Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Renegade was no stranger to hopelessness. He saw it every day, sometimes from the moment he opened his eyes. Freedom was a myth, a concept lost to the past, and even though he fought against the Chaos Council, even though he did everything in his power to keep the resistance alive, he was not immune to the thick cloud of smoggy despair that pushed down on him and New Yolk City.

Rebel, on the other hand, kept hope alive. Her very presence inspired it in their small but growing resistance, her own powerful determination reaching out and touching the hearts of others. While Renegade appreciated his own skepticism and knew it had saved his skin 一 and that of others, too 一 many times, there was a reason why Rebel was the face, heart and soul of their movement.

Even in his own name he was misfortunate; choosing to be called 'Renegade' had been a mistake, the name often being too long for most to say or remember when in the heat of battle or panic. Hence, the name ‘Knucks’ came about, though it rendered the whole point of codenames moot. ‘Knucks’ was hardly going to keep his identity safe when unfinished records of Citizen 1-9-9-4 ‘Knuckles’ was still sitting somewhere in the Council’s resident logs.

Rebel, on the other hand, fit her new name like a glove, embodying the role she had taken upon herself down to her very designation. It was her wings on their symbol, her words in their ears and her face on their minds when anyone spoke of rebellion. To Renegade, she was the wind in his sails and the fire in his heart whenever his hopelessness made him wonder why he was still fighting when tomorrow would be just like today, and yesterday, and all the days before.

It wasn’t just hope that Renegade struggled with. He saw traps everywhere, tricks to ensnare him and his team and snuff out the last bit of hard opposition to the Council’s tyrannical rule. His body had been beaten and broken thanks to these traps, the scars remaining as a reminder to always, always, always be careful, because luck was never on his side.

Well, he knew he was lucky in one aspect of his life. If Rebel hadn't seen him at the beginning of the deforestation, hadn't grabbed him and rescued him when she did, hadn’t kept his chin up and his eyes forward, shoving down his pessimism when it threatened to choke him until he couldn’t move, who knows where or who he would be now.

But that’s just how it was, wasn’t it? Rebel was everything right about their movement; she was confident, charismatic, clear-headed and strong. She was an inspiration, the last fragment between himself and utter misery. Oh, he hated knowing that, if anything were to happen to her, he might very well give up. He would try, certainly, to lead in her absence, but without her, he doubted he would last very long until the rebellion fell apart.

She just had that effect on him.

She was hope. Plain and simple. Moreover, she was his hope.

But he wasn’t hers. He couldn’t be hers. How could the pessimistic, disillusioned skeptic that stood beside her be anything remotely like her beacon of light?

No, it was that damn palm tree that made her eyes light up, renewed with vigor and determination to see her mission to reclaim their home from the Council.

Renegade understood how much that tree meant, to him, to her, and to anyone in the resistance; it was the last piece of a history that they never wanted to leave behind, forgotten underneath metal and concrete. It was a sign that life could persist, even in the direst times. It was proof that, if the Council was ever overthrown, that they could bring it all back… the forest, the white sandy beaches, the blue skies, and every last palm tree that dotted the green hills of their beautiful home.

Yet, it didn’t inspire him like she did. The tree was a symbol of their past and their goal for their future, but it didn’t spur his desire to fight, to reach out and force the world around him back into place, to eliminate the problem and pick the pieces back up when it was all said and done. That was all her.

The tree was only a dream and distant memory, but Rebel was so, so very real to him. The tree was hidden behind glass, protected by air filters and UV lights, carefully preserved like something that could shatter and die and take their efforts with it, but Renegade could feel in his chest that Rebel, who had none of the same protections as that tree, held just as much sway on the hearts of the resistance, if not more.

So he protected her the best he could. He stood by her, following her command as their small group of two turned into three and then four and then five. He kept her in mind as he started leading his own divisions, as he organized and followed through with his own missions, tasks and assignments. Anything he could do to make sure her job was as easy as possible.

She protected him, too. The instant she saw something coming for him, he would feel thin but strong arms wrap around him, feel the winds born from her powerful wings, and suddenly he would be airborne as she rocketed them both up into the sky, away from certain danger and demise, just like she did on that first day all those years ago, and his heart would beat as it did back then, with fear and with adrenaline and with… with…

Damn it.

No, he would never be to her what she was to him. He would never be to her what that palm tree was to her. Renegade wasn’t the inspiring type, or the hopeful type, or the optimist, or… anything like that. He was a fighter, yes, and a leader, sort of, but he would never be the one to get her eyes to shine, to help her feel uplifted in the way that she always managed to make him feel on his darkest days.

Jealous of a tree. How pathetic can a guy get?

He knew he had to keep that tree safe. He had to do it for all the rebels, not just her. That tree was something much bigger than himself, and even if he had mostly given up on the change he was fighting for and would always fight for, it was worth every last battle.

Anything to keep that hope alive.

He was looking at it again. The tree. He always had that strange look in his eye whenever she brought it out of hiding.

The last palm tree… their symbol for a better tomorrow. The warmth of green and brown pacified and energized so many souls in a city ruled by red and gray and neon. It was Rebel’s most powerful card to play when people weren’t certain about joining the resistance. She had seen so many eyes soften, so many tears fall, so many dreams restored… the power of that tree was unmatched.

And yet, Rebel would never see that effect on Renegade. She had seen his amazement, certainly, when they had first found the plant, miraculously still alive but badly damaged, but his uncertainty remained, even as they nursed it back to health and kept it contained in their bunker. His hope was fragile, broken since the beginning, but he had never stopped fighting with her.

She hoped he knew how much that meant to her. How much he meant to her.

In a rebellion of just two, he had been her unwavering support, her right hand man, the one who offered his opinions and plans and tried to steer them away from danger even as she charged forward. Even when she steered them wrong, landing him in trouble that resulted in yet more scars on his body and heart, time and time again, he stayed with her.

Rebel had no idea where she would be today without him.

As she pressed the button to hide away their tree 一 their tree, the one that they had found together, helped together, looked after together until it was lush and green and healthy and so, so precious 一 that odd look stayed in his eyes as they followed the pod downward, deep into the earth and out of sight.

The tree didn’t inspire him like it did the others, but she knew what did.

