Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Second was bored. Not that there weren’t interesting things to do! Just that everyone seemed busy at the moment and he’d been helping out with this animation for a while now and something was just wrong with it, and he still didn’t know what.

His pencil tool slipped as he was lost in thought and he had to erase the leg he was working on. Nothing seemed to be going right with his drawing — it would be nice to have someone helping, but Alan was busy with a separate drawing and the others were in Minecraft.

None of his friends could help out when it came to animating. Their skills lied in other things. Maybe somewhere there were more stick figures who could use the tools and help him draw.

More stick figures…

Those words reminded him of something, though he couldn’t say what.

He vaguely remembered seeing messages on Facebook the day he had woken up. He tried his best not to think about that day too often so it was no wonder he’d brushed it aside, but Alan had created other stick figures!

Hey, are you okay?

Second jumped back. Alan’s cursor had come to hover just beside him while he was lost in thought.

Yeah
Have you made any other stick figures like me?

Alan didn't respond immediately, taken off guard by the sudden question. He started to type a few times, deleting it before Second could fully see what it said, and his cursor sunk slightly.

His name was
There were
I made one years ago. He was black not orange.

Second did a double take.

He hadn’t really been expecting confirmation. After all, if there were more stick figures on the PC then why wouldn’t he have met them? Something didn’t add up here, but he didn’t want to assume the worst.

It was probably just a misunderstanding.

Where is he?

He hoped it was a misunderstanding.

He… Died. A while ago.
Sorry tsc

Second slumped. For a moment he had hoped…

Then the cursor did a little spin, successfully pulling his attention away from his inevitable death and loneliness.

Alan went and adjusted the thickness of the brush, then returned to point Second towards an empty section of the drawing.

I didn’t think to before but
I can redraw him and then

He demonstrated what he meant, drawing a stick figure that looked remarkably like Second. Same height, same proportions, just in a different colour.

When he went to name the stick figure he did so almost hesitantly. Second had to crane his head to see what he was typing, and he could just make out the word Victim.

Strange name to call someone, but who was he to judge? His name was The Second Coming. His friends were named after colours. Victim wasn't the worst name out there, probably.

The stick figure — Victim — didn’t move when he was automatically selected, or when Alan deselected him and nudged him a bit. Not even when Second waved a hand in front of his face, which was concerning. Second looked at Alan for help, but the hovering cursor gave off the impression that he was just as confused.

Suddenly Victim flickered. Black, grey, black again, and Second stepped back. That didn’t seem right, but maybe it was because Victim had been dead? There was probably a logical explanation. But they had all died before in Minecraft and this hadn’t happened, so maybe it was because of how long he’d been dead for?

And then the flickering stopped and Victim crumpled to the ground. He had been left mostly dark grey, though the grey faded to black at the ends of his limbs, and he only remained still for a second before jumping up, scaring Second enough for him to fall over. Victim reached frantically for… something. Something he obviously didn’t find. Maybe something he had with him when he died?

Asking how he died would be rude, wouldn't it.

When Second and Victim made eye contact Victim startled again and pointed at him. Second pointed back, just a little confused.

“Who are you?”

Victim sounded a lot older than Second himself.

“I’m Second. Are you… Victim?”

Second didn’t like how the word sounded out loud. Neither did the other stick figure, if his tense posture was any indication.

“My name is Vic. Where…” Vic trailed off in the middle of reaching out to help Second stand as he evidently caught sight of something behind Second, who turned and came face-to-face with Alan.

Hello Victim

Chapter Text

Agent increased the output of the flames at Vic’s signal. The sparks grew slowly into an actual fire, reflected harshly in his glasses.

Vic looked somewhat pleased at the development, though the instinctual fear never left his eyes. The project had taken months of work, almost a year, and a few of the clones had sacrificed their lives in the earliest attempts to wield fire.

But Vic had been determined to master the element that had destroyed his life and there he stood, immersed in flames and all the better for it.

Agent wasn’t stupid. He knew — or he had a well enough idea — what Vic wanted to do after finishing the project. The wanted posters and cork board were clear enough signs.

