Chapter Text
The ride back to the temporary housing is noisy, but a comforting background noise that Gangle can tune out. Gangle’s fingers knot in the fabric of her coat, nails digging into the slippery cloth, and every turn of the car sends a faint ripple through her chest that feels familiar but she can't quite place.
When the car pulls into the driveway, she freezes. Her stomach drops. She doesn’t speak, she can’t! The weight of the world, or at least the outside world, presses down on her throat. The street crawls with flashes and microphones, cameras swinging on poles and phones jostling in hands. People shout names, ask questions, record everything. Gangle’s throat goes dry, and her chest compresses like a ribbon pulled taut.
Why is it so loud? she thinks, heart hammering. Why can’t it just be quiet? Even from inside the car the crowd is overwhelming.
A sharp, sarcastic laugh cuts through the noise.
“Seriously? I didn’t think people could be this annoying.”
Gangle’s eyes flick toward the sound. Jax steps out of the car, arms crossed, smug smile wide. His expression is smooth and acidic, a warning disguised as amusement. He isn’t trying to soothe anyone, least of all her, but he’s already moving to stand between her and the crowd.
He’s… coverying me? Gangle’s heart flutters oddly, not having expected this from him.
“Look at ‘em,” he mutters under his breath, voice lilting but full of venom. “Shoving each other to get the best pic. C’mon, make sure you get my good side~”
Gangle exhales shakily, focusing on the texture of her sweater instead of the chaos outside.
A camera flash blinds her-
The smell of electronics, the buzz of static, porcelain shattering Caine’s fingers adjusting parameters in the background.
She winces and remembers how her moods were manipulated, slotted into two clear categories. How easy it was to feel stable under the masks.
But now? Now I’m just… me.
A familiar form pushes through the door ahead of her, movements decisive and loud and large.
“Alright, outta the way!”
Gangle blinks at the command, startled. Zooble’s voice carries over the crowd, drawing attention. Shouts, cameras, and faces pivot toward them instead, creating a momentary shield. The surge of adrenaline in her chest doesn’t fully ease, but the space it gives her feels like oxygen. The way forward, paved by Jax and kept clear by Ragatha and Pomni, begins to close as the masses get far too close for comfort.
Gangle yelps as someone runs into her, pushing her away from Zooble. Voices of strangers rise up and wash over her, calling out for answers.
“Miss Daniels, have you heard back from-”
“Felix Rivera, how do you feel about the attempts to-”
“Was the Digital Circus a government training-”
Gangle can’t breathe, there’s too many people and they’re too close and they’re too loud! Someone shoves a phone right in her face and the flash blanks out her vision in white.
A hand shoves its way between her and the camera, a voice low and commanding and angry comes from behind her.
“Back off. Now.”
The reporters hesitate. A few shout more insistently, but there’s authority in his tone, and they eventually falter, unsure. In the brief lull of their questions, Gangle is herded back to Zooble and brought inside. She glances behind her to see Kinger locking the door, his cheeks flushed red and his hands shaking.
Jax is leaning against the hall wall, a strange focus in his eyes as he looks her over. His smile is gone. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t do anything but stare.
“Hey, are you alright?” Gangle tears her gaze away from Jax to look at Zooble, unable to answer their question. Her breathing is still heavy, barely pulling in enough air and yet somehow pulling in far too much. Zooble takes her hand and squeezes it in pulses, “Hey, hey, Gangle? Gangle, breathe with me. Breathe with me, ok?” They take in a slow breath for a few seconds and Gangle has to turn every iota of focus onto them in order to follow. Zooble holds their breath a moment and releases it, so she follows. They do this again and again, standing in the entryway holding hands.
I can breathe, Gangle realizes, just a little.
The hallway smells faintly of disinfectant and old wood. She hears Ragatha’s voice carrying from the living room, requesting police to disperse the crowd. Jax is tapping his foot in some sort of pattern that she can’t recognize. Kinger steps around them and places a hand on Jax’s shoulder, breaking him out of whatever trance he was locked in.
I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.
When she can finally draw air in without feeling like she’ll fall through the earth, Gangle lets go of the other’s hand, “Thanks, Zooble.”
Zooble gives her a smile, “Any time. But, maybe we don’t go out there and do this again any time soon, yeah?” Gangle snickers and shoulder bumps them, her sweater catching a bit on the studs on their jacket.
