Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Things became remarkably clear, in the End.

As the ground shook and the sky flared with fire, the (ex?) villagers felt something slot into place in their minds. First there was the astonishment at where they had arrived at. How could they have done this? Why had they left their homes? Turned their backs on their neighbors, given up their ways, given everything to some faceless promise of empty words? 

Then came an even older understanding. They can remember now, all of the ones old enough to have been there. Leaving their dying world behind and happening on the islands, a seeming paradise. Giving their memories for the chance at a fresh start (Had that made them vulnerable in some way? Is that how they had been so easily controlled?) and beginning their lives anew.

As the world Ended around them again , those who were able to gather and held their loved ones close. Others, separated by distance, clustered together with anyone nearby, preferring the company of strangers to facing the End alone.

Everything was noise and shaking and violence and bright, searing power, and deep underground, a little boy held his brother (a little boy old man false king felt none of it inside his Capsule) and he cried.

(And he Hoped. )

And it all

went

black.

And then, they woke up. 

One by one, the people of the islands began to wake up. Scattered concentrically around a worn stone building, the only visibly intact structure for miles, the rousing bodies thinned in density the further from the building they were. The Islanders all recognized it as the Shrine that had stood next to their village, the one that had already been there when they had arrived as refugees. Beyond that, though, nothing was recognizable. While the specific plants and rocks they could see were familiar, the entire landscape seemed to have morphed itself into a brand new configuration. Nearly four hundred people could be seen in the area, villagers and militants alike. 

(The Tazmily villagers would soon learn that many of the original Pigmasks, those who had arrived onto the Nowhere Islands as militants, were in much the same situation as them. The small camps and groups who had survived and carved out a living for themselves on the mainland, after the previous apocalypse, had encountered the same infiltration and mind control that had swept over Tazmily. They had been convinced and coerced to join the Pork Army, to swear their loyalty and leave their homes behind, and were only just breaking out of it.)

People began moving around, calling out for family members and searching for friends as they picked their way across the body-strewn field they had found themselves in. The field, dotted with different kinds of flowers and some shrubs, surrounded the Shrine for nearly a half mile in all directions. To the east was a river, and towards the northwest they could see a sprawling treeline that eventually gave way to a mountain in the far north. The sun hung in a cloudless sky, and a gentle breeze brought the distant smell of the ocean.

Dispersed among the people, and even further, were all sorts of things . From blankets to lumber, to chinaware and clothing and microchips and piles of twisted metal and canned food and even the occasional barn animal, it looked like some terrible storm had swept through the entire island and thrown around every single man made thing in its fury. Like some great giant had picked the entire island up and shaken it around.

Before long, most of the people had woken and pulled themselves together. The unofficial “leaders” of the village, sans Flint, discussed the situation briefly, and even through everyone’s shock and general disorientation, they all agreed that the most important concerns aside from making sure no one was injured (no one was) were finding food, water and shelter. Groups organized quickly into teams, some scavenging for food or materials to construct temporary shelters from the debris in the area, some going to investigate the forest for any edible plants, or possibly game to hunt, some heading for the river. 

The Pigmasks were eyed warily, but generally ignored when they didn’t try to engage with anyone. They were listless, a little, despondent in the situation they’d found themselves in. They couldn’t just go up and join the villagers, not after everything they had done to them, but they couldn’t just leave either. Eventually, they drifted into much the same patterns as the others, gathering supplies and constructing shelters. The two groups kept their distance from one another, wary but not antagonistic. It helped that most of the soldiers had abandoned their helmets before setting to work.

There were a few, though. A few true believers, those who were genuinely loyal, who had knowingly and willingly sworn themselves to the cause, or maybe to just Porky, himself. They had looked around, angry and disgusted at the peace settling around them, and found their fellow loyal comrades. They chose to strike out on their own, leaving the large camp being set up by the formerly brainwashed people and making their way towards the distant mountain.

Before they left, one had tried to attack someone, a young woman. Before they could even touch her, another Pigmask stepped in and grabbed them, easily sweeping their legs out from under them and throwing them to the ground. Though she had already removed her helmet, the color of her uniform revealed her to be of a much higher ranking than the person she’d stopped.

“Any of the rest of you try anything, you’ll have to deal with me.” She stood glaring at the loyalists, and quickly other unmasked Pigs gathered close, placing themselves between the hostile group and the civilians. They faced off for a long moment, before the loyalists backed down.

After that, some of the tension between the ex-Pigmasks and the villagers fell away, though they were far from comfortable with each other.

While they worked, the villagers chatted with one another. It felt like it had been forever since they had had simple, nice conversations with their friends and families and neighbors; used to the stilted and scripted conversations under King Porky’s influence, the simple act of casually socializing felt freeing.

There was one thing on their minds that none of them spoke about, however.

Lucas.

They all knew what had happened. They hadn’t seen it, or heard about it in any way, but every person on the Island was sure of their knowledge, of the concepts that may as well have been just implanted into their minds. 

Lucas had saved them. He had ended the brainwashing, cut his way through New Pork City and brought the King himself to his knees. Lucas, little Lucas who refused to step on bugs and who would give his candy to the younger village kids and who had lost his entire family in the space of 24 hours, Lucas the crybaby the hero had saved the town (saved the world ).

He didn’t seem to be there with the rest of them, but they didn’t worry. He was a hero after all, he had guided the ancient power of the Dragon to rewrite reality. With so much power, surely he was more than alright. (Even at dusk, when Flint came barreling into their camp shouting for the doctor, they weren’t worried, not about Lucas at least.)

With so much power, clearly the boy could do anything he put his mind to.

Chapter Text

Lucas was tired .

He knew that he was supposed to be focusing on positive feelings when he pulled the seventh Needle. Everyone had kept saying that the Dragon would feel what was in his heart and that it would heed his desires. He didn’t know whether that meant that it would respond to whatever specific emotions he was feeling as he woke it or if it was something more deeply ingrained in his person. He just knew that the only emotion he could identify, whether from himself or his family around him (he wasn’t sure which), was the desperation for this whole thing to be over.

He pulled the Needle. Everything went bright both inside and outside of his head. Everything around him, inside of him became heavy, so heavy, and he could feel the weight of the world the Dragon pressing down on him, inside him, it was inside everything . And he understood, he was the Dragon and the Dragon was him and the Dragon was everything the whole world was beating and breathing (and hoping ) in tandem.

And then there was nothing.

… 

Once, when Lucas was little, he fell from a fence and hit his head. When he woke up, it was slow and confusing, his vision and hearing swimming in and out, his thoughts muddled, but not afraid. He was in his home, his mother was there, and even if he hadn't remembered what had happened, he knew he was safe.

Waking up after the end of the world is nothing like that.

He’s unconscious and then he’s not. He tries to sit up and open his eyes, squeezes them shut against the blinding light around him, then forces them open again because he has to see it's dangerous they were fighting where’s the threat—

He ends up flailing around a bit, his limbs uncoordinated but unhurt. He knows where he had just been, in the caverns with the final Needle, the final battle, but now he’s somewhere bright—

There’s grass, maybe about knee high, and around him people are laying in it. He sees his friends, his dad (all alive, he knows what a dead body feels like, empty of its mind), and then—

Claus.

He’s there, on the ground, he’s alive, Lucas can feel him ( how did he not know? how did he not recognize his brother? )

He’s up, scrambling across the ground to lurch to his brother’s side, and Claus– 

Claus’ jacket is gone, and he is bloody. He is still and pained and bleeding–

Lucas places his hands over the worst of the injuries, a horrible electrical burn arching from his right shoulder, spread across half his chest. “PK Lifeup.” He doesn’t need to say the words anymore, but they help him focus, help ground him. Claus is going to be just fine, he’s going to heal him.

But something is wrong. The wound is beginning to heal over, the leaking, inflamed skin calming somewhat, but by the time Lucas would normally have gotten someone fully healed, the wound still looked weeks away from being healthy. He forces away the panic (he was used to that by now, with the number of times he’d brought his friends and himself back from death’s door) and determinedly pushes more energy through his hands.

