Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sasha tastes iron.

It takes her sluggish brain a few moments to process it's blood.

Her own? Likely. Amphibians' tastes like rotten eggs.

She blinks and groans, trying to sit up, but she only slides further down a smooth, metal plane.

"Wha-" she tries to say, turning to find purchase, and she does find it, on the edge of a car's hood.

A family of three look at her through the pane of glass. One of them lifts his phone and takes a pic.

The flash feels like needles going through her blue eyes.

It's just like the other white flash.

The much brighter one burst of light is the last thing she remembers from Amphibia.

The previous memories are all just a string of pain. Confused. Foggy. Or maybe she's just trying to keep them away. Never been the best with this psych shit.

"Lieutenant?" Calls her a gruff, shaky voice. Next to her, hanging for dear life onto the hood, which he dented with his weight, the Warhammer hanging lifeless and spent in his right hand, is Captain Grime. Her heart jumps a little. At least she's not here alone. "Wh-what is this place?"

A small part of her, the same slimy knot of her heart that loved to throw rocks at people and then hide behind a grin, feels a poisonous satisfaction at his quivering voice. Captain Grime, hero of Toad Tower, wielder of Barrel's signature weapon and conqueror of Newtopia shivers like a tadpole at a world beyond his darkest nightmares. Air smells foul, smoky and with a hint of cancerous fumes that's already grating her lungs. The sun's heat is filtered and mirrored through endless polished surfaces that scatter reflections like a madhouse. Endless towers of concrete reach for the overcast sky even as spires of cheap homes form a sprawl that's like spilled guts. And the noises: the roar of engines, the shouts, the cries, the chattering, the screams, the honking horns and the far-off buzz of helicopters.

"Home," Sasha replies, sliding off the hood.

She puts a hand on Grime's shoulder, pulling him away from the car. People are already stopping their vehicles and she knows they are about to star in tomorrow's most-clicked videos. Never a quiet moment.

"Now let's go," she hisses, pulling him away. Grime hesitates, looks around agape, but then his hones instincts kick in and he sets the Warhammer on his shoulder as the two cross the road over, disappearing behind a corner.

They sit in a dark and damp alley. It's far from the most sanitary place in LA, and that's saying something. Sasha takes off her armor and inspects her body: she has gained quite the collection of bruises. A few cuts. Parting gifts from the King. At least she's not tasting blood anymore.

"They're still there," she whispers.

"What?" Grime replies, holding onto the Warhammer's shaft, looking about as if he expects an ambush at any moment. "Start making sense, Lieutenant."

"I left them. I left them in Amphibia. They're alone!" Her eyes collapse into pinpricks. Her scuffed hand reaches for the scar on her cheek. "Anne is alone."

"Get back to your senses!" Grime roughly reminds her, shaking her with his left hand. "If this is your world, I don't like it. But we are in the arena now and this is our fight. You know this place better than I do: what do we know now? Is there a safe place we can find?"

"I..." Sasha looks at the one-eyed toad, trying to string his words back together so that they make sense.

She feels hot. Sticky and sweaty. Flickering over Grime's stern gaze blinks the image of Marcy: looking down at the buzzing blade of orange light eating through her chest. Her eyes rolling up, the box falling down, Anne and the Plantars running towards her motionless body (not a corpse, not a corpse, not a corpse!) just like she does, and Grime launches himself after her, and the music box rolls and the gems flicker and the flash of white light engulfs them just as Anne turns to give her one last panicked look an-

Grime slaps her.

"Focus!"

Sasha reaches for her other cheek. It stings.

Pain. Pain she knows.

This kind of pain.

She can deal with this kind of pain. It's down-to-earth pain.

"Yes." Her reply is hollow, but it's a start. First knot on the lifeline. Climb up. Don't look down. Don't look back.

Marcy (stabbed) and Anne (lost): she will go back for them, but dazed and stunned in an alley, about to get robbed or murdered or worse, is not the way she's going to to do it.

"Yes. A safe place."

She can bring him home. Her dad always forbid her from bringing boys there, but Grime is the farthest thing ever from a teenage sweetheart.

Admitted her home is still there. Still in one piece. Who knows how long she's been away? The world does seem pretty much the same. But last time she was there, talks about who was getting the house were flying like missiles in the no-man's-land between her parents.