Agent wanted revenge for Mitsi’s death as much as Vic, but he couldn’t help but worry that his friend was destroying himself in the process. Even from his position at the control panel he could make out Vic’s eye bags and perpetual slouch. He hadn’t slept for at least three. days.

At this rate he’d be dead before accomplishing anything.

The last few embers, which had slowly been fizzling out, ignited suddenly and shocked Agent out of his thoughts. He decreased the intensity, praying he wouldn’t have to use the sprinklers they’d prepared out of caution, and peered into the box.

Vic didn’t look injured at first. There were no burns, nothing that would stand out at first glance, except for the fact that he was clutching his head.

Though wary, Agent accepted this as a result of not sleeping and being suddenly exposed to bright lights. It wasn’t like headaches were uncommon for Vic, even if this one seemed particularly bad.

He only truly began to worry when Vic began to shake as though in extreme pain, hurrying to open the door and avoid the odd fires still scattered around.

One blink.

Then Vic crumpled to the ground, still, in the second before Agent could reach out to him. Agent dropped to his knees in turn, trying to calm his own pulse enough to take his friend’s.

But no matter how still he forced his hands to be, he couldn’t seem to locate Vic’s pulse.

He was still warm though, and everyone tells you corpses are cold. Maybe if they went quick enough…

Vic couldn’t be dead.

Agent scooped up his unconscious body (not corpse) and ran to the infirmary. He could only be grateful that they’d had the foresight to position it near the experimental areas and that Vic was so light, though he’d lamented it often in the past.

The doctor dropped her clipboard as they entered, then scrambled to pick it up and direct them to the nearest bed.

“He collapsed while experimenting with fire in the box. He looked to have a headache but there was nothing…”

“He doesn’t have any burns,” the doctor noted offhandedly. “Is the box properly ventilated?”

“Yes.”

Agent could only watch as Vic’s pulse was taken and they tried again and again to restore the dead code, until they finally gave up.

“Is he…”

“I’m sorry.”

When the doctor shook her head, he sat on the nearest chair robotically and tried to understand what she was saying. No one just died like that, not after everything, and despite his unfortunate sleeping and eating habits Vic wasn’t at risk of something happening to him.

Which left only one possibility; murder.

Or, as the doctor so kindly put it an hour or so later, an illness that no one had been able to pick up on previously due to Vic’s… resistance, when it came to doctors. It wasn’t confirmed to be the cause, but it was the most plausible theory they could think of.

How could he not have noticed that something was wrong? Even if the doctors confirmed that it had been a murder, despite their original assumptions, he should have known.

Agent only asked to be given the body once they were done doing their tests so that he could bury his friend next to his wife, like he would’ve wanted. The doctors acquiesced.

Now, all that was left to do was wait.

And, he realized, inform the mercenaries of their boss’s fate.

Chapter Text

Hello Victim

Second lit up. “Alan!”

Alan didn’t respond, caught in a staring contest with the grey stick figure. Second looked between the two of them, as the cursor inched forward once.

With a sudden speed Vic pushed him aside, bracing himself for… something? Second watched in confusion as the cursor visibly recoiled.

Im not going to

He paused briefly, then deleted his text. Second frowned.

You’re safe here.

Why wouldn’t he be safe? It wasn’t like there was anything dangerous on the PC, except for maybe Alan himself. And Alan wouldn’t hurt any of them! Even when he had thought his friends were deleted, it had turned out to be a misunderstanding.

Even when he had thought Alan was going to delete him, it had just been a misunderstanding. He knew that much.

 Looking at Vic revealed nothing but what appeared to be intense paranoia. Alan’s expression was obscured by the reflection of light in his glasses.

“Do you have a toolbar?”

It took a second for Second to realize Vic was talking to him, but he pulled out his pencil anyways. He was getting that feeling again, the one where he was missing something, and something bad.

Why would Vic be unsafe? Come to think of it, why had he been dead in the first place? Even now he was shaking, almost imperceptibly, as he gave Second what was probably meant to be a reassuring look.

Second offered him the pencil, which he took gratefully. Holding it at least calmed him down slightly, though not so much that it eased Second’s worries.

