Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Flynn sucked in a deep desperate breath as he shot up, as if he were coming to life for a second time. He felt a rough rocky terrain under his fingertips and he looked down, seeing the mountainous terrain of the outlands under him. He looked around. No, this was not the outlands. He was in Tron City. Or what was once Tron City. Tron City was gone. He had succeeded. Now he was trapped here, alone. Completely alone. Sam was safe though, and that was all that mattered. He couldn’t believe he was alive. He shouldn’t have been. What did this mean? Everything was dark and grey, which is why it was easy to spot the source of orange in his peripheral vision. Clu. He was here. How? The program sat looking broken, holding his head in his hands between his knees. Flynn stared in shock. Clu made no move to acknowledge him, he didn’t look up at all. Maybe he had not even realised he had woken up. His mouth felt dry. He didn’t know what to do. Here was the program who caused him so much fear the last thousand cycles. Who kept him from his son. Who ruined his miracle. Flynn looked down at his hands. He supposed he did destroy Clu’s system as well. Actually, this entire thing was his fault. He created the bastard. Clu was him. Flynn laughed mirthlessly, still in shock. The program’s head rose very slowly from his hands. His shoulders tightened, but he still did not turn to face his maker. There was nothing else in this wasteland of a grid except the two of them. Flynn rose to his feet, wobbling a bit on unsteady legs. Gosh, he was getting old. He took slow steps toward his program, and laid a light hand on his right shoulder. He was shocked when Clu reacted immediately, left hand shooting up to grip the wrist of his maker very tightly. So tightly it was painful.
“You ruined everything” Clu growled, voice low. Flynn ignored the pain in his hand, which was still trapped in the program’s grasp as he knelt down just behind his shoulder. He sighed.
“...yeah, I did.” Flynn said quietly. Clu looked at him then, with an expression of hatred so intense, Flynn thought he might attack him again. Flynn had to be careful now. Clu was clearly gearing for it. His tongue felt dry in his mouth. On the bridge…that had been the last time he had seen Clu since Tron had defended him. His heart ached as he remembered Tron, the exact visual replica of his friend Alan.
“You killed Tron,” Flynn said, tone not accusatory, but factual. Clu’s shoulders slumped down a fraction.
“Maybe,” Was all he said. He shot up to stand suddenly, finally letting go of Flynn’s wrist, who was sure to have a bruise soon enough. The quick movement startled Flynn once again, who scrambled up as well. Clu’s manic, hysteric laugh filled the otherwise empty grid.
“Shit, man! All of it, all of it gone! I had it, I almost had it! I had perfection!” He yelled to the sky. Flynn sighed and shook his head, sad for his creation. Clearly, he had learned nothing. Could he? Would he ever be able to see what Flynn saw? Clu’s expression suddenly shifted from a look of anger to an almost pained confusion. He walked closer to Flynn, who took some cautious steps back.
“Why? Why am I still here? Why destroy everything and keep me alive?!” He asked.
“I don’t know. On the bridge - I had to save my son. I couldn’t let you win Clu, I couldn’t. What happened after? Here, now? This just happened. I thought everything would be gone. I thought I would die. You being here Clu…it’s incredible. You must have become more advanced than I ever thought, to have such resilient coding.” He said. The look Clu gave him was intense and emotional. Despite his hatred, it was clear that a part of him still seeked the approval of his creator. Seeing this, Flynn approached the program slowly, and one again, put his hand on his shoulder, face-to-face this time. Clu stood frozen, conflicted, unsure what to do. His jaw clenched and his head jerked to this side, where he imagined the tallest building in Tron City once stood.
“Clu,” Flynn said soflty, trying to draw the program’s attention away from the destruction. The pain and anger returned, full force.
‘Aw, Shit’, Flynn thought. Clu lunged at him, taking him to the ground, his hands wrapped around his throat, cutting his air off completely. Flynn panicked, hands clawing at Clu’s or scratching his face. It was no use. Clu wasn’t designed to feel pain, and Flynn wasn’t strong enough to force the program off.
“You stand there like you know everything, user. You stand there like we’re better off, like I don’t understand. YOU don’t understand Flynn. YOU don’t understand what could have been. I took this system to it’s maximum potential. It was going to become something more! Something you couldn’t have imagined!” Clu yelled. It was loud against Flynn’s ears. Clu could see the User losing his fight. The protests became weaker, his hands slowing and weakening in their protests. He looked Flynn in the eyes, which were now unfocused and glossy.
‘Weak’, he thought. Clu had lost everything, because of Flynn. Everything…except Flynn. Without his user, he would be all alone. He would be alone forever. There were no other programs to repurpose. He needed Flynn. Clu wrenched his hands away from his maker, as if it hurt him to do so. He sat back a bit, to give them a little space. Flynn breathed in a panicked, raspy breath and turned onto his stomach, then onto his arms, clutching his aching throat. He began to crawl away from Clu, before looking up to nothingness and realising it was pointless. He collapsed onto his back, catching his breath, succumbing to exhaustion.
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” He told Clu, voice raspy. Clu scoffed.
“You deserve it, man.” Clu said. That pissed Flynn off, but he stayed still, stayed quiet, trying to find his Zen.
“What are we going to do now?” Flynn asked. Silence. Flynn couldn’t rebuild. He couldn’t. Not after everything had fallen apart. Not after he had lost his son again. Not with Clu here. He was still dangerous for the system. He sighed.
“Something tells me I’m going to be living out the rest of my days here,” Flynn said. Sam wouldn’t know the grid was still alive.
“I’m gonna go build a house. Feel free to lend a hand,” He said. Flynn got up slowly, groaning a bit from his aching muscles. It had been a long day. He walked slowly towards some nondescript mountains in the distance. Angry, hurt, lonely and ashamed, Clu followed after a beat. This was going to be a rocky relationship, but all they had was each other, so they would make it work.