It takes minutes for the burn to fade, and there are still dozens more injuries, many of them severe. Lucas has been ignoring the sweat pouring down his face, but now he pauses to wipe his forehead on his shoulder sleeve before it could get into his eyes. It shouldn’t be taking this long, it shouldn’t be taking this much energy, what’s wrong, why can’t he help his brother? He moves to a deep gash along the other’s left bicep ( Lucas could see bone not now, focus ). When he finishes his hands are shaking and he’s gasping for breath. He moves to the next problem, a puncture wound in his hip, just below a thick knot of old scar tissue ( Lucas has never seen this scar before ).

There’s movement around him. Other people. He ignores them, he’s busy. He starts working on a deep bruise across the jaw ( the bone is cracked in three places ). There are voices now (familiar–not threats). He can’t tell what they’re saying. It doesn’t matter.

Minor internal hemorrhaging in the abdomen. The voices become louder, higher in pitch. There are frantic emotions circling besides his own , but he doesn’t acknowledge them. There is only his task, mending the bloody flesh he can see in front of him.

His vision swims out, and black specks flow in until he can’t see anymore, but that’s fine, he still knows where the injuries are, he can feel them, their pain. He keeps going.

There are hands on him now, pulling. He wants to snarl, shake them off, they’re in the way, can’t they see he’s not done yet, but nothing comes out, it’s all he can do to keep going ( Claus ), but they’re pulling on him, pulling him away, taking him away from ( Claus! ). He tries and he tries and he tries but they’re unyielding, they take him –

He has given everything he has, and when his family manages to pull him away from Claus before he puts himself into a coma from overusing his PSI, the only thing to accompany him into unconsciousness is the feeling that once again, he was too weak to save his brother.

… 

Flint wakes to pain .

His chest is on fire , he can feel some kind of burn throbbing in time with his heartbeat on the skin over at least two broken ribs, and there is definitely something wrong with his leg. There is a commotion nearby, he can hear it, and he gives himself just a moment to brace before he forces himself to sit up. He gasps a little from the pain, but makes it upright with one arm curled around his ribs, and turns to look towards the noise. 

And his breath weezes out of his lungs because those are his sons , Lucas and Claus (Claus is here) . Lucas’ two friends are around them, but Claus isn't moving and there’s–

There’s blood–

Flint is up, and then he’s down again, leg refusing to hold his weight. He drags himself off the ground and crawls his way over to the group, eyes never leaving his boys. He can see that Claus is injured, badly, but not as badly as the last time he saw him, down in the caves. Lucas is sitting over him, unharmed but desperate , gasping and shaking as he does something with his hands on his brother.

He’s healing him, Flint realizes, a gentle green light flowing from Lucas’ body into Claus’. (Flint knew his sons had odd abilities, had seen them chatting with animals, communicating silently from across fields, sometimes making small objects float. He’d had no idea that could have developed into something like this.) The two friends who had been with them underground are hovering over the boys, their faces concerned, and Boney sits to the side and whines quietly. 

The girl is speaking. “Dude, you need to stop, now .” Her voice is low and urgent. “He’s already stabilized, you’re going to hurt yourself, you stupid– ”  She’s vibrating with restranied energy, her hands clenching and unclenching reflexively. The man beside her is silent, hands hovering as if unsure who he needs to be helping. 

The girl’s words register with Flint. “What–” he coughs, pain whiting out his vision for a moment, and when he comes back the girl is staring at him now, gaze sharp with intensity.

“You’re his dad, right?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer. “You have to get him to stop, he’s overusing his PSI, he’s going to knock himself out, or worse.”

The man (Duster, Flint thinks is his name, he’d seen him around Tazmily before, but he’d been gone for years, how–?) nods in agreement.  Lucas appears not to have heard any of this.

Flint reaches forward. “Lucas—son–” His hands are suddenly stopped as a shimmering glow flashes into existence a foot from the boy’s shoulders. It seems this is what has prevented the other two from physically stopping Lucas, some sort of psychic barrier.

But Flint has seen this before. The boys would throw up these sorts of barriers, seemingly instinctually, all the time when they got upset as little children. He knows the trick to getting through them.

He pushes forward, leaning against the shield, and focuses on his love for his son, his desire to help and soothe. Slowly, the glow softens and his hands sink through it, until it disappears entirely. He grasps Lucas’ shoulders and tries to tug him away, but he resists, surprising Flint with his strength, twisting and jerking his body out of his father’s grip, weakened as the man is from his injuries. Luckily, his two friends are there, and they easily swoop in and work together to pry the boy away from Claus. 

And Flint feels his heart crack when Lucas fights, sobbing and reaching desperately as he’s pulled away from his brother, before it seems like his energy fails him and he slumps unconscious into Duster’s arms, like a puppet with cut strings.

There’s a moment where everyone sits, and processes. Flint looks down at his other boy. The small figure is breathing raggedly, not injured as badly as the quantity of blood would imply. The helmet he had had is long gone, and his hair is shorn down near his skull. The right side of his face is peaceful, if pale, but the left is a mass of raggedly carved scar tissue, centered around the pit of an empty eye socket, and Flint forces down a wave of nausea at the sight. He manages to drag in a big enough breath to get out, “They both need a doctor.”

The girl’s gaze, having been on Lucas’ still form, shoots up to him (again near frightening in its intensity) and she says, “Your village has one, right? They’d probably be down there, with the rest of ‘em.” She jerks her head to her right, and Flint looks and sure enough, he can see distant figures moving around in the distance, past the bottom of the hill they’ve found themselves on.

He has enough time to feel a pang of helplessness, there’s no way he’ll be able to get down to the village on his probably-broken ankle, before the girl leans towards him and roughly grips his shoulders. He startles as she squints intently into his eyes, before there’s a green flash, and he feels a lightning rush of tingling cold-fire trickling through his body, spreading from the point of contact of her hands. He shudders as it passes through him, and is left wheezing when it vanishes, gone as suddenly as it had appeared.

“There.” She sits back on her knees, staring at him satisfied. “You can go on now, we’ll stay and look after the two of them.” She nods towards Lucas and Claus, and Flint blinks as he realizes that aside from an odd pins-and-needles sensation, all the pain of his injuries has evaporated.

Well then.

Flint stands, takes stock of his healed body. He looks at the two, the town thief's lame son and a crass stranger with strange powers. But he knows his son has entrusted his life (all their lives) to the two of them, many times over. 

It’s the least he can do, to trust Lucas’ judgement.

He nods once. “Thank you,” then he turns towards the people in the distance and takes off at a sprint. Dr. Nasu hadn’t left the village for New Pork City, as far as he knew, so hopefully she would be down there with everyone else. 

Everything would be alright. He has to believe that.

Chapter Text

Kumatora is restless the whole time they wait on Lucas’ dad. She’d tried her hand at using PK Lifeup on Claus, but had found the same resistance Lucas had obviously been trying to brute force his way through. He wasn’t in danger of bleeding out anymore, so she decided to just leave him be. 

She had searched around nearby and found a few jars of dried meat and preserved fruit, as well as some containers to carry water in. She also found a few clean-looking blankets. The tattered remains of Lucas’ brother's metal wings were caught awkwardly under his body where he was laying, so she just kind of slowly worked the blanket underneath him, trying not to jostle him too much and cause further damage. She still feels restless after doing that, but she doesn’t want to wander too far away from the group, so she tries to create some shelter for Claus, at least, from the shit that’s all strewn around.

Finally, she sees two figures hurrying up the hill. Lucas' father, with his perpetually haggard expression and weird hat, and a middle-aged woman with stern eyes carrying a bulky bag.

They come to a stop by the structure Kumatora had hastily erected around the body of her friend’s brother to shield him from the elements. She had taken three skinny logs that she had found and stuck them upright in the ground. She leaned them against each other, freezing chunks of ice around each of the bases and the point where the logs came together, and then threw a large tarp over the whole mess. There, shelter done.