Whatever it was, it seemed to centre around the cursor, so Second peered over Vic’s shoulder and shooed Alan away. The cursor floated back a few paces, then left the window completely at Second’s nod. He caught sight of solitaire being opened to the side.

Second nudged Vic and took his arm when he turned.

“Nothing here is going to hurt you,” said Second, hoping to provide some reassurance, but all he was met with was terror.

“What did he do?”

What? No one in the PC would do anything bad like his tone suggested. Maybe before Vic had died there had been someone else, which was at least a plausible theory, but something about it felt wrong.

“Who?”

Vic gave him a look, disbelief and pity mixed into an odd blend of determination.

Second waited for him to explain, very nearly fed up with everything happening, when Vic happened to glance behind him and his face morphed into bewilderment.

Second’s friends skidded to a stop around him and almost tripped into each other.

The scene was comical. Five stick figures in various positions of shock in a circle around the two hollow heads.

Actually, Vic looked exhausted. Those were dark eye bags, to a point it was genuinely concerning. Had he not been sleeping well before he died or something? Second felt as though being dead for a while would probably get rid of exhaustion, or at least lessen it, but here he stood.

“Who is he?”

“Is he like Orange?”

“StRaNgEr DaNgEr he says-“

At the sudden burst of questions, Vic narrowed his eyes. “My name is Vic. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he greeted, extending his hand.

Yellow tilted his head as they shook hands. “How is he here? Did Alan draw him?”

They both freeze — Vic at the mention of Alan and Second in a sudden burst of uncertainty. He doubted Vic would want to talk about his death given how he’d reacted to the cursor and just… waking up.

“I’ll tell you guys later. Lets help him get settled in?”

He gives them a look that promises answers if they can just be patient.

As Red pulls Blue and Vic up to show him the sticksfight.com webpage, Yellow and Green hang back with Second.

“Alan didn’t draw him, did he?”

Second shakes his head. “Vic was dead, probably for a long time, but Alan brought him back somehow.”

His friends quiet down for a few precious seconds.

“Do you know how he died?” asks Green. Second shrugged.

“Something bad happened. I don’t want to ask him what…”

Vic poked the website bar curiously, then stood up abruptly.

Second was genuinely surprised when he went toppling off and back onto the animation program as he ran over. Red and Blue peered curiously at the passed out stick, who had either fainted or fallen asleep on the spot.

He looked more relaxed than he had since he’d been resurrected, but he was still clutching Second’s pencil and Second really didn’t want to wake him up.

“You should draw him a bed,” suggests Yellow.

“How would we get him on it without waking him up?”

Second sat down and let them talk it out. He was well deserving of some rest at this point, so why not catch up on sleep?

Chapter Text

“…they couldn’t revive him.”

The mercenaries stand around Vic’s desk where Agent sits, silent for once. Agent doesn’t look at them, instead turning his gaze to the picture resting beside him, where Vic and Mitsi smile back.

Ballista cracks his knuckles. “Not to worry! I’ve been reading up on necromancy!”

They all look at him with varying expressions of disbelief and anger. His confidence falters. “Do you still have the body?”

Resting his head in his hands, Agent sighs. “Better that than nothing,” he mutters, and directs everyone out of the room and right into the doctor.

“Sorry,” she exclaims, “I just— the tests are done. We couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. No illnesses. Would you like to see the corpse?”

The mercenaries take a moment to process what she just said.

“Was he poisoned?” questions Primal.

“No, there was nothing out of the ordinary,” she shakes her head.

“We would like to see the body,” Agent says. The doctor takes them down the hall, turning enough times to confuse most people, and into a room.

And there it is.

There he is.

It’s a cruel joke that he looks at peace, though he hadn’t been able to rest since Mitsi died. His complexion is pale. His eyes are closed.

He looks dead.

Admittedly, Agent wasn’t sure what he was expecting. The corpse looks like a corpse, and that shouldn’t be so shocking, but to see his closest friend, like that…

There’s something odd about it. The ends of his limbs look oddly pale in contrast the the rest of the body for some reason.

