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It's easy to forget what being human feels like.
YeahJaron is human, that's a fact he is very glad never changed. Even when he befriended the least human thing anyone could. Even when his friend whispered in his ears day after day;
That it's okay to let it go.
That the universe is love, and that he was loved over every other thing.
He was still human when the wormhole destroyed everything he ever knew. He was still human when the universe embraced its only friend, bringing him to become more a concept than the humanity he still clings to with teeth and nails to this day. He was still human when he got lost, when he realized he would never go back to where his home had been.
At least he still has his friend. At least he still has his humanity.
YeahJaron now lives in the walls of reality. In the flaps of the universe that contain everything that ever was and ever will be.
He is still human, and he still clings to this fact.
He pushes his hands against the code, it has no colour, no sound, no mass, as he was sleeping in that part of reality where being more than strings of code is hard and a complete waste of time.
“I am hungry.” It's the first thing he mumbles in what feels like days. He was sleeping; he doesn't know for how long, as time isn't really a thing for those who live beyond the game. He leans his head against the wall of code, the universe is kind, and it is his friend. It tells him he doesn't need to eat, and that he can go back to sleep, that he is safe there.
Jaron shakes his head. He needs to eat as every living being does.
“Bring me to Lifesteal,” he requests, like he has done a bunch of times already. It's never his Lifesteal, the universe is too vast and for all that it is his friend, it's also very bad at getting details right. Like where he’s supposed to be .
Sometimes he goes to 100 by 100, Outcasts, Superplane, sometimes he just makes a new singleplayer to distract himself. But Jaron misses his friends, and even if they’re not his, they still have their faces. Usually that’s enough.
Today he decides Rek's fridge is the perfect place to get his monthly dinner.
A good thing about being, well, YeahJaron, is that he’s always been inconsistent when it comes to being online, most Jarons are similar enough to him that the other members of the server rarely notice he isn’t who he’s supposed to be.
The universe, as always, isn't unkind. It spits him out into the heart of a beating Lifesteal. His inventory is full of clutter of what he assumes is this word’s Jaron's inventory, and checking the tab list, he’s glad to realize that the other Jaron isn't actually online. It always gets a bit awkward and oddly competitive when he gets to interact with his other selves.
He breathes in and out. It's been some time since he had basic human needs, like … breathing. Or since he’s had muscles which moved and strained.
His belly rumbles. Oh yeah, hunger. There’s a reason he’s there after all .
Jaron is human, he has never done any admin training and he’s almost sure that the admin of the current season he was spit at is Minute of all people. But Jaron is friends with the universe, he hears its whispers, and learned how to talk with it a long time ago. Who needs admin perms when the universe is your best friend anyway?
He snaps his fingers, quickly jumping from one foot to the other, through the veils that are so obvious to see if you know what you are looking for, going from survival to spectator mode.
He shakes his intangible body, it's not the same as being inside the code, but it's still not ideal. He hovers briefly, looking at the spawn that is infested with Mid's Midnight statues, before just shaking his head, scoffing, amused with the never ending shenanigans at spawn.
“Can you TP me to Rek's, please?” he asks, politely. The universe sings in colours at his request, more than happy to oblige. He feels everything warp as he’s dragged thousands of blocks away, straight to an underground base, hovering over Rek's sleeping body.
“Well, that’s weird,” he talks with himself, floating over the occupied bed, getting closer and looking at the man’s face, before realizing how creepy that actually is. Jaron jumps over the code again, slipping back into survival mode and crouching close to the ground, getting his balance back.
“Rek? Buddy?” There’s fear in his voice.
Rek isn't one to oversleep. Jaron would know, he shared an apartment with the guy in the hub, and he’s a damned morning person, an early bird.
“Come on, Parker. This isn't funny.” He chuckles without humour, looking over his—not his—friend's body again, but there isn’t even a twitch of his lips to indicate he’s pulling some kind of prank. In fact, he’s not moving at all.
Jaron knows him, he’s been around him more than enough to know what he’s like. And the fact that he’s not kicking in his sleep, not turning around and instead sleeping perfectly on his back, the fact that he’s not mumbling about some random speedrunning mechanic, it’s worrying to say the least. Rek is always doing something—he knows that’s just a Rekrap thing, shared across universes—and sleep doesn’t stop him.
He flicks his face carefully, teeth gritted as he holds his breath. No reaction. Wait, is Rek even breathing? There’s no rise and fall of his chest.
That's not good. Jaron really hopes he wasn't just spat out onto a world Rek just happens to be freshly permadead, that would be awkward, and sad and upsetting, to say the least.
He puts his palms over Rek's chest, there is still one thing he didn't check.