“We'll keep finding new people,” she said as she walked up beside him. Her hand reached out, making contact with his shoulder, and Renegade turned to face her fully, his exhausted eyes giving her his full attention. Rebel squeezed his shoulder, and she swore she saw a spark of something ignite in those eyes. It made her heart pound, knowing that she could stoke the flames of rebellion in his heart when not even the tree could.

Hope came in many forms, after all. If she could reach through to Renegade, who still seemed convinced that their efforts were all part of a pipe dream, then she could reach through to anyone.

He was her confidence, giving her words and actions the power to reach past the uncertainties of others. He was her right hand, ready to fight with her in a moment's notice. He was always ready to reel her back in when her ambitions or impulses grew too lofty, and drew her beyond her capabilities or limits. He was her watchful guardian, foul-mouthed and rough around the edges and everything she needed whenever she got too wrapped up in her own thoughts.

Maybe she would have been long gone by now if she hadn't grabbed him and flew off on that day, when the deforestation had started. Maybe her carelessness would have gotten her a swift end, or maybe her confidence would have taken too many hits until she was just one person, a weak and pathetic cry of rebellion that would be squashed before it could fully take form.

“Our numbers will grow,” she assured him, feeling a confident smile spread across her lips as his eyes revived even more. “Before you know it, everyone in New Yolk City will know about us. The Council’s power comes from fear, fear that they’re untouchable, but we know they’re not.”

He looked so tired, but he was hanging on to every last word she said, caught between believing and refusing to believe, but it was so much more than anyone or anything else could inspire in him. His inspiration fed hers, stoking her own flames. Her hand slid from his shoulder down to his armored glove, sliding into his grasp.

An anchor, a protector… A partner, a confidant… A fighter, a rebel… Her caution, her clarity…

Her hand squeezed his. She felt him squeeze back, maybe in an involuntary response… It wasn’t always easy to tell with him. The man wore his heart on his sleeve, but that didn’t mean it was always clear what his heart was saying.

Still, she knew her own, beating warm and fast as the lights in their hideout dimmed from another power surge.

I hope you know, Knucks.

One day, she would be able to point at endless palm trees dotting the beach, walking down a white sandy pathway while the crystal blue waters splashed at their feet, feeling the wind in their hair and seeing the fluffy white clouds up ahead and with no polluted air clogging up their noses. One day she would be able to tell him ‘I told you so’ and see his scarred, rugged face twist into an adorable look of indignation and then resignation.

She hoped his hand would still be around hers, whenever that day came.

Rebel would fight until then, but for now…

“Come on. We have work to do.”

Chapter Text

“Psst!”

Thorn’s ear twitched at the noise, and she stopped dead in her tracks, straining to figure out what it was and where it came from. The hedgehog glanced all around; the trees were lush and vibrant, with thin columns of light filtering through the leaves and speckling the grass with gold. The jungle looked so much brighter, now that the sky was visible and that respect and care was placed on each and every plant therein. As the sounds of the jungle rang out in their familiar melody, devoid of the intrusive noise she had heard before, Thorn got swept up in the majesty of the world around her, her heart swelling with gratitude. She started walking again, her chin up as she scanned the treetops for any sign of Birdy.

“PSST!”

Okay, she definitely didn’t imagine the noise that time.

“Who’s there?” Thorn demanded, lifting her hammer into both hands. She looked left and right, up and down, scanning her surroundings for any sign of someone following her.

It couldn’t be Prim, she would either be much more stealthy or straightforward. Mangey would happily leap at her or fly onto her hammer with a gleeful cackle. Hangry didn’t sneak around if he didn’t have to. So either this was a brand new jungle monster, or it was…

“...Gnarly, is that you?” she demanded, and was instantly proven right as a mess of red and green fell out of a nearby bush.

“Shushushushushush!” the echidna hissed, scrambling to his feet and dashing towards her. “She’ll hear you!”

“She?” Thorn echoed, lowering her hammer. That was enough incentive for Gnarly to grab her wrist and pull her along to his hiding-bush. “What’s going on, what are you--”

“SHHHHHHH!” Gnarly’s hand came flying at her face, but Thorn was quick enough to dodge it before he could cover her mouth. Still, her friend took advantage of her ducking to pull her down into the foliage and out of sight… mostly.

“Gnarly!” Thorn hissed, tearing her hand away to wipe the twigs and mud from her knees. “What’s wrong with you?!”

In response, he looked her dead in the eyes and said, “I think Prim’s mind-controlling me.”

Thorn blinked. Opened her mouth then closed it. Blinked again. “What.”

Gnarly peeked through the leaves, violet eyes swiveling back and forth as he looked out for any eavesdroppers as Thorn sat there, struggling to understand what she just heard. Giving one last glare at a nearby tree and making a hand gesture to show that he was keeping an eye on it, Gnarly settled back into the bush and faced Thorn again. “Mind-control. I’m sure of it.”

Thorn’s first instinct was to shove him away and leave, maybe get on Gnarly’s case for wasting her time and dragging her into a bush against her will, but she bit that urge back as her learned lesson came back to her.

Right. Compassion. Patience. 

Feelings.  

All that good stuff.

“What makes you say that?” she asked, the words coming out slow and careful in an attempt to not sound dismissive. Her effort seemed to work, as Gnarly seemed to brighten at the prospect of someone listening to him.

“It’s gonna sound crazy, but hear me out.” The echidna took a secondary sweeping look around for intruders before leaning in closer to whisper in Thorn’s ear. “When she’s around, I wanna do stupid things. Really, really stupid things! Like crunchin' rocks with my teeth or wrestlin’ one of them giant snakes.”

Thorn shuddered as memories came back to her of Gnarly painfully picking gravel out of his mouth, and of her bashing up a scaly spine with her hammer until her friend was heaved out.

“And here’s the thing,” Gnarly continued, his whispers growing more intense as he got deeper into his theory, “it only happens when she’s around! When I’m hanging around with you or Mangey or Hangry this stuff doesn’t happen, but the instant she flies in then bam!” Gnarly smacked the side of his fist against the ground for emphasis, leaving a small indent in the soil that he quickly patted down around the edges, hissing out a small apology before leaning back. A twig from the bush caught on his hat, pushing it forward so that it covered his eyes as he continued. “So yeah. Pretty sure it’s mind-control. Watch out for Prim, ‘cause you might be next.”

