Chapter Text
Surrender
Lucawindmover
Chapter One
Beautiful Pain
“Today everything we thought will change.” Lawless “Descent”
In Pac’s mind, it all started by accident with a drop of blood.
His blue hoodie, hands, and cheeks were splattered with the substance as he scrambled to clean up the broken glass bottle of blood he’d knocked to the floor with his elbow. He’d been surprised by how the bottle didn’t crack on the floor and ooze but rather exploded it seemed, with speckles of blood covering him and the surrounding surfaces. His jeans didn’t concern him. He owned half a dozen pairs in various states of ruined, pitted from acid or torn from machinery or stained with various substances he couldn’t identify. But if he didn’t get the blood off his hoodie quickly it could stain and while he might be apathetic to replacing his jeans, he would not be fine with a different sweatshirt. He put the biggest shards of glass in a pile on the makeshift workbench Richarlyson built for him and hoped he wouldn’t cut himself too badly when he came back to wipe up the blood.
He jotted a quick note for Richarlyson to let his son know where he was going in case the boy came back up from digging underground any time soon. Pac then proceeded with all haste through the woods and down the hill toward the river. Thankfully the sun hadn’t fully finished setting and if he moved quickly enough he could get cleaned up before too many of the night’s creatures stirred beneath the trees. His current project with Richarlyson would help with this in the future but until then he was under-geared and he knew it.
Pac reached the edge of the river without issue. He knelt on the bank and dipped his hands into the cool, running water. His fingers left a red smear in their wake as the crystal clear water pulled away the remnants of his mistake. He cupped the water and brought it up to splash his face, uncaring how much of his dark hair was soaked in the process. He hadn’t decided whether or not he wanted to cut his hair, as it did hang down across his forehead these days and tended to get in the way at the most obnoxious times. If he waited a little longer, perhaps he could pull it back out of his way. For now, he brushed the offending strands out of his eyes with the back of his hand.
A drop of wetness clung to the corner of his mouth and without thinking, his tongue darted out to clean it away. Just a standard, thoughtless action. It was only after he swallowed that he realized his mistake.
It hadn’t been a drop of water.
It had been a drop of blood.
“Ah, damn it.”
He pulled a face, crinkled his nose at the metallic flavor, and continued cursing under his breath in Portuguese. But beyond this, he didn’t give the moment much thought, his mind more concerned with getting his hoodie off and in the water before the stains set in.
Ten minutes later, walking back up the hill in the growing gloom with a sodden sweatshirt in hand, he thought about the copper taste of blood lingering on his tongue. Oddly, it tasted almost as if his whole mouth was coated in the flavor now. Back inside the house, he hung his sweatshirt up next to the roaring coal cooking stove in the kitchen Richarlyson made on the first underground floor and wiped his damp hands on his black undershirt. He grabbed a piece of bread out of his backpack and nibbled at it to rid his mouth of the taste of blood as he climbed the ladder back up to the main floor of their house.
As he stood, leaning against the counter and eating his bread, he noticed the shimmer of a bigger piece of the glass bottle tucked under the edge of his workbench. He pushed himself off the counter and knelt to retrieve this last big piece, careful not to cut himself on the glistening edges. It was the portion with the label. There, in his awkward scrawl, he read the name “Fit.”
“Ah, damn it,” he muttered to himself, the phrase becoming the theme of his whole evening.
He’d broken Fit’s bottle. Surely Fit wouldn’t mind giving him another sample. The man hadn’t asked a single question when Pac requested the first bottle so perhaps the second would be the same. Pac dropped this piece of glass with the others as he finished his bread. Pulling up the map showed him both Fit and Ramon were nearby, up the hill in their house resembling a water tower. Fit might call the haphazard build his “shit shack” but Pac enjoyed thinking of it as the water tower on the hill. He quite liked their houses being so close together on this side of the island. Back home in the original spawn of Quesadilla Island, Chume Labs was built far out from the others so as to have space to expand and not intrude on anyone else’s pre-established builds. Without waystones, it proved a bit of a trek from his house to the lavacast structure Fit called home.