The veil in between player and code is thin, really thin. Normally when he messes with code, he doesn't touch player code. Jaron in general never liked messing with code to begin with, it's dangerous, and too much responsibility for someone like him to handle. There’s a reason he chose to use his time crashing the server by breeding pigs rather than wasting it on things like admin training, or studying ethics related to code.
He presses his palms against Rek's chest and they sink , as if Rekrap was made of clay, and not flesh and bones.
He tries to be fast, as fast he can be without accidentally eviscerating Parker. Fingers pushing and finding their way through broken code, exploring the part of the veil most players never get to know as physically, as intimately as Jaron does.
There it is, he found the problem.
It's like a weight falls off his shoulders. Rek isn't dead .
Jaron smiles, taking his hands off and shaking them, trying to get rid of any residual code that may have stuck.
“Okay so, that's not good, but also not bad,” he says to himself, looking over the frozen body. “How does someone lose a vital part of their code like this?”
He starts pacing, head falling back so he can stare at the ceiling, and he really hopes the universe could have a clear answer for once. The shrug followed by silence is something he already expected, but still annoys him a bit. Whoever said the universe has all the answers obviously didn’t know what they were talking about.
“Okay, cool. So he lost it right? So I just need to find him!” He’s still pacing, hands on his overcoat, eyes moving to stare into the ground as if he would suddenly see a piece of stray code crawling around like a bug.
“It's a needle in a haystack.” He groans out loud, complaining, because he knows what he needs to do now. “Surely I can do it, because I was always soooo good at finding the things I lost.” The sarcasm in his voice is clear. He mumbles something about not being paid enough for this, but even with the urge to turn around, ignore the problem and go to steal Rek's food, he doesn't.
Instead, he sighs. The fact he cares too much about his friends has always been a problem. He opens the door of Rek’s room, determined to find him before doing anything else. He may as well start looking through the base, after all, how far can an insentient piece of code realistically go?
The answer is very, very far.
He isn’t at the turtle farm, nor at the brewing stations or the chest room. JumperWho's room is also clean, albeit with enough pink to put an entire cherry biome to shame.
“Okay, this may be harder than I thought.” His hand rests on the handle to what is clearly Roshambo's room. He dreads the answer of whether or not Rek would find his way in what’s probably the last room of the base he hasn’t looked at yet.
“Is it that hard to not mess with my stuff?”
Jaron actually jumps at the voice of Roshambo. He doesn’t sound like he’s looking for a fight; he sounds more annoyed than anything, tired, and only the slightest bit amused. He turns to—someone who’s not entirely—his friend, preparing for the worst and hoping for the best.
Roshambo isn’t even looking at him. His back is turned, and he messes with the brewing stands on the other side of the room. Obviously, he doesn’t see Jaron as a threat, more a nuisance, if the sigh that follows is anything to go off. Two sets of lavender colored hands float by the man’s head, another pair helps him with the potions he’s brewing.
It’s not the hands, in the end, that tip off to him that Ro is more than he seems right now. A sense of power here makes the code of the universe tremble around him. Not in a dangerous, gamebreaking way, but in the sense that something strong and strange has a presence.
A strong scent of blaze powder fills the room as Jaron pulls at the world’s veil to get himself into spectator mode. And, well, he gets his explanation right away.
Beyond the veil, Ro looks … different. His strong body is thinner, instead of the six hands he has floating around him almost cutely, dozens of interlocking hands sprout from his back, overlapping to make a tapestry of limbs, creating an illusion of angelic wings, fingers twitching where feathers would. More hands float above his head wrapped up into a halo. It circles lazily, hanging ever so slightly lopsided.
Ah, an Angel. Of course Ro is an angel.
As if thinking it is enough to get his attention, the other turns on his heel to peer into the room. If Jaron weren’t hidden on this side of the veil, he would’ve been spotted. Now, cloudy eyes that are only blind on this side stare unseeing into the beyond. They pass over him easily.
The sight is otherworldly, he only notices now. It’s not a head that Ro has, nor is it arms and legs, a chest and neck. No, hands make up his entire body and not just the wings. Clothes cover them where they disappear from sight. Only two glowing eyes peer from between the hands that make up his face, the only thing he can’t see are hands.
“Jaron, I’m not playing this game today. Go find Rek.”
He’s trying, isn’t he? He doesn’t say it out loud, opting to instead back away quietly. The blind eyes twitch towards him, but he’s quiet enough for Ro to simply sigh and turn back.
“Whatever man.”