Thorn frowned, processing what she had just heard. It was true that Gnarly was getting into more ridiculous escapades as of late, but she had just assumed it was because he was bored or something. Not because of Prim, and definitely not because of mind-control. Even now, ‘mind-control’ was pretty low on her list of possibilities when it came to Gnarly’s situation.

‘Feelings’ really were coming up again and again, weren’t they?

“Gnarly, I think that--”

She was cut off as her friend jumped out of the bush and started darting through the trees. “Don’t worry!” he called over his shoulder, apparently having forgotten his poor attempts at stealth. “I’m gonna tell the others! Just remember what I said, and look out for yourself!”

“Wait!” Thorn called out, trying to pull herself out of the bush, but twigs kept catching at her hair and clothes, pulling her in every direction until she lost balance and fell with an ungraceful thud on her back with her legs still caught in the foliage. Thorn blew some strands of hair out of her mouth and away from her face as she stared at the sky between the trees in irritation. “So much for that…”

All the same, she was pretty sure she knew why Gnarly was acting the way he was, and it wasn’t because of mind-control.

It seemed like it was time to talk it over with Prim…

Prim approached Thorn with a grin and two small wooden cups which let out peals of steam as she walked along. The girls had decided to chat in the still-recovering part of the jungle that the Scavengers had destroyed, because as much as Thorn hated the sight of it and as guilty as Prim felt about it, they both had to admit, tree stumps made for excellent chairs.

“Here.” Prim handed one of the cups to Thorn; the steam wafted delicately up to her nose, filling it with an earthy and interesting smell. It wasn’t bad, per se, but it wasn’t familiar. “If living in the canopy of the Boscage Maze has taught me anything, it’s that bark works for food in some capacity. Namely, tea.”

Thorn hummed, still not convinced that it would measure up to tea made of leaves, flowers or herbs 一 it would take a while, if ever, for her to acquire any sort of taste for bark 一 but she figured she would at least give it a try when it had cooled down a bit. She didn’t want to burn her tongue before she even started talking.

“So,” Prim started, taking a seat next to her on the stump and taking a burning sip of her own drink 一 Thorn had no idea how she could stand it 一 and said, “you needed to talk to me?”

The hedgehog rotated her cup between her hands, wondering how to approach it. “Yes. Gnarly told me something… interesting today.”

Prim’s ear twitched, though Thorn couldn’t quite tell if it was from interest or irritation. “Did he now?”

Thorn frowned. There really wasn’t much point in dancing around things, was there? “He thinks you’re mind-controlling him to do the stupid things he’s been doing.”

Belatedly, she felt a bit bad that she had told on her friend so quickly and easily, but frankly they needed to address the issue for the sake of his safety and the group’s sanity.

Prim groaned, clearly annoyed this time as she set her drink aside and rubbed at her temples. When she didn’t speak, Thorn decided to continue. “I think it’s because--”

“Oh, I know why.”

Thorn cocked her head, looking over as Prim shifted to sit upright, a dry smile on her face. “You do?”

“Yeah. But really, can you blame him?” she asked, throwing a grin and wink Thorn’s way. “I’m pretty amazing.”

Thorn rolled her eyes, but smiled as she elbowed the bat in the arm, and both giggled as the sound of Flickies flying past fluttered in their ears, followed by the sound of rapid footfalls. They turned toward the noise, and it only took a few seconds before Gnarly dashed into the clearing, skidding to a halt and looking at Thorn in horror.

The stab of guilt hit harder than she had expected, and Thorn took a sip of bark tea to avoid meeting his gaze. Pain instantly blossomed on her lips before the liquid could even enter her mouth, and she fought the urge to toss the cup away.

Damn, that's still too hot!

“She got you, too,” Gnarly hissed, his posture tense and ready to spring into a fight, but the instant he turned to look at Prim, still sitting on the stump with one leg folded elegantly over the other, his brain seemed to skid to a halt. Thorn lowered her cup to her lap and watched, fascinated, as Gnarly effectively went from hostile to docile in seconds.

Yep. That proved it. Gnarly had it bad for Prim.

“Did you need something?” Prim challenged, calmly picking her tea back up and taking another long sip. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”

Gnarly’s mouth moved but no sound came out. Thorn had never seen him so off before… and, she had to admit, it did kind of look like mind-control to her.

Just a bit.

Eventually Gnarly found his tongue again and he said, “I betcha I can jump from that tree to that one.” His thorn-covered glove raised, pointing from the tree next to him, then to another tree far across the way, on the other side of the ruined clearing entirely.

Thorn balked at the impossibility of his claim, slamming her cup down on the stump next to her. “Are you stupid?!” she hissed. “You’ll fall and break every bone in your body, and I’m not gonna be the one to nurse you back to health!”

“Ditto for me,” Prim agreed, but Gnarly seemed determined in his newest goal, already running towards the tree and scaling it with considerable ease that had Thorn’s stomach clench in worry. She turned to the bat next to her, hissing, “Get him! He’ll get seriously hurt if he tries this!”

Prim’s mouth set itself into a displeased line, but she stood up and opened her wings, flapping them a few times before taking to the air and flying towards the foolish echidna, who had already reached his branch of choice.

“Gnarly, I swear, if you jump--”

Gnarly jumped. 

Thorn felt her heart stop in her chest and her fists tighten as Prim made a beeline for where he was sure to fall…

…but to everyone’s surprise 一 especially Gnarly’s 一 he stayed in the air, steadily gliding across the clearing. Prim stopped in midair, hovering, and Thorn got to her feet, watching in amazement as reality itself seemed to shrug its shoulders and allow yet another one of their wingless friends to stay airborne.

“I can fly?!” Gnarly cried out, confusion etched onto his face in a moment of absolute clarity. His arms dropped down as he processed this new development… but, unfortunately for him, that seemed to be the motion that broke whatever magic was going on at the moment, because the instant he did, he started hurtling towards the ground with a yell, his limbs flailing in panic.

Thorn rushed towards him from below, and Prim zoomed down from above; Gnarly was making a beeline straight down into one of the puddles of gunk that dotted the clearing, and Thorn could only hope that it would soften his fall if they didn’t get to him in time. A wild thought came to her and she reached for her hammer, instinct telling her that if she whacked him back into the sky, he would fall into the leaves of the canopy relatively unharmed, but right after she got it in hand, she realized that so much upward force after a plummet that intense would probably shatter his bones much worse than the fall itself. 

