Work Text:
i.
Before there was Parkour Civilization, there had been grassland, fields of dirt blocks without any gaps, stretching as far as the land could see. Fully grown trees had littered the terrain, and there had been bees and flowers and rivers and islands and there had been no void then.
Evbo knows it. Evbo has seen it. And within it, in that distant past, there had been the odd one out, but misplaced in his memories and in time: in the past, there had been Seawatt.
"If you keep thinking like that, you're going to hurt yourself."
Evbo feels himself bristle. "Hey! I don't judge you when you're obviously—scheming!"
He turns his head to the side, where Seawatt tends to the fire, poking at the coals with one of his bangles. Seawatt glances up to meet his gaze, unimpressed, watercolor eyes still vivid in the shadowed firelight.
"Is that what you're doing?" Seawatt says; he still stirs and pushes at the mushrooms in his stew around in bored, slow circles. Evbo had watched him climb and struggle around the ruins in search of food earlier, complaining about the sweat on his brow. He’d spent half a night watching over him—long enough to make sure Seawatt couldn't break and take a block or gain enough hunger to allow him to sprint that Evbo knows that the slight mocking lilt in Seawatt's voice was the closest thing to a real laugh he'd ever get. "Scheming? Should I start planning my funeral, or yours?"
Two nights in, and Evbo somehow keeps finding longer ends to what should’ve been the cut, frayed end of his patience. But here it is: the actual end of the rope.
Evbo closes his eyes and silently counts to ten in a last-ditch effort to remember why exactly he needs Seawatt.
"Why are you taking so long to count to ten?"
Testament to his self-discipline be damned, Evbo opens his mouth to retort and finally say the words shut up, and maybe challenge him to a Parkour battle and end his miserable life when the only thing that comes out of his mouth is— "Are you sure we haven't met before?"
Seawatt raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t stop stirring idly; he chooses to stir counterclockwise instead. "Before what?"
"That weird memory," Evbo starts. "In the spawn building. I told you I saw you then, and you laughed at me and told me I was insane."
“This again?” Seawatt scoffs. “Why do you think I still call you insane? You cannot be old enough to start mishearing things already. I told you—it wasn’t real, man.”
Evbo bites his cheek to avoid replying. It was real to me makes him sound like a lost child, so Evbo elects to ignore it instead—both Seawatt and the odd flush of his cheeks.
Seawatt, of course, notices. “Is that what got you thinking so hard?” His lips curve, saccharine sweet, as he leans closer, mushroom soup forgotten. “Think about me a lot?”
Evbo thinks about many things, but he never loses track of the important ones. Most of it is about Parkour: the rising jumps and falls of his journey to the top, his Parkour civilization; then running Parkour Civilization and not messing it up. The things in between: his Parkour money, his Parkour houses, his Parkour battles. His friends and his enemies.
And Seawatt, apparently, as a secret third thing.
His face must do something weird because Seawatt laughs in his face. It’s as mean as he always is, brusque and blunt. “That's so sweet,” he coos.
Evbo resists the urge to throw something at him, face definitely not burning. “Oh, fuck off!”
ii.
Hey. Why’d you choose to help me out?
I’ve done that thing more than a couple of times. You’re going to have to elaborate which.
Fine. What about the part where you're helping me get out of here with the discs?
I think you’re forgetting about the part where I would never willingly spend time with you and hate you enough to escape from Parkour Civilization. Also, if you haven't noticed, we'd both be cooked here without each other.
Fair enough. What about the part with the loser you worked for? Betraying the evil Parkour Champion?
Heh. You sound like a kid. 'Evil Parkour Champion.'
Shut up! He's not relevant enough to have his name remembered and that's not my fault! And answer the question!
Man, what is wrong with your memory? Don't tell me you forgot threatening me right before I helped you out.
Yeah, but you could've... I don't know, sent me to the void instead of letting me face the champion—who's still a total fraud, by the way.
The guy's dead, you don't need to dunk on him anymore, you know. A pause. I thought you might not kill me if I did as you said the next time we met.
That's true.
Then, like a freak of nature, you actually became Parkour Champion, and the next time we met, you tried to kill me on the spot anyway. I still hope you die someday, by the way.
WOW. Thanks.
Don’t thank me yet. For transparency’s sake, I like being owed a favor by the mighty Parkour Champion anyway.
And you just made it weird. Night, Seawatt.
Good night, champ.
iii.