She pauses in her pacing in front of Duster, who is cradling Lucas on the ground, to stand imposingly over the two of them while presumably-the-doctor approaches. (She isn’t gonna let some rando she hadn’t even vetted yet poke around her injured friends without being right there to put a stop to any funny business (and by “put a stop to” she means “beat their ass” . ))

The woman sets her bag down and kneels, reaching to gently place two fingers on the side of Lucas’ neck. “What are his symptoms?” she asks promptly, while staring at her watch. (Kuma reluctantly puts a point in the woman’s favor; she could respect someone who got right to the point without wasting time on stupid shit.)

Lucas’ father responds, “He passed out after…overexerting himself.” The woman quirks an eyebrow at that. He seems either confused on how to describe PSI usage or uncomfortable talking about it with hu– with regular people. Kumatora has no such reservations.

“He overextended his healing powers and exhausted himself. After running out of PSI energy, he began draining his own lifeforce to power the Skill. Which is dangerous.” She raises her other eyebrow at Kumatora’s explanation, but doesn’t respond until she finishes whatever she’s doing with Lucas’ neck. 

“Gotta say, Flint,” Her voice is gruff and direct. “Don’t know much about your boy’s ‘magic’.” She starts touching different parts of Lucas’ face now. (Kuma puffs an annoyed breath. PSI isn’t “magic,” that’s something else) Despite the woman’s general demeanor, her hands are gentle as she turns his head carefully to examine him. “Not sure how much help I’ll be.”

The dad (Flint, apparently) sounds just completely exhausted when he replies, but there’s still an undercurrent of steel in his voice. “You’ve treated them before.” She pauses for a beat to stare at him with one hard eye, before returning to her work.

“Never said I wouldn’t do all I could.” After several more minutes of touching and prodding, sometimes pulling a few strange tools out of her bag, she stands and turns to Flint. “He’s definitely overexerted himself. Low blood sugar and moderate dehydration, but no injuries, it looks like.” She pulls out a bottle with an opaque liquid. “Get him to drink this, as best you can. Replace some fluids and electrolytes. If he doesn’t wake at all by tomorrow morning, come and get me again.”

She looks tired suddenly, and Kumatora feels a pang of her own exhaustion slip through her. She doesn’t let it show. “Other one’s in here.” She jerks her head towards the temporary shelter when the older woman looks at her. 

“Other one?”

And now, on top of all the other emotions he’s been showing, Flint’s face breaks open with relief and sheer joy , despite the situation. “I found him, Kanna.”

And when she snaps her head over to look at him, realization warring with disbelief, Kumatora feels a jolt of satisfaction at the faint glimmer of vindication in the man’s eyes.

“I found Claus.”

… 

Dr. Kanna Nasu enjoyed her job. Despite the challenges of unruly patients, and idiots that couldn’t follow instructions if their life depended on it, she was happy to service the healthcare needs of her home. She’d been Flint’s doctor since he was a boy, and had been just as heartbroken as the rest of the town when Hinawa and young Claus had passed, having known the boy since he was born. 

None of them had said anything, when Flint had continued his futile mission day after day, searching for a lost boy they all knew would never come back (maybe she should have said something, maybe she could have helped). None of them had believed the man would ever find anything, Kanna (as much as she hated to agree with the Pig-bastards about anything) included.

But now here they are. He’s standing in front of her, saying he'd found his dead boy and brought him home . “Well then,” she manages after a surprised beat, “Show me.” She picks up her medical bag (and thank god she had had the sense to grab it when the earthquakes had begun. She had probably only woken up with it in her hands because that’s how she had been when the sky had up and vanished.) and follows him to the odd tent-like structure (was that ice at the bottom?). He bends to lift the tarp up so she can see inside.

Next to the family dog that she vaguely recognizes, there’s a small figure, laid out on a blanket over the shaded grass, and she begins to note the injuries, fresh gashes and old scarring alike (horrific, who could do this to a child ) even as she realizes what she’s looking at– skin fused cruelly into thick plating, the swell of a weapon, embedded implants of matte metal poking through scarred flesh– this is–

No.

“No.”

She backs out of the tent. Flint is looking at her, surprise and confusion. She meets his gaze.

“I will not treat him.”

… 

“ WHAT ?!” Kumatora explodes ( unfortunately not literally) and stomps up to the fucker who’s just staring at her now. “ What the fuck do you mean you ‘ won’t treat him’?! ” She barely reacted, which just made Kumatora even angrier. “You’re a fucking doctor , aren’t you? Isn’t that supposed to be your fucking job !?”

(It had taken weeks before Lucas had mentioned his brother to them, and even then, it had been a slip, an accident that he wouldn't elaborate on at first. Eventually he had opened up enough to talk about him, about the happy memories of their childhood and the pain from when he’d lost him. And now he had him back, her friend had his precious brother back , but he was hurt and this doctor was just going to leave him )

She regards Kumatora’s rage calmly. “I will not treat him.” She turns away before the teenager can yell again. “Flint, I know this will be hard to hear, but that thing isn’t your son, not anymore.”

They all look at her, even Duster from his spot on the ground. Kumatora is shaking with pent-up energy. Flint’s face is unreadable. Dr. Kanna, or whatever the fuck her name is, gives a barely perceptable sigh.

“You stayed in the town this whole time, traveled in and out of the forests, the mountains. You know about the chimerae.” He says nothing, and she continues. “You know that they’re violent, and dangerous. The ones who have enough intelligence to strategize were made to be completely loyal to the military.” Her face becomes less heated and more brittle as she continues.

“Do you know how many chimera attacks I’ve had to treat? How often people come to my clinic with gashes from claws, or having been mauled by teeth? I’ve seen toddlers missing fingers, men with their chests caved in. Do you know how many people I’ve seen die from those monsters?”

Flint's face is carved from stone. “My son is not a monster.”

“Your son is dead,” she says bluntly, and the man flinches .

She sighs, deeply this time, sounding grieved. ( Like she has any right! The leftover fury in Kumatora screams, but it’s warring with horror right now because what if she’s right?

What if Claus is just a brainwashed chimera now? He had managed to overcome his programming, at least for a moment, during the final battle, but what if that was all he could do? What if the last of the real Claus had been lost?

What if Lucas found his brother only to lose him all over again?)

“What you have in there is a collection of body parts sewn onto a machine.” Her voice is almost soft now, for all the harshness of her words. “The boy that used to inhabit that body is long gone. If it wakes up, it's just going to try to kill you all. I’d suggest throwing it in the river while you have the chance.”

Flint doesn’t speak. His hands shake. 

She sighs one more time, and reaches for her bag. “Here.” She pulls out a few rolls of bandages, disinfectant, some burn cream and a few other odds and ends and sets them on the blanket Duster is sitting on. “You can try if you like. But I want no part in this.”

She looks over at him and says quietly, “I’m sorry, Flint.” She leaves, heading down the hill back towards the main camp. Flint does not watch her go. 

Kumatora is glowing with the amount of emotions that are raging through her and is considering the possible consequences of hurling a fireball at the woman’s back when Duster clears his throat. “Sir?” He’s looking at Flint, and after a moment the older man’s gaze finds him.

“Er, I have some first-aid experience.” At his soft, practical voice, Kuma feels some of the fire sweep out of her. “I could look over Claus, if you wanted to, uh, switch places?” He glances awkwardly down at Lucas, still unconscious in his lap. After a moment, Flint jerkily begins to move towards him, and they transfer the kid into his father’s arms. Duster stands and stretches his back for a moment ( heh, old man ) beforing gathering up the supplies and heading into the shelter. Kumatora looks back and forth for a moment, debating on where she can be the most useful, then heads over to the two sitting under the clear sky. 

From this view, it almost looks like Lucas could be sleeping. 

She doesn’t say anything to Flint. She barely knows the man, and anyway, there isn’t anything she could say to make any part of the situation better. (And her Moms always taught her not to waste words when they weren’t needed.) Instead. She plops down on the ground behind him, and leans against his back. This close she can feel his surprise at her touching him, but she stays quiet and eventually he relaxes.

Together they keep silent company, watching the dusk settle around them.

Chapter Text

It’s some time later, when Duster comes out of the shelter. Night has fallen completely, and the distant sound of cicadas blends with the whispering of the grass in the wind. Kumatora had gone to the river to fill their water containers, and then coerced Flint into eating some jerky. The man didn’t speak and she wasn’t really feeling up to talking, either. 