Thorn grimaced, preparing to throw her hammer aside, but luckily for everyone, Prim managed to streak across the clearing fast enough to catch Gnarly by the hand before he hit the ground.

“Gotcha,” she grunted, keeping her wings spread as far as possible as the added weight and force had them both still heading towards the ground, though at a much less dangerous velocity. A few strong beats of her wings also had them land a few feet away from the puddle, and onto a patch of dead grass instead. Gnarly, still in shock, stumbled a bit as his feet touched the ground, and Prim steadied him with her other hand bracing his shoulder.

“First Mangey, now you,” she griped as Gnarly suddenly seemed to focus intensely on the fact that she was touching him with not just one, but both hands. “Are there any other secret fliers in our group that I should know about?”

She punctuated her question with a glance at Thorn, who shrugged. She could only fly with Birdy’s help as far as she knew, and she could definitely send people flying with her hammer, but she was pretty sure that didn’t count.

Prim redirected her attention to Gnarly, who was staring down at their joined hands like he couldn’t entirely believe what he was seeing. “It was a pretty impressive first flight, all things considered. Your landing could use some work, though.” Her other hand lifted from his shoulder and patted his cheek, redirecting his gaze up to her face. “Maybe I should teach you some better landing techniques sometime?”

Even from her spot halfway across the clearing, there was no way Thorn could miss the way Gnarly’s jaw went slack or the way his eyes dilated.

Prim smirked as she let go of his hand, giving his cheek one final pat before she walked away, heading back to Thorn, leaving the echidna frozen in place behind her. Once she reached Thorn, her hand went to Thorn’s back, between her shoulders, guiding her back to the stump where their cups still sat in wait, significantly less steamy than before.

“You’re gonna make him worse if you keep playing around like that,” Thorn whispered, glancing backwards; Gnarly was still standing in the same spot, mouth still open and eyes still staring into space.

Prim chuckled. “I know what I’m doing.”

Thorn’s mouth quirked. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe a few flying lessons with you will have him so scared of you that he’ll stop acting up.”

That got a real laugh out of Prim, and Thorn felt a glimmer of satisfaction. “Don’t be so cruel, Thorny,” she returned in good humor, pushing her back down onto the stump. “Now shut up and drink your tea.”

Thorn rolled her eyes and picked her cup back up, blowing on the liquid before taking a sip.

It tasted awful, just as she expected, but she kept drinking it anyway. After all, if anything could be learned from today, it was that feelings could make people do dumb things for the people they cared about.

Chapter Text

The world was so dark, now that he had lost everything.

Nearly a week at sea, clinging to a lump of debris from his sunken ship and surviving off a meager handful of apples he had stored in his coat. A week of kicking away from those rocks, away from the site of his shame, away from that ultimate treasure, never to be in his grasp.

No, all he had now was the sound of seagulls, waves, and the echoes of mutiny in his ears.

He hadn’t died, no, he was too stubborn for that. A week at sea, a handful of apples, and endless perseverance led him to one of the rare inhabited crops of land, and a decently-sized one to boot, complete with farmland and a shipyard. Dread had stumbled his way up the beach, his head swimming and his eyes seeing double until he staggered into the first pub he could find for some fresh, clean water and his first hearty meal in far too long.

The first pub was an old-looking establishment, settled into the town like it had been there since the beginning. The Crow’s Nest. As in, the highest point of the mainmast.

He had been too high and mighty above the rest, too above it all to look down to his crew and see what they were seeing, to understand what they were fearing. He could only look upwards, at his precious Lighthouse, until it tipped him over and dragged him under.

He dropped some gold on the counter when he left. It didn’t matter anymore, he didn’t need the money.

It wasn’t like he was a captain anymore.

The second pub was like a solid punch to the jaw. On The Rocks. 

Just like where he had ended up with his ship…

He had gone inside anyway, and ordered some of the strongest drinks they had. He had lost everything, and now he was caught between self-flagellation and the desire to forget everything.

After swilling down copious amounts of rum and grog, he managed to fail at either one, neither forgetting the shameful failure and mutiny, nor giving himself the complete blackout or the painful yet distracting headache he was hoping for. His head spun terribly as he left yet more money on the counter, the waves in his head and stomach crashing like he was still on the rocks around the Lighthouse, his stumbling steps every bit as precarious as a ship heading hopelessly towards a wreck.

And now he was here, on the third and maybe final stop of his impromptu and impulsive pub crawl; according to the locals, the Lone Palm was known for lighter, more festive drinks, usually made with coconut milk. Dread squinted at the board outside; it advertised something called the Siren's Song , and Dread, with his head pounding and his mind screaming, was ready to try anything that would either make him start to feel better, or make him keel over.

The pub was crowded near the doorway, with a sea of people elbowing each other away for a bit more breathing room or shoving each other aside for workers to walk through with their drinks that they ordered. Dread squinted in the dim light; people seemed to be clamoring around some sort of stage, but the space around the bar seemed relatively open in comparison.

He made a beeline for the first open seat he could find, settling himself down and waving for the closest barmaid's attention. Two were tending the bar; the one nearest to him looked over as he waved and gave him a small nod of acknowledgement, finishing up a drink two spots over while Dread slumped in his seat and put a hand to his head.

Dizzy… He was so dizzy…

“Looks like yer down on yer luck, boy.”

The barmaid was in front of him now, a short old dog with curly black fur, heavily grayed with age. She looked at him expectantly as Dread struggled to remember what he had seen outside.

“Just get me a--”

“Mouth where I can see it, lad, I can’t hear you.”

As if to demonstrate, she snapped her fingers right next to her ear, and Dread got the picture. Sitting up straighter in his seat was a challenge, but with a couple of deep breaths his head started to clear. “The sign outside mentioned a Siren’s Song?”

The barmaid let out a short bark of laughter. “Not for another twenty minutes or so! Didn’t ye come ‘ere for a drink?”

Dread blinked, his face screwed up in confusion. “It’s not a drink?”

The dog shook her head. “You’ll see. In the meantime, I know what’ll help ya.”

Dread couldn’t get another word in before she turned away, starting to put together a drink with calm precision that told of years of experience. The ex-captain just watched in a dizzy stupor as she mixed his mystery drink, poured it into a glass, and slid it towards him. “This should have ya feelin’ right again,” she claimed, gesturing at him to take a sip, and with a sigh, Dread obliged.