Okay, so, Jaron can put ‘randomly showing up at Rek's base’ on the list of things his counterpart also does, by the nonchalant way Ro acted towards his unwanted presence. That's good. But also bad, because Jaron has already checked the entire base for Rek, and he’s not sure how to feel about testing the waters and asking Roshambo, who’s still brewing invisibility potions for some reason , if he has any idea about what is going on.
So instead he floats up, because he knows Ro can't see him, but he’s not so sure if he can hear him like that, and he prefers not to take that risk. Only when he sees the clear afternoon sky, he feels comfortable enough to look beyond the veil, directly at his friend.
“Can you bring me to where the rest of Rek is? For all that I love to play hide and seek, stealing food from Parker isn't as fun if he’s not aware enough to know I’m stealing from him.”
He requests this of the universe and, as always, his friend obliges.
For the second time that day, Jaron sees himself briefly becoming a concept. His code stretches, deconstructed in a way no simple teleport should. It’s only when he’s back on his feet, standing on a random grass field with various holes from explosions, slightly nauseous by the big clue his friend just gave him of Rek's whereabouts, that he truly realizes how lost Rek's code actually was.
Rekrap has to admit, he’s slowly going crazy with how often this happens. It’s like the world is more unstable this season, or maybe Minute missed something when he took over management. Either way, he’s not supposed to glitch out this often.
It doesn’t matter. What does matter in this moment is getting back home, so he can get his body back before anyone starts snooping around where they shouldn’t.
So he crawls through the 1s and 0s, blind to the physical and visible overworld, searching for any player code to latch onto. If he can just find someone able to take him home, it will take him less searching around in such a dark and quiet landscape. But last time he got stuck, he could only find Flame, who had been less than happy to help him out. Hopefully, this time around, he can find someone like Zam or Pangi, or Jumper in a best case scenario, and not someone who much rather rips him from their mind to get rid of the threat he is.
He trudges on, army-crawling through code that shifts in and around him. It’s how he perfectly feels the way the world shivers for the how-many-times-has-it-been-already-th time. Something has the universe acting weird, and he doesn’t get it. He’s not sure he actually wants to understand it either. He just wants to go home, back to his body.
And then he feels it, the code shifts again, with more purpose this time. A player, someone is there. It's weird, familiar , but warped in a wrong way. It’s … Jaron? It sure feels like Jaron. But at the same time, it can't possibly be him.
Because the code is human, not an angel. Human with a capital H.
Of all the things, living surrounded by eldritch beings, angels and stars, it sure says a lot that it's a human that makes Rek panic so violently.
There are no humans on Lifesteal. There aren't supposed to be any humans in Lifesteal. Not this season, not any season. This place wasn’t for them. Which meant someone hacked into here. It's the most obvious conclusion. Someone hacked into Lifesteal, and they just so happened to land right where Rek is currently struggling.
If Rek had a body right now, he knows his heart would be beating wildly in his chest, he knows his palms would be sweaty and he would be on the verge of hyperventilation. He craves an invis potion right now, he misses the awful taste of it and the sensation of being beyond someone’s vision in a tangible, controllable way.
But alas, he is lost, just mere code, crawling through the part of reality that most people never seem to think about for more than a second, unable to run or even tell the other Lifesteal members what he just discovered.
Then, as if listening to his worst nightmares, the code shifts again, the human—who isn't Jaron, who can't be Jaron—kneels at his side.
Rek feels his code bristle in panic when fingers—actual physical fingers, not broken code, or anything otherworldly in the between, but unassuming human fingers—grab his code, digging into him, as if squishing the ribs he currently doesn't own. They cup his broken code into their hands, taking him out of his crawl of misery straight to the most terrifying trap he’s ever fallen into.
The hands of this hacker drag him along, despite how he tries to dig his nonexistent claws deeper into the code around him. But the code of trees and stone don’t stop him from being pulled away faster than he can crawl his way through.
A hacker finding him means only one thing: they want something from him. He isn’t stupid, no one purposefully looks for a glitch, especially not a sentient one like him. They’re dangerous, unpredictable, usually patched or deleted.
If they’re here to drag him somewhere, they want something from him, something bad.
At least the hacker’s code is clear enough for him to feel. He feels the hands around him, each individual finger, keeping him scooped up like he’s some kind of kitten that needs to be taken somewhere safe and dry. Well, if they’re so eager to pick up a wild animal, then they definitely deserve what they’re about to get.
Rek attacks their code as if he’s biting into their hand like a feral beast, sinks his teeth into their code to free himself. It works, the surprise is an obvious spike in their data, and he’s dropped immediately. He doesn’t take long to start running, dragging himself through the code, deeper underground if the code of stone and then deepslate is anything to go off.
