explained.”

“Each reality has fixed points. You know, like in Doctor Who--” Alice stopped, eyes wide. “Wait, you don’t. How do I explain this if you’re not a nerd? And what do you do with all that extra time?” She stared out at the wall for a moment of frozen incredulity. Shaking her head, she continued. “Never mind. You know how Amphibia and earth are different worlds, yeah? Well my earth is another different type of world. When you travel in these worlds, there are different rules that you have to follow for each reality. Specifically, fixed points. There are events that, if disrupted, disrupt the entire fabric of that reality. Most have them to some degree, including this one. Seeing as I technically don’t exist, it means that my actions have to be small and out of the way. I can’t go out and behead Andrias, as much as I’d love to.” 

Grime stared blankly. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It would if you were smarter.”

Sasha rushed between them to keep him from attacking her. “How the hell is that ‘morally right ?’”

“It’s something my friend says. I couldn’t resist. And it is partially true.” Alice shrugged nonchalantly. “While you’re fabled to be a great general of war, you don’t have much knowledge on interdimensional travel. Which is fair, honestly. It’s a very niche and dangerous topic.”

The look in Grime’s eye didn’t provide much reassurance. “Sasha, why have you invited this,” he paused, raking his gaze over her, “ individual to our shelter?”

“Because we need help.” Finally letting go of him, she backed up against the dining room table, hating herself for her hesitance. “Andrias is starting to bowl down surrounding towns and we’re supposed to be leading the resistance, but, right now we can barely keep Wartwood safe from the robot onslaught.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Alice has done this before--”

“--So she says--”

“--physically cannot lie, dude--”

“Both of you.” Sparing them a glare, she took a breath. “Grime, I haven’t been a good person and--”

“This again?” He rolled his eyes.

She silenced him with another scowl. “--Alice has been helping Anne--”

He cut her off with a dry laugh. “So that’s what this is about. Look, just because of your feelings towards her--”

Sasha felt her cheeks heat up, her mind whirring with alarms.

He doesn’t know, does he?

He can’t know--right?

“If I may interrupt.” Alice waved a file folder that she’d gotten from somewhere.

How big are those coat pockets?

“You may not.”

“Yeah, well I don’t give a shit.” She slid it across the table. “If you take a look, I think you’ll find it interesting.”

Eyes still narrowed at Grime, Sasha picked it up. Letting her gaze drop onto the page, she blinked. 

“What’s this?”

“You might’ve noticed that Adrias’ robots have a weak structural integrity. This means they’re cheaper to produce. He follows the mindset of ‘offense is the best defense.’”

“Yeah?”

“That would be a relatively decent plan if his robots were any good.” Smirking, she pointed to a line of numbers. “However, due to some technical errors, his robots tend to take a longer time to fire than they originally did the last time around.”

“So? They’re really old.”

“That’s what his technicians are considering. They’re actually locked out of part of the code. They assume it’s because it’s ancient. However, the weaknesses also come with an even flimsier shield density, restricted visual and sensory perception, a battery that runs hotter than intended, and, my favorite:” Alice grinned. “A literal Achilles heel in a pocket in the lower back of their leg that, when hit, causes their wiring to short out for a few seconds.” Flipping to another page, she pointed to an image. “Ivy Sundew actually discovered that during last Friday’s attack.”

“Have you been watching us?” Sasha slowly turned to face the girl beside her.

“I promised Anne I’d keep an eye on everyone. All the Wartwood images and notes are ours.” She seemed completely unfazed with the concept.

Privacy much?

“And everything else?” 

“From the castle.”

Grime and Sasha stared at her. 

“You’ve been stealing their files?”

“Manipulating their files.” She winked. “Technically the robots should be working as they were originally designed. Their design factored in longevity, but Andrias is too caught up in his ego and trying to smite a thirteen year old that he hasn’t noticed the slight changes--or that Jack locked everyone out of the code.”

“He can do that?”

“Assuming none of them know Russian, they’re not getting in any time soon. Hell, even if they do know Russian they also have to answer a tirade of Doctor Who Trivia. What?” Finally noticing their shocked faces, Alice shrugged. “He had a lot of time on his hands when I was talking with Marcy.”

Sasha flipped through the pages as delicately as she could manage, skimming the figures and notes. “You’ve been sabotaging him from the inside.” 