Chapter Text

Inside the digital walls of the new home, there was silence. Flynn was used to silence. He had had many years to become accustomed to it. Now, the silence brought back memories of isolation, being trapped in outlands, hiding. It had been painful, having to live with the fact that the world he created had been wrought with evils, and that if he tried to stand up for his design, he would only do more damage. Doing nothing could be so much harder than doing something. Especially when doing nothing brought back memories of his wife and son, who he thought he would never see again. Quorra was a gift. Quorra was the reason he survived. Seeing her grow was a treasure. She had such a good heart. She was so eager to learn. Flynn was sure there were many ISOs just as wonderful as her, before their lives were destroyed. This was the problem with a house so quiet. He continued to remember. Flynn rubbed his sore throat. Here, there was no Quorra, only Clu. Looking at him was painful. He saw the destroyer as much as he saw himself. In those thousand cycles apart from the program, Flynn had always known, always held in his heart, that this enemy, who had done such horrible things, was just a version of himself. Having to see him face to face, all the time, however, just drove home the point. But he couldn’t leave the program. Their relationship was complicated. Flynn felt anger toward Clu for his misdoings. He felt pity for the destruction of the system he built. He felt regret for having given him such a misguided purpose and not having taken his words seriously enough as their relationship evolved in the early stages of the grid. Despite that, he also felt grateful, that he was not alone in this world, and that he may have the chance to work through all that had happened with the very program who had gone rogue. Though, he supposed, in Clu’s mind, he may have been the one to have gone rogue. In Clu’s mind, Flynn was the one who changed. Having been only two days since the bridge incident, four milicycles to be exact, he knew the program wasn’t ready for such conversations, so Flynn spent most of his time in these first few days knocking on the sky, trying to escape his anger.

