Chapter Text
The rain casts a hazy mist over the bright lights of Freedom City. The glow of neon advertisements paints the city in vibrant fog as helicars fly overhead. As he walks, Vyncent rubs circles into the compass in his pocket, letting the warmth of the wisp trapped inside seep into his palm. He ducks away from the cold chill of the rain, and flicks up the hood of his coat. He breathes in, letting the familiar, burnt smell of smog clog his lungs. It would be a lot easier to get back, he thinks, if the Winnebago wasn’t currently invisible. He sighs in annoyance. Damn.
He walks through narrow alleyways, trapped by towering black buildings that reach towards the moon. Finally, he arrives at an abandoned parking lot, and begins searching for the Winnebago. It’s a pointless effort, and he gets so annoyed that he pulls out his phone and starts tapping random buttons, hoping to call Dakota. Gods, he wishes that Prime had sending spells instead of this junk. Eventually, he must hit the right button because Dakota’s name pops up on the screen, and the phone starts ringing.
"Hi Vynce!" Dakota’s enthusiastic voice chirps out, "What’d you need?"
"Dakota, please turn on the Winnebago," Vyncent pleads.
"Shit," Dakota replies with a laugh, "Yeah, one second."
The phone makes a sad sort of beep. Almost instantly, a large blue and gold RV appears, proudly advertising "Prime Defenders Landscaping (and Heroism)". It bathes the dark parking lot in warm light, and Vyncent can see the glow of their fairy lights through the tinted windows. Dakota is keeping watch from the front. He spots him and gives a little wave. Suddenly, the door swings open.
"Hey! How’d it go?" Dakota says, waiting for Vyncent to jog through the rain.
"Fine," He says briskly, stepping through the narrow doorway and into the warm glow. He shakes off his jacket with a look of dismay— he won’t be able to wear it tomorrow, that’s for sure. "Lightspeed’s hideout thingy at the library is still open. Also found a decent place to get some groceries."
By the time he glances back at Dakota, he’s already sat at the old desk, covered in loose paper with sprawling ancient scripts. His smile is worn, though still bright.
Vyncent looks at the mess blankly, "Uh. Any luck?"
Dakota huffs. "Well I tried to read ‘em and they made me blind for like a full minute so I decided fuck that. Since then I’ve been trying to piece together the compass stuff, but—"
Vyncent pulls out the compass, the bright wisp flitting around inside, and Dakota takes it with a frown. He gestures to a map, covered in dots and arrows and dark scratchy handwriting. "I’m lost."
Vyncent hums. "Are we sure that ‘Mal’ guy isn’t just trying to throw us off?"
Dakota scowls at the wall. "I don’t trust him," He glances at the blue flame inside the compass and sobers up, "But… I don’t know what else to do."
"Me neither," Vyncent admits dully.
Vyncent throws himself onto the raggedy old couch— which doubles as his bed— and stares up into the fairy lights until they burn spots into his eyes. The silence passes between the two, interrupted only by Dakota’s groan of annoyance as the old page once again blinds him.
Dakota whines, "How the fuck did Ashe read these things?"
Vyncent gives a useless shrug, which Dakota doesn’t see. Maybe that’s a good thing. He doesn’t want to think about Ashe right now.
Vyncent grabs one of the chains attached to his belt and dangles it over his head absentmindedly. "We really need a better system," He complains.
"Huh?" Dakota replies, blinking rapidly.
"For the Winnebago," Vyncent adds, and Dakota giggles tiredly at their stupidity.
"The whole invisibility thing is kinda— way less cool than we thought," Dakota admits with a laugh.
"I mean, seriously, man," Vyncent laments, gesturing at the ceiling. "No matter who’s going out, l still have to use my phone to reply!"
"I literally put my contact on your home screen," Dakota huffs, "It can’t be that hard."
"Yeah? Try casting a sending spell and get back to me," Vyncent retorts, and Dakota rolls his eyes.
After a second, Dakota reaches out his hand, and Vyncent stares at it in mild confusion. "Give it here, dumbass. Your phone. Lemme see if I can make it even easier for you."
Vyncent obliges, watching as Dakota fluidly navigates the glowing interface. After a second, his eyes widen and Vyncent hears a sharp intake of breath.
"Why didn’t you tell me Cantrip texted you?" Dakota asks, a note of panic in his voice.
Vyncent sits up, searching Dakota’s face. Dread settles in his chest. "Wait what? She did?"
Dakota hands him his phone. There’s a blue text bubble in the screen. Sent a full day ago. The text simply reads, "Help".
He looks up, and sees Dakota mirroring his panic. "Fuck."
Dakota clicks on the location pin underneath the message, and thrusts the phone back to Vyncent.
A rush of air sends pages of notes flying off the desk. Vyncent shoves his phone into a pillow, and grabs a knife from his belt. A sharp crack sounds as it plunges into a nearby dart board. His fists clench as he stares.
"I’ll tell Master Cole we’re going," Dakota yells, already at the door. "Just wait a sec!"
"Okay," Vyncent mutters to empty air, still glaring at the wall. Tonight is going to be a long night.
Dakota rushes back, and starts the Winnebago without another word.
The drive to the hideout is a quiet affair, interrupted only by Dakota’s occasional cussing from behind the wheel. Vyncent watches out the window, scanning for threats. As they arrive at the destroyed street, Vyncent sees the single dim light amongst the sea of abandoned apartments. It’s so much more eerie in the darkened rain than ever before.
Dakota goes to run out ahead. Vyncent catches him by the sleeve at the doorway, rain whipping at his face. "We have literally no idea what’s in there. We go together."
Dakota gives a tense nod. The two scale the barely lit building through the rain, flying between the glinting fire exits and pipes with ease. At one point, the night lights up as thunder cracks through the quiet air. Vyncent’s boot slips on a slick pipe. He feels his stomach lurch, before Dakota catches him easily. He hoists him back to his feet and gives him a once over. Then he jumps on ahead.
Finally, they reach the single lit apartment. Vyncent creeps around a corner and nearly cuts his finger on broken glass. He peeks through the broken window, holding Dakota back.
The walls are littered with neon notes, posters, and stringboards. The furniture is old, vibrant, and slightly torn up, and the only thing saving potential visitors from the broken glass littered across the floor is an old maroon rug thrown overtop. In the middle, hunched over the black mass of a sleeping Alan, is Xavier.
Vyncent shifts slightly, and Xavier’s eyes snap to him. He looks angry, and cornered. Like a wild animal.
"Hey, X," He says tiredly, stepping in through the window. Xavier’s shoulder slump, though his eyes remain sharp.
"What took you so long?" Xavier snaps, voice rusty.
Dakota jumps in with a thud, "Is everything okay?! We saw your text— I’m sorry we’re late, it’s just— Vyncent sucks with phones even though I keep teaching him and, and—"
He pauses, walking over to Alan and placing a hesitant hand on the black rocks of his shoulder. Alan doesn’t even stir, remaining eerily still. "Hey— Alan, buddy. Wake up!"
Xavier watches Dakota’s hand intensely, moving himself as if to protect Alan.
Vyncent feels his blood turn to ice as he looks between the two of them. "Where’s Cantrip?"
Xavier freezes.
"We’re too late," Vyncent says, and it isn’t a question.
A harsh, bitter laugh fills the room. "Well, you couldn’t have been early."
Dakota plops down ungracefully onto the old rug. "Tell us what happened," He demands, placing a hand on Xavier’s shoulder.
Vyncent sits, tense and curled up with one leg out in front of him. He runs a light finger over the tip of a knife, and listens.
"I don’t know," Xavier sighs. "We were planning something."
Dakota squints at the mess littering the wall. "Planning what?"
Xavier looks up for a second, fiddling with his now-ripped red headband, and exhales, frustratedly. "God, I don’t remember. Doesn’t really matter, anyway. We decided to stay the night here," He gestures to the ripped up beanbag chairs throughout the room. "Cantrip didn’t want to go home. Don’t know why."
Xavier grabs an old pillow, and adds it to the stack propping up Alan’s head. His voice begins to hitch, and Vyncent realizes abruptly why he turned his face away. "We went to sleep on the 16th. Then I woke up, and it was the 18th."
"What happened, then?" Dakota asks, brows drawn together.
"I told you," Xavier snaps, annoyed "I don’t know. I just woke up, and a day had passed, and Cantrip was gone, and my phone was gone, and I was covered in gashes, and Alan—"
He chokes up, then, waving Dakota and Vyncent over. He points to Alan’s chest, punctuated by a raised line of raw looking blue tinted dark rock, and under the dim light Vyncent can almost make out—
Oh. Dead silence fills the room as the three of them stare. No one breathes.
"Are those stitches?!" Dakota finally whispers, horror flooding his voice. Vyncent feels vaguely sick.
It’s horrible to look at— rocks sewn together like skin. Like someone grabbed both sides of his chest, and tore. Vyncent’s hands tremble. The knife glides through his fingertip, and he hisses.
"Only him?" He asks, sucking away the sharp sting of blood. Xavier nods.
"Only some long cuts," Xavier confirms, pointing to what Vyncent’s experience instantly identifies as a sword wound. "Nothing like that… But,"
Xavier holds out his wrists, looking away. They are wrapped in thick bruises, like long reddish bracelets. Along the edges are deep scratches. Dakota traces just around the marks with shaking hands, and carefully contained rage.
He gives another humorless laugh. "Not exactly painting a pretty picture, is it?"
Vyncent takes a deep breath. "Do you have any idea who did this?"
"It was dark," Xavier recalls, slowly. "But as I woke up, I caught I glimpse of a truck."
Xavier locks eyes with Vyncent, and the answer hits him. He exhales sharply, and waits for the damning words to cut through the silent air. "I think it said Bell-Tech."
Notes:
Short chapter to start. Vyncent and Dakota seem kind of normal, here, but don’t worry. You’ll get to see the effects of William’s absence unfold very soon.
But for now, go drink some water. I know you’re dehydrated >:(
— prismatic
Chapter 2: revelations
Summary:
Dakota and Vyncent begin to investigate. They don’t exactly like what they find.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Dakota chatters energetically all the way to the prison; theory after theory, each wilder than the last. Vyncent lets him. His voice helps to drown out Vyncent’s mounting dread. Helps keep him steady. As they cross streets and run along sloped sidewalks, Dakota’s voice blends with the din of the city, and Vyncent feels himself relax, minutely.
They wait at a cross walk, breathing in the burnt air of traffic. Dakota goes quiet for a while. It only takes a few minutes for Vyncent’s thoughts to spiral. Vyncent grabs Dakota’s sleeve, slowly, prompting him to look at him.
"Dakota…" He starts, forcing the words out, "Do you think—"
"No," He cuts Vyncent off shortly, and he can see conviction plain on Dakota’s face. "Don’t even say it. She’s not."
"Yeah," Vyncent breathes, and hides the way his hands shake by shoving them into his pockets. "Okay."
The mission was simple. They blend in with the crowd of Bell-Tech employees, see what basic information they could get before making a full invasion. They even still had the Bell-Tech Uniforms given to them by Cantrip.
Dakota, despite his usual rashness, agreed readily. Maybe that was a testament to their teamwork. Maybe it was a testament to something else entirely.
They walk up to the entrance, silent. It’s unassuming, another tall grey building in a sea of the same. No one would ever suspect a prison was housed here. And yet, Dakota checks the address quickly and nods to himself, dragging Vyncent along.
Vyncent gets a shiver up his spine as he crosses into the pocket dimension, but nothing more. It’s almost painfully normal.
The woman at the front desk immediately glares at them suspiciously. Vyncent sighs as he remembers that the last time they were here, they were with Wordsmith. Now they don’t have his prestige to get them in. Only their own.
"Kids," She pushes up her half-rimmed glasses as they approach and open their mouths, "I don’t know where you wanted to be, but I can assure that this isn’t it."
"Ma’am," Dakota starts confidently, pulling out his disabled W.A.T.C.H watch from his bag, "We’re the Prime Defenders. We’re running a super cool investigation into a murderer, and we kinda need to talk to him. You know how it is."
Vyncent nods sagely, and the woman just raises an eyebrow. "The Prime Defenders," She repeats slowly, brushing blond hair out of her eyes.
Dakota puffs out his chest. "Yep! I’m sure you’ve heard of us."
She shakes her head and sighs. "I don’t know how you kids found this place, but you need to leave."
"Didn’t you hear me?!" Dakota asks, getting frustrated. He holds up the watch, "We’re superheros!"
She doesn’t even look at them. "Uhuh," she says, and begins to dial the phone on the desk.
"Wait!" Vyncent interjects, "We can prove it!"
"Yeah! Just call Lightspeed. Ask about the Prime Defenders," Dakota adds, frantically.
"Please," Vyncent finishes, and gives her a desperate look.
The woman holds his gaze for a solid minute before she breaks with a sigh. "Fine," She acquiesces tiredly, and dials the phone again.
"Hello, Lightspeed. No there’s nothing wrong. There are some kids trying to get into the prison. Call themselves the Prime Defenders."
The call goes dead, and the woman stares at them blankly. She opens her mouth, and suddenly a flash of purple light and a gust of wind enters the room. Vyncent blinks, and Lightspeed meets his gaze.
"What’s wrong?" She asks, quickly, brushing back purple curls. "Is everything alright? Are you guys hurt? Why do you need to get into the prison?"
"Lightspeed!" Dakota exclaims, crashing into her with a hug. She smiles and hugs back. "We’re alright, but Cantrip is gone and we’re trying to figure out what happened because Bell-Tech says there was a murder and—"
"Slow down," She tells him, placing a hand on his fluffy red hair. "Who’s Cantrip?"
"A vigilante friend," Vyncent answers honestly.
"She has some weird ideas about murder so we stopped talking for a while but she’s still our friend," Dakota adds, and Lightspeed looks at him vaguely concerned.
"Okay… we can unpack that later. I thought you guys were looking for the Trickster?"
"We took a little detour," Vyncent explains, and she nods.
"Alright then." She turns to the woman at the desk. "They’re part of W.A.T.C.H.. You can let them in."
The woman’s eyes widen, and she slowly obliges with a bewildered look.
"Thanks Lightspeed!" Dakota grins.
Lightspeed gives him a fond look and turns to them both. "Be careful in there, alright?"
Lightspeed zips off on her skates, and the giant double doors unlock in front of them.
Dakota pushes them open, and they step in together. It’s time to learn the truth.
Bell-Tech is an enormously tall building. It looms over them, silver and filled with blue tinted windows. It’s covered in various neon advertisements for their products, always casting the building in cyan light. Helicars fly through various balconies, connecting to layer after layer of skyways. It makes Vyncent feel small, as he shoves his hands into the pocket of his old jacket. He fiddles with the bag holding the uniform and dreads.
Dakota runs back to him a whoosh of air, having scouted ahead. "Something’s wrong."
"What?" He asks worriedly.
"There’s police tape," Dakota informs him, looking pissed. "Bell killed some guy! Or at least that’s what they said."
Vyncent draws in a sharp breath and looks ahead as Dakota mumbles to himself about the line between CEO and villain.
Sure enough, Vyncent sees the vague shape of neon yellow tape crossing over the entrance. "Shit. You sure it was Bell?"
Dakota shrugs, and Vyncent feels his stomach twist. He pushes it down, refusing to think of the possibilities.
"C’mon," Dakota tells him, grabbing him by the sleeve, "Let’s go talk to them."
In an instant Vyncent is flying through the air, squeezing his eyes shut as wind tries to choke him and the ground rushes past below him. They’re at the entrance in less than a second, and Vyncent falls to the ground. Dakota lets go of him.
"Sorry!" He says, entirely unapologetically. "Now let’s go."
Vyncent is already regretting this.
What little staff that are left at Bell-Tech look utterly worn out, and entirely done with everyone’s bullshit. Which is unlucky for them, Vyncent supposes, considering his and Dakota’s tendency for exactly that.
They interrogate the staff with the utmost professionalism, ("How do you feel about the poor? More specifically, them— uh… not dying?" "Dakota.") and soon, Dakota’s amazing detective skills uncover a series of facts, which Vyncent dutifully lists in a notebook.
"i — someone died
ii — dakota isn’t allowed to run interrogations anymore
iii — they think it was bell’s brother
iv — the description sounds like they were a girl
v — murderer is in the supermax"
The prison is colder than he remembers. Or maybe that’s just the fear. Shadows seem to lurch out of every corner, even despite the hotel-esque decoration in the main hallway. Soon enough they are led into the small juvenile division, and cells seem to bleed tension into the poorly lit walkway.
Dakota is glacing at every cell, looking torn between pity and anger at the very idea of the inmates. Vyncent eventually grabs his hand, and Dakota only briefly hesitates before squeezing firmly. Vyncent’s shoulders drop.
He can only be thankful that Wavelength won’t be in this cell division. He doesn’t think he could handle that confrontation. Not now. Hopefully not ever.
Finally, the man leading them stops, and points to a cell. "That’s him. We would let you two speak to him in the interrogation rooms, but due to the suddenness of this request, you’ll have to make do without."
"That’s fine," Dakota replies with a smile. "Thanks!"
The man retreats, and they walk up to the cell together.
—
William raises his head at the approaching voices. He’s sat in the corner of this cell, curled up on the dirty floor, and bathed in dim yellow light from the hallway. He stubbornly ignores the pang of whatever longing emotion tries to break through his stony apathy.
There’s no point, anymore. He knows this well.
A bright voice rings out from the hallway as two figures step into view. "Hello!" They shout, voice rough but energetic.
They’re both out of place, here. Vibrant teens in casual clothes. Like they stepped in from another world. The energetic one steps forward, fiery red hair with a long hairband tying it back, and hanging out behind him. He shrugs off his heavy black jacket to reveal a black halter top underneath. William longs for his ratty old hoodie. He feels bare without it.
"We wanted to talk to you, if that’s okay." He informs an expressionless William.
William does not respond. The other one steps forward, and pulls a notebook out from a small messenger bag at his side.
"Did you really kill someone?" He asks, slowly. He shoves his hand into the pocket of his thick tan jacket. "You look, like, our age."
William stares at the way his purple hair sticks out messily of his unruly bun. He wonders what he used to tie it up. Must be thin, to be so well hidden.
The red haired one sighs dramatically. "Look, dude. Bro. Dawg. We’re looking for a girl named Cantrip. Know anything about her?"
Her frantic eyes flash in his vision, and William looks away. His body fills with bitter guilt as he chokes on perfectly good air.
Still, he keeps his face carefully blank, hoping desperately that they will just leave.
"Fine," Man-bun surrenders, at last. "One more thing. You worked with Bell, right? We think he experimented on our friend. Big guy, black rocks, likes to punch things. His name is Al—."
"—Is he alright?" William whispers, roughly. He leans forward. Locks eyes with them, gaze sharp. Pleading.
"Huh?" Red-hair asks, brows furrowing.
"Is he alright?" William repeats, barely louder. His voice cracks, slightly. "Is he alive?"
"Yes," Man-bun tells him definitively. William’s shoulders drop, slouching back to curl in on himself.
"At least it did some good," William mutters bitterly, turning towards the dusty ground.
"What did?" Man-bun asks, something like curiosity creeping into his voice.
It catches William off guard, and he looks up. One of his long ears twitch and— those are not human. They look almost elven. Strange.
Familiar curiosity blooms in his hollow mind. "Who even are you two?" He asks, despite himself. "You aren’t with the force. That’s obvious. So… you’re—"
It clicks, and his face drops to annoyance. "Heros," He spits, and groans under his breath.
"Yep!" The red haired one exclaims, popping the p. "The Prime Defenders. I’m D.C., and that’s Virion!"
William’s eyes drift towards his baggy black sweatpants, Cole Style written down the side, and resists the urge to roll his eyes.
Instead, tired of their faces, he decides to get this over with. "You said Cantrip?"
Virion nods. William walks to his shitty grey bed. It creaks, ominously, as he sits and drops his head into his hands like a guillotine.
(His fault, his mind whispers. Killer, murderer, scum.)
He exhales, voice rough and quiet. "She— She’s dead," He tells them, and laughs, painfully, quietly. Like needles on skin. "Case closed."
The two go dead silent for a moment. A wisp appears by William, and he busies himself burning his fingers in it’s fire. It doesn’t matter much, they’re a lot less physical with the power-suppressing cuffs limiting his influence.
He wishes he could feel more than the warm tingle. He wishes he could burn alive.
"You’re lying!" D.C. shouts at last. "Don’t fucking lie. Where is she?"
He clenches the little wisp, white knuckled, and it simply floats off. William says nothing.
"Fucking tell me!" D.C screams. "You motherfucker!"
There’s a twisting in his gut. He imagines cutting between his ribs to pry it out. He imagines the pain— imagines feeling something real.
"Dakota…" Virion mutters, eyes rimmed with red.
"He’s lying!" D.C. screams stepping forward dangerously. "You know he is!"
There are footsteps from the hallways. A voice, deep and authoritative. "You two should go."
It takes a moment, but eventually they leave, and the world goes quiet again. The wisp follows after them, and William can’t find it within himself to care.
William stares at the wall, tears escaping from soulless eyes, and says nothing.
—
Dakota’s head is spinning. Because—
She can’t be. They saw her. Just a few weeks ago. She was alive. She smiled at him, and laughed when he called her goth. Dark eyes always filled with mirth. Always armed. Dangerous.
She can’t be gone.
And that means he’s lying! Obviously! But then Vyncent shoots him a concerned look and it hits him that Vyncent thinks she dead and she—
She can’t be.
Because that means they failed. Because that means Dakota let another one fall. Let another hand slip out of his grasp and he can’t do this again.
Dakota blinks away hot tears, and they’re standing on the endless grey sidewalk, watching cars go by. It feels too big, like it’s pressing in around him. He feels overwhelmed.
Something warm and rough grabs his hand. Vyncent. He squeezes Dakota’s hand, and Dakota has to look away to stop the flood of tears threatening to spill over. He wants to punch the Bell guy until he can’t feel his fists.
But instead, he takes a shallow breath, and talks, voice hitching. "Can we— Winnebago. Can we go back to the Winnebago?"
Vyncent stops for a second, and then gets Dakota’s attention with another squeeze.
"One second," He says, and pulls something out of his pocket.
It’s the compass. The wisp flits around inside, casting his hand in bright blue light. Dakota squints at it, confused.
"It started going crazy in there," Vyncent tells him, hesitantly. "I don’t know, man, it was like— it was slamming itself into the edges. Towards him."
Dakota goes still. He swipes at his eyes roughly. "What does that mean?"