“It’s chaos. Andrias is getting so erratic that its pins and needles not to piss him off and get killed. Anyone who talks to him has to cater to his ego so they’re not bringing up little problems if they don’t know how to fix them.” There was something about her smile that was definitely manic. “It’s perfect for saboteurs and spies. An operation like this relies on tiny details and Andrias is too out of it for anyone to care about tiny details which means more details are disregarded which makes Andrias more angry and more erratic--it’s a cycle. If he didn’t have you guys completely outclassed in weapons and material resources I’d say it’s a perfect time to infiltrate.”

“But he does have us outclassed on war grounds.”

“Which is why I extended my help.”

“And we’re supposed to just trust you on this?”

She tossed another file into Sasha’s arms.

“References. For my friend and me. If you’re not going to use this, please destroy it. If you are, keep it safe. Andrias knowing this shit is a world I would rather not experience.” Pulling her phone out of another pocket, she scrolled through it lazily. “I should probably be going. You know how to contact me.”

“You’re just leaving like that?”

Alice shrugged. “I’d love to help, but you two clearly need to discuss my proposition and I don’t see what more I could say without the captain stabbing me. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call or text.” Something softened in her expression. “Also, I have a test in AP English tomorrow that I would like to do well in. An interdimensional war isn’t an excuse for me to let my gpa slip below a 4.0. The only times that don’t work are school or choir, which goes to 5:00 Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’ll let myself out. Call or text with questions.” Winking, she waltzed through the entryway and out of sight.

Hearing the door shut behind her, Grime raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure we can’t kill her?”

“We’re not killing her.” Sasha flipped through the other file. 

“We’re certainly not allowing her to consult, right?” She didn’t respond. “Right?”

Sasha shook her head, eyes widening. “We’re calling her.”

“What?”

“If half of this stuff is true, we’re calling her.”  Splaying the pages across the dining table, she scooped the bowl of ramen back into her arms.

Waddling over, Grime stared. 

All around its surface, various titles stared back.

Captain Jack Harkness

Time Agency

Joining in the 51st Century--

The Empty Child

--Rose Tyler and th--

Eye Of Orion

A Day in the Death   

Journey’s End

The dalek invasion--

--Assisted by Donna Noble--

Torchwood

War of the Cyberman

--the Lone Cyber--

XXX XXXXXXX Alice XXXXXXXX Morrigan

Infiltration of the Snows

Information gained on behavior of CAM--

--serious damage prevented--

Operation 'Destiny'

--Horde Infiltration and extraction of four allies--

Prime’s Velvet

--complete destruction of enemy weapon--

May 29, 2020

--retrieval of three--

--the Emperor’s Coven.

The Golden Guard

April 7, 1993

--retrieval of DRAGON after displaced and taken from--

Luna University

Assisting Professor River--

Taking a packet, Sasha gestured to the rest. “You hired me without any references. At least read theirs.”

He complied, grumbling. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this was all false.”

“Well, have you been to space to see the proof?”

“Of course not--”

“--I mean, yeah.”

“You saw her.” Flopping into the sofa, bowl in hand, Sasha’s brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was all true.”

Chapter Text

To say that transitioning from the already uncertain routine of the newly crowned Boonchuy-Plantar household to one that included Alice and Blair and their various connections and knowledge was easy would be a bold-faced lie.

To say that it was more challenging than the initial arrival of the Plantars would be another lie, though.

At least Alice and Blair had some skills for interacting with people.

Emphasis on some.

---

Anne didn’t think that she knew Alice and Blair well enough to notice if something was wildly out of character, but there was definitely something wrong here.

For one thing, they both looked painfully put together, attempting to make it seem as if it’d been done in a laid back way. Blair had on jeans and a generic green striped shirt, nothing like the vague, mystic, almost vampirish look they’d first given off, as they played with the straps of their backpack.  Alice’s hair had been pulled back in an intricate braid, for once actually seeming to do its job and contain the hair it was supposed to. Her own jeans, light colored and cuffed, paired with a delicate white shirt. Every few moments, her hand would go to the gold locket around her neck before falling back to her side, as if reminding herself not to fidget.

“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” She glanced between the two. “And why did you ask me to meet you a block away? You’re meeting my parents, not going to war.”

“Going to war would be easier.” Blair nodded along as their sister spoke. “I’ve done war, or at least war zones before. It’s something I know. You’re parents aren’t something I know.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “They’re not going to kill you.”

“We’ve been in their house before.” Alice’s hand went to the locket again. “Without their permission. We’re dangerous and bad examples for their impressionable daughter.”

“I’m thirteen, not a baby bird—What are you doing?” Unzipping their sibling’s bag, Alice thrust a binder into her hands.

“References. For me.” 

Anne blinked, lifting the plastic cover. “Is this itemized?”