“Back already?”
It takes Evbo an embarrassing amount of time to spot Seawatt curled up in the corner. He looks off—hair down and eyeliner smudged, mouth curled around a yawn as the sunlight streams through the arch of the walkway. He looks vulnerable.
Evbo gapes at him, immediately forgetting his announcement on how he just got the second disc back. “Are you actually napping?”
“Fuck off and get off your high horse.” Seawatt waves him off, eyes still closed, eyelashes settled in the high curve of his cheek. “My God. Forgive me for being tired—you take way too long to get these things.”
“I take too long?” Evbo squawks, almost startling the extremely fragile and extremely important discs from his inventory with sheer indignation. “You give me compasses that you pull out of your ass, tell me to do things you can’t do yourself, do nothing but twiddle your thumbs waiting for me to come back and I take too long?”
Seawatt cracks one crystal violet eye open, pinning him in place. “It’s not like I can do anything,” he drawls. “Even though I can't jump half the things you can, I would be very happy to help if I was allowed access to blocks or cooked food."
Touché. Evbo would rather jump for raw chicken a hundred days more than let Seawatt gain access to any blocks, or god forbid, find a way to recreate his special move set.
"You're a leech." He groans, drags his hand down his face, looking away from the vulnerable sight of him. “I hate you so much, man.”
iv.
“You know, I don’t know what you’re complaining about.” Seawatt suddenly says the night before Evbo’s due to leave and search for the third Parkour legend. “You’ve got the champion boots and the recognition of the fighter civilization here, and you’ve been here for a week.”
“Who cares about that,” Evbo grumbles, turning on his side. “You’re not the one they’re trying to kill, and they’re not the ones who have to spend time with you.”
Seawatt rolls his eyes. Evbo can practically hear them roll around in his skull. “Haha,” he flatly says as he leans back, head tilted to the ceiling and throat bared. “Just as I was about to say something sappy. God forbid.”
Evbo sits up, shadow casting far into the room, moonshine high behind him. “Tell me anyway.”
“Well, we make a good team, no?” Seawatt says, yawns, in the shadow of the ruined sandstone house. It's a careless thought carelessly thrown to the wind—it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter, but Evbo leans closer to hear it anyway. “In another lifetime, without all this, we would have been very good friends, I think.”
That’s stupid, because Seawatt doesn’t do much other than sit pretty and give orders and dispense lore bombs. Evbo actually has to do the bulk of the work, making the idea of teamwork pointless. “That’s stupid,” Evbo says, a few seconds too late, still processing Seawatt’s stupid statement. “If you don’t remember, I don’t like you and you definitely don’t like me."
It’s stupid, because in every other lifetime, they would be on two different sides, always. All this is what makes Evbo Evbo and Seawatt Seawatt. There’s no room for ambitions and convictions as big as theirs on one side. It had been like that since they first met, and it had been like that even in the fake memory. Evbo can’t imagine a life where they’d be friends, and not at each other’s throats, so why would Seawatt say that?
Seawatt doesn’t respond. His chest falls and rises in an even rhythm, shallow breaths interrupting the stillness of the moment.
Evbo’s brows furrow; he leans over. And there Seawatt is, sleeping peacefully, the furrow of his brow smoothened over. He almost seems like a blank slate, devoid of the disdain and amusement he usually throws in Evbo's face like gold-clad bullets. It almost makes Evbo regret his next move.
He nudges Seawatt with his foot. When it doesn't work, he pokes at his cheek, hard. “Hey—did you just sleep on me?”
v.
Why was it you, then?
What are you on about this time?
That memory. Why do we all see you?
Not this again.
Well?
Doesn’t matter. All you have to know is that it’s fake, and it was made to give people a reason why they parkour. I’d say it worked a little too well on you.
…was that a compliment?
Man, it sucks talking to someone with an ego as bloated as yours. I hope you leave this mortal plane soon. A pause. Hey. See you in the end, champ.
Excuse you—pot, meet the fucking kettle??? A pause. Honestly? I hope I never see you again, man.
The feeling's mutual. Do us all a favor and get yourself out of here, will you?
Aww, that's really sweet of you, Seawatt. Didn't know you had a heart.
You could always die in a Parkour battle, I guess. As long as I don't have to exist with you anymore, I don't really care how.
Annnd there's the Seawatt I know. See ya.
vi.