Vyncent hands it to him, warmth filling his palm. "I don’t know. But I think he’s important."
Dakota’s eyes widen. He looks at the compass almost reverently. "We found something."
Vyncent nods.
The two make their way back to the Winnebago in silence, but it’s different this time. Something has shifted.
Dakota isn’t sure what. But it feels big. It feels like it’s the start of something.
Notes:
This fic is kicking my ass but we’re getting somewhere. :)
Finally met this version of William! This Wiwi is the way he is for a reason. You’ll understand it all— eventually.
Dakota sad :( Vyncent is also sad. Don’t worry. He’s not taking Cantrip’s death with a smile. The fallout just hasn’t quite caught up to him yet.
Hope you enjoyed!
— prismatic
Chapter 3: empty hallways
Summary:
The Prime Defenders regroup, and decide to investigate Bell-tech. It doesn’t quite go how they expect.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sunlight streams through the window of the Winnebago. Vyncent opens his eyes blearily.
Dakota is curled up on the other couch, still dead to the world. Memories of yesterday flood in, and he firmly does not think about it. Vyncent presses his face to the wall, and listens to the thrum of the heater, and the faint noise of the city. It helps to keep the ache at bay.
It’s comforting for all that it’s horribly different from home. In the same way that neon lights and towering buildings have become familiar. It doesn’t replace the longing for a simple life, surrounded by the magic of nature. But it doesn’t need to. He’s learning to accept that.
For now, he takes a deep breath, dutifully tunes out the faint noise of the tv playing in his head (thanks for nothing Origami), and hoists himself to his feet.
By the time Dakota wakes up, he’s scrounged together a shitty breakfast. He knows how to cook eggs, albeit poorly, and that’s about it. So that’s what he makes. The smell permeates the space, almost equally stifling as it is enticing. Dakota blinks up at him slowly, before wincing and burying his face into his pillow again.
Vyncent doesn’t blame him, considering yesterday. He just grabs his plate, and begins savoring the taste of slightly burnt eggs and crispy bread (made in a pan, because the death contraption Dakota calls a "toaster" absolutely terrifies him).
Eventually Dakota gets up and joins him. It’s quiet. Slow. It’s exactly what they need.
It can’t last, though. Inevitably, Dakota breaks the silence. He rubs at his eyes. His voice is rough, not entirely from sleep. "What now?"
Vyncent chews around a bite of egg as he considers. After a second, he swallows. "I don’t really know."
Dakota’s face drops in realization. "We have to tell X and Alan."
"Shit." Vyncent drops his face into his hands.
"It still doesn’t feel real," Dakota mumbles, rubbing at his eyes again.
A minute passes. Finally, Dakota gestures frustratedly. "I wish it was just a villain. We could punch him and be done! Instead it’s some emo teen who maybe didn’t even mean to do it and—"
Vyncent coughs. "Emo?"
Dakota looks surprised. "He had loads of empty piercings. Like an impressive amount. Also his hair. How did you not notice?"
"I don’t know?" Vyncent defends, "It wasn’t really a priority!"
Dakota huffs, and Vyncent celebrates the way his lips quirk upwards. He leans back, throwing his arms behind his head.
"It doesn’t really make sense," He notes, slowly.
"Huh?"
Vyncent traces the lines across the ceiling, thoughts spinning. "Like, okay. We know that Cantr— ….we know there was a murder. But then what happened to Alan and Xavier? Did they just, what, disappear?"
Dakota squints thoughtfully. "There’s something else."
A moment passes. Dakota frowns. "Y’know, he reacted when we asked about Alan and X. Nobody else did."
"How do we know he even did it?" Vyncent asks, leaning forward to grab the notes he took yesterday. "I don’t think anyone ever told us."
Dakota stands, throwing his paper plate into the little trash bin. "I dunno, why wouldn’t he have? He was there for a reason, Vynce."
"Isn’t it worth checking?" Vyncent says, a plea buried in his voice. Dakota locks eyes with him. "At least to find out what the hell happened to Alan and Xavier?"
Dakota sighs. "I wanna go after Ashe… but you’re right. This is the only thing we’ve got."
Dakota offers him a hand. Vyncent rubs a finger across the warm compass in his pocket, and is yanked to his feet a little too harshly.
"Where to?" Dakota asks, dangling his key.
"Bell-tech," Vyncent replies, before hesitating. "Hopefully."
"Road trip!" Dakota grins tiredly. "Part two million."
And just like that, they set off.
—
Bell-tech looms over Freedom City like a glowing teal curse. Vyncent catches movement at the front, spotting two people having a conversation. He is jostled from side to side as he rushes up the Winnebago to the front to warn Dakota. Dakota scowls.
They walk out together.
David Bell, as they learn, is a tall man. Jet black hair combed back to frame a serious face. Black suit with teal accents, and dark, dark eyes.
He doesn’t particularly look like his brother, on first glance. Not until you see the eyes.
He meets them at the entrance with a careful look. As the approach, he looks them up and down. Almost bored, he remarks, "So you two are the superheroes I’ve heard so much about?"
"Yes sir!" Dakota affirms, as Vyncent winces at the implications of their reputation. Dakota shows Bell his W.A.T.C.H watch, and while it doesn’t currently work, Bell seems convinced enough.
"Of course." Bell says patiently. He looks to the woman standing tall beside him. "Would you oversee things for a minute? Wave me over if I’m needed."
The woman nods, tight black bun bouncing slightly. She smooths out her grey skirt, and walks off primly.
Bell turns back towards them, and straightens out his tie. "Now, I’ll show the two of you around. I’m sure it’ll make it much easier to conduct your investigation."
Vyncent opens his mouth to answer, but Bell is already walking through the entrance. "Asshole," he mutters instead, and follows.
They walk into a brightly lit lobby, vast and pristinely decorated in white and teal. At the front is a desk, currently unoccupied. Two escalators come down on either side, like an industrial grand staircase. Vyncent imagines the ghosts of bustling employees rushing up and down. But there is no life here, in this sterile place.
Dakota runs up to keep stride with Bell. Ever blunt, he asks, "Do you really believe it was your brother?"
"Half-brother," Bell corrects mildly, seemingly instinctually. He pauses. "Yes. As difficult as it is to believe, the evidence does seem to line up."
Vyncent comes up on Bell’s other side, glancing warily at the approaching escalator. He studies Bell’s face, mouth tilted downwards. "How’d he do it?"
"The answer is more complicated than you might think." He replies, scanning a card on the gate of the escalator. He steps on, drifting up. Vyncent and Dakota follow, though Dakota begins to run up the escalator.
Bell raises an eyebrow, and Vyncent only shrugs. He answers regardless. "William had an unregistered power. Hardly anyone knew. He got it sometime after he had a bad accident at 16. We were never quite sure on the details, but it seems he was able to mess with a person’s heart."
Dakota appears beside them with a rush of wind as they walk into a long hallway, surrounded by floor to ceiling glass separating huge offices and meeting rooms. It’s all pristinely clean, like the rooms have never been used before. They take a couple turns, heading deeper into the facility.
Dakota frowns. "Why wouldn’t he register it?"
"Not sure," He says, unlocking another door. "We weren’t all that close."
Vyncent isn’t convinced. There’s something off, here. "But he worked with you?"
"He needed somewhere to get started," Bell explains, and there’s something in his voice, now. Something bitter. "He was very good at his job. Detail oriented to a fault."
Dakota opens his mouth, but Bell cuts him off. "We’re here."
The hallway is long, straight, and out of the way. The overhead lights are off, though Bell attempts to flip the switch. Instead, he clicks a remote at his side, lighting up the floor in bright cyan.
"He managed to disconnect the overheads for about half the facility." He sighs, "Haven’t had the time to get them fixed yet."
Dakota squints. "Wait. We’re where?"
Bell steps forward, and holds out his arms. "The scene."
Vyncent steps away. He scrutinizes the hallway, and finds nothing. It’s almost pristine, if not a little dusty. He recalls the slashes across Xavier’s body— the stitches across Alan’s.
There are no ghosts, here, in this empty hallways. This doesn’t look like a place where people struggled. This doesn’t look like the scene of a crime.
Dakota is scowling, now. "There’s nothing here!"
Bell’s gaze narrows. He gestures out beside him. "What did you expect? He stopped her heart, he didn’t fucking stab her."
Dakota swipes a hand out sharply. "How did she even get in? What was she doing there?? Why did he kill her???"
"I don’t know." He replies, ever calm. "There’s a ladder up to the roof at this end. I don’t know why he killed her."
"Then we’re going up on the roof," Dakota demands, and Bell holds his gaze for a moment before stepping forward. (He looks dangerous, now.)
"As you wish," He acquiesces, and makes his way towards a tab that he pulls. The ladder unfurls loudly, like screaming metal.
They follow him up to the roof, feeling the bite of November winds whipping against their skin. Vyncent begins to wander, pulling his jacket around himself.
Vyncent freezes. There, stuck to some rubble is a piece of torn red fabric— familiar. Why is it familiar?
Oblivious to Vyncent’s growing realization, Dakota points to a pillar with a door in it. "What’s that?"
Bell stills, ever so slightly. "Fire escape," He explains, leaving no room for argument.
It goes quiet for a moment. Finally, Bell clears his throat. "Have the two of you seen all you need?"
Dakota scowls at the ground, hand shoved in his pockets. Vyncent, half-tempted to do the same, settles for stubbornly holding Bell’s gaze.
Bell opens the hatch once again. "I’ll show you two out."
The walk out is silent. Bell walks some distance ahead. The message is clear. Interview over.
They climb into the invisible Winnebago, and share a look for a long moment.
There’s something. Something here that they’re missing. Something is wrong.
"I’ll find a parking lot," Dakota says at last, and Vyncent nods, thoughts spinning.
—
If Bell-tech is unsettling during the day, it’s downright creepy at night.
Neon lights cast the street in a harsh blue, lighting up even the clouds above. As they climb out of the Winnebago, Vyncent whispers to a determined Dakota, "Look, man, are you sure about this?"
"You told me we couldn’t get WATCH involved. Plus, X and Alan were here," He whisper-shouts, "I know it. They must’ve left shit. Y’know, clues."
Vyncent nods, stiffly, and the two of them set about scaling the building. While they work, Vyncent imagines Cantrip, Xavier, and Alan. The first time. After he and Dakota said no. He wonders what would’ve happened if they had gone with them.
He wonders if it would’ve been his body lying there, instead of hers.
He blinks, and Dakota sticks out his hand. "You’re taking forever. I can toss you up," He offers as they hang from a pipe.
Vyncent nods. He immediately regrets it as vertigo takes hold of his body, leaving him stumbling as his feet reach their destination.
Dakota appears just a moment later. He gives Vyncent a once-over, then runs to the door of the fire escape.
He frowns. "Locked."
Vyncent pulls a pin from his hair, and carefully walks up to the door, using his phone as a shitty flashlight. "Hold this," He directs, and kneels to try and pick the lock.
Dakota rolls his eyes, and clicks something. The light goes much brighter. He spends several minutes cursing and fumbling as Dakota shifts from determination to exasperation.
Finally, Dakota moves the flashlight and grabs his hand. "Let’s go break a window or something," He tells him frustratedly, and begins to drag him by the hand.
"No—" Vyncent blurts, stifling nervous laughter.
In the end, they remember about the hatch, and surprisingly, it isn’t locked.
"They probably don’t expect people to know about it," Vyncent whispers, and Dakota nods.
"Bell fucked up," He grins, and uses his strength to easily lift the hatch.
Dakota shrugs off his jacket, as they descend the ladder, and pulls down his headband over his eyes like a half-mask. Vyncent unwraps his own mask from his wrist, and pulls it over his nose.
The floor of the hallway is still illuminated in cyan, bathing the room in dim blue. It’s ominous, especially with no other light coming in from the windows. Dakota gestures out, hand contrasted in stark shadow.
"We both know it wasn’t here, right?"
Vyncent nods. "I wonder if we can find some camera footage or something. Get a better idea of where it is."
Dakota begins to run ahead. "This way!"
Vyncent stumbles forward, running to catch up. He calls, "Do you remember the way?"
"No idea!"
Vyncent huffs, adrenaline filling his body like ice, but follows nonetheless.
The empty hallways are all lit up the same way. They follow lines of cyan light, glancing at the huge, empty, rooms on either side of them. They run for a while, struggling to navigate the maze of glass meeting rooms and side hallways filled with looming offices.
Finally, they pass by a black door with a little bit of red light peaking out. Vyncent grabs Dakota’s wrist, with great effort, and whispers, "Stop."
Dakota blinks at him, and he steals his phone back from Dakota. In the white light, a sign by the side of the door becomes immediately visible. "SECURITY OFFICE."
"Bet." Dakota whispers with a grin, and tries the handle. It’s locked. He curses, vehemently.
Vyncent holds out the pin longingly. "Let me try?"
Dakota considers for a moment, and then sighs heavily. "Three minutes."
Vyncent kneels, and scrambles to open the lock. It takes him three tries, but eventually the lock clicks open. Dakota pats him on the head with a short "Nice," and the two walk in.
The security office is covered in papers, and blinking red lights. It’s like someone left in a hurry. The red contrasts sharply with the blue of the halls, and it takes a second for Vyncent’s eyes to adjust.
In the center of the desk is a computer. Above it hovers 5 monitors, all displaying various camera angles. Dakota takes control of the mouse as Vyncent stares in awe and poignant confusion.
"Ugh," Dakota grumbles, "I hate big computers."
It takes a couple minutes, but finally Dakota manages to pull up the camera feed’s history. "When’d they say.. y’know, it happened?"
Vyncent flips through his little notebook. "Uh, maybe… Thursday?"
Dakota clicks on something, and each monitor clicks on to show a different angle of bustling employees and clinical uniforms. He begins to scroll through the hours, painstakingly searching.
Vyncent frowns. He points up at one of the cameras. "Where even is that? I haven’t seen any stairs except for the ones at the entrance."
Dakota squints at it, and shrugs. He continues to rifle through the camera footage for a moment before—
The camera Vyncent pointed out goes dark. Illuminated only by the red glow of what must be an exit sign. After a second, a figure runs out.
And—
"Oh." Dakota says, horror flooding his voice as they both recognize Cantrip in the dim, monochrome light. Vyncent’s stomach drops. (He had almost forgotten. How could he have—)
Vyncent opens his mouth, "You— you don’t need to—"
Dakota glares at him, and he shuts up.
Cantrip looks around, frantically. She’s clearly breathing too fast, even in the grainy security feed. A dark figure emerges, Bell-tech uniform recognizable even in monochrome. His dark hair, streaked with white, covers his expression as he sprints toward her.
He manages to shove her to the ground. She looks at him, terrified, and after a second, she falls limp. He inhales sharply, backing away in horror, and then stiffens his shoulders and sprints offscreen.
Dakota falls to the floor, furiously wiping at tears. His knuckles are white as he digs his fingers into his hair. Vyncent just stares at the screen.
Something’s wrong.
He replays the video, over, and over until bile rises in his throat and Dakota whisper-yells, hoarsely, "Stop that, Vynce. Stop!"
"Didn’t—" His voice breaks, and he tries again. "They said he used a power, right?"
Dakota glares at the floor. "Stopped her heart," He says, shortly.
"But it looks like—" He pauses, and replays the clips again, resisting the urge to vomit. "It-It looks like he…"
Dakota’s eyes widen, and he sits up unevenly. "Stabbed her. Wait— see the time stamp in the corner?"
Vyncent goes back, and Cantrip runs in again. He shoves her, jerkily, and— "…It’s, like, skipping around. What…?"
Dakota scowls, and wipes at his eyes again. "Bell’s hiding something."
The clip plays again. Vyncent watches as he pushes her to the ground and she, "She’s yelling. Calling out. That means…"
"Alan and X were there," Dakota finishes, "And Bell is trying to cover it up."
It goes silent for a moment. Vyncent stands, offers Dakota a hand. He pulls Dakota to his feet, and flips out a knife. "We’ve gotta find that fucking hallway."
Dakota nods, and frowns. "We should… probably split up. We’ve gotta get out of here. You got your phone, right?"
Vyncent grabs it up from the desk, and slips it into his pocket. Dakota narrows his eyes nervously. His hands are shaking. "Promise you’ll call."
Vyncent grabs Dakota’s fist and squeezes it. "Promise."
Dakota takes a deep breath, and nods once again. He swings open the door decisively. "I’ll search downstairs, you’re on upstairs."
And just like that, Vyncent is alone.
Something is pushing him, as he walks through endless cyan hallways. It’s like a pressure in his lungs. It’s like bile in his throat. It’s like shaking in his hands. (It’s like paranoia, it’s like horror.)
He walks through doorway after doorway, losing himself in the feeling of fast walking across too-clean floors. His reflection bounces off the glass— like he’s in a hallway of mirrors.
He passes door, after door, after door, after door, after—
He stumbles, catching himself, easily, but frustration boils his blood.
"Fuck." He whispers, and falls to his knees. Tears fill his eyes, and he wipes them away with almost painful pressure.
The glass meeting rooms press in around him. Hot tears spill onto the ground, and his vision blurs. He grabs a knife, and plunges it into the floor beside him. It doesn’t even leave a mark. Just bounces back with a sharp clank. He punches the ground, to similar results. Exhausted, he sinks into himself until he’s a pathetic mess on the floor. (It isn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough.)
"I don’t know what to do without you," He whispers to the air, voice hitching. "I’m so fucking lost. I— I wish you were here but I can’t even find you let alone—"
The tears rush forward again. He imagines awkward hands on his, imagines their signature silent offer of those old sticker riddled headphones. He imagines a world where everything is alright.
Vyncent opens his eyes to see an empty hallway, bathed in blue light and cold chill. He inhales sterile air and wipes away painful tears.
Vyncent stands. He forces heavy limbs into determined steps, and wipes his face into a perfect neutral.
(His reflection walks beside him. In the blue light he almost sees long, dark purple hair, and dangerous eyes. He blinks, and they are gone.)
By the time he’s reached the entrance, Dakota is already there waiting. He looks furious, with his hands shoved in his pockets.
"Nothing," He says shortly, and Vyncent sighs.
He pulls on his jacket, and opens the door. "Let’s just go."
He pretends not to hear the way Dakota’s breathing hitches, and they walk back to the Winnebago. Dakota doesn’t mention it. Neither does he.
The silence stretches on, even as light rain begins to fall from the dark sky.
Vyncent watches each drop fall, and he wonders if they’re like raindrops. Swept to the winds.
Destined to hit the ground.
Notes:
No one is having a fun time :D
The plot is thickening! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I’m going to go the fuck to sleep.
You should too!
- prismatic
Chapter 4: falling
Summary:
William dreams that he is falling.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
William dreams that he is falling.
It isn’t an uncommon dream— not by a long shot. And despite the terror rushing through his veins as vertigo takes hold, some part of him sighs. His breath is stolen in one fell swoop. He does not scream. He trained himself out of that long ago.
Instead, he falls through the night sky, stars surrounding him like diamonds. A cloud envelopes him, warm light washing over him. His ratty old hoodie lifts, as if attempting escape.
William watches the stars, as his body curves. A tear escapes his eye and flies up into the atmosphere.
As he falls, he glimpses a star— different from the rest. Bright, agonizing red. It pulls for him, and William reaches for it, desperate.
Everything goes bright. His fingers brush against it, exploding with heat. His eyes squeeze shut and—
The world shifts.
William opens his eyes.
He’s in a white void, standing, perfectly still. He rubs his hands against the slight chill of the place, and finds that they are glowing a soft blue. It’s familiar. (It’s unsettling.)
He turns around slowly, anxiety creeping up his throat as he observes his surroundings. Then he yelps.
"Who’re you?" A voice asks him, bleary and confused. It comes from a teen— probably around his age— with long, fluffy white hair and a large, oversized purple jacket. Orange sprawling marks glow across their skin, like infected veins.
William doesn’t respond, opting instead to walk around them scrutinizingly, hands shaking. This dream is too vivid. Too bright. Something is wrong.
They let him, eyes widening. Finally, he inhales sharply. "Shit. You’re— you’re real, aren’t you? This is real."
"I’m…" They start, trailing off. They frown. "Why did you wake me up?"
He begins to pace, pulling at his now-white hair. "I was dreaming," He says, fighting off panic. "I— I didn’t know?"
"There was— god, there was so much screaming," They mutter, staring down at their hands. "Why was—"
Whispers flood into the void, and William shakes. White begins to turn to angry, agonizing orange. The void reaches at him, desperately, and they laugh, weak and afraid. Like it’s being pulled out of them. The veins climb up their neck.
"What’s— What’s going on," He demands quickly.
Tears begin to run off their face. "I can’t get rid of them. They’re so loud."
William doesn’t know what the hell to do, so he grabs their shoulder awkwardly, with glowing hands. "Just… breathe?"
They sink into the touch, and take a few deep breaths. The orange recedes, just a little.
"They don’t like you," They whisper to him. "There’s something about you."
A wisp flits into this void, and William huffs as it darts around his legs. The fluffy-haired teen gives a weak smile, and adjusts their purple beanie.
They exhale slowly. "Vyncent? Dakota? Do you know them? Are they okay?"
William shakes his head. "I’m sorry."
The smile fades, slowly replaced by dull acceptance. "Figured."
"I don’t— What the hell is going on?? "William repeats, after a moment. (He can’t think of anything else, the words swirling in his head like a broken record.)
"Shit. Um, kinda a long story. Too long." They say, huffing out a short laugh. Their voice shakes, "Spirits— Demons. It’s demons."
William inhales sharply, and they continue. "My fault. I-I released it. It was m-my decision, but— if I hadn’t…"
The whispers rise again. William feels distant agony filling the room, as something claws at his feet. (Absently, he notices a familiar gaze pressing into his back, but he’s too panicked to turn.)
The stranger falls to their knees, as veins climb up their throat. They let out a choked scream, and begin to laugh. Burning climbs up William’s spine, and he finds himself stumbling forward.
Their eyes widen. "You—" They choke out an agonized laugh, wiping weakly at the too-thick red tears streaming down their face. They grin. "You have it too."
William freezes, clawing at his arm in a desperate attempt to stay focused. The world shifts once again, and the two of them stumble.
"I think," They say weakly, as the veins reach their eyes, and dark wings burst from their arched back, "I think I’d like to go b-back to sl—"
The void shatters. William falls back into nothing, burning up like a comet.
He opens his eyes.
Every breath burns as he painstakingly inhales. He grips the cold grey sheets beneath him and feels his heart pound in his chest. For a moment, he just stares into the wall, trying to remember what it feels like to be human.