It was certainly tastier than the drinks in the last pub; the soft sweetness of the coconut went down easily, yet the mild spiciness invigorated him. After a second thoughtful sip, Dread noticed that his head was spinning less, the dizziness subsiding to a much more enjoyable buzz.

“Good, huh?”

He set down his drink, feeling pleasantly warm and calmer than before. “Aye, you weren’t lyin’.”

She grinned at him, flashing a smile with a few missing teeth. “Glad to hear it. Can never go wrong with an Angel’s Voyage.” She thrust out her hand at him, wiggling her fingers in a way that demanded payment, and Dread, somewhat amused by her, handed over yet another bit of coin that day.

Angel’s Voyage… It didn’t taste as heavenly as the name would imply, but so far the drink had worked one miracle by eradicating his headache, so who was he to judge?

As soon as his hands went back around his drink, the barmaid stepped back and turned to the side where her co-worker was sliding over a drink of her own, and whistled loudly to get her attention. Dread snarled, the loud noise grating on his eardrums, but the dog seemed not to mind or notice as the other barmaid turned to face her. “Oi Batten, I’ll be takin’ me ten now, before yer show starts, aye?”

“Aye, aye…” 

The dog shuffled off, leaving the other barmaid alone to handle the rest of the lot at the bar. Dread, content with his drink, took slow sips as his eyes roamed the colorful glass bottles behind the bar, listening to the din of the room as people seemed to only get rowdier and more excited.

The other barmaid passed him by, heading for a few abandoned glasses on the countertop. Dread caught a glimpse of white hair pulled back with a clip, large black wings, and plum-colored eyeshadow framing blue eyes that seemed to glow in the pub’s ambient lighting.

Dread felt his heart stop for a moment, his drink nearly slipping from his grasp as a tidal wave of emotion crashed down on him, leaving him cold and shaking. Those eyes… that glowing blue that pierced through the darkness, just barely out of his reach… the same beautiful and terrible sheen as his cursed Lighthouse!

A week at sea and an afternoon on land and more liquor than he was prepared to handle loosened his tongue, and the words fell out without his permission.

“My beauty…”

A large, white ear flicked sharply in his direction, and Dread nearly bit his tongue as he realized his internal monologue didn’t stay internal this time around. The barmaid’s face came into focus as she stalked towards him, her wings spread out as a threat, and Dread’s pleasant buzz started to feel more like a liability as the bat seemed to move ten times quicker than he could. In the blink of an eye, those eyes were before him, narrowed in intimidation…

…and then wide in shock and then, strangely enough, sparkling in delight.

Hm. Maybe he did have too much to drink.

The maid’s face was closer now, and Dread registered long eyelashes and pink lips just moments before her words reached him.

“You’re Captain Dread!”

Dread blinked, staring in surprise as the pretty lass before him braced her hands on the countertop, practically beside herself with excitement. His red locks were worn from the sun and his clothes washed out by the sea, his captain’s hat was long gone and his body was weakened and strained; there was next to nothing that made him recognizable by this point, and none so far on this island had been able to identify him, regardless of the island’s large population and his widespread reputation as the most feared pirate on the seas.

So why had this woman been able to pick him out?

“I can’t believe it, the Captain Dread is at my bar, oh, this is the greatest day of my life!” She leaned in closer, and suddenly all Dread could smell was the nostalgic scent of the sea. “Tell me, is it true that ye clobbered Long Hog Silver by breakin’ off his mainmast and bashin’ him down from the sky?”

A rush of nostalgia and pride ran through the ex-captain's veins. “Aye.” That had been one of his earliest feats that had launched him into notoriety. People never really could tell what was real and what was made up when it came to his sparking legend.

Though, that legend was over now.

The bat didn’t seem to realize or care as her wings fluttered in glee, nearly knocking over the drinks of the people sitting next to Dread. “I knew it!” she declared. “Sails didn’t think it was possible, but I knew it, Captain, I knew you were that strong.” She leaned even closer, and those eyes seemed to glow brighter, drawing him in. “And is it true that ye cleaved his first mate to the brisket?”

He was tempted to say ‘aye’ again, but the truth fell from his lips instead.

“No, she nearly set me aflame when I went for me sword.”

The barmaid’s ears drooped. “Shit, then I be owin’ Black Rose…” She pouted, and Dread felt compelled to keep talking.

“It didn’t matter. I took what I wanted from them.”

Just like that, the bat brightened up again. “Right, right… The Sunstone. Some say it was the first big prize of your collection, but that’s not right, is it? You captured the Ghost Ruby from Scabb Island first, didn’t ye? Before the embargo?”

Dread nodded, impressed. “Ye know your stuff, lass.”

She grinned at him. “Let’s just say, my friends and I are pretty big fans. So!” She leaned back, looking around, and Dread felt some of his clarity of mind return to him. “Where’s the rest of yer crew? Ol’ Jack an’ Bones an’--”

Dread’s fist slammed down on the counter, nearly breaking it. “I have no crew,” Dread growled as rage consumed him, strong enough to break through his drunken buzz as well as whatever… thing had come over him the instant he had first caught sight of the barmaid’s eyes. “And don’t ye dare ever speak the names of those traitors in front of me again.”

The barmaid looked stunned, then crossed her arms under her bust and huffed. “If ye be callin’ them traitors, then I say they’re not good enough for ye, Captain. Good riddance!”

Then, those blue eyes were in front of him again, getting closer and closer and demanding every ounce of Dread’s attention. “And if they ever set foot in front o’ me, Captain, ye better believe I’ll make sure they don’t leave without losing a few-- Ah, shit!”

Dread heard the sound of glass hitting wood and felt a cold wetness seeping into his gloves in the split second before the bat jumped backwards; in her eagerness to speak to him, she had knocked over his drink, and the spill was spreading over the countertop. Dread lifted his hands, shaking the drink off of them, feeling the most awake he had in days as the maid rushed to set the glass back upright and wipe up the spill, muttering curses under her breath that had him making a few double-takes.

What was with this strange woman? And why were none of the other patrons bothering to call out to her? Dread could see several others around him with empty glasses and looks of impatience, but not one of them opened their mouths to complain. In all his life, Dread had only ever seen the opposite experience in pubs like this.

What's going on here?

“Here, I’ll make ye a new one on the house. It was an Angel’s Voyage, aye? Good taste.”