The profound loss was almost impossible to process. Just as Flynn spent his time in meditation, Clu now often spent his time pacing, going through events in his head. He raged about the past, mourned the present, but when he tried to look ahead, plan for the future as he always did, there was nothing. He felt paralysed. No distraction. Nothing he could throw himself into. Only he and Flynn. Clu had spent so long trying to find Flynn, trying to coax him out of the rugged outlands. Now, he felt trapped by him. The only way Clu could accomplish his directive, to create the perfect system, was by having control and right now, he had none. Flynn wouldn’t make any new programs. If nothing changed, he would be trapped here for the rest of time. Flynn would age and die eventually. If nothing changed…Clu would have to derezz himself. The thought disturbed him greatly. With an agonised scream Clu lashed out at the furniture around him, breaking foreign chairs, Flynn’s little trinkets and anything else in his reach.
“You alright, man?” A voice, like his own but a little scraglier, came from behind. Clu turned to look at Flynn. He stood awkwardly, with his hands dead weight at his sides. He looked uneasy, as if he was worried he would receive the same treatment as the broken artifacts for imposing. Well, at least there was something Clu held over Flynn.
“Perfect,” Clu replied after a beat.
“You gonna pick all that up?” Flynn asked, a little more at ease now. Clu sauntered over to one of Flynn’s…pieces of furniture. A long, comfortable seat seemingly meant for more than one program. He sat, ran his hands through his hair, then rested his elbows on his knees, chin on his folded prayer-style hands.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, buddy.” His creator said, tentatively sitting right next to Clu.
“This thing that happened…it’s going to keep haunting us, but it’s never going to change. We can’t change the past. If we could, I guarantee our circumstances would be different.” Flynn wasn’t taken aback by the program’s silence. He kept talking.
“We gotta figure out a way to get past this. It’ll always hurt, the things you did to me, what I did to you. It’ll take time, but we gotta figure out how to do this, man. If not, there'll be much more painful cycles ahead.” He said. Silence.
“Did I ever tell you about ping-pong?” Flynn asked suddenly. Clu finally looked at him, brows furrowed.

It was surreal, standing face to face with his program, teaching him ping pong as if they hadn’t been at odds for most of their lives. Clu caught on quickly, whether it was because he was a program, or because he had a near replica of Flynn’s own mind. As they played, it became clear Clu was releasing some of his anger toward Flynn into the game. He went wide-eyed as the ball made an audible whiz past his ear, then an unusually loud bang as it hit the barrier behind him.
“Jesus man, you’re gonna dent my ball!” He laughed. Clu smirked and the game went on. Flynn lost 21-7. It probably would’ve been more if he hadn’t had some early victories. He guessed his old man reflexes just wouldn’t keep up. He had fun though, and as he looked across the table at Clu, he couldn’t help but think of Sam, and when he first taught the boy how to hold a paddle. He couldn’t keep the sad smile from his face. Clu didn’t seem to notice. He flipped the paddle in his hand, now looking around a little restlessly.
“How about a rematch?” Flynn asked.
“Game on,” Clu answered.
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Half a cycle had past with much silence and much brooding. Still, there was an acknowledgement that they relied on one another, and peace was kept. There were even some good moments, ones reminiscent of the night Clu had learned ping pong where they played games of chess or held light cycle races. Ping pong itself had become an almost nightly occurrence, some games more competitive than others, depending on the level of tension between the two on any given night. Flynn still meditated, and Clu still paced. There were times, albeit rarely, when the idea of integrating another program swept into Flynn’s mind, usually in the form of a dream. Every time, the picture sent a wave of nausea in Flynn’s body, his every fiber rejecting the idea. Though he would object to the language, Flynn was effectively traumatised. The idea was forced into his mind once more after one of their nightly games. Clu had beat Flynn 21-5. When he showed no sign of satisfaction, no teasing, no bragging, not even smirking, Flynn knew something was wrong.
“What’s on your mind?” He asked the program as he was putting away the paddles in a neat, criss cross fashion.
“Missing some better competition.” Clu said, a non committal smile on his face.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Flynn asked. There were a few seconds of silence.
“When you derr– When you die, and you will, you know i’m going to be stuck here by myself.” He said.
“I got no purpose, Flynn. My directive is unachievable with these resources. When you die, there will be nothing at all.” He elaborated. The combination of lacking directive, with no promise of future prosperity weighed heavily on the program, growing more and more difficult as time passed. Flynn’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He knew what he had to do. He knew what he had to say.
“There will be another program, Clu. Just give me some time.” He said. Flynn wrung his fingers, disturbed. It was time to meditate.