If experience had taught her anything, Mom was the one who'd win.

She'd find her in their old house.

"I know just the place."

Grime is still uneasy. He walks holding the Warhammer close to his chest, ready to strike at any incoming threat, but other than LA's criminal city planning and abysmal level of public transportation, he has yet to meet any. Curious people point at her and a few have taken pictures, but she has just smiled and waved. They'd think they're in cosplay or something.

It's a bit unsettling how easily she falls back into that pattern. Old habits die hard.

And I am done being friend with you!

Anne keeps flashing between her eyes. She still cannot believe it. Why? Why...? Between this and... Marcy (not a corpse!) revealing the truth behind the past months, it felt like she was walking in a dream.

I did it for us!

She meant it. The little retard actually meant it!

I gave you this, I gave you everything!

And now she lay on the castle's floor, smoke still coming up from the gaping wound in her chest, as the King loomed over her and Anne jumped at her, screaming.

The same slimy part of her heart points out Anne has never jumped like that for her.

But she did. That time when she was about to die, Sasha replies.

Oh, the time you were about to kill yourself?

Sasha freezes. Balls her fists. Grime stops walking and turns to look at her.

"Lieutenant?"

"I'm fine," she replies through gritted teeth. Picks up her pace. The place is close. Her heart is beating so fast she can almost see it throb through her cuirass.

"I did not know Marcy very well," he says, scratching the back of his head. "She seemed like a good person, even if her heart was in a very strange place. I'm truly so-"

"You stop talking like that right now!" Sasha turns so fast her head spins and she drives her finger deep into the toad's chin. "You stop! It! Right now. She's not dead. She's not dead so stop talking about her in past tense!"

Not a corpse.

"Sasha... humans are durable, but no one could survive a strike like that. Right through her heart. There will be time for grief," he says soothing his voice, "but it is not now. We have to find a safe place and put together a plan. Are you with me?"

"She... I... Anne..." Sasha shakes her head.

Of course Grime doesn't get it.

"What if it was your sister?"

"I beg your pardon?" His greenish left eye gives her a death glare.

"What if it was your sister? Hm? Grimothy?"

"I told you not to-"

"What if it was her!" Sasha shouts. She's in the middle of the road and she does not care. She's past caring.

I did it for us!

"Then I would have honored her death!" Grime leans forward, straining his body so that he pushes back against Sasha. "But I cannot. Because I am not there. I'm in a strange world full of poison where even breathing is painful. And the only one I can trust is out of her mind. We knew what could happen when we - you - set up this rebellion. We made our beetle-bed and now we have to lay in it! As soldiers."

"You don't get it," Sasha chokes back. Her voice is a collection of glass shards. "You-"

"I might not." He backs down. "But I know what we are capable of together," he whispers, rubbing his hand against the Warhammer. "And now I need you to have a cool head. I am both your Commander and you friend, Sasha, but right now I need you to be my second-in-command. And then I can be your companion and give you a shoulder to cry on."

Sasha sniffs.

Balls her fists harder than the first time, until ten moon-shaped slivers of pain are etched on her hands.

"Alright. Alright. I get it."

"Do you?"

"Yes. Commander."

He lets out a satisfied snort. Nods.

"Lead the way then."

"It's close," Sasha replies.

As she leads him past a few more streets, she starts to notice something that almost sends her back to the pit of despair.

It's a sticker. Attached to a lamp-post.

Some jerk ripped off one end, but it's still clearly readable, even after what must have been months of sun and rain.

It's a picture of Anne. She looks in camera with a winning smile, her eyes closed in bliss as she flashes a peace sign.

She know that photo.

The main difference is the huge MISSING word tapered over it.

And I'm done being friends with you!

She swallows. Time for grief. Later.

I did it for us!

Later.

She has to climb up the lifeline. One knot at a time.

Grime's free hand reaches for the small of her back. It's huge and coarse and she can feel his claws between her armor.

It's warm and comforting.

And like that they reach a simple home. Grime understands it's the right place only because she stops dead in her tracks.

"Your safe place?"

She chuckles. It's a wet, gurgling sound. She rubs her eyes.

"Always was."

And then, shaking like a leaf on the onset of winter, she climbs the stairs to the door of Anne Boonchuy's home.