And just like that she was gone, mixing together a new drink, though not nearly as fast or as precise as the barmaid before her had done. All the same, Dread could see the focus in her eyes as she put her all into making his drink. As she finished it up and slid it towards him, he could see the nerves break through her confident facade, watching a bead of sweat slide down her forehead as he took an experimental sip.

Hm. Definitely not the same, but certainly not bad.

“It’s good,” he remarked, and her eyes lit up and her grin widened and her wings did that fluttering thing again that had Dread’s stomach do something similar, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t from the drink.

“So,” she said, leaning against the counter again, making sure not to lean too far forward this time, “what brings you here? Not that I’m complainin’, mind you, but--”

“Oi Batten, ya crazy lass, you ignorin’ the customers again?”

The dog was back, looking at Batten with a calm, knowing glance as the bat shoved herself away from the counter.

“Awe, come on! Look, it’s the Dread!” she exclaimed, gesturing towards him.

The dog glanced over at him, faint recognition giving way to amusement. “Ye don’t say…Then ye had best be gettin’ ready to give yer all for this show, yeah?”

The bat groaned, crossing her arms, looking over her shoulder at the stage. Dread’s fuzzy head started putting things together.

Is she going to perform something?

“Fine, fine,” Batten conceded, raising both her hands in mock surrender. “But only because I promised I would.”

The dog laughed as she pushed past Batten, reclaiming her spot at the bar. “That’s a load o’ crock, we all know ye love to show off.”

Batten turned up her nose and swiveled away from her co-worker. Her eyes met Dread’s again and he saw a flash pass through those brilliant blues. Her smile returned, bordering on the edge of dangerous. “You’ll stay a little longer, won’t you?” she cooed to him, and something in her tone made him not want to refuse. She didn’t even wait for an answer, flapping her wings, narrowly missing bottles and glasses while she didn’t even bat an eye, floating up into the air and soaring over the crowd. Dread followed her with his eyes, and it seemed as though everyone around him did as well, and the bustling crowd around the stage grew rowdier as the palpable feeling of excitement grew in the air, strong enough to double anyone’s intoxication.

“I keep tellin’ ‘er not to do that,” the dog grumbled. Dread turned back around to the other barmaid, grabbing his drink and finishing it off while his head buzzed with new thoughts and confusions. A snicker caught his attention; the dog behind the counter was giving him another toothy grin. “Big fan o’ yours, Batten and her crew,” she said airily as she wiped a glass clean with a rag. “Every time one o’ them comes in here, they be talkin’ about the latest adventures of the Mighty Captain Knuckles the Dread. Talkin’ so much, it makes me glad I went deaf.” She let out another bark of laughter, followed by a very nonchalant, “No offense, lad.”

Dread’s head was still buzzing, and he couldn’t tell if he cared or was angry or if he found all this funny. Nothing felt entirely real, and the world still felt dark without his treasure or his crew, guilt and disappointment and betrayal pressing down on him so harshly that he couldn’t tell if fighting was worth it.

Even his Angel’s Voyage wasn’t quite helping like it had before.

“Enjoyed that one, yeah?” The dog didn’t seem to grasp his inner turmoil, or how blindsided he had been by the strange and thrilling interaction he had just had, or how empty he felt now that it was over. “It’s like a rule here. Can’t be hearing the Siren’s Song for the first time without an Angel’s Voyage to keep ye tethered.”

Hear it? “So the Siren’s Song is--”

“O’ course, I’ve never had that problem,” the dog continued, not seeming to have noticed that he had said anything, her eyes focused on her glass. She seemed to be talking to him freely now that everyone around them was entirely focused on the stage, where musicians were beginning to gather and prepare. “Bein’ deaf an’ all. Never fallen under her spell, an’ boy am I glad fer it!” Another bark of laughter as Dread’s stomach clenched unpleasantly. “Don’t even want to know what goes through all yer heads when she sings!”

Alarm bells rang in his head as Dread set down his glass on the counter and whipped his head around, looking desperately for an exit, but there was only the one entrance where people were still pushing their way inside. The Lone Palm was swarmed with patrons now, and Dread was trapped at the bar, his inhibitions lowered and, if he understood things correctly, about to hear a song that would put him at the total mercy of a fan of his.

What have I gotten myself into?

Music started playing, heavy notes and percussion breaking through the din of people shouting and screaming, silencing them immediately. Dread could feel the music reverberating in his bones, his heart changing tempo to match with every beat. He stared down at the wood grain of the countertop, willing himself not to turn around, not to be caught in a siren’s spell.

What else could he do? Right! He could cover his ears, that should hopefully block out the worst of--

The first breathy notes of vocalization washed over him like a caress before the thought had even finished processing in his head, and Dread felt like a cascade of warm water had been poured down his back. The melody continued, highlighted starkly against the heavy background music, sweet and enticing and Dread, knowing he was caught, did not fight the impulse to turn around.

Batten stood center stage, her eyes closed as she projected her voice across the room, warming up with notes that ranged high and low, showing off an impressive range and amount of vocal skill. Her hair was free from its clip, white tresses falling to graze her shoulders, and her bar apron was gone, revealing the black, white and golden buccaneer’s outfit underneath. Dread sucked in a breath, realizing that he hadn’t breathed in since he had heard the first note. He glanced around him; most people were staring, silent and hypnotized, while he still seemed to have some of his wits about him. The faint aftertaste of coconut in his mouth had him wondering if the Angel’s Voyage really was something to help him retain his clarity during the Siren’s Song…

…and then, Batten opened her eyes, brilliant, inviting, piercing, undoubtedly glowing, clearly magical, and suddenly reality seemed to fray at the edges as Dread’s world shrunk to one cramped, dingy room that housed himself and an enchanting singer.

Her song grew more complex, still a tune of sweet, breathy notes against a rougher background, but now Dread felt like he was drowning in the song, and he didn’t want to fight back. The beat cradled him as her melody drew him along, claiming every last bit of his focus. He heard harmonies that took his breath away and had his heart beating faster, but there were no other singers on the stage.

Was she harmonizing with herself, somehow? Was this the power of a siren?

It didn’t really matter in the end, because notes turned into lyrics, and even though Dread couldn’t understand the language, he didn’t need to, for he knew that sirens only ever sing about desire.