Ugh is the first word Seawatt says after being brought back to life. He still looks unimpressed as he faces Evbo, now clad in netherite boots and an everpresent purple particle trail behind him. “You again?”
Honestly, Evbo doesn’t know what he expected. “You’re welcome,” Evbo says, sardonically.
Seawatt scoffs. “I’m not thanking you,” he derisively tells Evbo as he steps off the platform. “Who wants to come back to the dump I tried to escape from? Not me.” A pause. “Why’d you do it?”
“I brought back everyone who died from Parkour races. You’re not that special, man."
Seawatt makes a point of looking around the deserted spawn area, devoid of anything and anybody as far as the eye can see. It’s just one gap grass block jumps all around them and the void and the sky. “Where’s the rest then?”
“Living in Parkour Civilization, duh,” Evbo rolls his eyes as he steps aside to let Seawatt through. “Don’t be dramatic. This is just the spawn point.”
Seawatt grins at him, crooked and lazy. It makes him feel as warm as the sun shining overhead, the kind they’ve never seen in the past champion’s reign, where the layers of Parkour civilization stacked against each other would have never allowed them the freedom to feel the sun shining down on their faces.
“Last is still special,” Seawatt smugly counters. “Wanted me all to yourself, huh? Is that it?”
Evbo colors. He considers breaking the block under Seawatt’s feet and letting him free fall into oblivion with a levitation effect for a couple of hours. “I’m sparing everyone from you. Obviously.” Evbo pauses, struggling to keep his face from getting redder and redder. “And consider this my favor repaid. Or don’t! Whatever.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it, champ,” Seawatt faces away from him, sunlight clinging like honey across the planes of his face, wiping away the worry and distress. It’s almost as if he never died like a dog to the Parkour Villain, resigned and defeated. For what it’s worth, I was telling the truth when I said I enjoyed working with you. As blank as a slate, as honest as he could be. "So... stupid question: do you think they’ll take me back?”
"Since when did the things I say matter to you?" Evbo mutters, before he frowns. “You… want to go back?”
“Told you it was stupid,” Seawatt laughs, but it’s empty. He stares in the direction of the edge with those watercolor eyes, wistful for something unattainable. Evbo doesn't understand him at all. “They’re going to hunt me down and kill me for the things I've done if I go back, but it was still home. And no matter what happens, home will be home. Out here... well, there’s just nothing left for me back here anymore.”
For different reasons, Evbo gets it. He knows it, Parkour god and all. There’s nothing left to tie him down here in the civilization he has lived all his life; there is just Parkour.
Parkour, Evbo dangerously thinks, is everywhere, even in the last dregs of a forgotten level of Parkour Civilization that shouldn't be revisited.
Evbo steps up to him; tosses a stack of dirt and a pair of chain boots in his direction. “Nobody’s stopping you,” he says as it ends up in Sewatt's incredulous hands. There's something reverent and sacred in the way Seawatt puts the boots on, worn chains clinking softly with the movement, something that makes him feel as though he should look away. In a beat or two, he lets his impulses take over. “Can I come with?”
Seawatt pauses, considers. He makes a show out of it, finger tapping against his chin thoughtfully, even when they both already know what the answer is. “I thought you were sick of me, champ."
“You’re shit company,” Evbo readily agrees. "But I’ve got nothing to do here, and there’s nothing anybody can do to hurt me anymore on account of my status as a god, so. Truce?”
“You are surprisingly quick to forgive,” Seawatt notes, before jumping first. He looks back at Evbo, the slant of his mouth is still as mocking and as mean as all other times he has done so, but it doesn’t rattle Evbo as much this time. It's as good as a yes. “And still as annoying as ever, even as a god. Come on, champ. Don’t lag behind too much.”
Evbo laughs at the irony of it, the startled sound out of his mouth echoing through the void as the gap quickly widens between him and the former Parkour Master. It's probably better for Seawatt's ego this way; Evbo's raw pace is too fast for Seawatt to keep up with, so really, he’s being gracious by being a dozen blocks behind.
In another life, Evbo dangerously thinks, we would’ve been very good friends. But that’s enough of that other life: this is his life and his choices. If there's any power higher than parkour, it would be this: the ability to choose freely. In this life, whatever this is between them—it'll have to be enough.
Evbo jumps. He does it six times in a row, a myriad of 360os thrown in for good measure, just to dunk on Seawatt’s lack of skill. He jumps for himself: just as he always has, and always will.