Sasha is not stranger to pain. Still, she'd sooner stick her hand in a tomato plant than stand right there, each breath draped around her shoulders like the finest shawl, waiting for someone to show up.

Maybe her parents are at the restaurant. Maybe they are walking LA's streets, begging for help.

Trying to find their precious daughter.

The same daughter she betrayed time and time again. The daughter who she'd been trading blows with, not an hour before.

The daughter who's worlds apart, literally.

She turns to look at Grime, who's waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

Maybe this was a mistake. Dad might understand. She's still got time. Can still run away, pretend it's all a joke.

I'm sorry. For everything.

But she doesn't.

She doesn't and that's the reason why, when Mrs. Boonchuy opens the door, she finds her directly facing the door.

Anne's mother has lost weight. Sasha knows most wrinkles come with laughter and not age, but her face looks like old parchment, and there's a hint of white roots creeping at the base of this woman's hair, and her dark eyes scan her face as if looking for a miracle that's not there.

Not there.

Not even when Mrs. Boonchuy's feverish gaze dashes past her.

Grime perks up.

The human and the toad trade glances for a moment.

Mrs. Boonchuy's eyes fall back onto her.

"Sasha," she croaks.

Sasha sniffs.

She croaked. With her broken voice.

Like a fucking frog.

It's stupid and she's stupid, but she really feels like falling apart at the seams with bitter laughter.

"Honey? What's happening?" Asks a male voice and Anne's father runs outside. Stumbles. Stops right besides his wife, regarding Sasha. And then going past her, to the weird green man who's looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

"Hm, don't mind me," he mutters, hiding behind the Warhammer.

"Sasha?" Mrs. Boonchuy begs. Her hand reaches out to her and she clasps at her with her white ones.

How many questions in one word.

How can she answer?

What can she answer first?

Her voice is broken, she gasps for air, shaking her head.

Grief cuts into Mrs. Boonchuy and Sasha pulls her hand against her chest.

"She's alive. She's not there, but she's alive. All three of us are."

Behind her, Grime stays in respectful silence.

"What... how? Where's Anne?" Mr. Boonchuy asks, setting his hands on his wife's shoulders as they begin to rattle.

"It's a long story."

"Is she okay?" Mrs. Boonchuy asks in a crystal whisper. Sasha feels like she's holding that whisper in both hands, and has no choice but to crack it.

What happened to know exactly what kind of words to say?

This should have been easy.

"She's Anne Boonchuy," she says in return, rubbing her fingers over the older woman's hands. "She must be."

It feels hollow.

Last year at school they learned about lost-wax casting. You fill a cast with wax and let it take a certain shape, then melt the wax away.

It feels like this.

The Sasha Waybright that's sitting on a chair in Anne's room (she has not touched her bed. It wouldn't feel right) is just a shell, like an insect after its molt. She feels so light.

And scraped from the inside. Each breath rattles her filigree bones.

Anne's room smells different.

It smells like deodorant. It has lost that faint sheen of her sweat, the same tangy smell Sasha did all she could to recall (oh-so-secretly), after tennis practice. There was something to that scent. An alluring quality found nowhere else.

Now it's gone.

The rest of Anne's room is pristine. Everything is back into its proper place, like... like an exhibition. And yet there's not a grain of dust in the air.

More a temple than an exhibition, then.

I did it for us!

She's too hollow even for anger.

"What now?" Grime tentatively asks, sitting in a corner. The Warhammer is next to him, leaning on the wall like a novelty broomstick.

Sasha takes in a long breath.

She looks down at her clothes.

Anne's not exactly her size. It's a bit loose on the chest and a bit tight on her shoulders. Her skirt, likewise, is a shade of mauve she wouldn't have been caught dead wearing.

And beneath her bed: a pair of yellow shoes.

A pair.

Oh, that's too rich.

She passes a hand through her still-damp hair.

And I'm done being friends with you!

Slowly, she pulls on her shirt and takes a sniff.

It's barely there.

But she can feel it, beneath the too-sweet scent of softener: a tangy smell of sweat.

She takes another sniff.

She never really got the time to tell her, hm?

Time, or courage. To tell her.

The truth.

"What now?" Sasha mutters. She lets go and looks down at her scuffed, bruised hands.