And desire it was that sparked within him, both basic and complex, simple and abstract. The ex-captain’s brain was flooded by the sight and song of this beautiful woman with eyes that shone like his terrible Devil’s Lighthouse; the need to get closer and to push away warred within him, just as it had one week ago when he had to choose between finishing his treasure hunt or fighting for his own survival. Everything in him urged him to get closer, to reach out and take what he wanted, his magnificent treasure that was only a few obstacles away, waiting for him to come to her…

…but he had just been through this, the trauma still fresh, and fear cut through the spell, paralyzing him in place instead. The pub was the sea and the people gathered were the rocks, the stage was the island and Batten was the Lighthouse, all too familiar yet still so very tantalizing. Dread was disarmed, weak from his time adrift and inhibited from drink and vulnerable from the heavenly song that rang in his ears like the answers of the universe.

She was looking right at him. He was very sure of it.

He didn’t look away and she smiled into her song, her inexplicable harmonies floating through the air like an equally unlikely breeze. The glow of her eyes grew brighter, swallowing him like the sun as everything else in the room seemed to disappear. There were no other patrons, no glasses or bottles, no other barmaid, just him and the softly singing bat who seemed to be closer than before.

Closer… closer… Dread was weaving through rocks, no, through people, people in his bid to get towards his treasure, towards the siren, treasure? siren? treasure? siren? as the ship rocked in the breeze or maybe it was just his own stumbling feet in the beat of the song but it was a second chance, a second chance and he was all alone this time, no one to lose, nothing to lose, everything to gain, everything, everything, everything!

She was right in front of him, now. They were in the middle of the rocks, and she had left the island behind. His heart’s desire, his lost treasure, his Lighthouse was right in front of him, meeting him halfway, filling his dark, empty world with light. A hand slipped into his and he didn’t ask why. The sea parted for them as the winds sang like a chorus from the heavens, too wondrous to ignore or disobey. Their escape was guaranteed, and the last thing Dread was aware of before the doors of the Lone Palm closed behind him was the sound of the dog laughing again.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Batten said, not sounding sorry at all as she pulled him along by the hand through the town. The further away they got from the pub, the clearer Dread’s head became as the song’s spell faded from his mind. “Probably gonna lose me job for this stint, but I’m not worried. I’ve worked at more pubs than I can count, anywhere that can say they have the Siren’s Song is guaranteed extra money for as long as they have me.” She looked back at him with a grin, and in the natural light from the fading sun, her eyes were greener, closer to the color of the sea than of his accursed Lighthouse.

Was he disappointed? Relieved? Maybe angry that she had run off with him without his permission? 

Dread was too exhausted and tipsy to tell.

“Besides,” she barrelled on, towing him towards the shipyard, “the others would take me wings and make boots from ‘em if they knew that I met the Captain Dread and didn’t introduce them!”

The magic had certainly faded by this point, and Dread found his tongue. “So, ye be a siren?”

Batten hummed a little bit, the familiar sound setting Dread’s hair on end in a way that was both enjoyable and unsettling. “Only a little. Me dad was half-siren. If I were like him, you would still be under.” She smirked at him, eyes twinkling with mischief. “And if I were the real thing, you’d be dead.”

It occurred to Dread at this point that this woman might be a bit mad in the head, followed immediately by the realization that he didn’t seem to care all that much.

“Still, my song is pretty powerful if I do say so myself.” She puffed out her chest with pride, and Dread, feeling like he was on the verge of a new opportunity, decided to see what he could do with it.

“You aren’t kiddin’, I haven’t seen magic that powerful in years, and you know I’ve seen my fair share.”

The bat’s wings fluttered and her eyes glowed blue again for a split second, and Dread knew that this was someone he needed to keep on his side. He decided to keep her talking, coaxing her to tell him more about her friends as she kept pulling him towards the shipyard, and Batten was all too eager to do so.

Sails worked in shipbuilding. Catfish worked at a restaurant as a food prep cook, though he loved to play music in his spare time. Black Rose worked in event planning and was the most organized person Batten knew.

In other words… a decent potential crew.

A decent potential crew who all were fans of his and would most certainly jump at the chance to join him… 

Dread was torn, his mind still muddled from exhaustion and drink and song. Should he follow the urge to go back to his old ways? Or should he avoid pirating ever again altogether? One way or another, he knew that he would end up back on the seas… he was never meant to be a landlubber.

But what kind of captain would he be? What kind of captain could he afford to be?

“I know ye’ve had some drink already today,” Batten continued as their destination came into view, where a yellow fox was flying up above, hammering supports into a ship’s mizzenmast, “but one thing you'll learn about me and me friends is that we know how to party! And meeting you is definitely a good reason to party.”

“Party, you say…”

Well, if it kept them happy and stopped them from asking too many questions, then maybe…

“...I just so happen to love parties.”

Chapter Text

There were no trees underground.

It was a fairly obvious statement, one that hardly anyone would give a second thought about, but the reality of it slammed into Rebel as the hard truth of her new way of life became apparent to her.

There were no trees underground. No trees, just loose rocks and a barren bunker without even a scrap of twisted metal near the ceiling.

Nowhere for her to hang from and sleep.

One of her simplest comforts, always taken for granted, had been ripped away from her in the blink of an eye.

The unwelcome tears gathered on her lashes, harshly brushed away the next second, only to be replaced by more. Rebel refused to cry over this, of all things, but oh, knowing that her life for the foreseeable future was stuck in this room, building from the ground up, unable to sleep the way she always had… maybe it was a little too much. Just a drop more loss than she knew how to handle.

But she had to stay strong. She needed to for Renegade, who was already one step away from giving up entirely.

She mirrored him, gritting her teeth as she lied down on the hard, cold, dirty concrete floor of the bunker, trying her hardest to get comfortable. Yet her head was pressed against the solid, unyielding ground, and her movements were restricted to unpleasant rolling around, prone and vulnerable, and sleep seemed near impossible as her eyes refused to stay closed.

She found herself frowning, straining, still refusing to cry lest it awoke her companion, her final connection in this cruel, soulless city. Rolling fully over, she wrapped her wings tightly around herself and sighed in relief as the familiar pressure managed to soothe her.

Day by day, she reminded herself as she willed sleep to come to her. Just take it day by day.

Eventually, trees did make it underground, or at least, one did.

The palm was precious, delicate, a living, breathing reminder of a world razed to the ground and buried under concrete. The palm was for them to keep safe, a reminder to keep fighting until the end.