Something pricks at his back.
William whips around, "Mal— what the— what the actual fuck was that??"
Sure enough, standing in the corner of his cell is a smug looking Mal, flesh perpetually dripping off his face.
"Yes, hello Whisperer," He grins. "A pleasure to see you as well."
William glares scathingly, still breathing far too fast. His voice cracks, "What the fuck did you do?"
"I did nothing Whisperer. Only held your little experiment together for a little longer than you were able." Mal rubs his too-long fingers, and blue sparks fly from them. He turns to William with a smug look. "I see you’ve finally met Ashe Winters.”
"Ashe?" William repeats, furiously.
Mal sighs pitifully. "A shame really. A fledgling hero, who released forces they could not control. I must say, Whisperer, I’m very impressed!"
William swallows down bile, and forces himself to take another deep breath. "…What— what happened to them?"
""Possessed," He replies simply. "Very powerful spirits— five, to be exact. It’s incredible that you were able to wake them up, even for just a couple minutes."
"I…" William stares down at his hands, "Didn’t mean to?"
Mal grins, wide and horrible and terrifying, "I’m glad you did, Whisperer. You see— now you know the stakes."
"William," He corrects stubbornly. "Is this another ploy to get me to join your fucked up little cult? Was that even real??"
Mal takes a step closer, expression shifting to indignation. "Do you honestly think the agony you just saw was a fabrication?"
William turns his glare to the wall. Mal growls, "William Wisp. There is more at stake here than your little pity party."
"Like what?" He shoots back petulantly, and immediately regrets it.
Mal’s face shifts to that of a melting demon, his horrible too-long too-sharp fingers grabbing William by the neck. His distorted voice reverberates through William’s every bone.
"MY HOME," He snarls, rotting breath filling William’s lungs with the scent of death.
Mal stares into his eyes for a good fifteen seconds before he drops him. William collapses to his knees, hyperventilation back in full force. Mal runs a hand through his hair, and his face returns to something a little more human.
"I cannot force you," He says at last, "But know— there is more at stake than your pathetic consciousness could ever hope to know."
He tears open a crack in reality, and William bitterly chokes, "What am I supposed to do? I’m fucking stuck here. He made damn sure."
Mal does not turn back, as he pries needle like hands into the crack, forming a gash spilling out cold, blue light, and freezing air.
"We are plane-walkers, Whisperer. Your only cage is yourself."
A flash of light, the crack of thunder, and William is left watching a cold, grey, prison wall.
He’s gone, he thinks desperately, but his mind is still falling (falling and falling and falling but the ground never comes)
As he breathes (too-quickly too-quickly he’s going to die die die), he stares down at his hands.
They are blood soaked. Stained. Covered in his sins. Gripping tightly cold, sharp death and—
They are blue, bright, intangible. They are unreachable, they are potential, they are fear.
William buries his head into his arms, and allows his world to shatter.
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed this short interlude :)
Full chapter soon, gotta polish it up a little.I love writing Ashe, they’re so fun.
Ashe, Tricksterifying:
William: WHAT THE FU—— prismatic
Chapter 5: sunset
Summary:
Dakota and Vyncent regroup, and make a difficult decision.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They’re in a park at the edge of the city. It’s early morning, and Dakota is squinting up at the sky. Sunlight peaks through, but only barely, covered by grey clouds. Bleak, but not unfriendly, Dakota decides.
He convinced Vynce to come here. After the noise of the streets became overwhelming and the tension of the Winnebago became suffocating.
It’s a warm day, for November. He flops down onto damp, yellow grass with a little satisfied hum, and allows himself to breathe. It takes some of the ever present ache off his shoulders. ("You can’t carry it alone", Master Cole had said, and Dakota believed him but there’s always something to carry and never enough people to spread the load.)
Vyncent blankly stares down at him. "Is this why we came here?"
"Shut up and lie down," Dakota grunts, and closes his eyes again.
"It’s wet," Vyncent points out, intelligently.
Dakota glares up at him halfheartedly, as grass tickles his face and his bangs fall into his eyes. It smells like dirt and petrichor. He reaches up a hand, and Vyncent eyes it with clear suspicion.
"I’m not falling for tha—" Vyncent cuts himself of with a yelp as Dakota swings a leg behind his and forces his knees to buckle. He catches himself— he is a superhero, (or… vigilante? Whatever), but curses vehemently.
"Now I’m definitely not lying down," Vyncent says, rolling his eyes.
Dakota laughs, sprawls out on his back, and begins to play with dead leaf sitting near his head. "Fine, whatever, be a pussy. Your loss."
Vyncent snorts, but lays his zipup— (not his jacket, it’s pretty much his baby) across the autumn grass and sits languidly beside Dakota. Dakota begins to hum an old tune he heard somewhere as silence fills the crisp air.
Short trees surround them, as they watch clouds pass by. It’s peaceful. Or, it is, until—
"What now?" Vyncent mutters, just loud enough for Dakota to hear.
Dakota grumbles. He doesn’t want to think about moving forward. Doesn’t want to do anything but be here and ignore the world.
"‘Kota," Vyncent pleads, and Dakota is forced to sit up.
He glares at the black sweater covering the grass. He feels stubborn, mulish. But he responds all the same.
"We tell them," He says, like it’s simple— and maybe it should be, but Vyncent winces and Dakota nearly does the same.
"We’re getting somewhere," Vyncent argues, "We have to go talk to the guy— Bell’s brother. He knows what happened. We can figure it out."
Dakota frowns. "We have to tell them. You know that, right? Vynce…"
Vyncent sinks into himself. "Look, man… I kinda really, really, really don’t want to." Dakota opens his mouth frustratedly and Vyncent cuts him off. "Plus! I don’t know why, but it really feels like we’re running on limited time."
Dakota stands his ground in disbelief. "We can’t just let them keep waiting for her to come back. They deserve to know, Vynce."
"She died Dakota!" Vyncent yells, and Dakota flinches harshly. "And there’s something wrong and we have to fix it or—"
Vyncent stops himself, eyes widening as he stares at Dakota. "I— it’s just," He continues, quieter now, "He’s connected to Ashe and this is the first time we’ve gotten a lead in almost a year, and—"
He turns away, breathing raggedly, and Dakota just watches, frozen in shock. Vyncent doesn’t yell. Not like that. Not for nothing.
"Sorry," Vyncent breathes after a second, voice hitching. Dakota hesitates for only a second before wrapping his arms around him. Vyncent stills for a moment, and then returns the embrace.
"We could—" Dakota starts, voice hitching. "I just thought of something, but I really fucking hate it, Vynce."
Vyncent doesn’t respond, and Dakota pulls back to meet his eyes. "We could split up."
Vyncent frowns, thoughtfully. Dakota nearly begs him to say no. Say it’s stupid and move on. Instead, Vyncent asks, slowly, "Are you sure you’d be okay?"
His jaw clenches. "I don’t want to be alone," Dakota admits, frustrated. "But you’re probably right. And if you are, then…"
Vyncent nods, grabs his hand, and squeezes it. "Okay…" He agrees, weakly. Then, more confidently, "Okay."
Dakota swallows down his fear, and stands. He jingles his keys, and yanks Vyncent to his feet. "Winnebago?"
Vyncent brushes off his baggy khakis and carefully holds the damp zip-up away from his body. He snorts. "We chose the worst vehicle."
"Too late dumbass," Dakota says with a weak grin, and the Winnebago speeds toward them dangerously until it stops right at the curb. "Now get in."
"Yeah, yeah," Vyncent huffs, and they climb into the trailer together.
The dread lingers.
—
Dakota drops Vyncent off at the prison with a tight hug and an oath.
"Promise you’ll call," He demands, fingers curling into Vyncent’s back as wind whips around them. "I don’t care how— you do it, someone else does it, just—"
"I promise," Vyncent smiles, and even though Dakota knows his calmness is at least a little bit fake, it’s comforting.
Vyncent pulls back, and adjusts his bag. "I’ll see you later today, okay?"
Dakota nods, and before he can hesitate he throws himself towards the Winnebago.
"See ya!" He yells, and Vyncent shakes his head fondly.
After dropping off the Winnebago in some obscure parking lot, Dakota steps out, warms up, and runs.
It’s exhilarating. Wind whipping against his face. Warmth flooding his body. The burn in his muscles as he goes faster, and faster, and faster. Until the world is just a passing blur of neon lights. Until his legs burn.
He’s missed this. Ever since they got back from Master’s mountain he’s been cooped up. He’s tired of thinking. Tired of feeling. Dakota wasn’t built for all that. No. He was made for this. Aching muscles, and superhuman speed, and blurry lights, and rushing wind, and heavy steps toward a purpose— a goal.
Before long he’s in the shadier part of the city. Still decimated in the wake of Atlas, covered in broken glass and falling apartments.
As he gracefully scales the old building, Dakota wonders how many buildings like this they’ve been unable to save. How many cities Ashe will have to watch crumble before they can finally catch up.
He hops from pipe to pipe, between windowsills and fire escapes until he smoothly swings himself through the window. A familiar voice yelps.
"Dakota?? What the fuck??" X yells, voice high pitched.
"Speedy-Boy!" Alan cheers from a large purple beanbag, probably twice his size. He stands up and X hurriedly pushes him back down by his shoulders.
"Alan!" Dakota beams, and rushes up to hug Alan. He stops just barely short and checks over him. "Are you alright? I was so worried!"
"Alan is fine," Alan assures with some amusement. Then, pointedly he adds. "X is mothering."
"Am not," X replies, indignant. He turns to Dakota. "He seems mostly fine, but he says he gets lightheaded and dizzy from standing too long."
Dakota pats Alan on the shoulder, and Alan brings him in for a full, rough hug. About five of Alan’s rocks jut into him uncomfortably. Dakota couldn’t care less.
"Glad you’re alright, big man," He grins. Alan returns it.
X, still in casual dress, covers a smile with the sleeve of his polo. He sobers, "Are you guys alright? Where’s Vyncent?"
"Vynce is fine!" Dakota chirps, shrugging off his heavy black jacket. "He’s doing some badass detective work."
X frowns. "Into what? Does it have something to do with the Bell-tech murder shit?"
Dakota’s eyes widen. "How’d you guys know about that?"
X points to a printed out screenshot of a news article hung on their massive stringboard. The title reads "MURDER AT BELL-TECH. POLICE SUSPECT CEO’S YOUNGER BROTHER."
"I’ve been looking into it myself," X says, pushing up his glasses and opening up his laptop to show Dakota about fifteen different news articles. "Weird isn’t it? And so soon after we, well…"
Alan scowls. "Bell-tech deserves big punch. Bigger than Alan."
Dakota kicks at the dust. "Yeah, it’s about that. That’s kinda… why I’m here?"
Xavier stills as he sees the look in Dakota’s eyes. He wordlessly sinks down onto the old maroon carpet. Dakota flops down beside him. For a moment he just stares at the carpet, knowledge burning in his chest.
"Cantrip is dead," he chokes out without preamble, the words itching to escape his throat.
It hangs in the air, horrible and raw.
The room goes silent. X and Alan stare in horror and confusion. Dakota can do nothing except wait for the pin to drop and choke back his own tears.
"Fuck," X whispers, voice cracking as tears gather at his eyes. He cradles his face in his palms. "Fuck."
"I’m sorry," Dakota says, and he means it so much it hurts.
Another moment passes. Then, he hears the deep voice of Alan from beside him. "How?"
"Bell-tech," Dakota half-growls, gripping the floor. "Something to do with Bell’s brother."
"How do you know?" X shoots up desperately.
Dakota closes his eyes. "Camera footage. We— we broke in. It was her. I’m so sorry."
Another beat passes. Dakota wonders if even Vyncent’s sword could cut the tension. It’s suffocating.
"Why?" X mourns at last, muffled. "What the fuck did we do to deserve this. Why her?"
The question lingers for a moment. It’s a horrible question. Unanswerable.
Finally, Dakota inhales slowly, and lets it out miserably. "I don’t know. We’re trying to figure it out but—"
He plonks his head onto the carpet. After a moment he reaches toward the ceiling. "There’s something going on, and I think it’s… it’s big. But we just can’t…" He clenches at air, and frowns, "—Grab it. It fucking sucks."
X sighs, wiping roughly at his eyes. "Maybe it isn’t worth finding out. What happens when one of you is the one…" His voice breaks, "Fucking, I don’t know. Dead on some shitty hallway floor."
"We have to," Dakota says simply. Ashe is waiting.
X locks eyes with Dakota for a moment, and nods. He stands slowly, and offers Dakota a hand. Dakota takes it, pushing X forward a little bit with his tug. X stumbles and shakes his hand a little bewilderedly.
"Promise you come back soon?" Alan asks, golden eyes burning in the light.
"Promise," Dakota agrees, and brings Alan into one last hug. Alan must break at least one of his ribs with how tightly he squeezes. Eventually, though, he releases Dakota with a sad smile.
X puts a hand on his shoulder as he moves to leave. He studies Dakota for a moment, then hands him his jacket. "Stay safe," He says at last. "Both of you."
Dakota gives him a little smile, pulls on the jacket. He runs a careful finger over the broken glass of the window. After a second, he jumps through with a wave and a "Later!"
As he hops onto the fire exit, he hears the distinct voice of Alan call out "And bring the other one!"
"Got it!" He yells, and starts to jump down the old building, now washed in golden light.
The sun is setting, and Dakota finds himself staring at it as he climbs. He stops on a fire exit, for just a moment, and watches rose-stained clouds move across the painted oranges, reds, and purples. He takes a deep, chilly breath, and allows vertigo to take hold as he falls to a large pipe.
Now to get Vyncent.
—
"See ya!" Dakota’s voice echos out behind him. It cuts through a little bit of the dread settling in his stomach, even as he hears the Winnebago speed off into the afternoon.
Vyncent takes a deep breath, and opens the door into the prison.
The woman at the desk recognizes him immediately and sighs. She brushes back her short blond hair, and allows him to walk up.
"Nice of you to call ahead," She says dryly.
Vyncent looks around, distracted. "Is the interrogation room clear?"
She taps a pen against her desk, and pushes up her mottled glasses. "Yes, I do believe we were able to clear an interrogation room, although I will warn, security is currently of an utmost priority so your time will be limited."
Vyncent blinks, "What? Did something happen?"
She waves a hand. "It’s none of your concern. I believe Officer Dean is waiting for you just inside, whenever you’re ready."
Vyncent looks at her for a moment, and then gives a brief nod. She unlocks the doors, and Vyncent steps through quickly.
Sure enough, an officer is waiting for him, leaning against one of the bright hotel style walls.
"This way," He says briskly, and begins to walk. Vyncent follows.
Eventually, past long and increasingly dull hallways, Vyncent sees a series of large glass rooms. Outside each are several monitors, brightly displaying the space from several different angles.
For a moment he remembers dim red lights and spiraling fear. Then he blinks, and it’s gone.
The Officer stops at the third door. "In here. If anything goes wrong, someone’ll be watching from a camera. The door locks whenever you go in, so you’ll have to wait for us to unlock it from here."
Vyncent puts a hand on the dark, heavy door. "Thanks, man."
Vyncent twists the handle. The man’s gruff voice follows him. "Be safe, kid."
Stepping in, the room becomes far darker. The glass is one way, he realizes quickly as he glances around. In the center of the room is a bright column of cyan light, reaching toward the ceiling.
And in this glowing circle, on a shitty plastic chair, sits the younger brother of David Bell. The murderer of Cantrip.
There’s something behind his eyes, dark and hollow and framed by that shaggy white streaked hair. Vyncent can’t quite decipher it, but a pang of hope shoots through him nonetheless.
"It’s you again," He rasps, staring piercingly at Vyncent. He almost sounds curious.
Vyncent pulls up another shitty plastic chair, and drops into it. Might as well be even. "Yes."
"Why?" He asks, and the question catches Vyncent off guard.
"Huh?"
"It’s a closed case. Or, it might as well be," The teen points out flatly, picking at one of his chipped black nails. "Why are you still looking?"
It takes Vyncent a moment to respond. He wishes he could play with his knife. Instead, he pulls out the compass, and runs his finger over its glass. The wisp slams itself repeatedly into the walls, and he squints down at it for a moment before sighing. Warmth settles into his palm as he considers.
Finally, he settles on, "She was our friend. The three of them were— Cantrip, X, and Alan. We owe it to them to figure it out."
The dark haired teen flinches, and curls up into himself, glaring stubbornly at the floor. Slowly, his expression changes as he moves his gaze to Vyncent’s hand.
"What is that?" He asks finally, something like urgency infecting his tone.
"Compass," Vyncent replies simply, expecting him to move on.
Instead, he leans forward. "You have a wisp," The teen whispers, almost awed in his confusion.
Vyncent narrows his eyes. "Wait. How’d you know that’s a wisp."
He squints at Vyncent like he’s stupid. "Sorta in the name," He mutters, roughly.
Vyncent blinks. "What?"
"Wisp," The teen says, slowly, raising an eyebrow. "William Wisp."
The words hang in the air for a moment, as Vyncent continues to stare in confusion.
It clicks. "Wait, I thought you were a Bell?" Vyncent demands.
The teen— no, William rolls his eyes. "Half-brother. How’d you not know the name of the person you were investigating?"
"It—," Vyncent scrambles to defend himself, "Didn’t seem important?"
William exhales, and it almost sounds like a snort. It’s the most emotion he’s seen from him since mentioning Cantrip. "You fucking suck at this."
Vyncent waves a hand, vaguely indignant, "I— y’know what, never mind. You still haven’t answered. How’d you know that was a wisp?"
William leans back, brushing a white strand away from his dark eyes. Vyncent swears he sees them flash an electric blue. "I can control them."
"Prove it," Vyncent replies on instinct, propping up his chin on his fist, elbow digging into his knee. He feels the wisp begin to slam into the edges of the compass with renewed fevor. It feels like a pulse.
William’s expression darkens, and he holds out his wrist, framed by a thick silver band. "Power suppressors," He reminds simply.
Vyncent deflates a little, covering his disappointment. A moment passes as he reflects.
"Wait," He says at last, "They said your powers were to do with people’s hearts?"
William stills, and then glares. It burns worse than any he’s received before. He mutters, "Is that what he’s telling people now?"
Vyncent watches him for a second, and then gives a hesitant nod.
"Fucking typical," William mumbles, and goes back to ripping up his nails.
A brief silence passes, William’s frustration coloring the tension of the room. It lasts too long, until Vyncent is tapping at the edge of his chair, frowning.
Finally, Vyncent sighs. "What happened to Alan and X?"
"Ask David," William shoots back bitterly.
"No one will tell us anything," Vyncent says flatly. "You’re the only one who’s ever acknowledged that they even exist."
Another moment passes. William’s expression just barely relaxes.
He stares at Vyncent with those hollow, hollow eyes, framed in deep purple. "You really want to know?"
"Yes," Vyncent breathes.
The air is thick as he looks Vyncent up and down.
Finally, he sighs. "You won’t like what you find."
Vyncent shrugs. "I don’t care."
"Fine," William gives in at last, and moves his narrowed gaze to the floor. "There’s a basement, below Bell-tech. The only way in is through David’s office— or, through the fire exit. You’ll find what you’re looking for there."
Vyncent frowns. "We tried the fire exit, but we couldn’t get in."
"He might’ve broken the lock," William says carefully, annoyance simmering beneath his tone. "Seems like something he’d do. But there’s another entrance on the second floor. I doubt he’s blocked up that."
A deep voice comes in from a speaker above them, as Vyncent remembers an old, dark plastic door near the elevators.
"Time’s up."
Vyncent winces, having forgotten his time limit. He stands quickly, and goes to leave, but stops at the door.
"Thank you," He says earnestly, glancing back at a disgruntled William as the door clicks open, and an officer enters into the room behind him.
He doesn’t hear the whispered "Good luck," that rings out behind him as the door slams shut.
Officer Dean raises an eyebrow at him as he leans back on a nearby wall, and exhales. "You get what you need?" He asks, gruff but not unkind.
Vyncent just nods, and allows himself to be led out of the prison.
As he walks, his thoughts hang over his head, thick and dark. He can’t decide whether he’s gotten any answers from this, or just questions. He can’t decipher why the distinction matters so much, but it does.
Once he steps outside, he relishes in the smell of smoggy— but fresh— air. He glances around, but doesn’t find Dakota. His eyes flick up to the darkening sky, as the last vibrant shades of sunset fade into dull purple.
Vyncent sighs, sinks down onto the curb, and waits.
Notes:
They’re both so saddddd. They’re sad bois. But hey, new information! :D
Hope you’re excited to go down into the basement.
See you soon :)
— prismatic
Chapter 6: blood-stains
Summary:
There is a room, hidden underneath the office of David Bell.
There are two teens, afraid, but determined.
There is no unseeing, no unlearning, no redoing.
Maybe it isn’t worth finding out.
Chapter Text
It’s dark by the time Dakota pulls up to the inconspicuous entrance of the Freedom City Supermax.
A nearby billboard casts the entire street in a dark shade of purple. It takes Dakota a moment to spot Vyncent, sitting dully on the edge of the sidewalk. He’s playing with a knife, absentmindedly, and nearly stabs Dakota with it when he rushes in for a hug. Vyncent gives a brief "oomph", but reciprocates.
"How’d it go?" Dakota asks, pulling back and checking him over. He seems tired, but fine.
Vyncent sheaths his knife and begins to walk towards the Winnebago. "Good. I, uh. I think."
Dakota trails him, noting the way his hand doesn’t leave his sheath. "You think?"
"Got a lot of information," Vyncent says with a shrug, before slamming closed the door to the Winnebago. "Can you drive us back to Bell-tech?"
"Huh?" Dakota squints, checking the windows. Purple light spills into the squishy interior. "Already? Why?"
"We were right," Vyncent announces triumphantly, flopping down onto his blanket covered couch. It’s almost enough to ignore the way his voice shakes. "Bell’s hallway was a hoax. I know how to get to the real thing."
Dakota blinks in disbelief. "How? Why’d his brother tell you?"
"Half-brother," Vyncent corrects quietly, purple light catching in his eyes. "I don’t think William likes Bell. He’s bitter about something."
"Well, he’s in prison," Dakota points out, carefully.
"Something more than that," Vyncent presses, and he sounds so certain that Dakota decides he’s probably right.
Dutifully ignoring the growing tension, Dakota pulls out and jingles his keys. "Guess we’ll have to find out what. Can you get Bobo from the motorcycle dispenser? Don’t want him slipping when the Winnebago starts. Thanks!"