Ballista pushes to the front, tapping away at his screen, and snaps him out of his thoughts. Agent catches a glimpse of a low resolution photo of what looks to be an old page.

He somehow doubts this is going to work.

Ballista pulls out chalk and begins to make markings around the body, seemingly at random.

Then he gets candles out from who knows where and Agent has to take a second to wonder what his life has come to.

Stepping back, Ballista squints at his low quality image and begins to chant, odd words that sound mostly made up. Despite that, the candles flare to life suddenly and an ominous glow encompasses the room.

The corpse twitches.

Some of the doubt fades away as it rises above the table and the edges of the room grow dark. For a second he allows himself to hope.

He should’ve known better.

Ballista hesitates. It’s barely a pause, Agent only notices because he’s paying such close attention, but the glow flickers away, the candles extinguish, and the room returns to normal.

The corpse falls limply onto the table once more.

The doctor, who’d been watching from her spot by the door, drops her clipboard.

Agent turns to leave, doing his best not to look at the body, but it still manages to catch his eye.

The corpse, as he’d noticed earlier, looks oddly pale at the end of it’s limbs.

And, by the tips of its fingers, it’s begun to dissolve.

Chapter Text

Vic opened his eyes blearily. The sight of the empty whiteness above him stunned him momentarily before the memories came flooding back in.

Right, the PC again. His neck hurt, probably from sleeping on the floor, but at least he wasn't cold.

Someone had tucked a blanket around him, a truly ugly thing made of mostly clashing fabrics and patterns, but it was nice gesture.

What wasn’t nice was the cursor hovering around the other stick figures on the PC, who were crowding around him. Minus Second — Orange? — who appeared to be sleeping just behind them.

“You’re awake,” noted Yellow as Vic busied himself by staring the cursor down. Alan had claimed that he wouldn’t hurt him, but he wasn’t an idiot.

He remembered how things were.

What really worried him were the colourful sticks, younger than him, who gathered near the cursor without fear and spoke to him like a friend.

Like he could be trusted.

“Yes,” he responded, “I am.”

The colourful ones looked significantly more concerned about him than they had previous to him… falling asleep. Fainting.

Agent would be frustrated with him when he returned. He’d been worried by Vic’s lack of self-care and tendency to not sleep for a while, and hearing that Vic fainted again would be a cause for concern in his eyes.

If he ever found out.

Vic forced himself back into the present before he could start worrying about whether or not he’d see the mercenaries again. He’d escaped Alan once, he could do it again.

Could they escape, even with his help? They didn't seem particularly inclined to, and he couldn't help five unwilling people.

He brushed the thought from his mind and pushed himself to his feet, taking care to fold the blanket before placing it gently down. The black at the end of his arms threw him for a loop, and he caught himself lingering on the sight.

Second’s friends, who’d been suspiciously quiet compared to yesterday, exchanged looks that made Vic narrow his eyes.

“Have you ever had netherwart?”

The others groaned as Blue looked at him expectantly. Vic shook his head.

“I can’t say I have.”

Blue held out some kind of red plant — where had he even gotten that from? — and Vic accepted it, though hesitant. Red shook his head at him.

Hmm.

“I’ll… save this for later,” he decides, looking for somewhere to put it. Blue wilts but takes it back. His other friends slump, relieved. Second sat up and rubbed at his eyes.

Alan was nowhere to be seen.

That jolted him right back into fight or flight mode. He never wanted to see Alan again, not until he could complete his revenge plan, but not knowing where he was was much worse. He couldn’t do anything to defend himself, all he could do was-

He forced himself to calm down. There was no need to cause panic at the moment.

“Do you have a house?”

“We do! In Minecraft and here, we can show you the one here first…”

Vic let them guide him over to a webpage and inside a mostly unfurnished house. There was nothing on the first floor apart from two doors and stairs, though he could see something behind the farthest one.

The second floor had a game table and a nicely made room with bunkbeds and an arcade machine, and a chest that looked pixelated for some reason.

And it was all blindingly white.

Besides the unfortunate lack of colour, it did seem like a nice place.

“We should play a game,” decided Green, and pulled out a pack of cards.