It was also something that Rebel could not sleep on, no matter how much she wanted to. Life could be cruel like that, but as she lay down again on the cold, dusty floor and swaddled herself in her own wings, she took some comfort in knowing that, at the very least, she was used to sleeping on the ground now. Comfort would come with victory, and victory with time.

So long as she had her wings, she could make it through the night.

In the blinding neon, Rebel screamed, the sickening sound of her body impacting on the asphalt playing over and over in her skull like a broken announcement drone reminding everyone that hope was dead and lost. Movement was agony; her wing was on fire, it had to be, because there was no pain in existence that burned that badly, like flame and acid and destruction pressed into the skin, piercing down into bone.

Her throat burned, bile rising and stinging as her wing threatened to disintegrate, her ears ringing with the sound of her own screams and the frantic footfalls of her partner. She felt his hands on her, but the moment he shifted her so much as an inch, she drowned in pain and panic, her eyesight swimming in tears and artificial light.

Red, she saw red, familiar red and then nothing else as she passed out from the pain.

A broken wing. That was all.

She knew, relatively, that she was lucky. Even in Hell, one could be lucky.

Unfortunately, she was still in Hell.

Nails threatened to rip out of her gloves as she held onto Renegade’s shoulder for dear life. He had bandaged and bound her wing as best as he could manage, bless him, but he wasn’t exactly known for his soft touch. He was like a stone, chipped but still whole, every scar telling a story that had knocked him over but not kept him down.

Rebel… she wasn’t a delicate flower by any means, but she most certainly didn’t have the pain tolerance or miraculous good luck with healing that her partner did.

“Is that okay?” he asked, his voice uncertain and paying no mind to how her fingers were threatening to rip his arm from its socket.

No. I don’t know if anything will ever be okay again.

“It’ll be fine,” she grunted through clenched teeth, because how could she say that to him? How could she let the only other person of her movement know that she had doubts in her heart?

She bit back a scream as Renegade helped her lie back down; the man had gone and collected every pillow and blanket and spare bit of cushioning that they had scavenged over the course of their scouting and recon missions over New Yolk, all in an attempt to make a makeshift bed for her while she healed. As Rebel’s back pressed down into uneven cushioned lumps and her wing felt like it was on fire all over again, she grit her teeth and tried to be grateful.

She really, really tried.

“Wish I had some sorta painkiller to give ya,” Renegade muttered under his breath, and Rebel forced herself to smile through the agony as her heart broke.

“Don’t worry about me,” she reassured him, struggling to keep her voice even as her wing throbbed. “Get some sleep, we’ll figure out our next steps tomorrow.”

Purple eyes narrowed, glaring at her, unconvinced, and it took every shred of willpower in Rebel’s being to match his gaze with her own, a faux-confident smile plastered on her face. She couldn’t allow him to lose faith in her, not now, not so early in their rebellion. If Renegade lost what little hope he had and walked out on her, then…

Rebel pushed that unhelpful train of thought from her mind, flashing him a million-watt grin and slowly batting her eyelashes in a last-ditch attempt to win him over. The echidna blinked and averted his eyes, his face reddening, and Rebel finally let herself relax.

She had won this round. Her old tactics of swaying people, even if useless on the drones and bots of New Yolk, seemed to still have their uses. Perhaps she could use them to her advantage when recruiting people to their cause--

“Alright,” Renegade said with a defeated sigh, pulling her out of her overzealous planning and placing her back in her current awful situation. He scratched at the back of his head, as though he was looking for something else to say, but to Rebel’s relief, he seemed to give up and walked away from her, mumbling a soft, “Night…” before he got out of earshot.

And as soon as he was, Rebel let her mask fall as the pain in her body and heart and mind tore at her from all sides.

I can’t believe I let myself get hurt like that, what an idiot!

Everything was riding on me! How could I drop the ball so early? What kind of resistance leader falls that quickly?

Did I seriously just try to manipulate him? Did I seriously think of manipulating others right after? 

This isn’t treasure hunting in Green Hill, this is war! Why should I care?

Should I care?

What should I care about? What can I afford to care about?

I’m terrible. I’m terrible. I’m terrible, awful, a failure, just the absolute damn worst--

Rebel smacked herself lightly on the cheek, rubbing the sting away once she was more tethered in the moment. Usually when her mind grew too loud or played tricks on her, that was her cue to fly around a bit and clear her head, but, as the searing pain in her back and shoulder reminded her, she was grounded for upwards of six weeks.

Six weeks… Oh gods why was it now fully hitting her that she was out of commission for six entire weeks or longer?  

This was only the first night. This was only within the first five minutes of the first night.

Six weeks of Hell.

Her breaths came in shallow as her throat closed up, but Rebel refused to cry. Even if her wings were ripped clean off, she couldn’t afford to cry or break. She had to stay strong, strong, strong, strong, strong, strong, strong…

…strong…

…

Her healthy wing draped over her front, a mild amount of grounding pressure, but the other one couldn’t be moved even if she wanted to. Even her one last nighttime comfort had been taken from her.

Her throat tightened even more, her eyes prickled with building tears, and her lungs filled with more and more anguish until the first sob trickled through without permission.

Another followed. Another. And another as Rebel found that she couldn’t be strong anymore.

Why? she wondered as her body shook with pain and sadness and fear. Why do I have to feel?

And as though to answer her and rub salt in her wounds, she heard a familiar set of footfalls approach her.

Don’t. Please. I don’t want you to see me like this.

But the tears didn’t stop, nor the pain, and Rebel tilted her face away from her partner in a last-ditch effort to hide her shame. She felt the pillows shift, the blankets lift, and an arm wrap over her middle, careful to avoid her injured wing. His forehead rested against the side of her head, his muzzle pressing into her neck and shoulder, and his body was warm and solid against her side, not fixing the pain in her mind or body but soothing the screaming fears in her heart, the fears that told her she was worthless without her wings and her strength and her unshakable confidence.

“I uh… couldn’t sleep without a blanket, so…”

He was such a terrible liar. A true smile shone through her tears.

“...Okay Knucks.”

Renegade exhaled, his breath warming up her neck, and Rebel closed her eyes, letting her tears fall with the occasional sob, the arm of her right hand man tethering her to reality and all of its ups and downs as she slowly made her way to sleep.