This would’ve been funny if it really was Jaron. But he knows it’s not, Jaron can’t do this, so instead of laughing at what had to be the stupidest chase ever, he waits until the hacker is close enough to light up the code of a nearby creeper and hopes the explosion does enough damage—he’s lucky the heat doesn’t reach him where he’s hiding in the other plane of existence, there’s no pain here.
But he doesn’t get far.
This hacker is smart, as smart as they are fast. Before he knows it, he’s back in their hands, held up by the scruff like he could bite them. And really, if he could, he would. It’s hard to reach this person’s code, they’re protected by something he can’t touch nor see, and it makes his panic only worse, having him scramble to get out of their grip.
Who the hell is this?
Jaron is, for a lack of better word, baffled. The code just bit him, Rek’s lost code just bit him.
He’s not unfamiliar with angry, violent code. He has experienced and fixed at least one or two of Ash’s meltdowns before. What surprised him is that it was Rek’s code doing it.
For all that it matters, the code is just lifeless, base file code, it can’t think and acts on pre-made impulses, almost like muscle memory. So, you can understand his surprise when the code suddenly attacks him, as if he’s a virus and the broken 1s and 0s suddenly decide they’re a firewall.
He drops it in surprise, stumbling into spectator mode, rushing when the code starts slipping deep into the ground, far into the caves, where of all things a creeper explodes on him, did he mention he was in spectator mode?
It doesn’t matter.
The creeper doesn’t hurt him and now he has the code back and safe in his hands, the little hiccup forgotten and buried. Now that he knows the thing can bite, he’s ready, holding it firmly in a way that if it tries to attack him again, it won’t succeed.
“Easy, easy,” he says to it, as if it’s a scared animal and not a pile of broken code. He breathes out of his nose, looking through the surrounding cave, then huffs, feeling the damp and stale air before deciding that it’s not worth going up just to go down again.
He holds the code close to his chest, humming an old boy scout song as he starts traveling through solid walls, straight back to Rek’s base, to the empty body that he left behind.
“Who would’ve guessed Rekrap would have such aggressive code?” he asks out loud, musing over the discovery. “I do wonder if it's a virus we will need to fix or just a regular part of the code. Oh well.” He shrugs, going through yet another wall, landing softly on the floor of Rek’s room and swapping to survival, because dealing with code stuff always makes him itchy if he’s not corporeal. “We will deal with that when the time comes.”
He walks over to Rek’s deathly still body, the sight still unnerves him like nothing else, and holds up the code. For a second, he hesitates. Is there a morally or physically correct way to shove someone’s code back into their body?
Not knowing the answer, he sucks in a deep breath, forces it back out, clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and prepares to put his friend back together. “Guess I’ll find out.” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth before he shakes his head, because really, there’s no point in hesitating and delaying the inevitable.
With no better plan, he takes hold of Rek’s code properly and shoves it back into place in the 1s and 0s that make up his body. It sticks into place perfectly, like a lock clicking into place. The body doesn’t fight the code, not even for a second, and Jaron laughs out his relief, hands hovering over the body as he waits for any kind of indication of him waking up. Anything could go wrong. He can’t tell you what exactly, but he knows it’s never this easy.
Turns out, it is that easy.
Jaron jumps when Rek’s eyes fly open and he gulps in a greedy breath of air. There’s panic on his face, downright fear that he doesn’t like seeing. The next breath is equally as deep, the body needing air it didn’t have this whole time, but Parker is rushing to shove Jaron away, getting to his feet as if his legs aren’t shaking. It has him crashing to his knees instantly.
But he’s not allowed to help. When he reaches to catch him, a panicked “no!” freezes him in place. He can do nothing but watch as the guy—who’s not his best friend but has the same face as the one who was—scrambles back, hand up to protect himself from him of all people, shoes squeaking over the floor as he keeps trying to push himself back even though his back has already hit the edge of the bed.
Shit. Maybe something did go wrong?
“What do you want?” Rek asks, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. He’s not hurt, he’s not even broken. But still, he stares at him with wide eyes as if Jaron is threatening to kill him. “What do you want from me?”
Jaron gulps, frozen in place, his hands shaking where they’re held still against his body. A million scenarios pass through his head; about what he did wrong and what more could go wrong, about why Rek is so terrified of him, and about what he should do now that his—not quite—best friend looks at him like he’s about to be killed.
“I—” he stutters, shaking his head and fighting the scowl on his face, doing his darned best to hide how much it hurts to be looked at like that. “—I just wanted some food. I was going to raid your fridge when I found you like … that.” He gestures to the bed when he says it, hoping it gets the point across.