Vyncent mouths something like "why is he ev—" before shutting up with a nod. "I— sure."
Dakota cracks a small grin and slings himself into the driver’s seat.
The drive to Bell-tech isn’t short, despite being on the edge of Freedom City. Dakota, for once, makes the executive decision that if he’s going to have to drive all the way to Bell-tech in the middle of the night, Vyncent could stand to cope with a little music.
He unapologetically blasts Ashe’s playlist the whole way. Eventually Vyncent comes up to the passengers seat, and drums his fingers to the beat with a far off look on his face.
They arrive just as A Salesman’s Guide to Non - Existent Places sounds out its last mournful chord. Dakota parks the Winnebago a few blocks back, and hopes it doesn’t get hit by someone trying to park past its invisible form.
They walk through neon advertisements and under webs of helicar freeways in silence. At one point Vyncent catches Dakota’s hand. Dakota gives a little smile and squeezes it. Vyncent’s shoulders drop.
Soon they make it to the looming building, and begin climbing it together. Dakota finds himself hopping along neon blue signs, and glancing into dim windows.
There’s probably an easier way up, but neither of them will admit that they enjoy this. The rush of pointlessly scaling towering buildings, and feeling the wind on their skin. Or, at least, Dakota likes that part. Vyncent keeps scowling whenever his long front pieces fly into his eyes.
Finally, Dakota swings Vyncent up to the roof, and throws himself to the top. Vyncent steadies him deftly, and nods toward the hatch they used last time. Dakota pulls out his phone flashlight, and the two of them quickly pull up the hatch— still unlocked.
Vyncent leads them through the empty, sterile hallways with determination. Like the cyan LEDs glowing from the floor are guiding him with invisible arrows. They walk past the giant glass meeting rooms. Past hallways lined with offices, and the occasional lab.
Finally, Vyncent arrives at the long escalators, and looks around.
"Where’re we going?" Dakota asks, keeping his voice low.
"Only way down is through the fire exit. Or, I guess, Bell’s office?" Vyncent says, squinting at some sign hanging from the ceiling. The text is pretty much indistinguishable in the dim light.
He huffs, giving up on the sign. "We’re going to the fire exit. Near the elevator."
Dakota looks at the clearly illuminated elevator right in front of them, just in line with the escalators. Then he glances back at Vyncent and points. "Like, that elevator?"
Vyncent follows with his gaze, and takes a step back in surprise. "Uh. Yeah. How’d you see that?"
Dakota squints at him, and begins to search by the elevator. "How’d you not?"
Vyncent huffs, and Dakota grabs the sleeve of his jacket. He whips around and gives a loud exhale as he realizes it’s just Dakota.
"It’s right here, Vynce." Dakota tells him, growing concerned.
Sure enough, there’s a heavy black door with EMERGENCY STAIRS, sprawled across it. Vyncent stares at it for a moment, mystified.
Dakota watches as Vyncent walks up, lays a hand on the door, and presses his forehead into it with a clearly audible breath. Distantly, he feels that pit growing in his gut. Growing ever since he saw Vyncent out on the street. It’s dread, he realizes. Dakota is afraid. And Dakota hasn’t been afraid in a very long time.
Vyncent swings open the door, abruptly, and with a glance thrown over his shoulder, begins to head down the dimly lit stairs. Dakota follows, because what else is there to do?
The stairs are bathed in red light, emanating from the occasional emergency exit signs along the path. Vyncent keeps a hand on the wall as he walks. Dakota resists the urge to run ahead and check for threats.
Finally, they reach the bottom, and Vyncent stills. Dakota walks up beside him, his breath leaving him in a singular rush.
"This is it," Vyncent whispers, looking around the dimly lit hallway in some mix of horror and awe. "We did it."
Dakota pulls out his phone flashlight and clicks it on smoothly.
A distant scream lingers in the air. Dakota watches the ghost of Cantrip run in— just past the light— thick purple hair bouncing limply as she sprints. Watches the black-haired boy struggle until he makes one last desperate jump toward her and—
("I’m sorry," a voice does not whisper, eyes flashing red in the light of the EXIT sign. A look of understanding passes between them. They are both afraid.
The needle plunges into her chest.)
Dakota blinks, painfully, and grips his wrist with blunt nails.
Focus.
"…Dakota?" Vyncent whispers, snapping him back to reality. His voice is small, breathless.
Dakota whips around to face Vyncent, whose gaze is locked on the stairs. "…Bring your light."
He approaches, slowly, and points the phone at the emergency exit stairs. They look dirty, compared to the pristine cleanliness of Bell-tech’s hallways.
"Look there," Vyncent directs, pointing at the second stair. His voice shakes. "Is that…"
It’s easy to spot the nearly black splotches of dried blood, if you’re looking for them. Dakota rips his gaze away.
"Shit," He breathes, quiet and emphatic. He swallows down bile.
"Looks like most of it’s been cleaned up," Vyncent notes, audibly forcing his voice even. "Maybe they missed a spot."
"A spot??" Dakota demands, risking another glance. It’s too much. He immediately turns away. "That’s a— a fucking… pool, Vynce."
Vyncent looks away, and begins to walk through the hallway. "I—… fair," He mumbles, clearly shaken.
There’s a door at the end of the hallway. LAB F, it reads in the harsh light of Dakota’s flashlight.
"Lab," Vyncent breathes, approaching reverently, like something has just clicked. Dakota doesn’t think he wants to know what.
As Vyncent pushes open the door, Dakota remembers X’s voice. Maybe it isn’t worth finding out.
The door swings open, thumping against the stopper with the force of Vyncent’s shove. Vyncent winces, then steps through the entrance.
Dakota peers past him into a large room. The floor is once again lit up in cyan, but the LED’s are fading, and instead bathe the room in a sickly pallid blue. Against the dim, misty light, the room looks unclean and unkempt. Like it was once as pristine as the hallways, until it was abandoned. Or maybe, no one ever cared for its upkeep.
In the middle of the lab is a table, flat and surrounded by taller rolling stands holding all kinds of operating equipment. Along the sides of the room are shelves, filled with messy papers and glass containers.
Vyncent is staring down at the table, using his own phone as a shitty light. He looks completely entranced. He is visibly shaking.
Dakota walks in, and glances along the walls. After a second, he double takes.
Fuck.
Dakota sinks to his knees in horror.
"Vynce," He calls, desperately. Loudly. Vyncent startles, and walks over.
A moment passes, as they both just stare.
"Oh." Vyncent says, finally, and grips at his scalp. "That— um… God."
Along the wall are two broken sets of handcuffs, firmly secured to the radiator. Underneath, specks of dried blood stain the floor and— God. Dakota feels sick.
"That…" Vyncent tries again, failing miserably to keep his voice from shaking. "Fuck. That explains the bruises."
"Fuck," Dakota echos, hugging himself against the cold chill of the room. It cuts through to his bones. He wants to leave.
"This—" Vyncent mutters, somehow tearing his eyes away to glance around the room. "This is Bell’s lab. Under his office. This was Bell."
Dakota curls further into himself, whimpering out a quiet "why?"
Vyncent doesn’t answer. Instead, Dakota hears him walk off— brisk and purposeful. Then, the sound of riffling papers and slammed drawers. Dakota doesn’t care anymore. Tears run down his face.
He just wants to go home.
It’s an agonizingly long silence, interrupted only by the cries and gasps Dakota fails to choke down.
"Fuck, just one more minute," Vyncent whispers after each, guilt ripping through his voice. "I promise. Just one more. God, I’m so sorry."
Dakota just sobs.
Finally, Vyncent goes silent.
Truly silent.
Then, Dakota hears as he stumbles over to the trashcan near the door, and retches.
The bitter smell of vomit fills the air. Dakota flinches, and squeezes his eyes shut tighter.
"Fuck." Vyncent gasps out, coughing painfully. "God. Fuck."
A moment passes as Dakota tries to piece himself together enough to help. Because Vyncent needs help and Dakota is just sitting here while the world crumbles around them and—
Vyncent pukes again. It sounds painful.
Dakota forces himself into action, and stands, abruptly. Leaning his weight against the table, he peers past thick tears.
Vyncent is on his knees, crumpled up by the door and wiping at his mouth with his sleeve.
He wants to kill something— wants to hurt the motherfucker that did this to them. He swallows down the urge, and instead, silently offers Vyncent a hand.
Vyncent looks at Dakota, red-eyed, and then looks away and allows Dakota to hoist him to his feet. He puts almost no effort in to hold himself stable, and allows Dakota to drag him through the hauntingly silent hallway.
As they climb up the dim red stairs, Vyncent jerkily takes back his hand, and chokes out a whisper.
"It was Alan," He breathes, voice tearing out of him. "They— fuck. They wanted Alan. They wanted something from— from…"
Dakota pulls Vyncent into a hug. He stiffens, for a moment, before melting into Dakota. Dakota won’t realize until later, but he’s gripping Vyncent with white-knuckled tension. Digging blunt nails against thin back. He’s getting Vyncent’s jacket wet, he knows. Vyncent probably doesn’t give a shit.
The words cut through Dakota’s last thread like a knife. Vyncent shudders. "Bell wanted something from inside Alan. And he— he got it."
Dakota just holds him tighter. Imagines Vyncent on that table until he breaks into another round of sobs. Vyncent catches him, doesn’t allow him to sink to the ground.
Dakota imagines Cantrip, cuffed to a radiator and afraid. She died afraid. She never deserved to die afraid.
"I wanna to go home," He cries, childish and defeated. He is a child. They’re all just teens. Cantrip wasn’t even 19.
Vyncent pulls back, watching him past tears of his own . "I know," He whispers, concern spilling out of hollow eyes.
Dakota can’t afford to be a child, right now. So he picks himself up, wiping furiously at the oceans beneath his eyes. He leads Vyncent to the nearest bathroom.
After, they walk out together, and wait for the Winnebago.
Dakota walks in. The warm glow of the fairy lights fills him with a sense of exhausted safety he didn’t realize he so desperately needed. It’s there, curled up on his too-squishy couch, that he finally stops pushing back that ever-present wave. Threatening to consume him. It’s there that Dakota allows himself to fall apart.
He listens to Vyncent’s ragged breathing from the bathroom, even as his eyelids grow heavy.
It hurts to listen to.
Dakota sobs himself to sleep.
Notes:
They finally know! Don’t worry, it’ll get a little better, before, of course, it gets worse. This isn’t a dead dove fic in any regard.
Almost at the end of arc I! Afterwards I’m going to take a little break, and build up my backlog again. Maybe finally finish that Riptide soulmark au that haunts me :’)
Hope you enjoyed.
— prismatic
Chapter Text
Vyncent wakes up to the cool feel of tile beneath his fingers. There’s a heater, right above him. It blasts him with hot air.
He’s sitting, he realizes, quickly. Sitting, slouched against a wall in the bathroom.
He remembers the sickly smell of vomit, mixed with sharp disinfectant. Pieces of organs, all sorted and labelled. Dim blue lights. Slices of flesh in tiny pools of blood. Endless hallways and bloodstained floors.
The vent stops. He blinks.
He really would rather go back to sleep. Deal with this all another day. He debates it longer than he probably should.
Kid, says the voice in his head. Back after last night. He feels vaguely bitter that Origami decided to check in only when Vyncent was at his lowest.
You need to take a day off. He tells him, and in Vyncent’s head, Origami’s voice almost sounds like his own. You’re going to kill yourself doing this— running yourself ragged. I can’t have that.
Vyncent idly wonders if the concern in his voice is for him, as a person, or him, as a vessel. He doesn’t actually care very much. He decided to help because he could, not because he expected anything out of Origami.
Plus, the guy is fairly decent at rock-paper-scissors. (Also he gets some cool powers out of it, whatever.)
You know, going on mental tangents doesn’t actually answer my question.
"It wasn’t a question," Vyncent mumbles under his breath. He’s had enough people in his head to answer silently, but he’s tired enough that he doesn’t want to risk any more leak through than necessary.
Fair point, the former hero responds, and Vyncent gets the vague impression of an exasperated smirk. Just, take care of yourself, alright?
Vyncent rolls his eyes, and doesn’t respond. Eventually Origami sighs, and he feels that strange static barrier rise up between the two of their consciousnesses. He’s fairly sure Origami is just watching his own movies on infinite loop to keep Vyncent out, but if it works, it works.
The bathroom grows chilly, now that the vent isn’t flooding it in burning heat. The stillness digs at him, closing in. Vyncent wraps his arms around himself, and sighs.
Might as well check on Dakota.
(Oh god, Dakota. He’s hurting Dakota. There’s nothing he can do.)
He forces away the memories that try to flood into his weary mind, and focuses on the simple act of standing.
Vyncent steps into the main room of the Winnebago, only to find both squishy old couches cold, empty, and unmade.
Huh.
There’s a loud CRACK from outside. Vyncent quickly runs to a window and peers out.
Dakota stands over a now broken stump, just visible from the dirty window. His jacket is abandoned on a nearby branch, and his fists are wrapped in dusty bandages. They climb all the way up his arms, as Dakota’s headband flutters in the wind.
He readies himself once again, next to an impossibly tall white pine.
Vyncent barely even catches the movement of his fists, just a slight blur. The tree falls, with another thunderous CRACK. Large chips of bark fly out around it, each landing with a thud.
So he’s on this, again. Vyncent wonders, absentmindedly, if Dakota is going to make him climb another mountain.
He swings open the heavy door, and perches himself on front step of the Winnebago.
They’re parked in some forest on the edge of the city. He vaguely remembers Dakota driving them here in the middle of the night. Probably realized it’d be pretty dangerous to continue hanging out— right in front of Bell-tech— in an invisible RV.
(He feels guilty that Dakota had to do anything at all, last night.)
He watches Dakota knock down at least three more trees before he calls out. "Dakota!"
Dakota turns to him, and Vyncent can see his tired grin even from here. He shouts back, "Yeah?"
"Did you eat?"
Dakota looks up, thoughtfully. Then, he frowns. Vyncent takes that as an answer, and heads back inside.
They don’t have anything in the kitchen. Vyncent sighs, and throws together a plate of crispy bread (toast? Dakota calls it toast), apple slices, and peanut butter.
He makes a second one for himself, and makes his way to Dakota. He looks to Vyncent in mild surprise when he is presented with his plate, but gives a grateful smile. "I’ll be done in, like, 30 minutes."
Vyncent walks away, but tosses a fond look over his shoulder. "Yeah right."
"Dick," Dakota laughs.
He considers going back inside, but Vyncent ends up wrapping his pullover around himself tighter to fend off the freezing winds, and watching Dakota from the step.
It’s nice, out here.
Quiet.
Reminds him of home.
Eventually, Dakota does actually finish up, and heads inside. He showers, briefly, while Vyncent rearranges the couches. So they’re both facing the shitty old TV. He gathers every single blanket from around the RV, and throws them into piles on top of each couch. It makes the room feel warm. Safe.
Dakota comes out, and flops down onto his couch. He doesn’t even open his eyes, just preempts, "If you ask me ‘what next’, I can and will run you over with the Winnebago."
Vyncent huffs, and chucks a controller at Dakota, who responds with a little betrayed "ow".
"Was actually gonna ask if you wanted to play some Mariokart," Vyncent informs him, "But if you wanna fight, I’m not above using the rotten milk in our fridge."
Dakota laughs, and turns on the game. "You’re on."
The screen lights up, flooding the room with bright cartoons. It fills Vyncent with a different sort of homesickness than what he’s used to. Something bittersweet, that longs for underground hero bases, long nights, and warm mentors.
He plays baby Luigi, even though he’s fairly sure he sucks. His face is goofy enough to justify it. Dakota snorts when he sees, and selects Yoshi.
Vyncent is miserably bad at the game. He spends more time off of the stage than on it. At some point he gives up on racing and just tries to bullshit shortcuts into existence— and at one point succeeds when he somehow figures out how to crash the game by slamming into an obscure barrier.
Dakota laughs so hard he’s practically wheezing as he restarts the game.
Vyncent can’t help watching him with a fond smile.
(It feels like an apology. It feels like forgiveness.)
They spend the rest of the day lazing around the Winnebago. Vyncent spends a full hour launching throwing knives into trees, and practicing with his sword. He laments that they haven’t gotten the chance to fight, lately. He’s going to get rusty.
The entire day is undercut with a thin layer of tension. It’s one Vyncent can’t brush off, or throw himself off the track again to ignore. But for now, he chooses to sit with it.
It can wait until tomorrow. Today they will rest.
Eventually, Vyncent falls asleep to Dakota’s soft snores and the distant sounds of the music they forgot to turn off. As unconsciousness takes him, he curls his lips into a private smile.
He needed this.
—
When morning comes, Vyncent groggily opens his eyes to a bright Dakota, shaking him awake.
"Wha’s goin’ on?" He mutters, trying to turn back into his pillow.
Dakota huffs. "C’mon, the prison opens in 5. I got us a room, but we have to get there early. Something about a security check."
Vyncent sits up, and rubs at his eyes, suddenly alert. "The prison?"
Dakota rolls his eyes, raspberry hair framed in golden sun. Vyncent glances around. He opened. Every. Single. Window.
"It’s time to get the full story," He says simply, and flashes Vyncent a hesitant grin.
Vyncent blinks. "I thought you were out, after…"
"We’re Prime Defenders," Dakota tells him, like it’s obvious. "We don’t do shit halfway. Now get up."
Dakota disappears in a rush of air, probably getting ready. Vyncent stares at the empty space for a moment, and then gives a bemused smile.
It’s finally time.
—
It’s cold in here, William gripes. (He’s always cold. Has been ever since that first fall. But this is worse, enough to bother him.)
It’s a petty thing to be mad about. But the barrier floods the room with cyan light, and it feels just close enough to those stark, empty hallways he loved, that it sets him on edge.
If it wasn’t safe there, it certainly isn’t here.
He resists the urge to examine the mirrored walls surrounding him. He knows, very well, that it’s one way glass. But it doesn’t stop the itch to learn something— to theorize, and prove, and god, he misses being able to investigate whatever catches his eye.
Instead, William puts one leg up on this shitty chair he’s been given— bolted down to the floor, of course— and glares.
He’s not all the surprised when the door finally opens to reveal Virion— now in slightly more grungy clothing— and DC. Neither of them bother to hide their faces.
DC is glaring at him. Good. He knows.
"You went down there, didn’t you?" William taunts, tiredly. A bitter smile paints his face. "Not a pretty picture, is it?"
Virion does not sit down, this time. Instead, he stares, eyes emotionless. "Bell wanted something from Alan. What was it?"
William picks at his nails, remembering smooth, velvety promises. (He’d break any silence to fuck David over.)
"David said the Otherworlder could speed up research on Alien diseases. Maybe find a cure. But David said a lot of things."
"So he took samples," Virion finishes, a look of disgust painting his face.
William nods, a harsh, jerky thing.
DC’s face shifts to outrage. "Why’d he use Alan? Why’d he fucking kidnap them?"
William grimaces. This one’s easy enough. "Revenge. Those three killed a lot of people, when they broke in."
The two heros share a glance. A moment passes, and Virion scrapes a boot across the smooth floor. Finally, he asks, "How did Cantrip really die?"
William’s face drops back to a glare. He sighs, long and audible.
"What do you want, from this?"
"To help," DC answers, as quickly as it is firm.
"Help who?" William laughs, and drags a hand down his face. He’s so fucking tired. "She’s already dead."
"You aren’t," DC points out, and drops down onto the floor beside the barrier. He’s close enough to put William on edge.
(If only that were true.)
William gestures, sharply. His voice grows irritated. "What does it matter? I’m in here, now. And he’s got the money to make sure I rot."
The two of them look at each other, but do not answer.
William sighs. "Why the fuck are you actually doing this?"
Another moment passes, heavy with something William can’t quite identify.
He rips a piece of skin from his cuticle. It begins to bleed, and he sucks on it to stop the flow. It tastes like iron and regret.
"We have this friend," DC starts, looking to the ground with a sort of bittersweet smile. His voice goes quiet. Unsure.
"He, uh… I wasn’t strong enough, and he had to save us. It was really fucking awesome, but, it— it got him possessed by the Trickster."
DC tapers off, and Virion gives a reluctant sigh. "We got this compass," Virion continues, flatly. "Mal told us it would lead us to something that would help."
"The wisps," William rasps out, eyes widening in realization. "Mal gave you a fucking compass leading to— what, me??"
"Yes! I don’t even know why, but—" DC squints, suddenly suspicious. "You know Mal?"
William huffs. "He keeps trying to recruit me to his weird ass cult thing…" William frowns, trying to piece together this strange puzzle. "I didn’t know he was messing with superheroes."
"Just us," Virion corrects, "Something about being the only ones who knew Ashe. Apparently he cares more about the spirit world, which, exists… I guess."
"Ashe," William repeats, slowly. Then, it clicks. He inhales, sharply. "Ashe?"
"Our friend," DC chirps.
(Manic tears and orange veins and bursting wings. There was so much screaming, they had said, eyes swelling with agony. With fear.)
"Shit," William breathes, looking at them each. "You’re Dakota. Vyncent."
They still, staring at William in shock.
Vyncent— and obviously he’s Vyncent, what sort of name is Virion?— approaches threateningly. "How’d you know that?"
William winces, and thinks for a moment. "Mal?"
Dakota frowns, but seems to accept this as an explanation. Vyncent, however, begins to approach, threateningly. "Mal doesn’t tell anyone anything. How do you really know?"
William shuts his mouth, and glares.
"You are working with Bell." Vyncent says, disgustedly, looking him up and down. "What, are we his next kidnapping victims? It’s not exactly a secret that I’m not from Prime."
"You don’t fucking know what you’re talking about," William spits, vitriol pouring from his lips.
"I don’t?" Vyncent throws his hand up in the air, exasperated. "Then what the hell was in that basement? Y’know, I found two pairs of gloves in that stupid fucking trashcan."
(Blue blood and golden eyes. This is a person. They were kidnapped.)
William flinches, harshly. He stands, the world drifting under his feet. He doesn’t notice Dakota’s bewildered "wait what?". He’s burning up, veins filled with poison. Poison that didn’t exist until David fucking broke him. Broke him and crushed his shards underfoot.
"David did this to me," He snarls, tears falling down his face.
Vyncent glares, righteous fury bubbling beneath his composure. "Oh yeah?" He asks, stepping forward until he’s right in front of the barrier. "You’re the one who stabbed her."
"I didn’t know!" William screams with a torn voice, finally breaking. He falls to the floor, and hot tears drip down his face. His hands feel slick, as he rubs them harshly across his eyes. He can’t decide whether it’s because of the blood he can’t help but see, or the tears.