Things got boring pretty quickly after that, so she had begun practicing little tricks with her PSI, making electricity arch between her fingers and drawing shapes in the air with her flames. She had become so much stronger during their journey, both in terms of raw power and dexterity and skill, it was hard to believe sometimes.

Duster sits down beside them in the grass with a tired sigh. “He’ll be okay, for now, I think.” He fidgets nervously. “He really should get looked at by a real doctor. I—I’m not really sure what to do with the…with the metal.” His face is pinched in worry and he rubs absently at his bad leg.

“There’s gotta be someone else in your village that can help him, right? Other than that dickhead.” Kuma makes a mental note of the doctor’s name and face, for revenge-planning purposes. 

Duster bites his lip, scrubbing his face with his palms. “I don’t know… I don’t remember there  ever being another doctor, but maybe…”

They both glance towards Flint, as the one most familiar with the village out of the three of them. He hasn’t lifted his head from watching Lucas’ face since the conversation had started, but now he sighs, weariness written into every line of his posture. “You think he’ll be fine ‘til morning?”

Duster nods, even though the older man isn’t looking at him. “Yeah, Lucas did a lot of the work.”

“...Okay.” He finally shifts then, moving slowly out of his cramped vigil over his younger son, leaning back and carefully unfolding his legs. “Okay. I can go down into the village, then. Ask around some.” He says it like he’s sure things will work out eventually, like it’s not the only option they have left. 

Duster offers, “We should get some rest until then.” It takes Flint a moment to nod, but at least he’s agreeing. His head swivels back and forth between the boy in his lap and the ‘tent’ sitting a few feet away, before Kumatora takes pity on him and offers to sleep in the structure to keep an eye on Claus. Flint doesn’t look happy at being away from either of his boys, but the shelter is not large enough for three people and he thanks her all the same.

On her way inside, she reinforces the ice that had melted a little bit throughout the day, and absently pats Boney on the head. She lays down up against the side of the tarp covering, facing the boy laid on his back on top of a ragged blanket in the center. Outside, Flint lays Lucas down on the other blanket, settling beside him with a hand on the boy’s chest, and Duster stretches out in the grass a few feet away. Despite the worries nagging at all of them, they’re tired enough that sleep finds them almost immediately. 

… 

In the morning, they all wake early with the sun. Flint feels barely rested at all, but alertness (or maybe just adrenaline) floods up his stomach when Kumatora flies out of the tent and bolts towards them. He’s working on speaking around the heartbeat in his throat ( what happened, is Claus okay, did something else go wrong ) when she drops to her knees and starts poking Lucas in the cheek.

“Luki Luki Lukiiiii~” She singsongs, and he realizes that the boy is starting to stir. They all gather around him as he blearily opens his eyes. He isn’t very coherent, slurring out half-formed questions, and Flint has to help him sit up so he can drink from the bottle Dr. Nasu had brought, and then from one of the water containers.

Before passing out again, he is able to focus his gaze on Flint’s face, and he says “Claus?”

The man’s breath falls out of his lungs, but he manages, “He’s safe. He’s just over there.” That seems to be enough for him, and his son’s eyes slip closed again, his body going slack.

Duster and Kumatora decide to switch off between watching over the two boys, and scavenging for food and supplies while Flint heads down to the large cluster of tents in the distance. He checks in on Claus one more time before leaving. The boy is as still as the day before, his chest only barely moving as he breathes. Boney is laying beside him, pressed right up against the side of his body, though he lifts his head when Flint enters. He had barely left Claus’ side since the day before, and now he looks up at Flint as if daring him to make him move. (Sometimes Flint is a little scared by how intelligent that dog is.) He offers Boney a piece of jerky before he turns to leave.

Flint makes good time to the village. In less than an hour, he’s walking through walkways surrounded by various makeshift shelters, all of which would put the one in their camp to shame. He can see piles of lumber and building supplies, people clearly planning on beginning construction on more permanent structures. He looks around, fully impressed but not really surprised at how much progress the other villagers have made in just one day. They’ve always been hard working, even when under Porky’s thrall. 

He doesn’t have much of a plan. Dr. Nasu is the village’s only doctor, he doubts that there’s anyone else with the knowledge needed to help Claus. (He forces down the squeeze of panic at the prospect of losing his son again. ( he can’t even bring himself to consider the possibility that Kanna might be right ) He doesn’t think he could survive it.)

People follow him with their eyes curiously as he walks, but only a few call out greetings. He’d crossed paths with Lighter earlier, and the other man had stopped what he was doing to talk with Flint. The short conversation was a bit awkward, with Lighter stumbling over his words, and he eventually spilled that Kanna had told them all what she had seen. Flint said nothing at the expectant silence, just looked at his old friend. Lighter had awkwardly excused himself to return to his work, offering to go up the hill later with some of the others to help him build his shelter. Flint only responded with a “Thanks” before continuing on his way.

Almost another hour goes by, fear and dread slowly climbing up his spine despite his best attempts to ignore it. He can’t just spend his time running around the village’s camp waiting for something to happen. He could…he could maybe ask some of the Pigmasks…? Lighter had said that some of them had protected the villagers yesterday, and had been keeping to themselves and not hurting or antagonizing anyone.

Even still, he is loath to trust any of them. How can he, when the entire situation is their doing in the first place? They are the ones who did this to his son. But…there isn’t anyone else who can help, who has the technical knowledge to treat Claus.

Flint is broken from his conflicted thoughts when he hears someone clear their throat behind him, and he turns to look. There’s an old man standing there, looking out of place among the working villagers with his crisp clothing and heavy messenger bag. He appears deeply uncomfortable, but there is a resolute set to his jaw.

“Hello, ah, Flint, was it?” He shifts his weight, eyes flickering around from Flint to his surroundings and back.

“Yeah.” Something about his strange white coat is familiar. Oh , Flint’s head tips back in recognition. “You were there. Underground, below the city.”

The man blinks, but doesn’t seem particularly surprised. “Yes! That’s right! I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that, actually.”

Flint waits for him to continue. The man shifts on his feet again, and says, “You’re his father, correct? Of, ah, of the…the human chimera?” He winces a little at the words, vaguely knowing it’s the wrong thing to say but not having another option.

And Flint thinks he’s with the militarists and not a soldier, a scientist? and they don’t even know his name . The rising wall of icy rage Flint feels each time someone tells him his son is not a person is becoming unfortunately familiar.

 His voice is utterly toneless when he says, “His name is Claus.”

The man is quick to backpedal, hands raised placatingly. “Of course, of course. I don’t mean any—any disrespect, sir—“

Flint interrupts, “What do you want.”

He grimaces again and dithers for another moment before taking a deep breath. “My name is Dr. Andonuts. I—I worked as a scientist with the military. I’m not proud of it.” The words come stilted, hampered by shame but driven by guilt.

“I had wanted to leave almost immediately, as soon as I realized—-realized how horrible they were, the things they wanted us to do. But.” He closes his eyes. “But I was scared. Scared for my life, and for my own son, back home.” He laughs humorlessly, “It’s very easy to be a coward in the moment, Mr. Flint, it’s only afterward that things get…complicated.”

Flint stares and says nothing.

Andonuts clears his throat again. “I was—I was one of their top scientists, and I… I headed the team that—that worked with your son. We—“

“Worked with him?” Flint’s voice is frigid, and void of any sympathy.

Andonuts’ next breath is miserable, but he admits. “Worked on him. I—“ He works his jaw and takes a moment to gather himself, then forces himself to meet Flint’s eyes.

“There is nothing—nothing I can do or say to you—either of you, to atone for what I’ve done. I tried to treat him as humanely as possible during our interactions, but that means nothing in the face of— of the harms I had a part in committing against him.

“I don’t deserve to be absolved of this and I won’t insult you by asking for forgiveness. I’ve come to you to offer my skills as an engineer and a medical doctor to help you in any way I can.” He breaks eye contact for the first time during his monologue, seemingly not sure how to proceed. “I know that you and your sons were injured in the final battle…”

The silence stretches. There is not an ounce of heat or inflection in Flint's voice when he says, “You expect me to trust you.”