It's the truth, there isn't a single lie in any of the words he directed at Rek until now, but even so, the player doesn't look convinced. Distrust, wariness, that spark that Rek has in his eyes whenever he gets ready to escape a situation, makes itself known. It's weird having it be directed at himself, he’s never been a danger to him.
Parker visibly swallows. “Yeah, I can get you some food.” Even as he says that, it’s unsure, testing the waters.
Jaron tries to ignore how Rek still looks downright terrified of him. “Do you still know how to make those pork sandwiches?” Hope paints his voice, and maybe Rek hears it.
But he catches himself by surprise, asking for his old favorite. He used to steal the ones Rek made for himself as a joke, because he never liked pork that much, but he did it so many times that it got to a point the man started making two, ready for the heist.
Rek's eyes widen, his shoulders sagging with the familiarity of the request, he lets out a short puff of breath, a nervous laughter hidden behind it. Jaron can already guess his own counterpart used to do the same thing, or at least something similar.
The man nods. “Yeah sure. I can do that.” He gets up, on unsure legs, using the bedframe to raise himself up.
Jaron has the urge to move over and help him. He sees how his legs shake, it’s hard to miss, he’s probably still getting used to being awake from the frozen state his body was in not even minutes ago. Instead he keeps his distance, knowing his help wouldn't be welcomed.
For a second, there’s a standoff. Rek looks at Jaron, dark blue eyes meeting lighter blue ones, moving from Jaron's face to the door he’s currently unintentionally blocking.
Jaron’s smile is a bit shaky, he takes one step to the side, then another, Rek flinches, it would be imperceptible if he wasn’t looking for it. The other player looks a bit dumbfounded at the now unobstructed door, almost as if he can’t believe Jaron will just let him go out the door of his own room .
Did he fuck up that badly? Jaron … doesn't like this, he doesn't like being looked at like that, he doesn't like being feared, he doesn't like that it's Parker of all people who’s looking at him like this.
He sighs, grabbing the tip of his hat and fixing it on his head, shielding his eyes momentarily, taking a breath or two. It's fine, everything is completely fine.
“Lead the way.” He tries to not sound demanding. He’s hungry, but he can barely think right now, his guts churn with anxiety and he really hopes Rek doesn't flee on him, or even worse, gets the other Lifestealers to hunt him down. He still has things to do here before he can truly go. Getting food is only the first on that list, and it’s already going horribly.
Rek nods, wordlessly moving past him out the door. He’s tense, Jaron hates it, but he shows him to their kitchen nonetheless. It’s nothing fancy, it has all the basics and, most importantly, a lack of other players. Jaron stays by the wall, out of his way as he gets to work making not one but two sandwiches in a way that is so, so painfully familiar.
He ignores the way the tension in the air is so thick it can be cut with the knife Parker uses to make their sandwiches in favor of cracking a smile when taking the food that’s handed to him.
His stomach rumbles embarrassingly, and he ducks his head to hide the way his face burns a little. He mumbles a thanks and takes a bite. With much effort, he pretends even the first bite doesn’t make him so emotional he could fall to his knees, because despite the infinite amounts of universes out there, Rek always makes his sandwiches the exact same way.
It tastes like home.
The Sticklers kitchen is simple. It's modestly decorated and has all the essentials they need, including a set of three bar stools for the mornings where Rek, Ro and Jumper decide to eat together when they need a change of pace, but neither Rek or Jaron are sitting this time.
Rek keeps himself by the cutting board, surrounded by the ingredients he just used, his own sandwich is left untouched in favor of looking at his uninvited guest instead.
The player—who is Jaron, Rek wants to deny it, because there is no way this actually is Jaron, but if it looks like a dog and barks like a dog, calling it a cat will not help anyone—is leaning against the wall, shoulders squared, almost as if he is trying to take the least amount of space possible in the kitchen, trying not to disturb the place, giving Rek the distance that he so much needs. Which is weird, because this is the same man that dragged him across the server, treating him like an unruly animal, and even talked about the possibility of ‘dealing’ with him, calling him aggressive and a virus.
Rek shivers with the reminder of what he just lived through, it was downright terrifying . He expected a lot of things to follow, such as being blackmailed to the void and back to corrupt the world lest he be deleted, but to be put back inside his own body and being asked, not demanded, not coerced, asked to make sandwiches of all things? Yeah, he didn’t expect that one.
But that is what happened. It's just like Jaron—the real one—breaking expectations in the dumbest ways possible. Speaking of his actual friend, it's so weird how similar this guy is to him, but at the same time not at all.
He’s just … Jaron.
He lacks the wings for a start, the halo is also gone, but not just that! This Jaron, looks more … ragged, for a lack of a better world.