Chapter Text

Clu gave Flynn time. A lot of it. The more time passed, the more frustrated he grew with the old man. Despite this, he never let his anger out on Flynn. He wouldn’t compromise the potential for future companionship. Flynn knew, however. Even if Clu never yelled at him, never made to hurt him, his anger was revealed in other ways. Flynn sometimes heard what he would describe as tantrums from Clu from across the house. He noticed when the program’s fists clenched, or when he brushed his hands through his hair in an irate, compulsive manner, a subconscious way to ground himself. He knew very well the program was frustrated, even nervous. He was aware that Clu believed he had betrayed him and his purpose early on. He assumed he was afraid of another perceived betrayal. Flynn knew he had to give in eventually. It would be cruel to leave Clu alone in the empty grid. But he had some time before he would die. He wanted to make sure Clu was as ready as possible, to prevent any future corruption. The idea of creating more programs was still very disturbing to him. In his opinion, he wasn’t ready and neither was Clu.

Over the years, Flynn would ensure he and Clu spoke consistently. They spoke over board games as Flynn tried to incorporate lessons into the games they were playing and the conversations they were having, much like he did with Quorra. Quorra proved to be much more adaptable than Clu, who seemed stuck in his own perspective in many ways. Through the years, Flynn continued his effort to deradicalise Clu. To his credit, the program seemed to put in a real effort in understanding his creator and the views he held. The problem was, as the years went by, though Clu seemed to swallow certain truths and accept certain concepts, Flynn wondered if his reluctant acceptances were made only to please Flynn, in order to see the creation of the promised future program. Flynn would often wonder if in the end he could really go through with his promise. He had technically promised only one other program. Even if Clu corrupted the one he offered, there could be no world domination in a world of two programs. Flynn knew this one program wouldn’t be enough for Clu, who was designed to create a perfect world, with a full, complex system. Was it the right thing, to make only one? Perhaps he could try to create another administrator, who could counter Clu? No, that didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Not after he screwed up this one so bad. Part of Flynn also believed he might be thinking too cynically of Clu. After all, he was making progress. Clu had evolved so much since he was first created. Flynn didn’t really know his full potential. The good news was, he still had time to figure this all out. Flynn loved Clu. He created Clu. He would do everything in his power to ensure the program's success. He wanted to give Clu happiness as he lived out the rest of his eternal life on the grid. It was his responsibility as a creator. Flynn had given Sam freedom. He would try to free Clu from his own oppressive programming as well.
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Flynn and Clu had stopped playing ping pong just under a cycle ago. There was no point to it. Flynn was too old now, too slow. He could no longer hit the ball. Clu had had to take on a new role as a caregiver, something he had never before had to take. When he ruled the grid, all those cycles ago, he saw himself as a liberator. He also saw himself as a sort of father, to lead his programs to a better future. The speeches he would give often held this parental undertone, and he imagined the pride he felt upon seeing his adoring subjects could perhaps in some way be reminiscent of watching your child about to accomplish greatness. Clu was now helping the aged and weak Flynn around the home. He helped Flynn get up when his legs were stiff and fetched his cane when he carelessly left it behind. He would sometimes bring his creator food and water when he was too impatient or bothered to watch the old man move so agonizingly slow to the kitchen. The two had switched over to more sedentary games now. Flynn spoke much more often in his very advanced years. It wasn’t uncommon for him to lose his train of thought, or forget details of stories he had told many times over. Clu would patiently fill in the blanks. It was difficult for him to see his creator like this. Clu had never seen someone so old. Programs did not age. It’s what gave them the potential for perfection. Despite his still lingering feelings of betrayal from the man, it genuinely hurt to see him in such decline. What an awful place the User world must be, to be doomed to this phenomenon. If only he had had the chance to help it. As Flynn spoke now more than ever, Clu had never been more silent. He spent his time listening to the old man, who still managed to be captivating despite his slowness. Maybe even more captivating, as there was almost nothing off the table now. He would tell Clu anything Clu asked. The only time he was ever silent was when Clu began to edge around the possibility of another program.
“Soon, soon.” Flynn would repeat, then trail off. This aggravated Clu. It made him nervous. His creator was so old. Could he still create programs? He was running out of time.