The other man flinches, but doesn’t hesitate to respond, “No. I only wish to make up for my actions in whatever way I can. If you want me to never speak to your family again, that is what I’ll do. But, if you’ll allow it, I believe I can help you.”

They stare at each other in silence for a long moment. Andonuts clasps his hands together in front of him, but does not fidget while he is judged.

“Fine.” 

Flint doesn’t like this, not at all, but he can’t see what other choice he has. Claus needs treatment, and there isn’t anyone else who can provide it. They can all keep an eye on him while he works, make sure he’s doing what he says he’s doing. Lucas should also be able to tell if he’s genuine. Nobody’s ever been able to slip a lie past that boy.

He turns without another word back towards the hill where the others are, the older man scrambling to follow.

Once they’ve left the main camp, Andunuts starts to speak quietly, mostly rambling to himself. Flint doesn’t care enough to tell him to be quiet, and just lets the chatter wash over him as he falls into a tired fugue.

“—I’ve spent these last days scavenging as many tools as I could, and I managed to piece together a simple processing interface to check on his coding, though it likely doesn’t have the power needed to edit anything—not that we have to make any edits, unless it’s necessary for his health, of course. Anyways, regardless I should have the supplies required to make any immediate repairs he might need—“

As they crest the hill, they come upon an odd scene. Duster and Kumatora are sitting on the ground in front of Claus’ shelter, with Lucas propped up between them. He still looks very tired and ill, but his eyes are lucid when he spots Flint and offers a wave. There’s some kind of jacket, sturdy-looking and dark-colored, draped over his lap. The man hurries the rest of the way over to the three.

Several yards away, Lighter and Bronson are heading a team of a few other villagers in building a much larger and sturdier tent. They are already working on finishing up the structural supports. Tracy spots him from where she is hammering something into the base, and she hops up and swaggers over with a grin.

“‘Ey, Flint!” She’s about the same height as Flint, but much stockier. Her face and arms are tan from working outside everyday, and wisps of hair fly around her face from where they’ve escaped her short ponytail.

She grasps his hand with a strong handshake. “Couple of us wanted to come up an’ help you guys out.” Her voice is hearty and rough. “Got yourself a real firebrand, too, heh.” She nods towards the three sitting beside them, and Kumatora bares her teeth in a wild smile, looking all too similar to the larger woman.

“Thanks, Trace.” He means it, but his voice comes out hollow. She claps him on the back and her expression softens. 

“We heard about your boy.” He doesn’t have time to tense before she continues, “Don’t listen to what those nerds say; Your Claus has always been a fighter, he’ll come out on top here, too. ‘M sure of it.” He feels himself settle, just a little, at her confidence.

“Thanks,” he says again, with a bit more feeling.

She gives him one more hard pat and reaches down to ruffle the teenagers’ hair. Lucas blinks up, unbothered, and Kumatora leans away from the hand and hisses like a cat. Tracy laughs again and trots back over towards the other group.

Lucas suddenly sits up straighter, more alert. His eyes are directed at Flint’s accompaniment, the other man having stood off a ways. His two friends pick up on his wariness immediately, shifting into positions they could more easily doge from, watching the man with a trained readiness.

Andonuts jumps when he notices their attention, and offers a weak little wave. “Ah, uh, hello, again.”

Lucas stares at him for a long moment, unnaturally still, and something about the way the sunlight reflects off his bright blue irises strikes Flint as eerie. Without warning the boy says, “He wants to see Claus.” It’s not a question.

Flint looks back and forth between the nervous man and his blank-faced son. “He says he can help.” He’s not sure entirely what’s happening.

There is no pause before Lucas answers, “He’s telling the truth,” and then he slumps over unconscious again, Kumatora scrambling to catch him. 

Flint’s heart skips, and he still can’t make himself calm even after the girl mutters “Moron exhausted himself again…” She lays his head in her lap and tucks the jacket more securely around him. 

He takes a deep breath. They already know Lucas will be okay. He just needs to rest ( they all do ), and his friends will look after him. Right now he needs to focus on Claus. He looks at Andonuts and jerks his head at the tent.

They have work to do.

Chapter Text

After gently brushing a hand over Lucas’ hair and letting Kumatora slap his arm, Duster stands to follow as Flint leads Andonuts to the tent. They flip up a part of the tarp covering the structure so the two can watch the doctor work. Boney lifts his head and gives a token growl at the older man, but stands and lopes off to the two teenagers without Flint having to say anything, apparently trusting the humans’ judgment (a damn intelligent dog).  

“Alright, let's see here…” Anodnouts kneels with a grunt, looking over Claus’ still figure ( still breathing Flint reminds himself). He crouchs as well, and Duster eases himself down, his bad leg stretched out to the side. 

Duster had removed the boy’s shirt and shoes the night before. Large swaths of bandages cover much of his torso, and Flint feels his stomach turn at the sight of deep, old scars peeking out from under them. The transition of skin to metal midway down his right upper arm is jarring to look at, even with the thick, ragged scar tissue between the two. He can also see odd protrusions underneath the skin along his right shoulder, extending towards his collarbone, as if there are even more alterations hidden inside his body.

This, more than anything he’s seen before it, drives home for Flint just how deeply his son has been violated. The military didn’t just attach pieces of metal onto his skin, they opened him up and carved him out and filled him with their own demented machines, to use him however they pleased. Flint feels sick, and he desperately, desperately wants to look his son in the eye and hold him.

He can’t do that now, though. All he can do now is work on getting the boy awake and healed. He turns to the doctor. “Tell us exactly what you’re doing.” Flint’s voice allows no argument, and Andonuts nods absently, focus clearly on the body in front of him ( still breathing ). He pulls his bag open and starts taking out some equipment.

“Of course, of course.”  He spends a few more moments looking the boy over before reaching towards his head. Without thinking, Flint’s hand snatches out and grabs the doctor’s arm before he can touch his son. Andonuts startles, and then explains, “I need to touch him to perform the preliminary examination.”

Flint forces himself to unpeel his fingers, and says, “Explain to us before you start doing something.”

Andonuts nods readily, “Right, yes, yes.” He gestures over Claus, speaking animatedly with his hands. “I’m first going to check his vitals.” He reaches again, slowly this time, and places a few fingers on the side of Claus’ neck. After a minute, he turns and scribbles something onto a notepad.

“This will detect oxygen levels and other internal chemical states, like hormones and such.” He picks up a small, bulky cuff made from metal and plastic and fits it around Claus’ left wrist. Then, he grabs some kind of machine with a display and some buttons on it, several wires snaking out the back like worms. He plugs one wire into the cuff and turns the machine on. Flint can’t make heads or tails of any of the numbers or letters on the screen, but the doctor nods decisively. “Good, good…” he mutters.

“We can use these readings to compare with a diagnostic report, to check how his base OS is running. Self-diagnostics were put into his firmware, of course.” Flint does not understand, but the doctor continues before he can ask anything. He sets the machine down face-up. “We can check that in a moment, though.”

He reaches for the child’s head. “I want to make sure there aren't any major internal injuries to his organic parts before moving him too much.” He gently touches Claus’ head, feeling around his skull, then runs his fingers down the back of his neck. He has Duster very carefully lift his head and shoulders so he can do the same to the boy’s spine. He checks ribs, pelvis, and Claus’ original arm and leg, the ones not made of metal, then starts to carefully peel back the bandages on his abdomen.

Flint can see that much of the dried blood has been cleaned away, but not all of it. Underneath, the boy’s skin is a tapestry of wounds, some scarred over years ago, others in various stages of healing. A smattering of bruises in all different colors are spread among the gashes and scrapes. There is a large, twisting electrical burn across nearly the whole thing (Flint has seen more than enough wounds caused by lighting over the last couple of years) that is nearly completely healed, but definitely looks like it will scar.

Andonuts looks over this mosaic and says, “Good. There appears to have been some hemorrhaging here,” he indicates the largest patch of bruising, a sickly green in color, “but it seems to have been healed quite nicely.”

He continues as he starts rewrapping some wounds with fresh bandages, “I would commend whoever administered this initial treatment, there is quite an attention to detail for someone not trained in medicine.”