“I binder when I’m anxious.” Another binder fell on top of the first one. “References. For Blair.”

“So this was stressful enough to warrant two binders?”

“No. Three.” The final one (significantly thicker than the other two) topped off the pile. “That’s a rough plan of moving forward and security measures for your house.”

Anne raised her eyebrows (the only thing that could be seen over the tower of plastic). “You do realize you’re meeting my parents, right? You’re not going into an active battlefield.”

“Of course. Why do you think I made the binders? This is significantly more stressful than an active battlefield.”

“Blair, a little help?” They just awkwardly stared at the ground as she shifted her grip.

“I’m only here because Alice is too. She made me.”

Rolling her eyes, Alice took the top binder off. “I feel like you’re forgetting that we both have social anxiety. Also, as someone who’s pissed off a pantheon, my diplomatic skills leave much to be desired. I’m not very good with adults, or kids, or people that aren’t teachers.”

“And you’re only good with those because you get all your self worth from grades.”

She scowled at her sibling. “And you don’t go to school in person because you get panic attacks every class. How does that feel?”

Anne glanced between them. “You guys know that you’re good with me? And the Plantars?”

“Thanks to Sasha, you have relatively low standards of how you should be treated and the Plantars have no concept of what an interaction should entail in this society.” Alice winced, realizing what she’d said. “Okay, see? This isn’t something that you show your parents. What the hell are they going to think?”

“I honestly think my Dad’s just going to be excited to talk to someone about Doctor Who.” Rolling her eyes, Anne started walking down the sidewalk.

“Okay, you say that now, but what about when it slips out that we were literally raised by assassins, have wanted posters in various places and times, and are kind of professional criminals? Huh? What then?”

“I forgot how YA your guys’ backstories are.” Anne’s smirk was in no way reciprocated by the other two. She sighed. “First, you don’t kill and you don't go after anyone who doesn’t deserve it. And, compared to a magic frog world, that’s going to be significantly less weird. Also you said the assassin-parents and the assassin-roommate were cleared due to inhumane mind-control treatment and stuff and aren’t currently partaking in assassinating.” 

Alice huffed. “Sure, three of them have retired—”

“Wait, you know more than three?” Beside her, Alice and Blair shared a look. “What is your life like?”

“Weird as shit.” Blair gave her a deadpan look.

She adjusted the binders in her arms. “Okay, maybe don’t mention the current assassins. Or the past assassins if you can.”

“They’re going to hate us!”

“I doubt it.” Stopping at a familiar path, Anne nodded to the doorway. “But there’s only one way to find out.”

Alice and Blair stared at the approaching house like they were staring into the void, eyes wide as saucers. 

Anne cursed inwardly.

“And we’re moving?”

---

Anne wasn’t quite sure what she’d been expecting when she offered to introduce Alice and Blair to her parents.

Still, this wasn’t it.

Anne’s mom had barely had a moment to invite them to the dining table when Alice slid the binders over to her.

“References. For us. And the plan. And some security improvements for your house.”

“Okay?” Sliding them over to her husband (who also seemed like he’d rather stick his head in a book than interact with strangers), Anne’s mom smiled at them.

“Anne’s told us a lot about you. You seem like such wonderful and interesting people .” 

“That’s certainly one way to describe us.” Blair gripped the handles of their chair with white knuckles.

“And they know a ton about violence!” Painfully unable to read the room, Polly jumped onto the table. 

“And space.” Slightly better about reading a room, Sprig shot her a look.

“What? It’s true! They met Anne fighting one of Andrias’ robots!”

Alice and Blair looked like they were going to faint.

---

In all honesty, Anne had no idea how they’d gone from that to this .

(Well, she was pretty sure their nerdy knowledge helped smooth things over with her dad. The Plantars had yet to devolve into the wormholes that were Doctor Who or Marvel).

(Things that Alice and Blair knew about to an almost unnerving degree).

Though, that was the way they were like as she grew to adjust to their awkward normalcy. 

They knew things they had no right to know? Well, so did Marcy and the Plantars.

Their ability to bypass almost any and all home security with practiced ease? Well, everyone needs a hobby.

The fact that they occasionally talked in a language she was pretty sure didn't exist? Well, it was probably a nerd thing. (Her dad spoke Klingon).

Really, Anne was almost concerned with how easily her parents took things.

Like, when she would be training with Alice in the backyard and Alice would have her at the mercy of her wooden sword, her mother would only sip her tea and chastise Anne’s form.

When Blair would offhandedly drop another file on interdimensional portals on the dining table, her dad would take it and look through it without a single air of oddity.