A small smile touched his lips as he moved to lean out his door and look up the hill. Now he could see Fit and Ramon’s home from his own. They were just out of earshot from one another for privacy sake. Even though Fit offered the space directly beneath his home for Pac to build, he moved a little down the hill so everyone had room to expand over time. But there was something very comforting about knowing he only needed to lean out his front door and look up the hill to find his boyfriend and Ramon.
His heart still did a little flip any time he thought about Fit being his boyfriend. It wasn’t even new anymore. Crazy to think their first date happened a month ago now. So much happened in the intervening time. Between them all being rounded up and taken to a “Prison Vacation” to then waking up on an entirely different area of Quesadilla Island…it felt a lot longer than a month.
But he supposed that was because their relationship had been growing for so long before they officially gave it a title. Fit wormed his way into Pac’s heart in such a way he hadn’t realized his depth of feeling for the veteran of 2b2t until it had become a well-established matter of fact. He couldn’t carve Fit out of his heart now for any reason, not without taking big chunks of himself out in the process.
Pac turned back to the mess on the floor and frowned. Gone were the easy days of cleaning up, when he could check his inventory interface and grab a stack of clean sponges to help him tidy. He had a lot of work ahead of him if he wanted to live that life of luxury once more.
Leaning over the ladder, he called to his son. “Richas, do you have any sponges? I spilled Fit’s blood up here.”
He listened for a moment, hearing sneakers on ladder rungs as Richarlyson made his way up from digging his hole. “What?” the boy’s voice called from somewhere still out of sight. “You spilled Fit’s blood? Did you kill him this time?”
Pac rolled his eyes and descended the ladder to meet Richarlyson on the kitchen level. “I couldn’t kill Fit even if I wanted to, filho. He’s too strong.”
He watched as his curly-haired son climbed the last few rungs of the ladder and dropped dramatically into the kitchen. Richarlyson brushed his hair out of his mischievous eyes and quirked a gap-toothed smile at his father. “Pai, Fit would stand still and hand you the sword if he thought you wanted to kill him.”
Pac felt his cheeks warm at the sentiment because he suspected Richarlyson wasn’t wrong, though he’d never put it to the test. Even the tribulations they’d all been put through in Purgatory hadn’t succeeded in making either of them hurt the other. He harbored no desire to try it out for fun.
After a moment of rummaging through his backpack, Richarlyson found the object of his father’s desire and pulled a clean sponge from the container’s depths. “Pai, I only have one. What will you trade me for it?” he asked with a crooked grin.
Pac knew Richarlyson would hand it over for nothing but he loved his games and Pac enjoyed indulging him. Feigning deep concentration, Pac furrowed his brow and brought a finger up to tap his lips as he thought about it. “I don’t know filho. Your father is poor. What would you want?”
Richarlyson reached back into his backpack and pulled out a wicked-looking short-handled scythe of a knife, the brother of the one Pac himself used to collect blood with earlier. With the knife in one hand and a glass bottle in the other, the boy advanced on his father. “How about just a little blood, pai? I want to work on that shapeshifting tool.”
Pac played up his hesitation, pleading for any other trade, knowing if he gave in too quickly Richarlyson would decide it wasn’t enough. “Richas, don’t take my blood. Anything but that. Take diamonds. I have diamonds.”
But as expected, Richarlyson just advanced with his knife, grinning maniacally from ear to ear. With a dramatic sigh, Pac held out his arm and winced as the sharp blade cut cleanly into the skin of his wrist. Blood oozed quickly into the glass jar Richarlyson held beneath the flow. Once he was satisfied with the amount collected, he stoppered the jar and pressed the clean sponge to his father’s bleeding arm while he fished a health potion out of his bag.
“Richarlyson!” Pac barked in frustration, holding the sponge to his wrist while he waited for healing. “Now I have to clean the sponge again before I can use it!”
Richarlyson shrugged. “I said I would give it to you and I did. What you do with it from here is on you,” he said, sticking out his tongue and dropping the jar of blood into his backpack.