One awkward fight to pull their clothes apart without tearing them later, Gangle heads into the living room and sinks into the couch. Exhaustion pulls at her eyes, singing a siren’s song of sleep, but adrenaline swims in her veins. The demand to do something too loud to listen to the lullaby.
Her fingers twitch, reaching for a pen left on the coffee table and a pad of paper. She draws absentmindedly. Loops and curves, crosshatching and stippling, lines spilling over blank space. A small, real smile tugs at her lips.
Jax scoffs softly as he flops onto the couch to the left of her, sharp but oddly grounding.
“We’ve got nothing worth seeing,” he mutters, “so why don’t they crawl back under their rocks?”
And there’s Jax, Gangle thinks, a burst of warm familiarity bubbling up in her chest. She remembers the circus – the taunts and the insults and the mask breaking, why Jax??? – but right now his commentary grounds her. Reminds her that some things haven’t changed.
Kinger comes around the couch with mugs in his hands, each one covered with whipped cream and marshmallows in varying amounts. Pomni takes one without any whipped cream and peers through the blinds at the crowd outside. Ragatha accepts one that is piled so high with whipped cream and marshmallows that Kinger has placed a straw in the mug to allow her to take a sip. The one given to Jax is slightly darker than Gangle would’ve expected hot chocolate to look like, but when he takes a sip he gives Kinger a thumbs up, “Glad you didn’t add any of that sugary nonsense this time.”
Kinger chuckles and hands Zooble one with some peppermint flakes on top of the cream, “I learned my lesson after the last time. Here you go, Zooble, and I stirred some peppermint into the cocoa so it should have that kick you like.”
They accept it with a grin and takes a sip, groaning at the taste, “Yeahhhh that’s the shit.” Hearing the swear makes all of them jolt a little, even a month later. Gangle covers her mouth, trying not to laugh at the white moustache on their lip.
“Oh! You’ve got a little, um…” Kinger points to his mouth and Zooble licks their entire upper lip, brushing their nose with the tip of their tongue. Gangle’s mouth goes a little bit dry at the sight and, judging by the snickering from her left, she’s blushing.
Outside, the knocks and shouts die down and Pomni gives a relieved little sigh and a thumbs up to Ragatha. Gangle can finally hear her own thoughts now, anxious though they may be.
Zooble settles to the right of her, shoulders carefully not brushing to prevent another Tangle Disaster, and Kinger holds out her drink.
Years ago, during one of her very first adventures, they had all gone to a cabin on a mountaintop and Caine had made a hot chocolate bar for them to partake in. Even though the drinks didn’t really taste like chocolate, more like slightly sweet and slightly bitter chalk with a staticky fizz, Gangle had enjoyed something that made her feel a little bit more human. In the dim light of the fireplace, Kinger had asked how she took hers.
Right now, the drink he presents to her is the exact same description she had given then. Chocolate syrup and three marshmallows peeking up through a dollop of whipped cream. She has a small smile as she takes the mug, pressing her lips to the ceramic and taking a sip of warm chocolatey goodness.
The tension insider her eases just enough to notice something she hasn’t in years: she has real choices, not just a facsimile of them. She can pick foods. She can draw. She can breathe. And maybe, just maybe, she can start figuring out who she is without her masks.
The room settles into a quiet rhythm with each of them going about their own business. The world outside keeps spinning but for the first time since leaving the circus, Gangle feels a small, precious flicker of control in her chest.
Just a flicker, but enough to spark hope.
X TRENDING TOPICS
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The house settles into a strange kind of quiet once night falls.
Not a peaceful quiet, just muted. Like someone threw a thick blanket over the whole house, leaving the inside to echo with its own thoughts.
Gangle sits cross-legged on the edge of the couch, knees tucked tight, sketchbook balanced precariously on her thighs. She doesn’t remember picking it up. One moment her hands are empty, trembling slightly at her sides, and the next the familiar weight of it grounds her, electric and alive.
Her pen moves fast.
Too fast.
Lines spill onto the page in looping arcs and sharp angles, faces half-formed, masks overlapping masks. She doesn’t pause to erase or plan. There’s no hesitation, no self-doubt slowing her hand. The ideas feel obvious, as if they’ve always been there and she’s only now finally keeping up with them.
This is good, she thinks, pulse beating in time with the skritch skritch scratch of pen on paper. I missed this.
Across the room, Pomni and Ragatha are watching some reality TV and making commentary on who they think will win. Their voices rise and fall, animated, overlapping with the sounds of the show. Normally, the noise would scrape against Gangle’s nerves, spreading their insides against their bones.