The Plantars, she could see well enough. It seemed like Polly was always hanging off of Alice’s hair whenever she visited, spewing out an unending barrage of questions (none of the topics anywhere close to legal). Sprig had a habit of trailing behind Blair (or, more accurately, jumping right in front of them and questioning whatever it was that they were doing), fascinated by the logistics of everything from the basis of reality to the intricacies of their crossbow.

(“It’s like a slingshot, right?” 

Blair had blinked, glancing over to the object they’d offhandedly set on the table. “Something like that.”

“Can I try it out?”

“Absolutely not.”)

They’d visit when they could, Blair much more often than Alice. Between her dulling hatred of Sasha now that they had an unsteady alliance (something she was continually passive aggressive about), her new efforts with sneaking into Andrias’ castle, and the 4.0 she was determined to get her junior year, she had a lot on her plate.

Normally, when Alice visited, it meant she either had a break or had some news.

Anne wasn’t nearly prepared when she appeared at her window, blonde hair falling across her face in a messy whirlwind, eyes scanning the room before she dared to let herself speak.

“I think I found a way to get in contact with Marcy.”

Chapter Text

“Is anyone here?” Around her, the normally pure white space shifted in and out, darkness overtaking edges of her vision. “Marcy? Darling?”

A sound echoed through the space, unsettling and close, a figure flickering in and out before solidifying as darkness overtook the space.

So that’s what it actually looks like.

In front of her small pool of white, an orange eye slit itself through the blanket of darkness. Blinking at her, more followed, their sickly, hideous color glowing around her.

“Who dares trespass upon the Core?”

“I don’t mean to trespass ‘upon the Core,’” the eyes narrowed at her air quotes, “I only wish to speak with Marcy Wu. This is her mind and she did give me her consent to enter.”

The eyes blinked at her. “There is no Marcy Wu you may speak to.”

“I’m in her mind, aren’t I?”

“It is her mind no longer!” Crowding closer, they stared at her, inches away from her imagined skin. 

“That’s not for you to decide. Possessing an individual, especially a child, utterly and completely goes against Galactic law and the basic morality of magic.”

The eyes backed away, hopefully in confusion. “Neither of those have any meaning to the majesty of the Core.”

She smirked. “Then it’s a good thing you’re not supposed to be an all knowing being or anything.”

“The Core’s knowledge is unparalleled.” The eyes came forward abruptly. “A collection of the greatest minds in Amphibian history, we have a superior understanding to any mere mortal.”

“Then who am I?” 

No response.

Biting her lip, she shook her head. “That’s what I thought. You remind me of Avicenna. While brilliant, your ego and belief in your own perfection creates a cage of ignorance.”

Still no response. The eyes simply stared at her.

“You might know him by his more accurate name, Ibn-Sina? Avicenna is just how the West refers to him. What I’m referencing is part of his autobiography in which he details his methods of education.”

The largest eye blinked at her. “Explain.”

Sounds like a Dalek.

She smirked. “He details how, in less than his first two decades of living, he learned everything there was to know. First he outskilled his tutor on logic, then he went on to master everything there was for medicine. After that, he looked into logic again with some philosophy, Aristotle and Abü Nay al-Färäbi’s metaphysics, language, poetry, etcetera. By the time he was eighteen he had exhausted all the sciences and all the known knowledge that he declared short of life experiences, he added nothing else to his knowledge. He claimed he knew everything that was known.”

The eye blinked again.

“You, similarly, made of the brightest minds, have cemented yourself with the final knowledge of Marcy Wu. In doing so, there doesn’t appear to be more to look for. Thus, like Avicenna’s claim of his own brilliance, would you claim yourself to be the most knowledgeable being in all of existence?” 

“You argue philosophy, human.” The main eye narrowed.

“Not human, well, not entirely.” Rolling her eyes, she continued. “And you still haven’t answered the question.”

“The Core contains all knowledge.”

“Yet I contain knowledge you do not know. That invalidates your claim and, more importantly, what does that make me?” Her lips curled into a playful grin. “Am I more knowledgeable than the Core?”

“You dare!” The eyes were closer again.

“I’m just asking a question.” She shrugged. “Socrates argued that knowledge comes from dialogue, that by challenging each other and acknowledging our humility, we grow smarter. You probably don’t know that, seeing as you have barely any knowledge of humanity--”

“The Core knows all—”

“All of Amphibia and some of the human world. So?” They stopped coming closer, pausing in confusion. “Amphibia is one dingy reality among an infinite number. You may be the smartest of your kind here, but they will destroy you out there. Hell,” she smirked, “Marcy doesn’t know everything in the human world. You could be destroyed there anyway. Book smarts have nothing when you cross a bunch of ignorant people with an ungodly lack of gun control.” 