His clothes are rough, scorched and beaten up, but still somehow in one piece, they’re baggy on the body, but in such a way they look like they used to fit him properly, but don’t anymore. And then there is the elephant in the room, Jaron’s hollow cheeks are something that sit wrong in Rek's mind, now that he’s stopped to look. There are dark bags under his eyes. The hair under his hat looks matted, making Jaron look overall unhealthy, and starved if Rek was to guess. The fact that he asked for food of all things is a massive red flag. The fingers holding the sandwich are thin, curled protectively around it, looking almost like claws with how sharp they are. Jaron isn’t a greedy person but if he has to guess, there’s no way Rek could get the sandwich back from him.
The urge to ask when he’d last eaten sits and dies on his tongue.
Dull blue eyes look up from his sandwich, catching his own, having noticed Rek staring. “So …” Even his voice is the exact same as Jaron’s, the smirk on his face is so similar it hurts. “How did that happen?”
Rek manages to contain the urge to flinch this time, he’s still not sure if the guy won’t try to hurt him, not with the sheer experience of handling code he showed.
“That?” He’ll play dumb. He can feel his heart accelerating, beating in his chest like a drum, he takes stock of all the exits including the secret ones, he doesn't like feeling so unsafe in his own home.
“That,” Jaron says, slowly, eyes squinting, looking Rek up and down, it makes him uncomfortable, it’s like he knows exactly what he’s doing. He breathes heavily out through his nose, sounding about as tired as Rek feels.
“Chill, Parker.” Jaron crosses his arms, half eaten sandwich forgotten for now. “If I was going to hurt you, I would’ve done it when you were a bundle of half broken code in the ground, I am just—” He hesitates, gulping out loud, his eyes avert Rek's, looking almost guilty. “Worried… You aren’t even supposed to know I was there,” he admits. “I found your body unresponsive like that and I thought you had permadied in your sleep or something.”
He huffs, looking annoyed but still worried most of all. Rek knows his own Jaron well enough to be able to tell he is scared. “So that's why I ask, Rek, what was that?”
He has the feeling he can’t lie here. Never before has he been handled so … perfectly, as rough as it was. No one just knew how to reach into the code from the main plane of existence, let alone reach into it with their bare hands.
“Well,” he starts, but can’t help himself from taking another moment to hesitate. This isn’t something he said out loud, ever. He’s never fully trusted anyone with who he is as a person, because there’d never been anyone trustworthy enough, as harsh as that sounded. No one mentioned glitches and thought they were worth being around, worth saving.
“I’m not … broken. My code isn’t broken.” And that’s taken a long time to realise too. Yes, he is a glitch. Yes, he breaks everything. But he’s put effort into convincing himself he’s not some broken monster that destroys everything he touches. He’s a person.
“What you brought back was me, as a whole. I just get kicked out of my body sometimes, the world doesn’t take kindly to what I am.”
At that Jaron flinches, his eyes snap to look at him, he looks guilty, conflicted, it’s not fear, nor is it disgust, it’s something else that Rek can’t really pinpoint.
“Did I-” He hesitates, flexing the fingers he isn’t using to hold his food. “Did I hurt you?”
Rek can’t stand to look at him, not when he looks so damn guilty. “No, you just—you scared me.” The more they talk, the more he wants to be convinced this is Jaron, and not just someone who looks and speaks exactly like him. No random hacker or player would be this concerned over hurting some glitch. “Sorry for biting you,” he adds, glancing up just to see his reaction to that.
Jaron snorts, somehow startling himself while doing it. He smiles, it’s more shy, not the usual shit-eating grin Rek is used to seeing from Jaron.
“Sorry for scaring you.” He takes a bite out of his sandwich, his back touching the wall again, but this time he looks a bit more relaxed than before.
“What about you? How’d you end up here?” Rek hopes it’s innocent enough to not scare him off.
He didn’t expect it, but he should have, when Jaron flinches at his question. The human tenses up, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He takes a deep breath, to snap himself out of it, before Rek can even blink.
“I am a traveler.” Jaron says it slowly, looking at the wall, refusing to look him in the eyes. “I just—” He shrugs, gesturing with his free hand, trying to find the right words. “Going from dimension to dimension.” He now looks to the ground, biting his lip. “I normally stop at Lifesteal to grab food … and to check up on everyone.” He whispers the last words, almost ashamed to admit it. He raises his half eaten sandwich, smiling to try and pull attention away from his last comment. “I have yet to find a Rekrap who is a bad cook.”
That manages a laugh from him. “And out of the two Jarons I’ve met so far, I have yet to find one that hates my sandwiches.” He takes pride in the smile that brightens, if even for a second.