And if a mirky darkness swirled through the blood momentarily…well. There was no one to see.
~*~
Fit decided the balcony of the Shitshack was his new favorite place on the island. It showcased a great view in all directions. If he went to the northwest side, he would look out over the rolling hills between his home and the river and see the Town of Fobo. Well, it wasn’t quite a town just yet. He knew they had built a House of Fobo for sure. And a bunch of pits filled with horses and chocobos which he found himself afraid to ask about. It was from the House of Fobo that the Gem of Fobo had been stolen. As far as Fit understood matters, the gem was a perfectly ordinary diamond they’d left out in plain sight. Of course it had been stolen. But the boys of Fobo, as Fit considered Foolish and Tubbo to be, needed this witch hunt as a distraction. Foolish procrastinated starting a new build and Tubbo didn’t want to have to think about his precious machines being inaccessible for now. The boys of Fobo needed a mission and the lost Gem of Fobo was it for now, for better or worse.
From here on the balcony, he could see the boys coming long before they reached him. It would change someday if they managed to get waystones set up. But for now, he could at least see them coming.
On the southeast side of the balcony, he could look down the hill and see the little white quartz house of his Brazilian boyfriend. With no one around to catch him do it, he grinned at the title. He and Pac might have taken their sweet time putting a label on their relationship, hiding the true nature of their feelings beneath layers of jokes and innuendos. But now with everything out in the light, Fit had to admit he really liked calling Pac his boyfriend.
The house at the base of the hill wasn’t as close as what Fit had expected when he told Pac he could build his house next to this place with Ramon. At first he’d been a little disappointed to see how far away Pac settled. But after a bit of consideration, he realized Pac future proofed both of their builds, allowing enough space for them to both grow their spaces without fearing encroaching on one another. There was just enough privacy for them to each have their own space but close enough that, on a clear evening such as this, Fit could look down the hill and see the bright blue of Pac’s hoodie as he bustled about the outside of his home.
“Hey Ramon,” he said, calling down to where his son tilled soil for a garden to one side of their platform. “Let’s go see what your other pa’s up to.”
Ramon grinned and by the time Fit’s feet hit solid ground, the boy wiped his hands of the worst of the dirt and took his paraglider out.
Another neat thing about being uphill from Pac’s house was they could take a good run and jump and pretty much glide down the entire way. The return trip took a little more work but not terribly so. Without having access to waystones, he might have to consider bartering with Foolish for one of his horses. From what he’d gathered earlier, Foolish had spent days breeding them and killing the slowest as he went. If he knew anything about Foolish it was that once the totem-shark made up his mind about something, there not much could change his mind…except maybe Badboyhalo agreeing with him.
As they closed in on Pac’s house, Fit pulled the ram’s horn from his belt and blew a warning trumpet. The confusion on Pac’s face as he turned this way and that, trying to locate the source of the sound definitely made the absurd amount of time spent acquiring the horn worth it. Fit and Ramon touched down back behind the house, laughing as Pac rounded the corner in confusion. “Fitche?” he asked in bewilderment, grinning at the unexpected guests.
Fit smirked, willing his cheeks to not fill with color at the sound of Pac’s pronunciation of his name. He would never get over the butterflies erupting in his stomach at the sound of it every time.
“Hey Pac,” Fit responded. “I saw you were still up and the boy and I thought we’d come say hi.” He dropped his paraglider and the ram’s horn into his backpack and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Your house looks like it’s coming along well.”
Pac’s brilliant smile could have lit up the whole area, in Fit’s humble opinion. Currently, the mobs crawling through the area as night fell did not feel the same way. “Ramon! Ramon, Ramon, Ramon,” Pac shouted happily as he and the boy met in the middle, trading blows with various mobs, clearing the area of danger. “You have to come in and see. It’s not much yet. Not much. But it’s home, you know?”
After taking down his own share of creepers and zombies, Fit followed his boyfriend and his son into the house, marveling at the carpet and paintings on the wall, the pot of flowers on the counter. “You’ve got a real nice set up here, Pac,” he admired. “Doing a lot better than the shit shack so far.”