Duster shifts where he is sitting, “Uh, thanks.”

“So, he’s alright?” Flint hates having to admit ignorance here, to this man he does not trust, but he needs to make sure.

“His organic parts all appear to be working fine. The external wounds should all heal without issue as long as they don’t become infected. Unfortunately, I can’t detect potential organ damage just with an external examination, and I don’t have the equipment for image scanning or bloodwork.” 

Flint is struggling to fit the words he’s hearing into a context he understands, but the mention of ‘organ damage’ sets off the few alarm bells that weren't already ringing. Andonuts continues as his panic bubbles into his expression, “Not to worry, though, his diagnostics will be able to report any problems on that front, as long as his neurological processors are functional.”

Flint is more confused and not reassured, but Duster speaks before he can. “So…the computer you all put in his brain, um, it can tell us, whether he’s worse off than he looks, then? As long as it still works?”

Andonuts nods excitedly, “Exactly right, my boy!”

Duster blinks and makes an odd face at being called ‘my boy’, but he isn’t finished with his questions. “So…what happens if…if it’s broken? If it’s part of his brain and it doesn’t work…?”

Any positiveness slides off of the older man’s expression, and he is solemn as he says, “That…would be a worst-case scenario, I’m afraid.”

Flint doesn’t know if he can take much more stress before his heart up and gives out. He can only imagine what his expression looks like and he can’t bring himself to speak. Andonuts throws himself back into setting up for the next procedure, and Duster hesitates a moment before reaching out and patting Flint on the back twice. The motion is stiff and measured, as if unpracticed, but it’s still heartfelt.

The doctor resettles himself on the blanket. “I’ll need to make sure all his ports are physically sound before I can connect, but the display interface should be able to pull all the information we need.” He indicates the machine with all the wires.

Again, the doctor requests their help, and Duster and Flint work carefully together to lift Claus and turn him on his side, with his back facing the older man. From this angle, Flint can see  the folded remains of the metal wings he had briefly glimpsed on the boy when they were under the city. One appears mostly intact, with oddly shaped tears along the bottom and some warping along the frame. The other, though, looks like half of it had been torn away, the thin webbing in tattered strips with parts of the underframe poking through. Many of the joints are too twisted and deformed to bend correctly, and all sorts of wires and things Flint doesn’t have names for protrude from inside. 

He doesn’t remember what had caused this kind of destruction. He can only hope that Claus hadn’t been able to feel it.

The man tears his eyes away from the damage ( the injury? ) and decides he is going to focus on watching what Andonuts is doing , not on problems he can’t help. No good will come from him losing his head over things he has no control over. Right now his job is to make sure the doctor is doing what he had said he’d do. Upon seeing the current procedure, though, he can’t repress the surge of guilt-grief-pain at learning about this newest horror his son had endured.

The  boy’s hair had been cut close to his scalp, giving Flint a clear view of the thick set of tubing connecting the base of his skull to two spots above his shoulder blades, on either side of his spine. There is just enough slack in the tubes to allow the child’s head to bend forward. This sight is prominent enough that it takes him a moment to notice the smaller glints of metal that Andonuts is carefully feeling for. Above where the tubing meets skin, there are three metal rectangles of different sizes embedded into his scalp. They are hollow on the inside, going down at least a quarter of an inch, and Flint thinks about how much space a human brain takes up inside one’s head. He wants to look away.

He does not.

Andonuts is speaking again, a quiet mumble not really expecting a response, “Luckily we had this failsafe built in, if the subject loses consciousness then the port covers automatically open so we can check for the damage. The covers are important, of course, for keeping water and debris and such from damaging the hardware, but trying to pry open a locked one manually is certainly a tall task…”

The doctor carefully holds back the short hair from one of the rectangles with his fingers, then with his other hand, he inserts the end of one of the cables from the machine into the back of Claus’ head. Even knowing this is the best way to help him, Flint still feels sick.

Duster asks, suddenly, “Will this wake him up?”

“It shouldn’t. While we can stimulate his mind into consciousness using an override system, it’s inadvisable and may have negative consequences for his organic neurological functions. His processors were designed to guide and augment his regular neurological activity, not supplant it.”

Apparently this makes more sense to Duster than it does to Flint, because he asks, “You mean, this is what was controlling him?”

No . Flint feels a hollow form in his stomach. “I thought everyone had been under some kind of psychic control that Porky had had? That’s all gone now, the villagers have all broken out of their brainwashing.” His voice is rushed, almost frantic. Not him. He can’t be the only one who wasn’t freed.

“That seemed to be the main method through which he operated, yes, but the process was different for more advanced chimerae.” He winced at the hard glare his phrasing got from Flint, but forged on. “The ones that were mostly low-intelligence animal recombinations were controlled through PSI, but the chimerae that were more mechanical or that were designed to do higher-level functions had to be controlled through a governing processor.”

Andonuts falls quiet, then, and Flint , despite not really wanting to know the answer, prompts, “And how exactly does this governing processor control them?” 

The doctor is grimacing, his eyes closed, and it takes him a moment to gather himself. “...It was not my design. The governing processors were already in use when I was…recruited. I had tried to implement a better protocol, put in place a rewards-based system instead, but even after I was promoted, my plans were rejected.

He struggles to continue for a beat. “The governing processor…works on a conditioning response. There are two ways this functions. When the subject has a prohibited thought or accesses an unauthorized memory, the processor will issue a ‘correction.’

“This…this comes in the form of the stimulation of pain receptors, followed by an error alert imposed across all processors that explains the infraction. This discourages the subject from even attempting to think of unsanctioned concepts, and ensures loyalty by taking away the ability to question or refuse orders, or to imagine personal desires outside of the success of the mission.”

He stops abruptly, his eyes haunted and far away. Duster stares at the ground, perturbed, and Flint—

Flint is so, so unspeakably angry. He doesn’t know whether he wants to go to the village and beat every Pigmask he sees until he collapses or whether he wants to just lie down and never get up again. He feels like his body is being ripped apart from the inside by these emotions, and if he lets himself react at all, he’ll be completely torn to pieces.

Andonuts startles out of whatever memory had swallowed him and wrings his hands. “The—the second function is direct behavior control. Essentially, the governing processor keeps track of commands issued to the subject, and makes the various motor-control processors prevent the subject from taking actions that fall outside those commands.”

He continues to fidget. “This is mostly operated through malleable software, which we should be able to correct if we have to, though I know there were a few hardcoded orders given to some of the chimerae…”

He trails off, and the silence drags between the three men. Duster is frowning at the ground, both concerned and thoughtful. He asks, “Can we remove it?” (Flint feels even more useless, hearing the other man ask so many helpful questions when he can’t do anything but sit there.)

But the doctor shakes his head sadly, “Even if we had the state-of-the-art equipment required for that kind of intensive surgery, the device is far too intertwined with his central nervous system for the procedure to be safe. The chances of success would be…low.” His voice remains somber. “We will simply have to alter coding that sets its limiters.” His words attempt to put on an air of determination, but his face is grim.

Flint tries to digest that. It sounds like both options have ‘low chances of success’. (“Your son is dead.”) Like it’s unlikely that he will ever be anything other than a mindless servant. (“If it wakes up, it’s just going to try to kill you.”) His mind is a maelstrom of all the new, horrible information he’s learning and the stress and emotions from the last three days ( the last three years ). 

The only thing that floats its way to the top is just how small his boy looks right now, still as a corpse on the ground.

Andonuts clears his throat and picks up the display interface. “Well, shall we begin?” He doesn’t wait for a response before tapping a quick input into the machine. The screen splits into several different boxes, each showing quickly scrolling text and number readouts. Flint has no idea what he should expect from this, and isn’t sure if he is disappointed or not when Claus doesn’t react at all. 