They sit in silence after that. Rek uses it to pick up his own food and take a bite. He’s not as obsessed as the sandwich-thieves, but he can’t deny they’re good sandwiches.
And then comes the question that he’s been itching to ask since the very moment Jaron found him. “How did—how did you know how to handle my code like that?”
This time Jaron doesn’t flinch, probably already bracing himself for this line of questioning.
“I am human.” It’s a weird start, Jaron looks at Rek, almost as if seeking validation, and when Rek nods he keeps going. “I don’t have any admin training, nor any weird code power. I just—” He shrugs, uncomfortable. “I learned how to see it, I guess, and then I learned how to handle it. It's … not that hard.” He looks at his hands, frowning, Rek can guess he isn’t being told the full story.
“Ash…” He looks up at Rek. “I am assuming you do know Ashswag.”
Rek nods, curious where this is going.
“Ash used to glitch all the time. Parrot helped him, and Ash was good at dealing with them by himself. But I did fix some here and there.” He smiles, almost nostalgic. “It was good practice, I guess.”
The explanation doesn’t tell him everything, but it says enough; Jaron hasn’t used his knowledge of code—and glitches, apparently—to hurt anyone. Rek finally relaxes against the counter. It’s just Jaron. It’s just Jaron, who seems to know so much more about him than he’d usually be comfortable with.
At the sound of footsteps, he looks up. It immediately ruins the peaceful air that they’ve managed to make between them. There, with the single most confused and yet intrigued look, hands on his hips, wings twitching, stands none other than … Jaron.
A hum. Jaron— angel Jaron—looks between the two of them, something thoughtful on his face. He takes a breath and Rek prepares for the worst. But then he shakes his head. “Does this mean you’re out of sandwiches?”
Jaron—human Jaron—tenses, he looks his counterpart in the eyes, quickly taking note of the wings and the halo, his shoulders rise defensively, and he hugs the half eaten sandwich against his chest. He looks at Rek and then the angelic Jaron again. “I’m not sharing.”
And there Rek goes again. He’s shaking his head, albeit with a fond smile now, as he turns back to the counter to make the third sandwich. The movements are familiar and easy enough to do quickly. Really, if any Jaron paid any attention, they’d have it down in a minute. To them, it takes the fun away, apparently.
“So …” angel Jaron starts, walking over casually, leaning against the counter. “Are we replacing me? Am I that annoying?”
Without missing a beat, Rek tells him “yep,” and doesn’t even look up when he says it.
Human Jaron snorts, choking on his food, he coughs, but grins, laughing at the response. He doesn't let the silence linger, looking his own counterpart up and down.
Something clearly passes through his head, and he asks. “So do you have a base this season?”
“He freeloads.”
“I am working on it.”
Both Rek and angel Jaron speak at the same time. Human Jaron snorts, yet again.
“Sounds about right.” He takes the last bite of his sandwich, briefly licking his fingers, before crossing his arms again.
His eyes follow Rek as he hands the sandwich to angel Jaron, who, different from both men, takes a seat on the bar stools, looking entirely and utterly unconcerned with the whole situation.
“I was planning on just walking around, banking on people thinking I am you,” human Jaron points out, easily admitting it now that the tension from earlier is almost fully gone. “I’m realising now I don’t think it would have worked.” He gestures to the big wings that twitch lazily on his counterpart's back.
Angel Jaron flashes him a bright grin. “I’m just so special, aren’t I?” The way he sits there, Rek almost wants to shove him. He looks too content with himself.
The other must think the same. “Don’t let it get to your head, angel boy.”
“I am though!” he says. There’s a frown on his face that really doesn’t pass as genuine. “Can any other Jaron do this?” With his free hand, he reaches for the halo above his head. Even thinking of grabbing it has Rek tensing up, but Jaron takes ahold of it like it doesn’t radiate the heat of the sun, pulls it from his spot and throws it against the wall like it’s some kind of kids toy. The halo hits the wall with a loud clang! before bouncing back and returning to his hand. He looks so proud of himself when he turns back to them, checking over his shoulder for the other Jaron’s reaction. “Didn’t think so. I have a frisbee that can destroy the world!”
“Aw man, I want a frisbee that can destroy the world,” human Jaron whines, complaining for the sake of complaining, and he looks at Rek for some reason as if he would be able to do anything about his newfound problem. “That’s mean, why don’t I have one?”
He drags his hands down his face. Of course he’s saddled up with two of them now.
Angel Jaron nods, putting a hand on his counterpart's shoulders. He frowns, feeling how thin the human is under the baggy clothes. He doesn’t say anything about it, though.
“Sorry buddy, world destroying frisbees are only for the most handsome,” he says, with no shame at all.