Pac burst into laughter. “The shit shack? Is that what you’re calling it? I thought it looked a bit like a water tower up there.”
Fit shrugged. “Shit shack fits me.”
Pac distractedly checked the communication device on his wrist, frowning. “Fit, do you know what Foolish might be talking about? Some gem or something?”
Fit rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “The Gem of Fobo. It’s just a fucking diamond I think. Someone stole it so they’re out here blaming everyone.”
Pac nodded as if this was the most plausible explanation he could have been given. He typed something out and, his curiosity for fofoca brewing, Fit opened his own device to see Foolish doubling down on his accusations. “Oh boy. I have a feeling we’re going to end up with fucking company.”
“Oh, well, before they get here, can I ask you for something?” Pac asked, showing no concern for the possibility of Foolish and Tubbo descending on his front door.
“Anything,” Fit replied without even stopping to think about it.
“Could I have a little more of your blood?”
Fit both nodded and shrugged for some reason. “Anything you need, Pac.” He held out his wrist and watched as Pac rummaged in his backpack for a knife.
He wouldn’t exactly call what came out of the backpack a knife . It more closely resembled a short-handled scythe, the blade wickedly curved and deadly sharp. Pac knelt before him and also pulled out a clean sponge and a bottle of healing, placing the supplies on the floor next to them. Fit found himself enjoying looking down at Pac from this angle. He immediately cleared his throat and willed the heat in his cheeks to recede and decided sitting before Pac would make this less awkward.
“This is going to sting a little,” Pac prefaced as if he hadn’t already done this once before.
“I’ve endured worse,” Fit replied simply, his focus now on Pac’s fumbling hands. It was clear Pac didn’t enjoy the idea of hurting him. “I can make the cut for you, if it’s easier.”
Pac immediately shook his head, unstoppering a fresh jar. “No, it’s okay. I can do it. You say you’ve endured worse. Maybe I’ve done worse,” he said with a crooked grin.
Fit didn’t doubt it. His boyfriend escaped prison three times at this point. He didn’t doubt Pac had it in him to cause pain if his survival depended on it.
Still, Pac bit his lip as he brought the blade to Fit’s wrist. Fit held still, not flinching as his flesh parted and blood rushed into the jar. He felt determined not to make this any harder for Pac. Besides, it didn’t hurt too much. When he said he’d endured worse, it wasn’t an understatement. That said, Fit did find himself relieved his boyfriend didn’t necessarily relish the idea of causing him pain. He couldn’t say the same about all the relationships he’d experienced in his life. It was a welcome change of pace.
As soon as the jar was filled to his liking, Pac immediately pressed the sponge to Fit’s arm to apply pressure. Fit took over as Pac set about closing up the blood and opening the health potion. He held his hand out and Fit placed his arm there, resting it in his boyfriend’s grip as the health potion was applied. Was that entirely necessary? Probably not. But no one could see the butterflies in Fit’s belly and surely he was allowed this sort of touch in the privacy of their own home, right?
“Sorry, Fitche, sorry,” Pac mumbled as he used the other side of the sponge to clean up the leftover blood. His cheeks were as pink as Fit feared his own to be so clearly this amount of touching affected them similarly. Fit smiled and filed the reaction away to remember for some time in which blood wasn’t flowing between them.
“Don’t apologize, Pac,” Fit replied. He reluctantly took his arm back and flexed it, his smile morphing into a full blown grin at how Pac’s eyes went wide. “See? Good as new.”
“ Meus Deus ,” Pac mumbled under his breath. Fit didn’t need the translator for that one and chuckled as Pac scrambled to clean up the supplies.
Fit didn’t get to enjoy his flustered boyfriend’s floundering because from outside came a pounding of hooves and the company he’d feared would be coming burst down Pac’s front door.
“We know you have the Gem of Fobo!” Foolish shouted, pointing down at Pac from horseback. “Just admit it already!”
In the ensuing chaos, Fit never did remember to ask Pac what he needed the blood for.
~*~
"And this life will never be the same again.”
Lawless "Descent"