If there's one thing Amphibia taught her, it is that actions talk louder than words, anyway.

"What now?" She clenches her fists. There's no pink flash of light going off in her eyes, but her cheeks are rosy enough. She grits her teeth and declares in one dangerous whisper: "I am getting her back."

Chapter Text

My name is Sasha Waybright.

I am fourteen years old. I believe in taking care of myself and fixing my mistakes.

I wake up every morning at the crack of dawn. If my face is a little puffy from night terrors, I spend a little time with my nose against Anne's bed. I try to recall her scent and remind myself I am doing this for her.

That usually calms me enough to start my stomach crunches. I lay on the floor and every time I do one I think about the sword running through Marcy's body. I think of my hand slipping from Anne's grasp as I fall into the rumbling void below. And I promise myself I will be there to pick her up, next time.

When I finish this part of my routine is time for a quick morning run. I slip downstairs in my running clothes, which used to be Anne's, but ever since I started saving money with my job at the Thai Go I could afford new ones. It's one of the first things I bought: I don't think I could wear Anne's clothes any longer now.

Every time I reach for the door I see Grime already waiting for me right there. Unlike me he has no qualms dressing up in Mr. Boonchuy's old clothes, and he wears his running headband like a champ.

We slip out of the door for our morning routine. At this time of the day, the streets are almost empty and air feels nice and crispy. Nobody gives us a second look.

If I am lucky, when I close my eyes for a while I can ignore the smell of exhaust and concrete and pretend I'm already back in Amphibia.

We run about five miles. By the time we go back to Anne's old home Mrs. Boonchuy is putting on some pancakes and khanom krok, the smell of coconut and sweet onions makes my stomach rumble. I sit down at the table, sweaty and aching, while Grime looks barely about to break a sweat.

With each bit of my breakfast I remind myself I am living on borrowed time and I will repay Mr. and Mrs. Boonchuy's kindness as soon as I can.

On a full stomach, I help Anne's mother with her dishes and I go back upstairs while Grime helps Mr. Boonchuy with the gardening. After a light shower, I put on my work clothes and I follow Anne's mother at the restaurant.

It's 9:00 in the morning when I pull my ponytail up and I start cutting vegetables. With each strike of the knife I try to remind myself I am getting one tiny step closer to you.

And my mind already wanders to what I am going to do in the afternoon. The rest of my responsibilities. Endless steps on the staircase to you.

The staircase which beyond all hope may lead to holding your hand again.

Chapter Text

Grime finds me in the Boonchuy's courtyard, doing my reps.

He looks ridiculous with his gardening hat on, but the scowl in his one good eye is the same as ever.

I ignore him.

One hundred-seven, one-hundred eight.

I do a couple more push-ups, still ignoring his presence. I want to reach one hundred and fifty today. It's a good day. I can feel how much it helps me to focus on what matters.

"You have to take a break," he groans, sitting next to me, the spatula still in his hand. "I can't watch you straining yourself like this."

I click my tongue and shake my head.

One hundred-twelve, one-hundred thirteen.

"Sasha," he tries again.

No reply.

One hundred-fourteen, one-hundred fifteen.

Endless steps on the staircase that leads back to you.

I still have not found a way to go back to Amphibia. But when I get there I'll be ready.

And I'm done being friends with you!

My right arm trembles. I gasp as I lose all strength in it and I fall on my side, panting hard.

One-hundred fifteen it is, for today.

"You are just hurting yourself."

"At least... it's... just myself... this time," I hiss back. "Anything I can... help you with?"

"Perhaps not me." He leaves.

Finally.

I don't need company to dwell on my mistakes.

Sweaty, aching and bitter regret filling my mouth like the vilest bile, I close my eyes and am back on the ramparts, looking into those hazelnut eyes.

I can only find hurt, betrayal and rage.

Perhaps it's all I can go back to.

But at least is something.

I can hold onto it.

Panting, breath shaking like a tree under the storm, I set myself back into position.

One.

Chapter Text

I bang my foot against the metal bar.

The noise echoes through the empty corridor.

"Hey! I said to let me out of here!"

Imprisoned twice in a year. Must be some sort of record for a fourteen years-old.

The guard, a guy dress in a black and white suit with dark glasses, turns to me, attracted by the sound. He frowns and comes closer, rattling his baton against the bars.