“Explain.”

She took a step closer, the pool of white light following her. “You’re better off letting Marcy go and sticking to Amphibia. Even if you gain control of earth, which would be super entertaining by the way—we notoriously never have our shit together and we don’t take kindly to people trying to conquer us—if you try to continue, you’re going to find yourself facing things you could never imagine. You. Will. Fail.” Her lips curled into another smile, this one significantly less playful. “And everyone will laugh at you. They will all know of your failure.”

“What do you intend?”

“Right now,” she shrugged, “I wanted to check on Marcy. But I’m more than happy to take the thing in her mind apart piece by piece until it gets its head out of its ass and leaves my kids alone.”

“You are the mother of Marcy Wu?” The eyes narrowed.

“Perhaps her guardian angel.” Lips curling into a simpering smile, she continued. “Wasn’t it the angel Habakkuk that saved Daniel from the lion’s den? While I am no divinity, I can fulfill the role of a protector.” She paused. “Do you find yourself with the belief of a higher being?”

“There is no higher being than the Core.” From the corner of her eye, more orange splotches choked the expanse.

“Interesting.”

The eyes blinked.

“Most who don’t have a divinity they believe look into the power of science. Few see their own power over the rest of existence.”

“The Core is superior.” They floated closer, just barely at the edges of her circle of light.

“Can you make life?”

The movement stopped. 

“Explain.”

Such a Dalek.

“Science explains life. Through science, life is created. In divinity, life is created. Some believe divinity has created the origins of life. Even I,” she gestured down her illusion of a body, “a mere single mind has the power to create life. Can you?”

Hovering in front of her, vibrant orange narrowed. “Why do you speak of the importance of life?”

“Life is in everything.” She gestured around. “Our strength comes from the flourishing of life. You rely on the life of Marcy Wu to sustain you. Anyone of any meager power, any storm can destroy life. Are you no greater than that? It takes true power to be able to create life. Do you claim to be a true power above all else?”

The eyes blinked, spots of dark rippling across their levels. “The Core does not require the advancement of life.”

“So, if something were to happen to Marcy, would you be fine?” Anxiety hummed from the back of the void. “Marcy is mortal. There is nothing you can do to prolong that life for the infinite time you need.”

Another ripple of blinking. “The Core will find a new host.”

“But what if there are none? The destruction you cause could lead to an eradication. Then, with nothing else, you will perish. Time will win out in the end.” A smile curled up her lips. “Perhaps time is the greatest power of all. Nothing can escape it—well,” she winced, “almost nothing.”

The moment she’d said it, the eyes rushed closer.

Someone’s desperate.

“You mention those superior to time.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think anyone is truly superior to time. However, some find their bodies unaffected. Some can bend the rules of time, manipulate its finest strands with ease. Would you consider those powers superior?”

“You lie.”

“No.” Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she smirked. “I never lie about my abilities. I am not human, I cannot.”

Encroaching at the edges of her light, orange globes lit up, some brightening, some growing harsher. “You will explain.”

“Will you let me speak to Marcy?” She raised her eyebrows.

“You dare—”

“Then I’ll leave.” Wincing her eyes closed, the connection flickered. In another moment, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Could you talk to her?” Crouching above her, Jack’s gaze flitted over to the dark figure still against the operating table.

She shook her head, the edges of a smile playing on her lips. “I think I’ll be able to, though.”

He blinked. “How?”

“Simple.” Groaning, she sat up. “It wants information. I have information.”

“About what?”

“Anything, Harkness. That thing doesn’t know anything outside Amphibia or Marcy’s knowledge before she was impaled—it didn’t know who I was.”

“So what? You’re going to exchange knowledge with an eldritch god?”

“Frank and Sadie Doyle did it.”

“I doubt you can trick this thing into a table lamp.” Eyes trailing across the mishmash of cords and wires, he shuddered. “This isn’t like anything you’ve dealt with before.”

“There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”

“Not everything has the option of a second chance, highness.” He extended a hand, which she took. “You need to be careful.”

“Oh ye of little faith. As if I don’t have a plan.”

“Is it a good plan?”

Her eyes narrowed at the hollow body slumped in the chair before her. It took everything in her not to reach out and touch the delicate little figure. Hands clenched at her sides to prevent the comfort they so wished to provide, she shook her head.

“It’ll work.”