Finally, he chokes out a quiet "I—, I didn’t know. I couldn’t have known."
Dakota and Vyncent exchange a glance. William crumples onto the floor, forcing himself to breathe between sobs. Everything is spinning. The world tilting its axis all around him.
Dakota locks eyes with him. He’s serious now. There’s a fire in his irises, but for once, it doesn’t feel pointed at William. "Tell us what happened," He says, quietly.
And what else is there to do but comply?
William watches as each shard of what little remains of his resolve dies. Falls to the ground and
s h a t t e r s.
—
William Wisp is sixteen when he dies.
It isn’t peaceful. His body tumbles through freezing air as he reaches desperately for the last threads of mystery he never got to solve.
He doesn’t remember the fall. But he remembers the stars. Remembers feeling like he was falling through an infinite galaxy, as clouds dusted his skin.
And then, just as soon as it starts, it’s over, and he feels his world shatter into white hot pain.
The agony is faded, now. Hidden just behind a thick veil, right beyond his reach.
He doesn’t want to remember—he knows—but it itches at him that he could.
William Wisp dies at the bottom of a cliff, alone, and afraid.
And then he wakes up. Painstakingly forcing himself to open his eyes, William is met with a field of glowing blue. Wisps dot the ground like flowers, bathing William in unnatural light.
He stumbles away, confused and afraid.
Truthfully, William wakes up, and he’s different. He wakes up and everything is different, in that awful, terrifying way that makes everything feel like it’s all fucking burning up his last nerves. But also, like he never really came back.
Just living through cycles of his own personal hell.
A lot of shit happens, in the year that follows. It isn’t pretty, for the most part. He turns seventeen, and spends a month fighting with his parents to let him drop out of school.
He just— can’t handle it, anymore. And he’s so painfully aware that every second he spends here he’s only putting them in more danger.
Eventually, they agree. It’s kinda hard to argue with him, after, well…
He remembers seeing himself in the mirror for the first time after everything went to shit. Remembers playing with the white in his hair, sighing as he twisted shaggy curls around his too-pale index finger and realizing that the white didn’t stop there. Remembers spending an hour, bitten nails curled against his scalp, fervently sorting through messy locks until he could categorize every single strand of white running through his dark hair.
It’s a reminder, he thinks. Following him like the blue hidden just beneath his skin. Like the falling through the floor, or turning invisible for days on end. Reminding him he runs on borrowed time.
(Whisperer, Mal’s voice hisses in his mind. You cannot escape these powers. You cannot escape your fate.)
William isn’t powered. He’s cursed.
He packs up his bags just a week later. Running his fingers over worn and loved hoodies, he relishes in the texture of rough fabric and frayed edges. It’s proof of his life. Proof of his love.
He doesn’t let himself regret it. Everything from Deadwood comes out fucked up.
He couldn’t escape it, but he can sure as hell leave now.
So he hugs his mother goodbye, promises his dad he’ll keep up with his online courses, and climbs into the back of a too-fancy executive van heading to Freedom City.
He presses his face to the cool glass, and allows himself to breathe. Exhaling years of constant fear. Of tragedy. Of horrors he should’ve never seen.
William Wisp is only seventeen, when he leaves Deadwood behind. In that respect, he’s lucky.
.
Honestly, William never expected to have a relationship with David.
They’ve always been polar opposites.
The prodigy. The height of academic excellence. A pillar of the community. Charismatic and helpful. The only normal thing to come out of Deadwood.
And his half-brother. A freak. A teen with hollow eyes and a fear of the dark. One who hides from thin air, and chokes whenever he has to speak.
One who sees what he should not.
But David reaches out. Offers William an internship— a chance to keep his hands occupied and his mind from spiraling, and William can’t help but imagine a world where he has a brother.
William is a horrendously lonely person. Maybe he always has been. It’s almost too easy to accept the offer.
William Wisp comes to Freedom City, and throws himself into Bell-tech. His shitty little apartment— (he insisted David not pay for anything extravagant)— is cold. Unused to life. It’s a place to sleep, and nothing more. Instead, William’s home is Bell-tech. His home is a cluttered office, surrounded by mundane information that his brain itches to categorize and collect.
Eventually, David promotes him. The job is sort of informal. A secretary needs qualifications, and William has none. But he does the job of one, anyways. And goddamnit he does it well.
His brain relishes in a constant influx of information, and his eidetic memory allows for a level of efficiency that seems to surprise even David.
He lives in Freedom city for about a year and a half before everything goes wrong.
He’s still miserably alone, and undeniably broken. Sometimes he spends days on end unable to get out of bed, or too anxious to even think about stepping outside. He still falls through the floor, and accidentally turns invisible when he spooks, and he still has to force himself not to follow the darting blue forms of wisps flitting around his peripherals. Trying to lead him into another unknown. Another terror.
He looks at every darkness like it holds his inevitable death, and he spends days on end wondering if his heart beat has always been so quiet, or if he’s still dead. Crumpled at the bottom of a foggy cliff, as the unsympathetic stars shine overhead.
But David helps.
They aren’t brothers. But, maybe, when David catches William dissociating at his desk, he’ll occasionally drag him back to his too-spacious, too-empty apartment, and hand him a pouch of apple juice. Maybe, he’ll call to assign William another set of reports to parse through, and the two of them will linger for just a little longer to discuss vastly irrelevant news stories and office gossip. Maybe David will call William to his office, just to end up ranting about his frustration with the hero system until being urgently called to his next meeting.
It’s almost enough.
William and David will never be brothers, but William never expected them to be. And, slowly, this strange, distant dance they navigate becomes comforting instead of awkward.
So maybe, for now, it’s okay to just be distant family.
It’s all the same to William’s starved mind.
.
William is eighteen when his life falls apart.
The day starts deceptively mundane. A couple meetings to schedule for tomorrow. A stack of reports that’s probably taller than he is.
William comes into work, still wearing that ratty old hoodie instead of any sort of uniform out of stubborn defiance, sits down, and makes himself busy. Until the coffee he pointlessly poured himself goes cold and a headache begins to press at his temple.
Eventually, he stands up, quietly exits his office, and ghosts through the sterile hallways towards David’s office. They’re nearly empty, he realizes with a start, and pulls out his phone. 6:30 PM.
Closing is in 30 minutes.
William sighs, wondering how half a stack of reports took him an entire day. Then, he knocks.
No response.
Which is strange. William checked David’s schedule. He should definitely be in here. David always responds after the first knock.
William knocks again. His hand hesitates over the door handle.
(Some distant voice whispers at him to run.)
He turns the handle.
David’s office is huge. The three outward facing walls are all windows, and William is briefly mesmerized by the neon lights of the city. He blinks, and looks to the desk in the center. It’s a rich mahogany, kept neatly organized. Five monitors hover just above the computer, itself. The screens are all dark.
"David?" He calls, meekly.
There is no response.
A sliver of red light catches William’s eye. Coming from some obscure door, cracked open along the wall. A door he’s never noticed before. He approaches, almost absentmindedly.
He shouldn’t go in. But William has never been able to deny his curiosity.
It only takes a moment of hesitation for William to swing open the door, and flood the room in red.
"FIRE EXIT" the door reads, now visible in the dim light.
William’s seen the emergency stairs. He’s fairly sure they shouldn’t go down this far. So, unease pooling in his gut, he begins to descend.
He walks for a while. Definitely longer than he should, for just emergency exit stairs. The red light disorients him— makes it all feel unreal.
Finally, he reaches the bottom, and a hallway stretches out in front of him. At the end, a door reads "LAB F" and—
That doesn’t exist. This shouldn’t exist, so what the hell is this??
His fervent curiosity wins out over his caution. William creaks open the heavy door, and completely stills.
In the dim light stands David, gloved hands dripping in blue, and leaning over something— no— someone. A bright light shines over someone from another planet, all black rocks and golden eyes that glow such that not even his eyelids drown them out. They lie, motionless, on the operating table.
David’s eyes snap to him. William freezes.
"William," He acknowledges, after a moment, voice covered in a veneer of neutrality. He keeps his gloved hands raised.
There’s something like denial just beneath the sick sensation climbing up his throat. This is David— his own brother. This must be explainable. He wouldn’t do anything without a reason.
William glances over to the wall. Two people— maybe teens?— are chained to the radiator, limp , and spilling onto the dusty floor.
Shock and betrayal squeeze his veins. Each swallow burns with acid.
His brother— his own fucking brother.
"David?" William asks, voice dangerous and trembling. "What— What the hell are you doing??"
And David just smiles, that oh-so human smile.
They killed people, David tells him. So many fucking people, that David knew— that William knew.
He’s saving people. These samples will save lives.
These samples will save lives, and there are two kids chained to his wall, and this research is desperately needed, and they were all kidnapped— grabbed while they were asleep, and William longs to have a brother.
David stands there with blue blood dripping off his hands, and William doesn’t quite agree with him, but he doesn’t not agree with him, and there’s nothing he can fucking do while there is an open body on the table, and oh god, David is going to kill him.
So William swallows down bile, pulls on a pair of gloves, and tries to do damage control. Tries to help.
While he holds the vital organs of a man he’s never even met, David rants at him. About heros, and the damage they do. About how they’ll all be fine. They won’t even remember. This is a net positive.
"How?" William rasps, voice shaking and deathly quiet.
"A serum," David tells him, and assures, "It’s completely safe. Just makes them forget the last 24 hours."
William nods, but it’s a hollow thing. "Can you please just fucking close him up?"
David sighs. "Yeah, I’m done. One second."
William strips off blue stained gloves with terrified fervor. Just as he walks to the trashcan, inconveniently placed beside the door, he locks eyes with the girl.
Sharp, terrified brown eyes meet his own, framed in heavy purple locks.
Suddenly, the chains shatter. William blinks, and both teens are sprinting toward him.
"Fuck!" He screams, floundering. Something flies at him. Instinctively, he catches it, fumbling to grab it. It’s a needle, filled with clear liquid. "David?!"
"The fuck are you doing?!" David yells, rushing to his computer. "Get them."
"No," William breathes, "No, no, no, no, no."
"You’re a part of this now," David tells him, flatly.
William screams out curses, but he’s not stupid. It’s too late to turn back. So he sprints.
He makes David cut the lights, and chases the two down in the dim red light of the EXIT sign.
He gets the girl first.
She screams out for help, but realizes no one is coming. Resigned, she stares at him, terrified, as he pins her to the ground. He knows his expression is no different.
The needle sinks into her chest easily. Too easily.
She falls limp.
Her body thuds as it hits the ground.
Blood pools underneath her.
William steps back in horror, gasping for air. The world around him spins and he prays to whatever fucked up gods are left out there that she’ll be fine.
He said they’d be fine.
He said—
"Nice job," David’s voice rings out in his ear. "The other one’s heading up the fire exit. Better hurry."
"Fuck you," William spits with a level of vitriol he didn’t know he was capable.
But he runs.
He meets the other teen on the roof. He’s out of breath, mildly injured from the cuffs, and a little dizzy. He’s afraid.
The boy’s red headband flutters back and forth in the wind, and he looks at William with frantic but determined eyes.
A wisp flies into William’s hand, reluctant but firmly loyal, and transforms itself into a long sword. It’s the first thing he can think of, twisted and warped like an ancient blade. The teen looks down at it, then at William’s face, and tries to throw himself off of the dark roof.
William lurches out a hand, helpless to stop him. Blue energy shoots out, forming into a ghostly wall. The teen slams into it, and growls.
"You fucking killed my friends!" He screams, turning to lunge towards William. "What is wrong with you?!"
William stares down at his half-blue hands, and has a revelation. The game is on.
William holds his arms out in front of him, in some half-instinctual block. Another wall appears, forcing William to stumble back in pain, but protecting him from the impact.
"They’ll be fine," He hisses, forcing himself not to fall. "Don’t worry, you’ll all forget soon."
The teen glares at him with sharp eyes, but William doesn’t run.
He throws himself at William, again and again. William frantically responds to each. Keeps raising his glowing walls, each cracking with exhaustion as he ducks clumsily between attacks. He gets off a few slashes with his half-physical blade. They don’t cut deep. Not nearly deep enough. They bounce.
As he dodges and blocks attack after attack, it begins to set in. The fucker can harden his skin. There’s nothing he can do.
Minutes run by. They dance, trading and avoiding blows, but finally—
William slips, and faces the consequences. Pain explodes in his face— a fist to his jaw. He spits out blood, and falls back.
In a last ditch attempt, William gathers every bit of energy inside him, and allows it to flood out of him and into a cage.
The sky turns to bright, vivid blue, as leagues of armed people begin to surround them. William can only remember the sound of thunder cracking through the air as the world blurs into darkness.
He continues falling through his dreams, tumbling through Freedom City’s neon haze.
He wonders if he’ll ever stop.
The sound of rushing air is almost comforting, in a way.
It sounds like FREEDO—
He wakes up.
It’s a slow affair. It doesn’t take long for him to realize he’s been carefully propped up on a squishy couch. His wounds have been bandaged, though his muscles still burn with exhaustion.
It’s too normal. He’s instantly on edge.
It hits him. He doesn’t know where he is, and he sits up frantically.
"Woah," A dull voice murmurs, smooth and calm. "You’re fine, William."
His eyes snap to meet David’s, and he curls up tighter. "Where are we?" He asks. He feels like a frayed cord, about to snap.
"Hidden meeting room," David informs him, nonchalant. "For more... sensitive, discussions."
"Didn’t know you were so obsessed with hidden rooms," William bites, glaring past loose, overgrown curls.
"William," David sighs.
"David," William mocks.
David stands, begins to pace. He meets William’s gaze. "You understand why I had to do it, don’t you?"
William opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut. He bites his tongue. His mind is such a mess, he can’t figure out where the hell to start.
Instead, he asks, "Are they okay?"
David waves a hand and continues to pace. There’s something beneath his voice, now. It terrifies William. "They’re fine. A truck is taking them back, now. Nice job out there, anyways. Didn’t know you could do that. Very useful."
Something’s off.
"David," William presses, voice shaking. "Are they okay?"
David raises an eyebrow. His posture is too tight. "I just said yes, William."
William inhales sharply. "You’re lying. You’re fucking lying."
"William," David reprimands, but William cuts him off before he can speak further.
He glares, righteous anger flooding his veins. "Don’t fucking lie to me. Are they okay?"
David stills. When he turns back to William, his expression has shifted. "I got it taken care of."
"Fuck!" William screams, gripping at his hair. "You— you made me… Fuck, oh my god. They’re—"
The door opens, and a concerned guard steps in. He’s holding a gun. William is too busy spiraling to care.
"Calm down, William," David commands, leaving no room for argument. "It was only one."
"Which?" William demands, between gasps. There are tears blurring his vision.
It takes David a moment to answer. But finally, he responds. "The girl."
William buries his face in his hands. Tears pool in his palms as he sees her terrified face again and again. "G-goddamn it, David. You— you cant— You’re lying."
David meets his gaze with a flat stare.
"Tell me you’re lying," William demands, snapping up to meet his gaze.
David does not respond.
"Tell me you’re—"
William is hardly aware of the burning, the sensation of jumping to his feet worn legs and gesturing threateningly.
He knows he is screaming. It doesn’t seem to matter, in that moment, exactly what he says.
It all happens so fast. He hears David scream a cut off "No!—" punctuated by the sound of thunder.
Or, no, that’s not quite right. But William is unable to wrap his sluggish thoughts around it, because there is a flash of light that consumes the room and his body explodes with pain.
There isn’t some dramatic realization that punctuates William’s death.
It’s just stillness.
Everything goes black.
.
The next time William wakes up, he’s locked up in a cell. Left to piece himself together, shard by shard.
Alone in that never-ending, all consuming stillness.
—
“You killed her,” Dakota says, voice thick with some emotion he can’t name.
“Yes,” William breathes, between painful sobs. He can’t see past blur the glowing teal, pulsing like a horrible creature. Or maybe that’s him.
“You didn’t mean to kill her?” Dakota asks. He sounds so small.
“S-she’s still dead,” He reminds, voice hitching. He’s pulling at his hair, anything to keep him tethered to this moment.
Dakota wipes at his eyes, and firmly, now, he says, “You didn’t mean it.”
William looks into his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel quite as lost.
“No,” He agrees, and Dakota’s eyes soften.
—
Vyncent stares, watching as William crumples to the ground. His cries hurt to listen to. The agonizing sound of someone who’s lost everything.
He… can’t think. Can’t breathe.
A loud crackling. It makes all three of them flinch.
“You got a call,” says the voice over the speaker. It’s a concerned sounding woman. “You still have 15 minutes, but, uh, I think it’d be best if the two of you come out here, for a moment.”
Vyncent blinks past tears. Dakota is still trying to comfort William past the barrier. He’s gasping. Breath constantly hitching in anger and devastation.
Vyncent can’t be in this room, so tensely corrupted with thick emotion. It feels like smog; familiar, but impossible to breathe in. So, he chokes out a quiet “I’ll go,” and stumbles over to the door.
He’s still drying tears when the woman opens the door for him. Officer Faye, her badge reads. She ruffles his hair, sympathetically, prompting a wince from him. She points him to his phone. It’s in a plastic bag, kept close to her.
“You shouldn’t have this in here,” She reminds, gentle, “But if you kids got a call from Wordsmith— well. I think the consequences of this far outweigh the potential risk.”
“Wordsmith?” Vycent rasps, standing just a little straighter.
She hands him his phone, her black nails glinting in the light.
Vyncent glares at it for a minute, pressing buttons that won’t do what he needs them to do. He sighs, angrily, and shoves it back to her.
“It says there’s a… voice, message?” He explains, too tired to be embarrassed. “Could you play it? I can never figure out this piece of junk.”
She gives him a bewildered smile, running a hand through the braids lazily hanging out of her loose bun.
“Sure, kid.”
She hits something, and Wordsmith’s voice rings out into the bright hallway.
“Hello, Vyncent… I’m sure you two are very busy. Chaos demon sightings running rampant— no sign of the Trickster anywhere.”
He sighs, and continues, “We’re controlling the situation, but it’s taking all of our forces. And, we recently lost track of Lightspeed. She was last seen in New Haven. It’s probably nothing, but she’s been radio silent for about a week now. We would send someone to check on her— but. Well, I’m sure you’ve seen the damage by now.”
A pause. Vyncent inhales.
“It would be great if you two could go and make sure she’s alright. We need her, to fight this.”
The message clicks off. Vyncent digs his nails into his hand. He immediately turns toward the door.
Officer Faye hands him back his phone, silent. As he silently stalks back to the room, he hears her soft “you’re doing just fine, kid.”
The heavy door swings shut with a thud.
Two sets of eyes in the room snap to him. Hesitant, waiting. Their faces painted in sickly blue light, almost comfortable in the dim room.
Vyncent just flops down next to Dakota, and covers his eyes as they adjust.
“What’d they want?” Dakota asks, concern dripping off of the hand that hovers above Vyncent’s own.
“Wordsmith called,” Vyncent explains, tucking his face into the arm resting on his knees. Dakota catches his hand with his own, warm and firm.
“Wordsmith,” William echos roughly, now mostly calm and staring at them both with piercing dark eyes. “You weren’t joking about the hero shit.”
“What happened? Are they okay?” Dakota asks, eyes flicking around the room. Scanning for some unknown threat.
“Lightspeed disappeared. Somewhere in New Haven,” Vyncent exhales. He raises his eyes to meet Dakota’s. “They need us to find her.”
“We can’t leave him behind,” Dakota responds, quickly. “What if Bell tries to finish him off— tries to—“
Vyncent cuts him off with a gentle, “I know.”
“Wait,” William pipes up, gripping the floor. He’s ripping his cuticles. It feels like shit to watch. “Why do they need you to do it?”
Vyncent glares at the steel floor. “Chaos demons. They’re— they’re fucking everywhere.”
“We’re running out of time,” Dakota realizes, and Vyncent nods.
The three of them go silent, for a moment. It’s a quieter sort of silence. Like stillness, instead of grief.
“We’ve gotta split up,” Dakota says at last, like it physically pains him to choke out.
William shoots up, stiffly fixing his posture. “Wait, what?”
“I’ll stay,” Vyncent offers, squeezing Dakota’s hand. “You’re quicker.”
“Damn right I am,” Dakota laughs, breathless and terrified.
William stares at them. “What the fuck??”
“You better fucking call me,” Dakota sniffs, smile fading. “I swear to God, Vynce.”
“I will,” He assures. “Beat some ass for me?”
“No, you guys don’t get to skip over this!” William nearly shouts, leaning forward and hovering a hand over the glowing barrier.
Dakota gives him a bewildered look. “Over what?”
“Why?” He pleads, desperately confused. “Why do you care? Why are you fucking staying!?”
Vyncent takes a moment to watch him with tired eyes. He doesn’t look like a murderer, now. He looks like a teen. Desperately tired, angry, and confused.
He looks like Vyncent feels.
“Because you don’t deserve this,” He says, easily. Like it’s fact— because, no matter what the law says, it is. William’s eyes widen. “And because Mal thinks you can help. And as much as I hate the bitch, he’s got shit at stake too.”
William opens his mouth, and then closes it. “You can’t know that.”
“Maybe not,” Dakota agrees, flashing a tiny smile, “But we’re choosing to help you anyways. ‘Cause it’s the right thing to do.”
And that’s that.
They get called out just a couple minutes after. William gives them the tiniest semblance of a smile as they leave, and Dakota grins.
They walk back to the Winnebago, purpose driving every step. The sky is dark, outside. Fogged by the lights of the city, but somehow peaceful.
They drive out to the edge of the city, blasting loud music and watching as neon lights turn to towering trees.
Eventually, Vyncent drags Dakota to the roof of the Winnebago. The intricate harmonies of Mother Mother climb through the thick walls, like a muffled blanket of safety, as they huddle together against the chill.
They stay there for longer than they should.
They stay there for exactly as long as they need.
As he stares up at the all consuming trees above, and the faint glow of the new moon, Vyncent hears Dakota whisper out into the icy breeze.
“We’ll figure it out.”
Notes:
Arc I — TRUTH, is finally finished! Hope you enjoyed!!
If William seems a little more violent here than in cannon, it’s because he’s been alone for so much longer, and never really learned good coping mechanisms. He’s just constantly tipping between exploding with emotion and drowning in apathy.
The bois are finally together! So excited to finally write them as a group.
Wonder what happened with the security… probably nothing :/
Gonna take a break from posting to plan for arc II, build up my backlog, and deal with life shit.