"Keep quiet," he warns.

"Or what?" I reply, summoning bravado. This would have been a lot easier months ago. "Scared to take it upon a cheerleader?"

He doesn't reply. As far as prison guards go, these guys are harder to deal with than toads.

A brief spike of pain rises through my heart at the thought of Percy and Braddock.

Where they are, I hope they are safe.

"Where is Grime?" I hiss through the bars. "You can't keep us here. It's against the law."

That my be my weakest comeback in like, ever. I groan inwardly. Weeks at the Boonchuys have made me soft.

I can't really find a way back to you if I am this soft, can I? Or save Marcy...

A door opens and pulls me away from my spiraling thoughts.

In walks the same guy I noticed on the van. This time he's without his blonde lackey, but he shows the same blisteringly-annoying attitude, a victorious grin plastered over his painted lips.

"You will find, miss Waybright, that I am the one making all the laws now." He scratches his chin as he leans over, his face almost touching the bars. "Now, I have a few questions for you. I'm sure you won't mind."

Chapter Text

In time, Anne stopped seeing the flaming sword piercing Marcy, each time she closed her eyelids.

Nights were still the worst. She stood up, feverish and crying - Sprig was at once at her side, wrapping his pink arms around her shoulders as she heaved.

"I'm fine," she lied, standing up from her makeshift bed of feathers and wooden sticks."I think I'll go for a walk. Night air might clear up my mind."

"Going for a walk where? We're on top of a mountain!"

"Just let me have this, Sprig."

He hesitated, but in the end nodded and helped her put on her snow cloak - it was similar to the ones she wore back during the first time she had found herself in this weird place. She walked out of the tent, Sprig in tow, and the moment they came out freezing wind cut through her skin like blades.

They peered into the night sky - the occasional snowflake appearing and disappearing from the bright glow of fungi, but apart from that, the night was crystal clear. Anne's gaze reached the huge crimson moon that hung like a sickle over their heads, ready to fall.

"I'll never understand you warm-blooded monsters," Sprig lamented, his teeth clacking.

"Sprig, you can go back inside. I will be back shortly! I just want to clear my mind."

He gave her a quizzical look.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Spranne against the world?"

"You betcha, buddy!"

They clapped their tongue and hand together and Sprig jumped back inside, giving her one last sideways glance.

She was alone.

The wind slithered past her clothes and pulled her mind away from the cobwebs of sleep, from the nightmares.

Marcy was somewhere out there.

Likely still in the castle.

Frog, she might as well be on the moon!

In nights like these, the thought that Marcy could have been... could have...

No. She steeled herself. She was still alive. Must be.

She had seen Andrias crouch over her body right before they fled the castle, with a deep frown over his dumb old newt face. If he hadn't just skewered her, she might have believed him worried.

But Marcy was alive. She had to be.

She looked up at the moon. It seemed to grow larger and call onto her like a huge grin, laughing about her misery.

And Sasha.

Sasha had been absorbed by the portal. Where did the box send her? A part of her hoped she'd get home, she'd be able to talk with her parents... another part wanted to throw the name Sasha and her blonde friend down into the ravine and never see or think about her again.

Oh, frog, she would never be able to forget her.

What if she wasn't safe?

Even after everything... after everything she had done.

"It's in your nature," said a rasping voice next to her. Anne turned, sword at the ready, but it wasn't a robot. It was the wrinkly face of al old newt, giving her a ponderous look as she held up a lantern from her gloved tail.

"Oh, it's you," she sighed. She was supposed to be grateful to Valeriana to offer her, the Plantars and the rest of Wartwood a refuge, but in nights like these...

"You can take the gem out of the human, but not the human out of the girl."

"Yeah," Anne replied rubbing her chest. "Fat lot of good it did to me."

Valeriana chuckled.

"Not just to you."

"What do you mean?"

"I have heard a couple things about the missing one. Sasha, wasn't it her name? She never gives up."

"Maybe she should have learned to," Anne grumbled, to which Valeriana let out a hearty laughter that seemed to banish even the mocking smile of the lingering moon.

"When it comes to you? I doubt it."

"What?" Anne's cheeks prickled, forgetting all about the cold. "What do you mean? Hey come back, you gotta explain it to me!"