“You both have the same face,” Rek deadpans, before taking a bite of his own sandwich. He can’t help smiling at the duo.
“Nah.” Human Jaron smiles innocently, shaking his head. “I am prettier.”
“Exactly. He’s the pretty one, I’m the handsome one. Duh.” Angel Jaron doesn’t miss a beat. There’s a shit-eating grin that tells Rek exactly how it is, there’s no getting in between this, no convincing him otherwise.
“What did I do to deserve this?” Rek complains out loud.
“Sandwiches,” both Jarons say in unison.
He just groans louder.
“So…” human Jaron starts after a moment of silence. “Do you think I will be hunted for sport if I go out, or do I need to follow my original plan and just sneak around Lifesteal?”
Angel Jaron looks at him with a soft chuckle. “I was going to say ‘you’re not the weirdest thing we’ve seen on this server’ but it might be a lie. You’re too … normal.” He shares a look with Rek, who doesn’t disagree. “That said, as long as you’re careful, you should fit in pretty well. You’re still weird enough.”
Human Jaron laughs. “I never thought I would see the day I would be called ‘too normal’.” He cleans a fake tear from his eyes. “Considering what I saw from you, Rek and Roshambo’s … hand extravaganza, am I good to assume things will only get weirder?”
He shares a look with the other, who knows it just as well as him. His lips split into a grin, but it’s more fond than anything. “Oh yeah, absolutely. Just wait until you see Clown or Red. There’s not a single normal person on this server.”
And it’s best that way. Lifesteal—well, this version of it anyways—is a sanctuary for weirdos like them. The ones who simply don’t fit in anywhere else. For guardian angels and glitches, as well as living stars and shapeshifting fae. This … new Jaron, from some place he doesn’t know, really isn’t that much of a misfit if he thinks about it for more than a second.
“Oh gosh, someone get Clown in here. Imagine having to deal with three of us—”
“No!” Rek shuts the thought down before he can finish. “We’re not doing that! No!”
Human Jaron’s laughs, his dull eyes sparkle with something truly alive. “Sounds about right.” He huffs, taking his hat off and messing with his hair, grimacing a bit with how matted it is. “The day I land on a lifesteal that isn’t full of weirdos is the day I will know the universe got bored of me,” he jokes, looking at the wall when saying it.
The other Jaron shakes his head, he looks proud of the fact. “And you love us for it!”
But, Rek thinks as he takes in the other, he can’t be comfortable like that. He noticed it earlier and he can see it now, this Jaron looks like he’s gotten beat up over and over again without a break. If he was that hungry, how much time has he had to take care of himself at all? He doesn’t want to think of the red stains on his clothes or how long they might’ve been there already.
“Jaron—” They both look up and he sighs. “Angel.”
“Yes, darling?”
Oh, he’s going to strangle him. “Get a fresh set of clothes.” He looks at human Jaron. “I … don’t mean to offend you or anything, but we have a bathroom that you can use to take a bath, if you want …” Well, that’s awkward, but Rek isn’t really sure how to tell someone that they look like the dead and should probably bathe.
Human Jaron scrunches his face, probably thinking if he should be offended or not, but his shoulders sag instead, and he suddenly looks a lot more tired.
“Yeah, yeah.” He agrees easily, holding his hat close to his chest. “That would be great, man. Thanks.”
It’s only when human Jaron is away, closed in the bathroom with a set of clean clothes taken freshy from his counterpart’s enderchest, that Rek turns to look at his Jaron.
“So…” he starts.
“So…” Jaron raises an eyebrow, his wings twitch a bit nervously. It’s clear both of them noticed the same thing.
“We probably need to tell Minute about that.” It’s the obvious conclusion.
“Yep.” Jaron nods, putting his hands in his pockets, and side-eyes the direction the bathroom is in. “I don’t know about you, Parker, but when a human looks the way he does, it’s normally enough reason for them to have someone like me following them around.” He gestures at his halo and flexes his wings to make a point.
Yeah, he’s aware. Whatever may have happened, whatever he might’ve gone through, it doesn’t look pretty. If it got any worse, he might look like a walking corpse—and not the kind they already have walking around.
“We should tell Minute. He’ll know what to do, right?”
Jaron nods, forcing his wings to relax where they’re agitated and uneasy. He has to be itching to protect the guy, as is the purpose he was made for. “Minute, and we should probably get others informed too. We don’t know where he’s from, I don’t think we really know what he can do either. Best to have our best heads together and figure this out. Do you think Spoke might know something?”
He shrugs. Something about the drop of that name has the tension in the air rise up a pitch, and he doesn’t like the implications. “We’ll see, let’s just message Minute to meet us somewhere first, alright?”