“Hmm…” Andonuts taps furiously through the displays, apparently gleaning some kind of information. He doesn’t pause when he relays his findings, “Good news! Preliminary diagnostics match what the cuff scanner detected, and the more in-depth scan shows all internal systems functioning within acceptable ranges.” Flint feels a small chip of the icy terror wrapped around his lungs crack and fall away. That’s one thing that’s okay, Claus isn’t actively dying right now. It’s something. “I’ll be running through inorganic diagnostics now…”

He reports on a myriad of small repairs that the metal parts of Claus’ body will need to undergo. “Luckily, it appears his power supply and distribution hardware is undamaged, those components are vital and difficult to replace. Arm joint seems a little misaligned, hmm… 

“The flight systems are unsalvageable, unsurprising considering their appearance. We’ll have to remove the remains of the external appendages once I have the needed tools, but the implants and navigation software will be more difficult. Would require extensive surgeries to remove, may just be best to leave them if they aren’t causing trouble…”

Several more minutes of tapping and muttering go by, Flint feeling less and less connected to his body as the time wears on. Suddenly, the doctor freezes with a startled look, and Flint is slammed back into the moment with a flush of adrenaline. Andnuts stares at his screen for a long moment and says, “Oh.”

After another second without elaboration, Flint snaps. “‘ Oh ’?!”

The old man jumps again. “Oh, yes, yes—it appears his governing processor is nonfunctional.” His face is set somewhere between amazement and puzzlement, an odd combination. “It’s not just offline, it’s fully diabled . It can’t get any inputs in and, as far as I can tell, it can’t initiate any outputs either, even when I have other processors try to contact it.”

Flint is nearly gasping from the swell of hope in his chest. “So—so he’ll be alright then? He—he won’t be under the brainwashing anymore when he wakes up?” ( when he wakes up. he will )

“I believe so.” He’s speaking slowly, hesitant to give a definitive prognosis, but wanting to hope for the best. “Without the governing processor, there is no forced obedience. But he will still have much to overcome. The conditioning itself, not to mention the psychological trauma…” He glances towards Flint, uncomfortable and pained. “That isn’t my area of expertise…”

“He’ll be fine.” Flint feels steadier than he has in days. Maybe he doesn't understand the details, but he thinks he gets the jist. All the brainwashing and ‘obedience coding’ is done with, now it’s all up to Claus himself, his strength and willpower. And Flint can trust in that. He knows how strong his son is, how determined. He reaches down to run his hand through the short hair, steering clear of any of the implants. “Claus’ll be just fine. He’s always been a strong boy. He’ll get through this just like everything else.” And Flint knows .

His boy can do anything he puts his mind to.

…

Lucas felt terrible when he woke up. Again, consciousness seemed to appear suddenly, and he had sat up with his brother’s name on his tongue before the migraine made his senses white out. He wasn’t sure how long it took for the sickening pain to lessen enough that there was room for him to experience the rest of the world. 

He became aware of gentle hands, a cold one running through his hair and a warm one holding his own. A voice behind his head, soft only in its volume, resolved itself into Kumatora rambling about whatever stray thought had caught her attention. She must have been massaging his scalp, keeping her hands cool with PK Freeze, while Duster was holding his hand. He was laying on a blanket, with cloth over his eyes. He didn’t dare reach for his PSI yet,  immediately remembering what had put him in this state.

He wanted to throw himself to his feet and demand to see Claus, regardless of his own state (how could any amount of pain compare to potentially losing his brother again? He’d give every ounce of his own life if that's what it took to save Claus’.) The only thing keeping him still was the knowledge that his friends would have made sure to take care of him while Lucas was unable to. By this point, they were just as much his family as his own blood, and he would trust them with anything. 

Eventually, the pain began to subside enough that he was able to tolerate feeling the vibrations of his own voice without his head splitting open. He managed a weak, croaking, “Claus?”

Kuma jumped to (quietly) explain that Dad was getting a doctor from the village, that Claus was alive and not bleeding out, but that he still hadn’t woken up. Lucas spent a few minutes letting himself simply bask in that information, knowing his twin was here, was safe , if not healthy.

None of the three of them knew very much about the consequences of overextending one’s PSI like Lucas had. Kumatora had only faint memories, from when she was very young and (impossibly) even more reckless, of her mothers warning her of how dangerous it could be to perform Skills when too depleted on energy. With Lucas now awake and responding, she decided to give PK Healing a go, thinking that it couldn’t hurt, at least.

Lucas wasn’t sure if it solved any of the underlying exhaustion, but it did make his headache ease up some, and he was able to squint his eyes open and sit up with the help of his friends. There was something covering his legs, a dark jacket. He stared blankly at the pignose insignia for a moment before making the connection. 

Duster noticed. “I found it not too far away, on the other side of the river.” The material was tough and well-made, designed to stand up to wear. It was hard to tell how clean it was beneath the color. He remembered wearing a nearly identical jacket when the four of them had snuck into the Electrical Tower.

Claus had always hated wearing sleeves. He said they were hard to move in and he didn’t like how it felt when his arms were covered.

Kuma snapped him out of his thoughts. “Jeeeeze, dude you really missed the party.” 

He leaned his head on her shoulder. “Mm?”

“So your dad brought this fuckwad of a doctor, right…” They continued in a familiar pattern, Kuma complaining hyperbolically, Duster playing devil’s advocate just enough to keep her going while Lucas mostly watched and let their presence soak over him.

They sat for a while, chatting about light topics and enjoying each others’ company, and Lucas felt a sudden squeezing in his chest, both impossibly thankful that he could still have this, could talk with his family about little, meaningless things, and desperately longing that they could continue to enjoy this peace.

Ah. That was it. This…he wasn’t used to living this kind of peace anymore. He could remember, now, being with his family before everything, how they would spend their days comfortably and happily with each other, never needing to seriously worry or fear, simply at peace with themselves and the world. He hadn’t realized how much he had forgotten this feeling, how much he had missed it, until he found it again.

A few of Dad’s friends stopped by to say hello on their way to setting up a tent for them. Lucas felt their eyes linger on him strangely, but he didn’t have the energy to dwell on it. After a while, they spotted Dad coming up the hill, with someone else behind him, and Lucas managed a wave.

Tracy came over from the build-site to chat with his dad for a moment, then stopped by to ruffle his hair. He likes Tracy. He has memories, from when he was really young, of her picking up him and Claus and tossing them high up into the air and catching them. As a toddler Lucas had been real afraid, but he had also trusted that she would catch them, that he was always safe, even when he was scared.

(He knows better now.)

The other man who had arrived with Dad was…familiar. Lucas struggled to remember where he’d seen his face before, but then it hit. The head scientist, the one who was hiding at the chimera lab. Something inside of him pulled taut, and he felt himself sit up straighter as his vision tunneled in on the older man. 

He opened his mouth ( did he? ) and said, “He wants to see Claus.” He didn’t know how he knew this, but he Knew. There was a loudness in his mind, something different but not unfamiliar. It grew, quickly, like a forest of new growth overtaking an abandoned city, without malice yet without mercy. Lucas was distantly aware of his father speaking, but the sounds seemed to hang in the air, meaningless.

He was suddenly struck by how odd the practice was, communicating thought and emotion through sound waves of all things, as if crude physical distortions in an atmospheric medium could ever come close to conveying the intricacy of the Mind. Such funny little things humans were. It was almost sad, how little they comprehended of the worlds.

Lucas Knew he normally would be feeling very confused and afraid of these sudden thoughts. He was not. He Understood, now. He had always had this, had always been able to Feel such things, but not comprehend , limited by his flesh and blood.

He breathed, and Another breathed back. The Other (“dragon,” a name, a word, an attempt to encapsulate, to break off a singular piece of meaning from a Mind) was close, closer than he’d ever felt before (and he had felt it before, how could he not have realized). They were One, even as it was many, and so he felt. They felt .

The being in front of them was not simply a man, a superstructure of interlocking organs and tissues and cells, an organic automaton; in front of them was a Mind , opinions intertwined with perceptions encoded within memories, experiences resulting in emotions leading to desires, knowledge and beliefs and will. An entire World , rich with history and future.

And they peered through this being, and saw its World, the tendrils and valleys, twisting circular eddies and towering mounds of things buried. All was unearthed, and Understood.

No time has passed, Understanding is not thinking, and they open Lucas’ (another word) mouth and present the knowledge in the way of the humans, “He’s telling the truth.”