But Valeriana just laughed and came back inside.

When Anne dashed after her, she found herself alone with sleeping Hop Pop and Polly, and a worried Sprig looking at her. Looking at her thanks to the bright light of a lantern. A lantern that hadn't been there a moment before.

Groaning, Anne laid down next to Sprig, refused to ask his questions and tried to get some sleep.

Outside, the crimson moon kept laughing at her efforts.

Chapter Text

Today is a long and hard shift at the Thai Go. I balance more plates with my arms as I dance between tables - there's a bunch of stupid kids lining up today and I struggle to carry all my orders. My arms ache and my back is killing me.

Maybe Grime is telling the truth - maybe I should take a break, or slow down or whatever... but how could I look you in the eyes?

Yes, I could have come here a day before, but I was busy lazying about. Sorry, Anne.

No. it's unacceptable.

If only we had the music box. If only I could replicate some sort of weird anime powers like Anne did.

Of course I can't.

All I can do is carry Thai noodle and be a burden to Anne's parents an-

"No way! Is that you, Waybright?"

Maggie's unpleasant voice grates against my ears as I turn to catch a young redhead sitting at a table.

I blink.

It cannot be.

"Are those my Phat Siu?" She licks her lip and points at the plate on my right hand.

"I suppose they are." I put the rice noodles with chicken and vegetables on her table and turn away.

"Wait!" She grabs the back of my shirt. A spark of annoyance hoes off in my chest and she's really lucky I am still holding plates or I would- "I haven't seen you in months! People thought aliens kidnapped you and Boobchuy. What happened?"

"None of your business," I bite back. "Enjoy your meal."

She gives me a strange look.

"I'll see you later," she says, and then her attention is completely consumed by her meal. "Hmmm, so good!"

I complete my orders and then it's back in the kitchen for more.

As the minutes go bay and the flurry of people rising their hands for more slowly flows to a trickle, it's early in the afternoon when I am busy cleaning the floor. And we're all out of product.

"Mrs. Boonchuy?" I call.

No answer.

She must be in the kitchen.

I turn the corner to see her... and Maggie.

She's helping her deal the knives and plates, the sleeves of her blouse pulled up to her elbows as she finishes cleaning a wok.

"Yes Sasha, dear?"

"Uh..." I must look pretty stupid, holding the mop in both hands as I look at Maggie Margot of all people helping Mrs. Boonchuy with the dishes.

"'sup, Waybright."

As I find the cleaning product and I finish my chore, I come back to see the two sharing a cup of tea.

"Alright," I say crossing my arms on my chest. "What's all this about?"

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Boonchuy quirks an eyebrow. "Maggie is a regular here, on Friday."

"Allowance well spent," she grins. "Or rather, I would, if Mrs. Boonchuy let me pay."

"You'll never owe us anything."

"But... what happened?"

Silence, for a moment, then the redhead adjusts her hat, embarrassed.

"Remember the night you disappeared? I wanted to go to that pool party, but I also wanted to tell Boob-... Anne how sorry I was. My mom never made me anything for my birthday and I was just being a sour puss. Thanks for letting me realize that."

I blank out. I helped her realize what?

"I didn't get news about how you disappeared, so I found your father there looking disheveled and telling all of us the party was cancelled. Then he jumped on a car with your mom and I haven't seen them since."

I wrung the mop's shaft between my hands until it creaks. Mrs. Boonchuy's hand lightly touches my shoulder and I let go.

"At first I thought it was just a prank, so I got really mad and I planned to tell you the next morning, but by next morning... you weren't... there anymore. Neither you or Anne or the other girl who was always with you..."

"Marcy Wu," I croak.

"Yeah, that one. And you weren't there the day after. Or the day after that. People started to talk. And these "Missing" posters began to appear... and one day I found Anne's mom putting them up."

I gasp, and in the silence it comes out a hiss.

"Maggie helped me. Every day, she came with me after school to put on more posters and substitute the old ones."

"You won't believe how many people just rip them off," Maggie huffs.

"I... I suppose so."

I am not going to ask her if she found posters of me.

"I'll... go clean the backrooms," I say, gritting my teeth.

"Let me know if you need anything!" Maggie says after me. "I'd like to help!"

I really don't know what to say.

Maybe I never really did.