One day, Clu broke.

“Soon! You’re always saying soon! That you need more time! There’s no more time! Time’s just about run out! You’re leaving me alone, man! You’re breaking your promise! You always break your promises! I should have never trusted you! You’re dooming me! I’m doomed!” The program yelled so loudly he would be heard outside the home. Flynn watched Clu pace around, agitated. He would approach him quickly, with intention, then break away and walk back in an almost panicked way. He did this three times.
“You were never going to make another program.” Clu said finally, voice broken. He walked off, looking absolutely defeated. Flynn had not seen him look so utterly dejected since the day the grid had been reset. Since the last day Flynn had seen his boy. Sam. He would be old too, now. He hoped he and Quorra had stayed in touch. Of course they would have. Even if Sam was stupid enough to stray, Quorra was loyal enough to stick things through. They were good together, in the short time they were here. All that time he had missed with his son… The boy had been abandoned by his own father. It was his fault, all derived from his own shortsightedness. He couldn’t leave Clu to suffer. He couldn’t abandon another son. It was time.

Clu never returned to the living area where he had left Flynn. Flynn waited, not because he wasn’t ready, just in case Clu wanted to come out to speak with him about anything before going into his rest cycle. It felt like the right thing to do, though he knew the program would likely not emerge while dealing with such heavy emotions. That was alright. The many cycles they had spent together was enough for Flynn. Clu didn’t come, and Flynn took a deep breath, completely aware of what he was getting himself into. The creator pushed up on his cane, righting his stiff knees into a standing position. He leaned on the clear, hooked stick as he closed his eyes, feeling the energy of the system through his every bone, his every muscle. It felt exactly like it did all those years ago, when he first made Clu: mild and pure, despite its power. Channeling the grid’s energy, Flynn became one with the system. For the first time in thousands of cycles, he created.
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Clu reset with a jolt, forcefully pulled out of his rest cycle. His dulled yellow-orange circuits brightened once more as he looked around, confused. Something had happened, he could feel it. The energy that flowed perpetually through the grid, stagnant as it had been since the grid’s reset, now buzzed, alive.
“Flynn?” He called out hesitantly, as he stepped out of his room. There was no answer. Clu, now convinced something was wrong, cautiously made his way to the living area, where he had last seen the old man. When he entered the room, his throat clutched tight and he took a half step back, in surprise. There were programs in the room. Their white circuits illuminated the space as they observed one another in wonder, taking everything in as new, much like infants. One of the programs noticed Clu, and looked curiously at his differing colour. Clu had asked Flynn a few cycles ago if it bothered the man that his circuits had remained their rebellious colour long after the grid’s destruction. He figured Flynn must see his colour as some sign of evil. He told him he was glad Clu’s colour had remained changed, as it revealed his individuality, and how much he had evolved and could continue to evolve since his creation. The staring program addressed him in a loud, clear voice, dragging the attention of all the other programs in the room to Clu.
“Are you the creator?” he asked. The creator. Clu didn’t say a word. He began to walk frantically around the house.
“Flynn?!” He called out once more. Deep down, he knew there would be no answer. Flynn had been so old and weak. The creation of this many programs would have taken all of his might. On the bed, in Flynn’s room, he saw a note.

Hey man.
There’s your program! See, I didn’t lie! Just took me a while to get to the punch. You get pretty slow when you get old, not that you’d know.
Those programs out there, they know nothing yet. You’re free to tell them what you know, or don’t. I trust you.
Word of advice, try not to get too hyped up on perfection. Like I told you, It’s unknowable, It’s impossible, but it’s also right in front of us, all the time. I hope I was at least able to give you the chance to see that.
I love you. Your buddy,
Flynn.

The words ‘I trust you’ echoed in Clu’s mind. He knew what he had to do.