The Other retreats, their One dissolving but, crucially, not severing. The being left behind promptly loses the stability of its Mind and passes into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

The next morning, when Lucas wakes again, he’s actually feeling much better. He still has a bit of a headache, but his PSI is responsive, the minds of everyone around him swirling at the edges of his awareness. (There’s something More there, something else within himself, and he very carefully ignores it. He does not want to reflect upon that at this time, thank you.)

The villagers Lucas had seen the previous day had completed the large tent sometime in the night, and Dad had already moved Claus into it while he and his friends were sleeping. Kuma is still snoring on the blanket while Duster is sitting a few feet to the side, watching the sunrise. He offers Lucas a smile and a can of—he checks the label—peaches for breakfast. Lucas kneels next to him, pulls the top off and starts eating.

After a few companionable minutes, once he’s licking the juice off his fingers, Duster mentions, “Your pa’s in the new tent with Claus.” He takes the can from Lucas to add to their small camp trash pile.

Lucas leans forward and gently presses his forehead to the man’s shoulder for a moment in a gesture of affection and thanks, before he stands and makes his way over to the nice tent. The entrance has overlapping flaps to keep the wind and bugs out and there’s an actual bottom to it, to hopefully keep them dry in the event of any rain. He ducks inside and blinks, adjusting to the softer light.

Claus is laid out on the far end, on top of several layers of blankets. Dad is sitting next to him with a hand resting on his chest, eyes pointed towards him but a million miles away. Lucas can feel the thick muddiness of his thoughts, slow with exhaustion and mired in too many negative emotions for him to identify any one of them.

Boney’s head perks up from where he’s laying against Claus’ other side. He offers a metal greeting, a feeling of welcome and companionship. Lucas smiles at the sensation. Boney’s gotten better at using human language over the years, but he still prefers to communicate using emotions, intentions, and sense memories. 

Lucas can still remember the first time Boney used a word. It was a few months after…After. Lucas had mostly been left to his own devices each day. Dad was away most of the time, usually only coming home very late if he even checked in at all. His friends from Before had mostly been just Claus’ friends, and none of the villagers talked to him much anymore, first because of the discomfort born from someone else’s tragedy and later because of the othering of any villager without a Happy Box. For years, Boney was all he’d had. Lucas would talk to him all the time, while cooking, during their trips running errands to the village or exploring the forest. 

One evening, after bathing and climbing into bed, Lucas, like he did every day, said to Boney, “I love you,” with an accompanying psychic pulse. Like always, the dog responded with his own feelings of care and trust, but this time, he also directed the words, themselves, ‘I love you,’ towards Lucas, a mental encapsulation of both the sound and meaning. The only other person Lucas had ever felt reach for him mentally, felt push their thoughts to him rather than him picking up on them, was Claus.

Boney had let Lucas hug him while he licked away the boy’s tears.

Now Lucas sends back his own feelings of love and reciprocity as he carefully picks his way over to his family, trying not to trip on the haphazard bunches of supplies. He settles next to his dog, who wriggles until he can lay pressed up against  both of his boys.

Dad glances up and reaches out with his free hand to give the boy a rough pat on the shoulder, and Lucas smiles and takes his father’s other hand, the one resting on Claus. They sit in silence, their clasped hands still laying on the unconscious boy, and Lucas is a little surprised to realize that the air between them is distinctly awkward.

Lucas knows his dad loves him, of course, and he loves him back, obviously. But. But Lucas realizes that his dad doesn’t really know him, not anymore. They’ve grown apart, first during years of separation, intentional or not, then during Lucas’ months-long adventure ( mission? ) to take down the military.

He can practically see the ravine that’s between them now, and he has absolutely no idea how to begin closing it.

He looks down to their joined hands, and takes carefully measured breaths just like Duster taught him in, hold, out, repeat until the curdling anxiety subsides. (The older man was often showing them little tricks and pieces of advice he had learned from his time in the DCMC. He always spoke of them with great fondness and care. (Lucas hopes they will be able to reunite now that they’re all safe.))

He’s here, and his dad is here. They’re together now, and they’re safe now. Lucas repeats this to himself. Maybe things are broken, but they’re not irreparable. The threat is gone, and his family can heal now.

They have all the time they need to make a better future.

… 

Around midday, Claus stirs. (Thinking back on it later, Lucas can’t remember whether he first noticed the physical twinges or the mental ones.)

Lucas immediately snaps to attention from where he had been half dozing. His dad startles from the sudden movement, then gasps again when he follows Lucas’ gaze.

The other boy’s face is twitching, his breath coming slightly more irregularly than it had been for the previous hours of their vigil. Lucas tries not to get his hopes up yet. Dr Andonuts had mentioned that he may fade in and out of consciousness as his brain, body, and processors work to resynchronize and get him back into working order. Even if Claus wakes now, he likely won’t be in a state where he can have any kind of serious discussion. 

As much as he tries to suppress it though, he wants, desperately, to hear his brother’s voice.

“Claus?” 

Lucas is so scared, even if he Knows deep in his mind that his brother is okay (in that wild part, where the closer he gets the harder words become), he still can’t stop  the normal part of his brain from being scared. It’s Claus (his twin, his other half of himself that was ripped away ), he’s missed him so much and now he’s back . Sometimes Lucas is so happy, so thankful for this second chance that he feels like he’s drowning in it. The feeling flows up from his chest and crushes through his throat, and even though it’s a happy feeling, he wants to scream from the intensity of it.

“Mgh.” His brother grunts, and Lucas feels the flicker of his consciousness wriggle its way free, dim and muggy, but there , present in a way he hadn’t been when under Porky’s mind control. 

(When Lucas first encountered the masked man, he’d thought he was going crazy. He could feel all the emotions coming from the other during their first fight, just like he’d always been able to with people, but there was something wrong. First, the emotions themselves were awful /. Horrible, roiling rage, a sickly guilt, and a terrible, overwhelming grief. Lucas was nearly bowled over by it when they approached him, he had no idea how the other was able to fight through it.

But the worst part was the emptiness . Instead of the spark of consciousness that Lucas could feel in every living thing he’d encountered, the epicenter of emotions and thought, the masked man simply had nothing . The raging swirl of emotions coiled around an empty pit, no will, no desire, only pain. It was like seeing a forest of trees bowed in a storm, branches whipping violently back and forth as leaves were torn from them, but not feeling a single gust of wind.)

Lucas feels his dad standing tensely over where he crouches. “Claus?” the man tries, unable to hide the desperation in his voice. 

He groans, his head shifting a little. His eye flutters a bit before opening, blinking languidly, struggling to focus on the people in front of him. Boney was laying on the blankets beside Claus. Lucas could feel his relief and anticipation. Lucas feels everyone hold their breath as Claus’ vision clears. “...D’d…?”

“Yes, son.” Dad is crying silently, and Lucas can feel the crackling mixture of joy and grief sliding through him. “I’m right here.”

“Lu–c’s…?”

He feels his breath stolen by his happiness , “Yeah, I’m here, too.” His voice is cracking with tears. “How’re you feeling?”

“Mm. T’red.” His words are slurred with exhaustion but he’s awake.

“Yeah, heh,” Lucas chuckles wetly and tries to keep his voice light. “A—a lot’s happened.”

“Mm, yeah?” He blinks again. “Don’ rem’mber… Th’r was…a fight…?”

“You got hurt,” He wipes at his face. “Pretty bad. You need—you need to rest a lot more, so you’ll get better.”

“‘Kay.” His eye is already slipping closed. “W’ll ya stay?”

“Of course.” Dad sounds a little like he’s been punched, but Claus is too out of it to notice. “We’ll stay right here.”

“Mm, g’d. M’ssed ya’. Wh’n ya left…” His face twists a little, some distress coloring into it. “Or…wh’n I left…?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Lucas reaches out to rest a hand on his brother’s chest. “We’re here, now. And we’re together. You should go back to sleep. We won’t go anywhere.”

Claus hums a little, and a gentle smile drifts onto his face as his consciousness settles back down (not gone or empty, just still). Lucas feels the relief bouncing around the tent, reinforcing his own. His brother sleeps on under his hand.