Until then,
Thank you! :D- prismatic
Chapter 8: stakes
Summary:
to choose to survive, or to live.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Vyncent leans back against the little throw pillow he smuggled in. He shivers against the chill of the interrogation room— needlessly sharp. The barrier paints his face in a dim blue as he watches William gesticulate wildly.
"It’s not even, like—" William complains, throwing his head back. His shaggy, white-streaked curls fall into his eyes. "Okay, yeah, sure, he was a member of the Prime Force. And he has a cool looking power. But that doesn’t make him a good actor! Or director!!"
Vyncent snorts, the dim static of Origami’s mental barrier becoming strained and distorted. "He isn’t very happy about that one."
"And I’m not very happy about the hundreds of plot-holes in Origami IV: Fold of the Kingdom," William shoots back, "So there."
Vyncent laughs, and after a second, William rolls his eyes with a fond exhale.
"Now that I know he’s listening, might as well tear apart every inconsistency in the Origami cinematic universe," William smirks, "Y’know, to show my appreciation."
The static becomes a series of distorted movie clips, like Origami just can’t hold them back. Vyncent smiles, impishly, and waves a hand. "Be my guest."
William lights up, and with an excited "okay, so—" He proceeds to spend the next 15 minutes ranting about movies. Eventually he gets off topic, and they end up arguing about whether bees are wasps after talking about the bee movie— one of the only non-fantasy films Vyncent’s ever seen.
Just as William starts to roast Vyncent’s godawful taste in movies, the speaker crackles to life.
"Time’s up, Virion," Officer Faye’s voice tells them, and Vyncent thanks whatever gods might or might not be out there that it’s her.
Maybe he won’t get scolded as bad this time.
He says a brief goodbye to William, who jerkily pulls up his grey sleeve, gives a worn smile, and waves.
Luckily, as he exits through the heavy door all he gets is a knowing look from Officer Faye before she allows him to leave.
Everyone knows by now that his excuse of "needing to get close to the suspect" is bullshit. But they let him in anyways. Probably a testament to something— maybe how pitiful either he or William looks. Or both.
Vyncent pulls on his heavy jacket, nods to the disgruntled receptionist, and walks out into the freezing wind.
The sky is already dark, despite it barely being evening. Vyncent wonders if Dakota is looking at the same dying light. As he walks along dimly lit streets to get to the Dodgeboy Memorial Library, he flips up a pair of black noise cancelling headphones. Scratched and chipped to oblivion. Lovingly used.
They’re Dakota’s, technically. His old purple set broke when the first base went up in flames. After Dakota decided to keep Ashe’s until he got back, he gave his to Vyncent.
He had forgotten how comforting a little silence could be.
As his hands go numb, he tunes out the city around him, all neon lights and flying cars, and focuses on the street ahead. And it’s easy, despite the itching sense of loss at the lack of Dakota’s warmth beside him.
For now, it can be easy.
(At one point, a shadow catches the corner of his eye. He whips around to see— nothing. Nothing at all. The people around him stare, and he flicks up his hood in embarrassment.)
About half an hour later, he arrives at the library. His face is freezing, and his hands fumble his phone as he slips it back into his bag and pushes open the door.
He is met by a rush of warm air, and he allows himself a shivery breath. He waves to the librarian with a too-red palm, and begins to trek through the rows and rows of deep wooden bookshelves and leather-bound books. The smell of ancient paper is a blanket of familiarity, in this empty place.
He walks up to Lightspeed’s hideout, and lets himself in. The door swings open, and the little room reveals itself.
Lightspeed doesn’t have much, here. She told him once, "It’s a place to stay. That’s all."
He grabs a bottle of water from the little mini-fridge, chugs it, washes his hands in the tiny kitchenette, and collapses onto the blanket covered couch-bed.
Then, he pulls out his phone, and uses the woman trapped inside to call Dakota. ("Why can’t you just use Siri, it’s not that hard?" "Who’s Siri?" "…Vynce.")
Dakota picks up on the second ring.
"Hey Vynce!" He chirps, over the sound of the Winnebago. "You good?"
"I’m fine," Vyncent assures, putting the phone on speaker and lazily holding it up toward the ceiling. "How’s it going?"
Dakota’s voice darkens. "I was right."
A beat. Then, "It was Mark."
Vyncent feels his eyes widen, and he sits up. "You found him?"
"I fucking had him," Dakota snaps, "But Lightspeed needed help."
Vyncent draws in a sharp breath.
"It was— it was bad, Vynce. So I let him get away. Lightspeed needed a hospital, badly."
Vyncent winces in sympathy. "Is she okay?"
He hears Dakota sigh. "Doctors said she’s stable. Now I’m trying to track down Mark. But, it’s not—" Dakota groans. "I’m not built for this shit, Vynce. I punch things. This is fucking hard."
Vyncent exhales, and holds the phone close to his chest. "You’ll find him. Kick his ass for me, okay?"
"Ashe deserves a dad," Dakota growls. "I’m going to make him be that, whether he likes it or not."
Vyncent feels his lips twitch up. "You’ve got this, man. Just— make sure to get back soon. I don’t wanna talk to Mal without you."
"Don’t worry," Dakota replies, and Vyncent gets the impression of a cocky grin. "This’ll be quick. Talk later, okay?"
"Got it. See you soon."
"See you soon."
—
Maybe under other circumstances, Dakota would love this convention. But as the sunset casts the convention center in burning gold, all Dakota can think is of course Mark would hide in a crowd of fucking nerds.
It smells like sweat as he bumps shoulders with a crowd in cosplay. He stalks past them, glaring past hero merchandise and sick art.
He’s gotta be here.
Dakota finds his way to a wide converted warehouse building.
There’s a window in the way. He kicks it in, sending shards of glass flying. One grazes his cheek, and he wipes away the sting and a little blood as he jumps into the dark, empty room.
There’s some cleaning staff, watching him in horror.
“Sorry," Dakota apologizes distractedly, "But I’m on a mission. Have you seen Mark?"
An older woman steps forward, running her hand exhaustedly through her grey bun. "Kid. This is a little extreme, isn’t it? The convention’s over. Go home."
"A little?" A man in the corner yells, on the verge of tears. "He just broke our window!"
"Quiet, Fred," The woman reprimands, "It’s not like he’s the first one today."
Dakota stares for a second before shaking his head. He begins to pace. "Look, I don’t have time for this. I’m a superhero. I’m looking for a guy named Mark. Red, glowing eyes, big mask, blond hair. Looks like a douche. Seen him?"
The guy walks towards Dakota, rolling his eyes. "Yes. Literally everywhere. It’s a convention."
Dakota scowls, and starts heading into the warehouse. He waves a hand behind him. "It’s fine, I’ll find him myself."
He hears the man’s fading objections as he slowly leaves hearing distance. But they don’t get paid enough to stop him. So Dakota stalks on.
Behind the messy storefronts, the warehouse is filled with storage boxes and huge dimly lit rooms. It smells stale. Suffocating. Dakota hardly notices, mind racing with anger.
Mark hurt Lightspeed. Mark hurt Lightspeed, badly. Badly enough that Dakota thought—
He’s here. Dakota knows he’s here. It’s fucking Mark. Of course it’s Mark, and Lightspeed is—
There’s a trail of blood on the floor reflecting in the dim light. Dakota follows it with wide eyes to find a pool of crimson. And lying there, utterly still, is—
He rushes up. She has to be okay, (she has to she has to she has to).
He reaches out to shake her, but a voice that sounds like Vyncent’s reminds him to take her pulse. He moves to her wrist and—
It’s warm. She has a pulse.
He exhales. Thank god.
(But she’s not safe, yet.)
Dakota blinks away the memory as dread creeps up his throat.
There’s something off, h—
Click.
He launches himself out of the way just as the sound of the gun pierces the echo of the warehouse.
"You just don’t give up," The familiar metal tinged voice remarks, sardonically. Dakota whips around to see the red eyes of Wavelength. "Do you?"
—
Vyncent opens the little mini fridge with a click.
Nothing.
He sighs, but pulls on his jacket anyway. Tonight is going to be a long night.
There’s a little grocery store just a few blocks away. Vyncent walks out into the freezing dark with a grimace, and begins to head down the street.
There’s something growing in his gut, as he walks. Tastes like dread. His eyes flick from dark corner to dark corner, waiting for the shoe to drop.
The night is quiet.
Then, THUMP.
Vyncent pivots, eyes immediately drawn to a dark alley, lit only by dim neons spilling out from the streets. He’s about to speed up and get away when he hears a shrill scream.
It’s hardly a decision. Vyncent turns, and runs into the dark.
—
"MARK!" Dakota screams, throat torn raw. "You bastard!!"
Another shot. This one he’s prepared for. He jumps out of the way, and begins running toward the smug form of Wavelength.
He’s sitting on top of a stack of boxes, blowing smoke off of his gun. The glow of his mask’s red eyes pierce into Dakota’s soul.
Dakota reaches him in an instant. He swings a leg towards his chest in one swift arc.
Wavelength catches it, and Dakota jumps— flipping to kick with his other leg. He lands safely. The impact burns. Wavelength stumbles back.
"Lots of big talk for a liar," Wavelength bites, scathingly, moving away, towards the boxes, and switching to a glowing pistol. "Where’s Ashe, huh, Dakota? Where’s my fucking kid?"
Dakota flies at him, swinging punch after punch. "WE’RE. WORKING. ON. IT." Every impact slams the solid metal of Wavelength’s gauntlets. The banging crescendos, until Dakota attempts to sweep the legs, but fails.
"Oh yeah?" Mark taunts, forcing Dakota back with a wave of green energy. He isn’t expecting it, but catches himself just before he crashes into a stack of boxes.
Mark glares at him, pistol aimed to kill. "Then why haven’t I heard anything. You traitor kids told me you’d keep me updated. But no. You just let me rot."
"We were trying to figure it all out!" Dakota cries, dodging a wave of glowing bullets. "We were fucking trying!"
Wavelength glares, lowering the glowing pistol to spit at him. "Your effort wasn’t enough. Now was it?"
Dakota flings himself out of the way of a wave of yellow energy, and crashes onto the ground with a roll. It tastes like—
—
Ashes and dust hang in the air of the alleyway, each particle vibrating with anticipation— or is that Vyncent?
His boot hits the ground again and again, flying into the dark. Something’s wrong, and he’s tired of being too late to stop it.
Vyncent catches a glance of a figure, cloaked in shadow and darting deeper into the alleyway.
Vyncent moves to follow, but—
WATCH OUT, screams the voice of Origami in his mind.
Everything goes still.
Vyncent barely manages to throw himself onto the ground when the gunshot fires.
What the fuck was that??, Vyncent thinks at Origami frantically. His hands shake as he grips the ground, and moves his gaze upwards. His eyes meet a dark figure, long hair, cloaked in shadow, with a long black cloth tied over their eyes. They smile.
Trouble.
—
"Why’d you attack Lightspeed, then?" Dakota spits, pushing himself to his feet. "If you’re trying to save Ashe."
He feels the dusty floor vibrate, and uses the warning to jump over another energy attack. The world flashes green. Dakota lands safely on his feet, right next to the boxes stacked against the wall.
"Information," Wavelength glowers. He dodges out of the way of a box Dakota hurls at him. "Since you idiots didn’t bother to tell me shit."
"You could have asked me!!" Dakota screams, throat growing raw. He hoists another box over his head, panting. "You—, you could have asked."
"From inside a cell? Nah, kid, you overestimate the good will of the law," Mark snarls, sending out a wave of green energy that splits straight through the box.
For a moment, William’s dark eyes stare back at him.
Dakota looks down, then up. He sprints at Wavelength, dodging debris, then bashes him over the head with the broken box. Wavelength grunts, stepping back. He yells, "It doesn’t matter. Killing heroes isn’t going to save Ashe!"
Another shot. He isn’t prepared, this time. It grazes Dakota, leaving a thin gash on his shoulder. He throws off his burnt jacket with a hiss, but runs in for another kick.
"What do you know," Mark replies, vitriol spilling from his voice as he dodges one kick, then another. He uppercuts Dakota’s jaw, as he spins. It hurts like a bitch. Dakota continues swinging, his limbs burning. "You— fuck. What do you know? You promised you’d find them—"
Another wave of energy. Dakota flies back, and spits out a little blood. "But you’ve got nothing, have you—"
—
"Virion," Their raspy voice mocks. They stand up straighter, boot nudging at something crumpled up on the ground. (A person, that’s a person, dead already.)
"You’re too late."
Vyncent draws his sword, the familiar weight of The Greats settling in his palm. He kneels, waiting for their first move.
"That’s alright though," They grin, something like poison lacing their tone. "All I wanted was you."
The bullet pierces the air in one fatal slice. Vyncent rolls out of the way. His chain clanks against the blackened pavement. It bites into his hands as he forces himself to his feet.
Years of training, Origami’s instincts— he’s almost impossible to hit.
But it’s terrifying. Every bullet that grazes past his face, shot, after shot, after shot. He doesn’t let himself think.
Instinct— frantic dodges. That’s what keeps him alive.
The gun clicks. They’re out of rounds.
Now.
In an instant. Vyncents flings several giant paper cranes in their direction and ducks, desperate.
Silence. He turns. Their mouth curls with ire, arms pinned by the beaks of two sharp cranes.
"What—" He gasps, closing the distance and throwing a hand onto the wall, "—the fuck do you want."
They forcefully yank one of the cranes out of the wall, shattering part of the grey concrete. The blade kisses their neck.
"I understand why the kid liked you," They taunt, grimly satisfied. "You’re like him."
Vyncent makes a shallow cut, and in an instant, there is a larger pistol pointed at his temple.
Origami screams.
Vyncent stumbles back and dives to the ground. The shot rings in his ears, and the smell of burnt hair suffocates him.
"You don’t belong here, little otherworlder."
—
Dakota glares, wiping at his mouth with his free hand.
He spins into action, flying at Wavelength from every direction, then feinting out of the way of each of his blows. Each movement burns, but he didn’t climb a goddamn mountain for nothing.
"Ashe—" He hisses, lurching forward. He dodges another wave of energy with a flip. "Doesn’t need a murderer. They— need a dad."
"It doesn’t matter what kind of dad they have if they don’t fucking make it." Mark bites, stepping back and watching Dakota lunge towards him again and again. Waiting for an opening.
"It isn’t—" Dakota starts, before throwing a proper punch. It connects, but he gets a jab in the stomach as payment. "A goddamn question."
He crumples with an emphatic "shit."
Dakota tries to force himself up, but he’s spent, and his muscles burn, and he aches. He falls back to the ground.
"It won’t be, when I’m done." Mark drawls, bored. He watches Dakota, stepping away a safe distance. "You done?"
Dakota growls, catching his breath as he grips the cool, hard, ground. "Ashe needs people. That includes you, even if you’re a bitch."
He meets the red glowing eyes of the mask. "Ashe deserves a father. So I’m not done until you promise to be a good fucking dad to them."
Dakota flies toward Wavelength, catching him off guard and grabbing his neck before landing with a THUMP.
Wavelength hisses, grabbing Dakota’s hands and trying to force him off. "You— ugh, you kids keep meddling in shit that isn’t your goddamn business. Fuck off."
Dakota only grabs on tighter, blood spilling from his throbbing shoulder. He shifts to a chokehold. "It’s my goddamn business if my friend is being mistreated by their shitty ass dad!"
Mark yells, trying to break Dakota’s grip. His hands shake. "Well—" He chokes, scathing curses spilling from his lips like prayers. "Why not get them a shiny new one, eh? If I’m too problematic for your little fantasies?"
"BECAUSE THEY NEED YOU," Dakota screams, nearly crying with hatred. Mark stills. "Because you’re all they’ve got, and they fucking love you. So why can’t you stop hurting them?"
"I—…"
—
"don’t know what you’re talking about!" Vyncent hisses, rolling out of the way of another wave of shots.
What can I do? He pleads, to Origami. Desperation is leaking through both sides of the bond, but he isn’t a kid anymore. Can’t force Origami into the driver’s seat and cower.
Wait for another opening. Pin them. Then—
Vyncent launches himself onto the narrow edge of a window sill, pressing himself against the glass and narrowly missing a brutal hit to the shoulder. The abandoned alleyway flashes blinding white.
Origami sighs, tense and worried. You’re not going to like this.
Vyncent grunts. Don’t care.
You need to run.
Vyncent hurls a knife at the figure, dancing between bullets. There is no cover here, in this cursed place. Only adrenaline.
Figured.
—
Dakota loosens his grip, and Mark throws him off— accidentally flinging his mask in the process. He stands, panting heavily. "What do you want me to do, kid. What else could you possibly want from me?"
—
Another shot. Vyncent jumps out of the way but—
BANG.
White hot pain spreads from his calf, and Vyncent collapses to the ground.
Shit, kid, you’ve gotta get up. You’ve gotta—
His vision blurs with tears, as manic laughter rings out across the alleyway.
"Finally."
—
"Make a fucking effort. You don’t need to be perfect, but be there for Ashe. Be their dad, not their captor. And until then—"
Dakota swings out a hand, and allows it to hang in the air, as his muscles ache and contract. "Join up with us. Help us."
Mark laughs.
—
The pain is all consuming.
Vyncent can only clutch at his leg, as his vision drifts in and out with pain. His body is on fire. He’s dying, he’s going to die, this time it’s—
"Time to die, Virion," They laugh, kneeling down beside him. They brush a purple strand from his sweaty forehead. His ears twitch in discomfort. "All alone. You hero types really are easy to kill. You’ll chase any noise, as long as it’s distressed enough."
Kid, you need to get up. They’re not going to monolog forever.
Vyncent whines, high and keening. I can’t. Fuck— I can’t move.
Origami hardens, and the knife at Vyncent’s side begins to burn. It’s the only thing you can do.
Vyncent squeezes his eyes shut. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs the knife and plunges it into their chest.
—
"Do you really think the heroes would like that?" Mark scoffs, turning away.
"I don’t care what they think," Dakota presses, biting back pain. He needs to be strong, in this moment. "I care about Ashe. And even though I hate you, Ashe needs you."
Mark waves a hand in exasperation. "What happens when they inevitably go after me, huh? What then?"
"I’ll stop them," Dakota says, plain and simple, and it makes Mark pause.
"Thought you were a hero?" He grunts out, something else buried in his voice. Dakota
hopes so fiercely it burns.
"I wish it were all black and white. Then I could kick your teeth in and not feel bad about it." Dakota gripes, clenching his fist. "Even if that’s not how that actually works, you can get better. For Ashe. For Ashe’s mom. And maybe then, I won’t have to hate your guts."
"You aren’t so easy yourself," Mark huffs, but turns around. He grabs Dakota’s hand, and Dakota finally exhales. "Fine. But you’re keeping me in the fucking loop, this time."
Dakota grins. "Just don’t get thrown back in prison, and we’ll be fine."
Mark stares at him for a moment, blinking. After a second, he gives a quiet laugh and grabs his mask. He begins to stalk off, back towards the entrance of the warehouse.
"Yeah? No promises."
—
There is screaming.
Maybe it’s pouring out of their lips as blood gurgles from the stab wound onto their black cloak.
Maybe it’s being wrenched out of his, as the throbbing pain consumes him.
Eventually, though, it goes quiet.
Vyncent throws a couple of paper cranes to pin their limbs, and picks himself up and out of the pool of blood. He limps and drags himself step by agonizing step, until he’s back on the street.
He gingerly lowers himself down onto the sidewalk, ignoring the shoving and weird looks from the passerby's.
He’s still fucking hungry.
He pulls out his phone, and rasps into the microphone. "Hey, Siri. Call L— call Wordsmith."
He rests his chin against his knee— the one that doesn’t feel like it’s on fire, and listens to the buzzing of his phone.
Thanks, he thinks at Origami, dizzyingly tired.
…Any time, kid.
Notes:
We’re back!
Dakota doesn’t have his Chaos Cole form in this AU (because William hasn’t been getting rid of chaos demons), and god is it making it hard to write fights. Like, what, am I supposed to let him get shot?? That’s Vyncent’s job!
Updates might slow down a little, but I hope you enjoy them nonetheless.
Until then, go drink some water.
- prismatic
Chapter 9: choke
Summary:
Vyncent and Dakota reunite. The world doesn’t wait.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Dakota speeds toward the city. He hasn’t heard anything from Vyncent since the night before last.
And, okay, maybe Vyncent somehow got confused about how to use Siri. But maybe he’s in trouble. Maybe he needs help, and Dakota isn’t there.
He can’t lose anyone else.
He bumps along the road, under the early morning sun. Ashe’s playlist blasts through the Winnebago. He can’t drive fast enough to outrun the tightening of his chest.
He arrives at the Dodgeboy Memorial Library a little before noon, and rushes out of the Winnebago so fast he accidentally leaves it on.
The library is warm and filled with a couple patrons. It smells like dust and old memories. Dakota pushes past a woman, ignoring the annoyed murmurs, and heads to the back shelves.
There’s a familiar voice, droning on. "—sure you’ll be okay?"
It takes Dakota a moment to place it, but then he rounds the corner. His gut drops.
"Wordsmith!" He shouts, and the well dressed man whips around to face him.
"Jesus, Dakota," Wordsmith reprimands, pushing up his glasses. A figure pushes past from behind him, and Dakota is thrown back into a hug.
"Dakota!" Vyncent grins, pulling back to let Dakota catch his breath. His grip is white knuckled, shaky.
"You asshole!" Dakota complains, voice cracking with emotion, "Why didn’t you answer my calls??"
"Boys, we are in a library, could you please keep it—"
"Sorry, sorry!" Vyncent laughs, as Dakota punches him lightly in the shoulder. He pulls him back tighter. "I was at W.A.T.C.H."
A rush of panic hits Dakota, as he begins to check Vyncent over for injuries. "Are you okay? What happened? Do I need to kick someone’s ass?"
"Boys!" Wordsmith scolds, and Dakota glances over to frown at him. "If you’re going to be loud, take it outside, or go into the room. Otherwise, the two of you need to whisper."
Vyncent rolls his eyes, but goes to open the door to the little living space. "Sorry Wordsmith."
Wordsmith turns to Dakota, all poise and poorly concealed annoyance. "And you don’t need to worry. Your friend ‘kicked their ass’ more than adequately."
Vyncent scowls, and lowers his voice. "I keep telling you, I didn’t mean to kill them. I was just trying not to die."
Dakota’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to argue, but Vyncent gestures inside.
"Yes, yes," Wordsmith sighs, turning away. His eyes linger on Vyncent for just a moment. "I’ll be off now. If you have any need of me, just call. I don’t care if it’s small. I’d rather you call over nothing, than you not calling at all."