Tonight, it doesn’t.
She notices everything. The hum of the refrigerator, the texture of the couch fabric beneath her fingers, the tap-shhhhlk of Jax’s thumb as he doomscrolls. The world feels brighter somehow. Sharper. Like someone turned the contrast up just a notch too high.
She doesn’t dislike it.
Zooble drops into a chair nearby with a thud, stretching out long legs and rolling their head around with loud pops. They look exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep. Their eyes track the ceiling, jaw tight, fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against the armrest.
“Media’s still out there,” They say flatly. “They’re gonna keep circling. Vultures don’t leave just because you glare at them.”
Kinger looks up from the communal laptop, “Then we make it boring for them. No statements, no engagement, no attention. They’ll move on once the story stops feeding them.”
Jax snorts, “That's a little optimistic.”
Gangle notices but barely registers the exchange. Her pen scratches faster, lines stacking on lines. Ideas layer over one another- this could be a series, no, a set, no-
She flips the page.
Her heart beats a little faster now. Not anxious-fast, excited-fast!
I could do digital art again, she realizes, a thrill curling in her chest.
The thought comes with a dozen others all at once.
I could clean this up later. I could scan it. I could post it somewhere. I could-
She stops herself, breath hitching, pen halting, muscles freezing.
The circus flickers at the edge of her memory-
“The masks will help regulate those pesky emotional spikes.” Caine said, a floating mirror in front of her. “No more involuntary mood swings, now you can choose when you want to feel happy or sad! Isn’t that great?”
How effortless an existence it was to function when my moods were clear.
This isn’t that.
This is… her.
She presses her lips together, grounding herself by tracing the edge of the page with her thumb. The sensation helps, just a little.
Zooble is sitting up now, their gaze fully locked on Gangle. “You okay?”
She nods immediately. Too quickly.
“I’m fine,” she keeps her voice light. “Just… drawing.”
They watch her a moment longer than she thought necessary. “You’ve been at it for a while.”
“Oh.” Gangle blinks. Has it really been that long? She glances at the clock on the wall and jolts at how much time slipped by, Four hours?! “I didn’t notice.”
Jax huffs a laugh. “Yeah, that tracks.”
She shoots him a brief look, half defensive, half curious. He isn’t mocking her, not exactly. If anything, his tone is… cautious? Detached, but attentive in its own, sharp-edged way.
“Don’t burn yourself out on day one,” his head lolls back and his eyes fix on something just above her head. “You’ve got reeeeaal a talent for that.”
Gangle bristles, then pauses. He’s… not wrong.
Still, the idea of stopping makes her skin itch. Her mind buzzes with unfinished thoughts, colors and shapes demanding to be put somewhere now, before they slip away.
“I’ll stop soon,” she doesn’t look him in the eye when she says the words, not even fully believing them herself.
Zooble reaches over and lays their hand on her shoulder, “Just remember you don’t have to do everything tonight, kay?”
She looks over at them, and for a moment the brightness wavers. Their voice doesn’t judge. They aren’t telling her off.
“Okay.”
And she does know... Intellectually.
But knowing and feeling are very different things.
Later, when the house fully dims and people drift toward their shared rooms, Gangle stays awake. She sits on the edge of the couch, sketchpad open and surrounded by loose sheets she doesn’t remember pulling out.
Her eyes feel tired, but her body doesn’t.
Thoughts and ideas skitter, jumping from one idea to the next-
- to the next -
- to the next -
-to the next with restless energy.
She bounces her foot unconsciously, pen tapping to a different beat against her knee.
I don’t need to sleep yet, she adds in sprawling foliage to the background, I’m not tired.
The realization sends a small, uneasy shiver that blasts through her excitement.
She sets the pen down deliberately and closes the sketchbook, fingers lingering on the cover longer than necessary. The silence rushes in all at once, louder without the distraction of motion.
Her chest tightens.
Okay, she takes a purposely steady breath, that’s enough for now.
She heads up the stairs, changes into her pajamas, and climbs into bed with Zooble, staring at the ceiling with her mind still humming away. Images drift behind her eyes, vivid and insistent.
It takes a long time for her breathing to slow.
Outside, somewhere beyond the walls, the world still watches.
Inside, Gangle hovers at the edge of something. Something fragile, creative, intoxicating.
She doesn’t name it yet.
But the warning signs are there, crosshatched between the lines.