Vic nodded. “Why not?” It wasn’t like he could do anything this very moment, although, “Is it meant to be this hot?”

“No, it isn’t.”

Yellow made a face. “The PC is probably overheating. We don’t have a thermostat.”

Why wouldn’t they have a thermostat-

Not the time. “Why would the PC overheat though?” Red asked. Yellow shrugged.

And that’s how they all ended up around the stairs, trying their best to remain cool as it continued to get hotter and hotter. Red fanned himself violently, Yellow rubbed a damp towel over his head, and Blue and Green lay on the floor and despaired.

Vic leaned against one of the walls, deciding to blame Alan for this. When in doubt and all that.

He could hear something faintly, but as none of the others reacted he assumed it was normal.

His strategy worked out perfectly, even if it didn’t actually cool him down, right up until someone knocked frantically at the wall. Yellow pushed it open and there was Second, accompanied by loud banging sounds.

“Something crazy is attacking and Alan is distracting it, some kind of spider virus thing!”

Second jumped around on the floor briefly then leapt up, startling Yellow into falling backwards. Red snickered.

And with a thud, something fell onto the toolbar.

Chapter Text

“Inside, inside!”

They all crowd around inside the house. Vic hopes that the virus won't be able to get into a game, but the hope is futile as it simply destroys the border and leaps at them. There’s no way they’ll be able to move in time.

The mouse flies in out of nowhere, slamming the virus against the wall harshly. Vic is momentarily stunned — only momentarily though, since it doesn’t actually do anything. The virus bites at the mouse, and then it’s gone too.

If Alan couldn’t stop it, what chance do they have?

A screen opens up, and is immediately destroyed. So, like a fool, Second jumps down while the virus is still and kicks it.

It almost looks like it might work as the colourful sticks pass the thing around, keeping it incapacitated using the element of surprise, but all good things come to an end. In a moment it has Blue dangling by his leg.

Vic reaches instinctively for his toolbar, only finding empty air.

Right. That.

The Virus tosses Blue away, allowing him to relax for half a second. He needs a replacement for his toolbar. This isn’t going to work, and he’s horribly defenceless as his new acquaintances give it their all.

He isn’t about to jump in without a weapon. He saw what it can do.

But he never does seem to be quick enough to save anyone.

It has Red pinned to the wall using some sort of web. Yellow, Green, and Blue follow, and then it’s only Vic and Second.

The webs stick him to the wall, and, embarrassingly, his first instinct is to freeze completely, something learned years ago that he had never fully been rid of. Less reactions always meant less pain, and that lesson had stuck with the terrified part of his brain that had never fully escaped the PC.

Vic tells that part of his brain to shut up.

Freezing won’t help him here, and it won’t help the others. He does want to help them, even if they don’t seem to understand the danger they’re in by being here. He wants to help them and he can’t afford to give up, not this time. Not ever.

Because now Second is stuck down there, alone, as he gets stuck to the floor, and Vic didn’t even try to help them fight. How does he always end up being useless when it comes to this?

The Virus sharpens its claws.

It approaches slowly, taking its sweet time, and Vic doesn’t look away from Second. It’s the least he can do. He has to take responsibility for this — he should have done something to help them. He could have been better.

Here he was, doomed to ruin everyone around him, powerless to stop the death of another person who had placed their trust in him, and he watches as the colourful sticks cried out for Second, and for Alan to help them. He can't seem to do the same.

Second himself struggles briefly, but he has a look in his eyes. He knows that struggling won't save him. All he can do is turn away and cover his eyes. Vic finds it in him to pray that it’ll be quick.

It crouches, ready to pounce.

As it makes its move, about to strike the killing blow and spear Second through the chest, something changes. There's an explosion, pushing the virus back, and a white portal that comes from nowhere.

The explosion leaves Second frozen, eyes wide, and the sound makes Vic’s blood boil. Second may be safe, but that sound had always heralded nothing but dread for Vic.

For once, he would've liked to be wrong.

For through the portal stepped a monster made in his own image, a face he had seen over and over bathed in ash and fire and blood.

The murderer crouched down to face the virus and lit his hands on fire, and Vic could only watch.

Helpless, again.