As he leaves, he adds, "And please, either work on finding the Trickster or helping us deal with the chaos demons. We really do need all hands on deck."
Dakota waves a hand as he walks through the doorway. "Tell Wormy I said hi!"
"Will do."
The door swings shut, and Dakota watches as Vyncent gingerly moves over to the couch. He winces when he moves his right leg, and Dakota catches a glimpse of thick bandages underneath his torn khakis.
No watching eyes. Finally, it’s just them.
“What the fuck happened, Vynce."
Vyncent sighs, "Please sit down."
Dakota grabs his shaking palm, forcing it still, but he continues to pace.
"I was gone for one week and you apparently almost died?"
"There’s a pillow right there if you don’t want the bed."
"—And you killed someone! Why— how??— I—"
"Dakota," Vyncent commands, "Sit down. You’re leaving dents in the floor."
Dakota looks down, at the now uneven floor, and then back up to Vyncent. He huffs and drops down onto a cushion.
"What happened?" He demands.
Vyncent draws in a breath.
"I think Bell tried to kill me."
Dakota shoots to his feet. "You fought Bell?!"
"No— sit the fuck down, Dakota," Vyncent corrects, exasperated. "It was an assassin… I think."
Dakota opens his mouth in horror, but Vyncent sees and quickly cuts him off. "They told me ‘the kid’ likes me, and something about not belonging here? I—I think they were talking about Will…"
Vyncent stares at the ground for a moment, gripping the bed with white knuckles. His ears flick, and he blinks. "I— Anyways, who else wants us dead?"
"A lot of people!" Dakota points out, gesticulating angrily.
"Okay, fair," Vyncent concedes, "but do you really think anyone else would spend fortunes to hire an assassin to kill a couple of shitty teen heroes?"
"Hey!" Dakota exclaims, clutching at his chest. "We’re good heroes!"
Vyncent raises an eyebrow.
Dakota pouts. "We’re decent heroes. And anyway, you haven’t answered my question."
Vyncent lies back onto the little couch bed. He swings a knife over his head like a pendulum. His hand noticeably shakes, and Dakota is immediately hit with a wave of anxiety. "Which?"
Dakota taps a rhythm into the floorboards, staring anxiously at the knife. "How’d you almost die? Also, stop that— you’re gonna die again."
"I’m not gonna drop it," Vyncent assures. Dakota stands, and plucks it out of his hands. "Hey!"
He throws it towards the kitchenette. The knife gives a sharp, satisfying CLANK as it hits the floor. Dakota carefully steps over it to grab a cup of water. "Confiscated. Now tell me, idiot."
"Okay, okay," Vyncent obliges with a huff, and throws his arms behind his head. "I was just getting groceries."
Dakota clicks open the mini fridge, looking for ice. There’s nothing inside. "Well you failed at that. Horribly."
Vyncent snorts. "You could say that. I wasn’t exactly planning to be attacked."
Dakota raises his lukewarm cup of water skeptically. "Then how’d it happen?"
"Heard a scream," Vyncent explains, simply. "Went to go investigate. Found some asshole with a gun and a blindfold instead."
"A blindfold?" Dakota squints.
Vyncent muses for a moment. His chain rattles as he plays with it. "Must’ve been pretty expensive tech. I don’t know how they saw anything, but trust me. They saw me."
Dakota frowns. "Huh."
Vyncent just shrugs. "Anyways, they shot me in the leg and I—"
Dakota drops the cup. Luckily it isn’t glass. "THEY WHAT?"
"You’re cleaning that up," Vyncent calls, mildly.
Dakota flaps his hands angrily. "What the fuck, Vyncent!"
"I’m fine!"
“You got shot!"
Vyncent sighs, and sits up. He pulls up his pant leg to reveal thick but clean bandaging. "See, I’m fine. I called Wordsmith after. He brought me to W.A.T.C.H. while the police dealt with the body of the person they killed."
"Killed?" Dakota exhales, and Vyncent hesitates, then meets his gaze.
"They were baiting me. I got there too late," Vyncent explains, something deeply sad cracking through. In an instant, it’s gone. He shakes his head, and brightens up. "Afterwards, Wordsmith got Professor Cross to patch me up. Y’know, while I was there."
Dakota just stares, for a moment.
Then, he huffs frustratedly. He plops down directly in front of Vyncent, and forces him to meet his eyes. "You— You’re definitely fine?"
Vyncent cracks a weak smile. "Definitely. The bandages are just a precaution. I can take them off in a couple days."
Dakota holds his gaze intently, until he drops it with a loud exhale. "Fine."
The silence stretches.
Dakota taps his fingers, biting his tongue.
Another beat. Then, "How’d you kill them?"
Vyncent snickers. "You really couldn’t help yourself, huh?"
"It’s a normal question!" Dakota defends indignantly.
Vyncent just laughs, and flicks out another knife. Dakota doesn’t even begin to wonder how many he has on him.
Too many.
"Stabbed them," He says, mildly, and points to the red-stained tip of the knife. "I didn’t mean to kill, but—"
Dakota cringes. "Wash that."
Vyncent looks to Dakota, and then to the knife. "…Yeah, probably a good idea.”
Another beat.
There’s a pit at the bottom of his stomach. Empty. Uncomfortable.
Dakota huffs. "You shouldn’t have killed them."
"I know," Vyncent responds, and he looks Dakota in the eye. He’s sorry. Dakota can tell. But maybe not for the right reason.
"I—" Dakota starts, but closes his mouth.
He’s tired of having this debate. Especially after the Litch. So he sinks down onto the wet carpet, curls up, pulls a pillow under his head, and closes his eyes.
"Good."
They stay like that for a long time. Lying here, in this shitty little living space. Listening to each other breathe.
Maybe things are messy, right now.
But they’re together.
"…Hey Vynce?"
"Yeah?"
"I’m glad you made it out."
A moment, as stillness reaches between the two of them. Then, "I’m glad we both did."
"Yeah," Dakota breathes, and allows himself to drift off.
Warm light spills in from behind the old curtains. Outside, the Winnebago faintly hums, gradually destroying its own engine.
Dakota falls asleep to the murmur of the library and the roar of the streets.
It’s his first restful sleep in a full week.
—
In the morning, Vyncent makes Dakota go over everything that happened with Wavelength. He listens intently to every hit, every block. He makes Dakota explain the kind-of-deal they came to at least three times, awed by the whole thing. He doesn’t mind. It’s fun, punching and kicking at air as he animatedly describes the fight.
Afterwards, he sends Professor Cross some memes and a "ty for fixing up vynce, btw,” to which he responds with a disturbingly manic selfie— all crazed eyes and teeth— and a "NO PROBLEM!!!"
Dakota shoves his phone into his sweatpants pocket with a smile. Vyncent is packing up his stuff. He keeps wincing whenever he moves his leg wrong, but despite Dakota’s complaints, he’s stubborn.
So Dakota rants meaningless nonsense about the convention while Vyncent folds up clothes and cleans up the place. Bright sunlight filters in through the window, catching on leisurely specks of dust, drifting like halos of white light. He stares at each speck. Dakota knows he sleeps like a brick, but a day and a half is impressive— even for him.
Vyncent finishes up and Dakota snatches his bags from him before he can try to limp out holding several pounds of luggage. Vyncent shoots him a glare, but Dakota is also stubborn, and he wins the argument by speeding out of the library and to the Winnebago. By the time he’s thrown the bags inside and sprinted back, Vyncent is still strolling through the shelves. He rolls his eyes at Dakota, but doesn’t complain when he grabs his jacket sleeve and loudly whispers a pointed "see?"
They get out to the Winnebago— still on. It’s amazing that it still works at all, dented and mistreated as it is.
Vyncent climbs into the passenger’s seat, and Dakota points dramatically. "To Mal!"
Vyncent frowns, curling up against the window. "…Where is Mal?"
"Shit," Dakota sighs as they both break into snickers.
"We didn’t really think this one through, did we?" Vyncent laments between laughs.
Dakota gestures towards the windows. "He’s a freaky, melty, zombie-demon thing, how hard could he be to find?"
"We haven’t seen him in months," Vyncent points out wisely.
Dakota just groans.
A moment passes, then Vyncent pauses.
"Wait," He says, and begins to rummage through his pockets.
Dakota watches, bemused, as Vyncent triumphantly pulls out a little glass necklace. And then it hits him. "Wait… is that—?"
Vyncent tucks it protectively against his chest. "Don’t be mad."
"You kept it??" Dakota half-shouts, more confused then anything.
"It’s useful!" Vyncent defends half-heartedly.
Dakota rolls his eyes. "It’s a tracker, Vynce."
"Okay, and…?" Vyncent complains, "What, am I not allowed to keep potentially powerful magical items? That’s like— basic shit on Fauna."
Dakota just huffs, and moves the Winnebago to drive. "Fine. But we’re not talking to him out in the open."
Vyncent shrugs, and adjusts the fans.
And he thought he was the idiot.
—
They end up driving about two hours away, to a little lookout, just on the outskirts of the city. It’s on a tiny trail, but nobody ever walks there, anyway.
The evening is cold. Dakota pulls his heavy jacket around himself as he walks, but even that isn’t enough to stop the biting winds.
He’s lucky he has his heart, beating too fast, spreading burning warmth through his chest. Vyncent’s not so lucky. He won’t stop sniffling. He’s even audibly shivering. At some point Dakota gives up, takes off his jacket, and throws it at Vyncent.
Vyncent tries to complain, but Dakota shoots him a glare. "I’m not the one who got shot," He reminds, helpfully.
Vyncent just mutters a chattering "shu’d-up," and huddles into Dakota’s jacket.
Dakota busies himself with looking at the lights of the city. They glow, even with the sun well above the horizon. Smoke rises from somewhere deep in the maze of helicars and skyscrapers. Dakota wonders if there’s anyone left to save, in there.
The sound of sirens hasn’t stopped. Not once, since he got back.
They arrive at the lookout. Vyncent pulls out the pendant as Dakota scuffs his shoe against warm, painted dust and hard-packed earth.
"Mal!" Vyncent shouts, holding up the pendant. "I know you’re watching."
There is a chill in the air— not that of the wind, but something strange. Dakota’s instincts scream danger. The pendant begins to glow a pulsing, sickly black.
Slowly, a man forms out of the shadows, all rotting, dripping flesh and poised suit. Hands form to fix his crooked tie.
Vyncent stares, unaffected. "We need to talk."
Mallard Conway smiles, a grin that shows too-sharp too-white teeth and pure, pulsing malice. "Hello to you as well, Vyncent, Dakota."
Dakota steps forward, baring his teeth in a suppressed growl. "What do you want with William?"
"Please, control yourself," Mal sighs. With a flick of his wrist Dakota is stumbling back, forced several feet away. "I did not come to waste time on the whims of children. I hope you called me here for something worth my time."
Dakota glares, holding his stomach.
"His question still stands," Vyncent points out, ever calm. "We followed your compass. It led to William. So why’s he important?"
"So you’ve finally met my Whisperer," Mal remarks, looking wholly satisfied with himself. "I thought you would have figured it all out by now… ah, but I suppose poor Ashe was the strategist."
Dakota storms forward. In an instant, he slams into something. He blinks, and holds out a hand. It’s invisible, and just a little flexible. But it’s hard. It’s a barrier.
He throws a punch. The impact stings, and the barrier snaps back into place.
"Goddamn it Mal," He hisses. "You bastard. Don’t talk about Ashe like that. You promised to help."
"And I will," Mal asserts, throwing a glance back to Dakota. "Believe me, I will."
"So why is William important?" Vyncent presses, rummaging through his bag until he pulls out the compass. It glows faintly blue in his palm. "How will he help us save Ashe?"
"Simple, really," Mal responds, and runs a long, too-sharp finger across the surface of the compass. "The Whisperer is the bridge between your world and the spirit world. Therefore, he can manipulate spirits. Allow— or force— them to pass on."
Dakota punches the barrier again, experimentally. He hisses, holding his knuckles. "Why does that matt—"
"The chaos demons," Vyncent murmurs, suddenly still.
Mal steps back, giving a brief clap of excitement. “Ah, there it is. There is some hope for you yet.”
“How?” Vyncent presses, beginning to pace. He limps a little, as he circles the outlook. “Does he know?”
“How what?!” Dakota shouts, with another pointless bang. “What do you mean, ‘the chaos demons’?”
“He will know how,” Mal assures, blatantly ignoring Dakota. “As much as he may try, he cannot erase instinct.”
“Mal, I swear to God, if you don’t—“
“How do I know you aren’t lying to us?” Vyncent asks, stilling to search Mal’s eyes. His chain clinks lightly as he tosses it up and down.
“I have no reason to lie,” Mal replies, tone growing venomous. Dakota swears he catches Mal’s nails sharpening, like long knives. “I despise the Trickster as much as you.”
“What about Ashe, then?” Dakota yells, testing a couple of powerful kicks. They do nothing but bounce against the force. He doesn’t care. He needs to help Vyncent. Needs to be there, and not here. “Do you even care about saving Ashe?”
Vyncent tilts his head, staring into Mal’s pitch black eyes for a moment.
(In that moment, Vyncent sees the eyes of David Bell, nearly indistinguishable from William’s, but undarkened by emotion. Undarkened by humanity.)
Vyncent steps forward, and Dakota feels tension clench his ribs. He stills. “Do you though?”
Mal levels him with a flat, unimpressed stare. His form begins to boil, shift. “What.”
Vyncent holds up the compass, undeterred. “Do you actually care what the Trickster does? Do you care about the person, trapped beneath it? Or do you just care about training up ‘your Whisperer’?”
Dakota’s pinprick gaze flicks back to Mal, and—
It’s horrible to look at. Bones rearrange into something inhuman. Meat drips, and shifts, and pools until it is something new.
Something Dakota isn’t supposed to see. Something that isn’t supposed to be real.
Mal forms into a creature— grey, dripping flesh and too-wide smile, and gaping, dark sockets where eyes should be, and—
“Stop!” He screams, pounding uselessly across the barrier. “Vynce, you need to fucking—“
His fist meets no resistance— the barrier is suddenly gone, and Dakota has to catch himself before his face hits the ground.
He hears Vyncent draw in a sharp breath.
And then there’s something around his throat, choking him in long, too-long too-sharp fingers and he’s going to fucking kill the bastard—
“You do not understand what is at stake.” A voice screams into his ear— distorted and hey, there’s Vyncent, and Vyncent is making strangled noises and he has to help but—
“SO I WILL MAKE YOU.”
Dakota feels himself fly through the air. Something grabs him, as the world shifts. Like a bony hand, rotted and charred. Something cold and stale that tastes like death and smells like smoke. Dakota feels a wave of vertigo wash over him. And then it’s gone.
He crashes onto the ground with a grunt, then launches himself to his feet as the world spins around him and Vyncent mutters curses beside him.
Dakota opens his eyes and Sees.
Notes:
Wonder what that means… :)
Finally got this chapter out. Was a STRUGGLE. Updates are gonna stay slow (if not get slower), because I do in fact have a life (*insert gasps here*). But don’t worry, this is by no means abandoned, and I’m so excited to show you what ghosts has to offer for arc II.
Hope you’ll stick around.
And go to bed early tonight. You need the sleep.
- prismatic
Chapter 10: in ruins
Summary:
Dakota and Vyncent are thrown into the spirit realm and forced to face the consequences of their inaction. Meanwhile, William tries something new.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Dakota is young, (too young, he realizes later, far, far too young), when he learns about death.
The doctors tell him— hours later, after Aunt Alaska finally finds him in the hospital lobby and forces them to let him in— they did everything they could, but Dakota’s parents got caught up in something very unfortunate.
Collateral.
He rolls the word around his heavy tongue, confused. Failing to grasp the permanence of death. He holds his mother’s hand. Cold, too-cold, why is she so cold? And he waits for her to wake.
"Momma?" He whispers out, voice shaking. "The heroes saved you! They saved you! So—"
His voice breaks. Her chest does not move. Her face is scrunched up, like she fell asleep mid-sob. Why is she upset? Tears fill his eyes, and he buries his face in his mother’s chest.
"S-so why won’t you wake up?"
Aunt Alaska comes back from talking to the doctors, eyes red and movements sluggish. Dakota doesn’t notice, too busy wailing and begging for his parents.
She says nothing. Just draws him into a hug. They cry together until it hurts. Until Dakota’s voice grows raw from pleading and she has to stumble off to a bathroom before she fully breaks down in front of a child.
The pain doesn’t leave.
—
Dakota throws himself to his feet with a growl. "MAL," he screams, "You bastard, what did you do to us!?"
Vyncent struggles to his feet beside Dakota, kicking up a cloud of ashy dust. Dakota whips from side to side, eyes flicking frantically across the world around them. Trying to make sense of it all.
"Stand down, Dakota," Mal commands, suddenly beside them. He’s more sloughing, half-rotted man than beast. But his eyes are gaping, empty sockets, and when he places the tips of his nails against the back of Dakota’s neck, they are sharp, like blades.
Dakota turns to scowl at him, watching the way Mal’s edges blur in this strange light. But with a glance at Vyncent, he shuts his mouth.
Vyncent walks up beside them. Tersely, he asks, "Where are we, Mal?"
Mal releases Dakota and steps forward a little ways. He turns back to face them, and gives a theatrical bow, coat tails bouncing with the motion. "Welcome, young heroes, to the Spirit Realm. My home."
It’s then that Dakota begins to actually take in their surroundings. And—
The most obvious thing is the sky. Swirling shades of royal blue, hazy lavender, and the occasional streak of some bright orange. Dakota looks down to find a thick, ethereal mist, shading the world in an eerie blue.
They’re standing on a little island, covered in pale, branching vines and silver dust.
"It’s beautiful," Vyncent breathes, and then points toward some far off structure. "What happened there?"
It’s a castle, Dakota realizes. Polished grey and towering over the endless sky stretching above and beneath them. But it’s ruined. Crumbling. Falling apart piece by broken piece.
Mal begins to walk, and with a shared glance, Dakota and Vyncent follow.
He leads them across an old rope bridge. Creaking and swaying, like it’s a single thread away from dropping them into the abyss. Vyncent clings to the hand hold like it’s a lifeline, as Mal begins to narrate.
"You see these islands?" He starts, gesturing nonchalantly at the infinite floating islands surrounding them like they exist in the eye of a storm. "They used to house souls. But they are empty now."
They step off the rope bridge, and Dakota watches Vyncent’s shoulders drop. This island is larger, all centered around a large, pale willow tree. It looks like a washed out painting. Equally calming and eerie.
Mal stops, and turns to them. "I gave them everything. I gave them order. I gave them peace."
Dakota frowns. "Then where’d they go?"
"Into the endless void— the deep abyss," Mal explains, flatly. "Where they will remain, permanently intertwined with nearly every soul that has ever lived."
"So what actually happened to them?" Dakota presses.
"They were attacked," Mal says simply, and then reaches a sharp hand up to the sky.
Vyncent gasps.
In an instant, swirling blues turn to deep, rotting, pulsing orange. Anguished screams shatter through empty peace, shrouding the world in cold, gripping terror.
Dakota sinks to one knee, staring at the horrible sky.
It’s awful, the smell of decay.
And then, just as quick as it broke, the sky is whole. Replaced by dreamy blues and dusty purples.
Dakota doesn’t stop staring.
"When your friend released the Trickster," Mal continues, slightly out of breath, "They broke our seal. The age old confines that kept the chaos demons from invading our realm."
He turns toward the broken castle, and in an instant, the three of them stand just a little ways away. Vyncent falls flat to the ground with the force. He gives a muffled groan.
"I did my best to keep them from this place, at least," Mal sighs, voice sharp with bitter hate, "but there’s nowhere to banish them to anymore. Not with the Trickster free. So they come back, and—"
He flourishes a hand. The door of the castle swings open, revealing a swirling pit of darkness and rot.
"They took over," Vyncent stands and finishes slowly, like he’s still trying to wrap his head around it.
Dakota forces himself to his feet, and looks around dazed. Then, he turns to Mal.
"If—if they’re messing shit up here, and you’re powerful here, then why don’t you fix it here?" He stumbles, rounding on Mal. His hands shake, and he clenches them into fists. "Why do you give a shit what happens to our world?"
Mal pinches his forehead, and meets Dakota’s glare with one of his own. "I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Trickster happens to be running around your world and not mine."
Then, he pauses, and his lips tilt up into a cruel grin. "No, I think a better question would be, ‘do you care about what happens to your world?"
Dakota growls. "What?"
Vyncent holds out a hand, but stops before he pulls Dakota back.
"Oh, don’t think I haven’t noticed," Mal continues, beginning to pace. His tone is just dripping with smug mercilessness. "You’ve been traipsing around, playing detective, while the world around you falls to chaos."
Vyncent steps forward, cutting Mal off. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh don’t tell me you don’t know," Mal replies, leaning down until he’s right in Vyncent’s face. Dakota grabs Vyncent’s sleeve and pulls him back a step. "Or have the both of you been blind to the consequences of your stalling?"
Dakota slides down his hand until it’s gripping Vyncent’s with a vice. Vyncent squeezes back. "Show us," Dakota demands, and Mal smiles that wicked grin once again.
The world begins to tilt.
"If you insist."
They fall through reality together. Dakota panics for a moment, but then feels Vyncent’s hand squeeze.
A rush of cold air, of sensory overload. They’re on a roof, in the middle of a city. New Haven— Dakota quickly realizes, glimpsing the far-off form of a massive blade piercing the city like a landmark.
The sound of traffic is overwhelming compared to the silence of the spirit realm. Dakota winces, and covers his ears with his hands.
Vyncent silently hands him a pair of headphones and hey— those are his old ones, huh.
Mal forms in front of them, quickly shaping his horrible messed up flesh into something more human-like. He quickly directs their attention to a street behind them, small and residential and—
Destroyed. Utterly destroyed. Those— those were homes. Apartments, some of them. But now? Now they are charred, crumbled remains. Now, the street is covered in pools of red, and lingering smoke, and—
Dakota rips his gaze away, suddenly reminded of another apartment building reduced to ruin. Vyncent squeezes his hand, face carefully blank. He wonders how many children lived there. How many people were unable to escape.
"I understand it must be a lot to take in," Mal clicks, sympathy dripping with underlying pleasure. "But this is hardly all the chaos demons have done in the time you’ve been fooling around."
Vyncent says nothing, fringe blowing softly in the wind. Dakota squeezes his eyes shut.
Mal only grins wider. "Why don’t I show you another example?"
Dakota turns to snap— assure him that they got the point but suddenly—
He’s falling through nothing. Through reality. He holds onto Vyncent’s hand with a white-knuckled grip.
Mal doesn’t stop. Dakota pleads with him as air fills his lungs once again but Mal doesn’t stop.
Street after smoking street.
Crumbling. Blood-soaked. Destroyed.
Dakota sees ruined home after ruined home and it hits him how many people have suffered since the Trickster was released.
How many people they’ve been unable to save.
Vyncent’s hand is the only thing keeping him sane during jumps. Keeps him tethered very time they fall back into darkness and Dakota wonders if this time will finally be the last.
And then, on one of the longer falls—
Vyncent’s grip slips from Dakota’s. Panic hits him like vertigo— terrifying and inevitable. As air once again fills his lungs, Dakota blindly pleads with Vyncent not to leave.
It takes a moment to realize that they’re in the middle of a dusty old road. Vyncent has fallen over again, but he’s fine, and staring at Dakota with hollow eyes. "I didn’t—" He starts, but trails off.
Dakota pulls himself to his feet, and with a little effort, drags Vyncent off the road before he can be trampled by foot-traffic. Except—
There is nothing here. Only the scorched remains of a few wooden, cabin style houses. The forest, tall and expansive, is still on fire. The smoke lingers in the air, visible on the horizon. And—
Bodies, littering the ground.
They must not have been able to call for help.
Dakota slaps a hand over Vyncent’s eyes. He protests, quietly, but doesn’t attempt escape. He’s shaking. Visibly.
"MAL!" Dakota screams, voice cracking. "Take— take us back."
Nothing.
He usually shows up for a moment at least. Bastard loves to gloat.
Why is there nothing?
There’s a little whimper from a nearby bush, and Dakota quickly tears off his old headphones.
"Hello?" He calls, eyes darting around. He makes his voice quiet.
The bush rustles. Dakota hears hitching breath.
"Shit," He hisses, and hesitantly frees Vyncent. "Vynce I swear to God if you look I will kick your ass. Just stay here."
Vyncent says nothing, but covers his eyes with a sluggish arm. Dakota takes it as a victory, and begins to slowly walk towards the little patch of bushes.
"Hey," he soothes, soft as he’s able to make his rough voice, "it’s alright. Sorry I yelled. I’m not gonna hurt you."
A little head peaks out of the bush. Long, shaggy hair and wide eyes. A child, maybe five or six.
"Who are you?" They cough out in a tiny voice, and Dakota aches to think of how much smoke they inhaled.
"I’m a superhero!" He smiles, crouching down to their height. "I’m here to help."
They gasp and climb out of the bush, "I love superheroes! Are you one of the cool ones? What’s your power??"
Dakota laughs, but then sobers. "One second. Is anyone else here?"
The kid’s face drops. They glance toward the scattered bodies. "I can’t find anyone besides Dad, and he—" They choke, and wipe furiously at their soot stained face. "He won’t wake up."
Dakota draws in a sharp breath. He doesn’t even know where they are, but they’ve gotta help this kid— maybe bring them to W.A.T.C.H?
The sound of a cut-off scream hitches from somewhere behind. Dakota doesn’t notice.
"That’s okay," He assures, pulling the kid into a brief hug. "It’ll all be okay. I promise."
They give him a wobbly smile.
Then—
"Don’t you understand?" Mal’s voice taunts, as he forms just in front of Dakota. Dakota clutches the kid closer, letting out a deep, guttural snarl. "Your friend released the Trickster to save you. All this— every destroyed town and agonized soul— is your fault."
The kid grips the back of Dakota’s top, small body shaking like a leaf. Dakota hoists them into his arms, and steps backward towards Vyncent who is— staring blankly at the bodies painting the dust in crimson, ears flat against his head.
Goddamnit, Vynce.
Dakota grabs Vyncent’s hand, and locks eyes with Mal. "Bring us home." He commands.
Mal sighs, dramatically, and snaps his fingers.
Dakota falls back.
Something isn’t right. He feels Vyncent’s hand but not—
NO.
The warm body of the child is all at once gone.
"MAL!" He shrieks, with no air in his lungs.
This time Vyncent isn’t the only one to topple. Dakota stares at his hands, empty, and if they’re empty that means he couldn’t help couldn’t save them couldn’t do anything.
He looks up with tears in his eyes, and the decision is instantaneous.
His feet hit the hard-packed earth of the lookout running. In an instant, he’s gripping Mal’s smug ass jacket with a vengence.
"Bring them back," He pleads, "Bring the kid. God, Mal, you bastard, they need help let me—"
Mal flicks a sharp talon against Dakota’s neck, and he’s forced back a full foot, hitting the ground beside an utterly still Vyncent.
Mal brushes off his collar and levels Dakota with a stern look. "The damage has already been done and there are more pressing matters to attend to. Do not think that your actions are without consequence."
Dakota goes to fight but—
He rips open a portal, a horrible crack of light and chill that forces Dakota’s hair on end.
Dakota just stares.
Without turning back, Mal’s voice rings out threateningly across the lookout.
"Free the Whisperer. Rid the world of the Trickster. Do not let our worlds fall to ruin."
—
The energy flows through William’s core like a water dripping off a table. It’s frustrating, the way he can feel the burn of the power suppressants cutting him off from his little river of power. But it’s not as if he’s accustomed to using it, whether drawing from a stream or a drop, so he sucks it up and tries to channel it again.
The little droplet branches into glowing roots, and he forces them outward.
There must be a way to find them again. If he did it once, even unconsciously, then he must be able to do it again.
It gnaws at him. He needs to know.
His veins itch, just under his sleeves. They will soon burn, but he can’t stop now. He’s gotta be cl—
BANG.
The noise of the metal door swinging into the wall scares him so badly he jumps, hitting his head on the top of his bunk. He curses. The officer, (one of the nice ones, thank fuck), levels him with a flat look, but doesn’t comment as he anxiously pulls on his sleeves.
"Visitation," She explains, gesturing for William to hold out his wrists. Something ugly that isn’t quite him urges him to snarl and fight. He ignores it easily enough. Instead, he does so, and allows her to gently click the cuffs into place without complaint.
"Vyncent again?" He asks, hating the bead of hope that sneaks into his dull voice.
"No," She says, and gives him a sad look— like she’s seen this a million times. "Not interrogation. Visitation."
His eyes widen.
A wave of dread crashes over William. Cold, and sudden, like freezing water. He balls his fists tight enough to cut his nails into his palms. But he walks when the officer bids him to.
There isn’t anything else he can do.
Notes:
Yknow when I was talking about stakes before? Yeah so I may or may not have severely undersold the stakes. Shit’s happening. It’s been happening. Our boys have just been kinda cut off from it.
Not anymore!
Anyways hope you enjoyed the chapter! This one was a fun one to write. I love Mal and his stupid smug face. He’s so fun to hate.
Don’t worry, more William perspective coming soon. He’s very important, he just can’t do very much right now.
Get some sleep :)
— prismatic
Chapter 11: perpetual motion
Summary:
What do you do when the weight of the world rests on your shoulders?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Blood. Blood soaking into dusty streets and hollow, cloudy eyes, and despite his mother’s best efforts Vyncent has seen death before, but never like this. Never so terrified and brutalized and they are dead because he failed—
Kid? You need to get up, says a familiar, concerned voice in his head, but Vyncent can only choke. You’re not out of danger yet.
The world goes fuzzy as Vyncent feels himself grow distant from his body. Dakota grabs his hand, but his words are piercing through cotton, and Vyncent can hardly feel the warmth beneath the cloud of nothingness that consumes him.
Shit, he hears the voice whisper, drowned in the wave. I knew it was bad, but—
The world bends and twists until they are somewhere else, and Dakota screams and wails until he’s just a blur of righteous fury. Vyncent waits until Dakota stops screaming, and the blurry figure of danger disappears.
It takes longer than it should.
It takes barely a moment.
His senses focus just enough to make out Dakota, hugging him with his warm, shaking arms, and Vyncent sinks into him, finally letting himself fully drift.
They are safe.
—
Vyncent wakes up slowly. He feels sluggish. Exhausted.
The first thing he processes is that he’s warm. Too warm— uncomfortably so. And then he looks at the frankly excessive pile of blankets wrapped around him and suddenly it makes a lot of sense.
The next, as he utilizes heavy limbs to shove maybe five blankets to the floor of the Winnebago, is that he fell asleep in his clothes from yesterday.
The last, and most disconcerting, is the fact that he doesn’t remember why he slept in his clothes yesterday.
He rubs sleep out of his eyes. It doesn’t get rid of the strange, lingering fuzziness of his mind. Still, he glances around the Winnebago curiously.
He spots Dakota, curled up and loudly snoring on his little couch bed. He’s facing the wrong way, like he’d been sitting against the wall and slowly slumped over and away from his pillows. But he looks alright, if not exhausted.
Vyncent gives a little smile and decides everything is fine. So he goes to take a shitty shower using their barely functional bathroom. His leg is pretty much healed, he knows, but in the steam he almost wonders why it doesn’t hurt more. Why it doesn’t burn.
His hands do, though. They’re scratched up, like he’d caught himself against gravel.
(Origami’s presence presses at his mind, concerned, but he staunchly ignores it. Vyncent doesn’t know what he wants, but the twisting in his gut says this is a conversation he doesn’t want to have right now. Origami doesn’t force him.)
He comes out a couple minutes later in fresh clothes, drying his hair with a fluffy towel.
Dakota, now apparently awake, spots him immediately and throws him back into a shaky hug. Vyncent drapes the towel on a nearby ledge and hesitantly reciprocates.
He looks down at wild raspberry hair, confused. "‘Kota?"
Dakota holds for a moment, then releases him just as quickly as he initiated. He grins and perches on his bed. "Glad you’re okay."
Vyncent stares. "…Was I not, before?"
"You don’t remember?" Dakota frowns. Vyncent presses stubbornly against the fog and finds—
(splattered blood and rotting bodies and his fault his fault his—)
Nothing. Vyncent finds nothing.
When he reluctantly shakes his head, Dakota lays back to search the ceiling. His voice is careful. Almost too chipper. "Guess that makes sense. You were like, really out of it last night."
Vyncent frowns tying his hair up into a quick bun and plopping down across from Dakota. "Tell me everything," he demands, and Dakota obliges with a shaky smile.
The picture isn’t pretty.
They’ve known the chaos demons were getting worse for a while now, but this—
This is more than they can handle. More than all of WATCH can handle. And they still don’t even know how to fix it.
He starts to drift a little, listening to Dakota rant about forces beyond their control but—
"Dakota," Vyncent starts, cutting off a little tangent about how punchable Mal’s douchebag face is. He presses his nails against his knuckles. He can’t afford to drift. "You said he was talking about Will?"
"Uh," Dakota blinks. "Yeah? Something about the chaos demons and like— pulling spirits out of people."
"So that means…" Vyncent pauses, and then groans.
Dakota squints. "Huh?"
"Means we have to talk to WATCH," Vyncent finishes, burying his face in his hands. "We’ve gotta get William out."
Dakota jumps up with a grin and pumps his fist. "Hell yeah! New member of PD!"
"They won’t listen to us," Vyncent sighs, playing with the strands of damp hair that stick to his wrists.
"Vynce," Dakota huffs. "This is literally what they’re for."
Vyncent tightens his grip. Pulls at his scalp. "Of course. Clearly, they’re amazing at doing their job. After all, just look at what happened to—"
Shit.
He cuts himself off too late, eyes wide. He opens his mouth to say something as Dakota freezes, but can’t get anything out.
(Why couldn’t he leave it alone? Stop poking at old wounds and just—)
Dakota’s eyes flick from Vyncent to the sticker-riddled headphones on his couch, before hardening. He walks off, shaking fists clenched as he glares at the floor.
"Shit. Dakota, wait—" He reaches out a useless hand.
Dakota stills, but doesn’t turn back.
"I’m sorry. I know we promised not to argue about it anymore, but I just—" He pauses, the words leaving him. His hand falls beside him. "We can try WATCH. If it doesn’t work, we can go to HQ. Together."
A moment. Thick with tension. Then—
Dakota’s shoulders drop. "Okay," He breathes, voice exhausted, and strained— like he’d lost it screaming yesterday. "Alright. I’ll— I’ll drive."
He throws a hesitant glance over his shoulder, and Vyncent nods.
There isn’t much left to say.
They get to work.
—
WATCH doesn’t listen to them.
No one listens to them, and Vyncent watches as it slowly destroys Dakota. Blow, after blow, after blow.
They try Wordsmith first. He sounds regretful, but tells them firmly that they can’t afford the resources to get William out using the legal system. Besides, even if he could pull spirits out of people, they don’t have any proof.
They can’t afford to waste time on a "what if?".
Dakota spends the last almost half-hour of the call pacing, and pleading— eventually cussing him out.
Afterward, Vyncent makes them both shitty hot cocoa, just like Tide taught him. They sit, cramped together in the too-small Winnebago, breathing suffocating air. It isn’t enough.
It only goes downhill from there. They fail to reach Silhouette, (still off planet searching for anything to help Ms. G), then get gently banned from WATCH HQ by a concerned Lightspeed who found them running around and desperately disturbing people.
After WATCH, Dakota slams a fist into the steering wheel. His eyes widen as he realizes, and by the time Vyncent climbs into the Winnebago he finds Dakota desperately apologizing.
In the end, they get everything fixed pretty easily, but the wheel stays misshapen.
Next, they try the prison. The answer is a firm, resounding no, and at this point Vyncent just wonders why they even bothered.
All they do is ask for proof. Proof William’s worth the effort.
They don’t have proof.
They know about Lab F and the edited footage, but Vyncent fails again and again to get police to investigate while not being able to say "oh yeah, we just broke in to Bell-tech on a lead from a magical compass and a group of murderers! It’s no big deal, just part of the whole dipping into vigilantism thing we’ve been doing lately since we realized morals are a lot more complicated than we thought they’d be."
It’s driving Dakota mad. Days blurring into weeks of pouring over documents. Trying to figure out how to navigate a system that raised them and then spit them out again. Left them to rot.
He’s been "training", more. But Vyncent has known Dakota for long enough to see what it really is—
Venting. Punching out his feelings into the surrounding forest, so he doesn’t accidentally take them back into the Winnebago. So he and Vyncent don’t start another stupid fight that gets them nowhere and only thickens the tension.
His knuckles are always scraped up and bruised these days. Vyncent forces Dakota to let him bandage them whenever it gets too bad, and Dakota complains, but allows it.
It’s a balm over a gash wound. Neither of them know how to deal with this. How to escape the suffocating pressure of their situation.
But Vyncent tries, and he finds his escape in the prison. Talking to William and pretending that the weight of the everything, everywhere, all at once isn’t resting on his shoulders.
Like today, as the door to the interrogation room slams shut behind him and Vyncent just flops onto the ground. He pulls out a shitty little pillow from his bag to bury his face in, and William gives a huff.
"That bad?" He asks, dark eyes dancing with sympathy in the vibrant blue light.
"Worse," Vyncent groans, and William snorts. "Can you just, like. Talk about something? So I don’t have to think about it?"
"I don’t know…" William waves a hand, theatrically, leaning back against his shitty little bolted down chair. "What if today I’m feeling quiet and mysterious?"
Vyncent raises his head and levels him with a look.
"Okay fine," William rolls his eyes, "I love to talk. Whatever."
"You’re worse than Dakota is," Vyncent huffs, "And Dakota dropped out ‘cause he couldn’t stop talking in class."
William laughs incredulously. "There’s no way."
"It wasn’t just because of that." Vyncent amends. "But he complained about it enough that he might as well have."
"Honestly, wouldn’t surprise me." William comments, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards. "And anyways, I also dropped out, so it’s not like I can criticize."
Vyncent looks up, shocked. "You dropped out?"
"Technically?" William answers, squinting. "I mean, I still graduated, but it was online, while I was working at Bell-tech."
"But— you’re like…" Vyncent flounders, waving a hand. "You seem like you’re the type of person who was winning at school or whatever. How’d you end up dropping out??"
"My parents didn’t like it," William responds with a grimace. "But I made ‘em let me. School sucked."
"Same, man." Vyncent nods, solemnly, and they both begin to snicker.
After a moment, William sobers up. He drops his faze, and begins to fiddle with his sleeve. "Speaking of," He says, voice growing hesitant. "My mom visited again."
Vyncent draws in a breath past closed teeth. "Shit," he replies, sympathetically. "Did you tell her this time?"
"No," William answers, running a hand through white streaked hair. "I— uh. Stayed silent again."
A pause. Then, "You could just tell her, y’know."
William throws his head back against the rim of the chair. "Hi mom," He mimes, dully, "So you know that murder I’m in jail for? Yeah, I actually only did it cause David told me to. But enough about me. Did you have a good Christmas?”
"It’s not like that," Vyncent argues, but it’s a weak defense.
"Isn’t it?" William sighs, defeated. "And anyways, I’d rather keep letting her think she only raised one fucked up son, instead of two. I don’t want to make it worse for her."
Vyncent hums, doubtfully. "You’re only a little fucked up."
That pulls a surprised laugh out of William. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," He deadpans, but he’s smiling.
Vyncent can’t help but match. "Any time," He grins.
They relax, briefly, until Vyncent feels his phone vibrate against his leg, and pulls it out. "Or," He corrects dryly, "Most of the time. Right now, I’ve gotta go."
"Dakota again?" William asks, face falling, but only a little— to his credit.
Vyncent nods, gathering his things. "Apparently he has an idea. I’ll be back soon, promise."
"Go," William shoos, playfully. "I’ll be here."
Vyncent rolls his eyes, knocking at the heavy door. It slowly swings open, and he gives a brief wave as he makes his way out.
"Don’t die!" William calls, as the door locks behind him, and Vyncent has to hide the smile that creeps onto his face as he says his goodbyes to Officer Faye. He keeps it quick.
Dakota is waiting.
—
Vyncent gracefully throws himself into the Winnebago, parked right in front of the prison, and looks around curiously. "Dakota?"
In an instant, Dakota is clutching on to the sleeve of Vyncent’s jacket. Bewildered, he allows himself to be dragged to the old desk they never use. Dakota is practically vibrating with excitement as he pushes Vyncent down into the chair and opens up the screen of their little laptop.
"Thought this was the Ashe pages desk?" Vyncent comments mildly.
"Shut up and listen," Dakota demands, and he’s grinning in that genuine way Vyncent hasn’t seen since the hell of the last couple weeks started, so he obliges.
"Okay," He starts, pulling up what Vyncent is pretty sure is Google, "So I was looking through a bunch of WATCH records— boring as fuck, by the way— ‘cause like, what if someone like William existed before and we could pull it up and be like ‘Yo, dude, you did it once, do it again!’"
"Wait—" Vyncent interjects, watching as the screen flick to… maybe an old archive? "WATCH records are just— like— publicly available?"
"Well, no, but…" Dakota shifts, the picture of guilt. He offers a hesitant smile, "I… may or may not have visited X and Alan while you were out."
Vyncent opens his mouth, and Dakota immediately cuts him off, talking at the speed of light. "Anyways, apparently Cantrip figured out how to access the main archives for WATCH— I think she stole the hacking information when she stole the rest of Wavelength’s shit?— but anyways, that means we have access to the basic case files. None of the top secret encoded stuff, but still a lot!"
Dakota takes a second to breathe, and Vyncent takes that in. He leans back into the chair. "God. She had that the whole time?"
"Guess so," Dakota says, and Vyncent suddenly knows he’s not the only one who still misses her.
They hardly even knew her, but.
She didn’t deserve to go like that.
The sentiment lingers in the air for a long moment. Finally, Dakota continues, quieter. "It’s thanks to her that I found this."
He pulls up a photo, near the top of the archives. It takes Vyncent a moment to place it, but when he does he nearly gasps.
The image is a satellite picture. It’s almost exactly like the first time he saw it, taking in the novelty of watching their very first briefing.
"That’s," he starts, weakly, "That’s Harttawa, isn’t it? But it’s like— cleaned up. Inhabited."
Dakota grins. "Exactly. And look here," He zooms in until the image is just colored blocks, shaping the familiar form of—
"Tide," Vyncent breathes, leaning forward and tracing the unmistakeable figure of their mentor.
"Think about it," Dakota urges, tapping Vyncent’s shoulder until he has undivided eye contact. "We can’t get proof, or whatever. But Tide? Tide’s been a hero pretty much since he was born."
Vyncent turns back to the screen. He can’t see Tide’s face. Can hardly see his figure. But the defeated slump of his shoulders is unmistakable as he presumably stares longingly into the ocean.
He knows there’s another, underlying reason for Dakota’s proposal. The reason he sounds almost guilty— like he’s asking for permission to do something stupid.
He gets it.
He can’t stop the urge to pass all of this onto more capable shoulders. To have that deep voice and gentle touch when his mind goes fuzzy and slow— when Ashe’s absence hits him like a gaping wound, and he spends the day staring at the ceiling while Dakota tries to get through to him.
He’s so tired.
And— well. He can’t fault the logic.
He gives one last longing trace of the mentor figure so brutally torn from them. Then, Dakota offers a hand, and Vyncent takes it. Dakota pulls him unceremoniously to his feet, and Vyncent takes in a deep breath.
"Who better to navigate the system?" He agrees, and Dakota brightens so intensely he shines.
"When are we leaving?" He asks, already twirling his keys.
Vyncent snorts. "How does ‘right now’ sound to you?"
Dakota grins. "Perfect."
—
Vyncent leaves apologetically, and William isn’t stupid enough to fault him for it. So he waves him off with a grin.
The door slams shut, leaving him with only the dim blue glow of the barrier. His smile drops.
He’s got a minute until the guards take him back, so he allows himself a long breath.
The relief is short lived, as the thing crawling underneath his skin begins to itch and burn. He rolls up his sleeve with a sigh
Sickly orange veins climb up from his wrists to his forearms and all the way to his shoulders, now. They pulse dangerously, and William knows he’s running out of time until it creeps up to his heart or his mind.
But he steels himself.
They have enough to deal with. He’ll figure this out himself.
He has to.
Notes:
This reveal was a LONG time coming :)
Very excited to write Tide. He’s just trying his best.
Dakota and Vyncent are not built for bureaucracy. Dakota is too impatient to deal with any of it, and Vyncent is from another world. The only member of PD who would’ve had even a shot at getting this to work would’ve been William. This was a doomed mission. They really need Tide for this one. :’)
Anyways, thank you for reading!
— prismatic
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