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Obviously, something must have gone wrong with the simple task Spoke just asked of Null, because nothing can ever go right for him. It's fine, happens all the time, he'll fix it, like always. He toys with the totem in his hand as he stares out into the lush scenery of an unruined world, bemused.
If he recalls, it's Spawn, which—
a) he shouldn't be anywhere near Spawn, and
b) last he checked, Spawn hasn't looked like this in… years. It's almost nostalgic. He'd feel sick to his stomach if he could feel anything but hollow, meaningless anger.
He has to find a way to get back.
No point in a Paradise without a Hell built for those who've turned him into this, ruined all his hopes for the future, killed off any part of him worth anything. No, there shouldn't be a Paradise at all, if it can't extend forever, under his control.
Now, what would that be? Where is his solution? In the ground? In the sky? Buried in the green of the grass, the roses bent over in mourning?
He looks for it, frustration and a deep, deep exhaustion that flattens his face building behind his eyes. It's a familiar cycle, a dear companion, so he knows no matter how hard he looks, he won't find it. The world itself tugs at his matter, trying to pull him apart, knowing that he shouldn't be here but unwilling to have mercy on him.
Whatever happens is something that happens to him.
Therefore, when he sees himself, weaving through the trees with a clumsiness he hasn't possessed in forever, it's something that happens, it's fate pulling his head in a certain direction at a certain time.
He follows, and his target doesn't even seem to notice his approach, so blissful in his ignorance.
"Well, hello," he starts, smiling when Spoke turns around, when he doesn't even flinch until he registers his face. "Sorry for the scare. Don't worry, I'm just… on my way out. I just happen to believe I might need you for that, me."
He tries to suppress the mockery in his tone, but he just can't help it— what a hilarious situation he finds himself in. He keeps a respectful distance for now, letting his little self shuffle away, back to the trees.
"Um," his self says, wide-eyed, voice high. "I- alright? Uh- so you're— you're me."
"Mhm," he replies, lilting, enjoying the way Spoke relaxes slightly when he doesn't make any sudden moves, not yet. It's so easy, it's truly laughable. "It looks like I've gotten myself in a little temporal displacement," he explains, popping the p's, tasting the words like they're a particularly funny joke. His self smiles reflexively at his little joke, unsure of its meaning.
"I, um," the other Spoke clears his throat, gathering himself. So very eager to please, he is. "Well, I— honestly, I don't know how much help I'd be, but I know this person-"
"Jamato?" he cuts off, managing to cut off most of the derision in his voice. He can't help it, like he's said. What dramatic irony. He has to continue before the other Spoke catches on, suspicion already appearing. At least he's just naive, not stupid. "He does know more than us…" Always will, he thinks with a sigh. "But don't worry, we don't have to trouble him. I just need you." He takes a step closer, like cornering a particularly flighty animal.
"Really?" his self replies, voice small.
"Really," he replies, a grin spreading. "Why would I lie to you?" His self can't help but grin back, like a mirror but probably with less bared teeth.
The other Spoke tilts his head, considering for just a second. Personally, he only ever does that anymore to unsettle Jamato. "Okay," he says finally, blind decision in his tone. "What do you need from me?"
Spoke takes that as in invitation to close the distance a bit more, like they're friends. He's a good inch or two taller than his younger self, the heels of his netherite boots now more comfortable than walking flat. He doesn't bother reading into that thought. "What're you up to?"
Obviously, he knows already— this early, he's out on the grind before the server really kicks into motion, getting materials so he can finally properly play with Jamato, who's so very far ahead of him, always a few steps ahead, always someone to make proud. How adorable. Spoke responds as expected, with an awkward laugh. "Um, like- just getting stuff. I, like, don't have that much, I'm kinda broke."
He can feel his self's eyes naturally drift to the gleam of his own armor in the sun. He preens a little under the attention, because Spoke's easy to control and greed is one of the avenues, always open. "Don't worry, that'll change."
His younger self's expression brightens a little. "So you're, like… from the future? Is it cool? Am I cool?"
He hums, spreading his arms, palms open. "What do you think?"
The other Spoke finally breaks fully out into a toothy grin. "Yeah, I mean, you're lookin' good! Oh man, I can't wait to tell…" He trails off, and casts a shifty glance at Spoke, like he's done something wrong. Looks like he has caught onto Spoke's current aversion to Jamato.
"I would advise against that," he says slowly, keeping the everpresent smile on his face. His other self blinks quickly and nods hard, grin faltering. He softens his expression a little more as a reward.
He wonders if this is the same thing Ash saw.
"But," he continues, "I wouldn't mind lending you some stuff. What's wrong with giving myself an early advantage?" His starry-eyed self can barely form words in his excitement. He smiles and pulls out a shulker in response. "Help yourself."
"Oh, woah, you are loaded!" Spoke cheers, immediately rooting through it, greedy hands grabbing whatever he can find.
"What else were you getting?" he says, slowly meandering away, deeper into the woods, forcing Spoke to scramble to get everything he wants and follow.
"Wood for my base, mostly," he answers cheerfully. "I dunno, I might lavacast it."
He laughs. "That you will, my friend."
"Ohh," Spoke blinks, "I forgot you were like, future-me. Wait, why'd you ask, then?"
"It's been a while." He thinks he's figured out his orientation, and about what day this is.
He's pretty certain Jamato will be looking for him soon, and he wants more time to pick his own brain without that fool's condemning gaze on him. In other words, he leads them the direction away from Jamato's base, shadows growing deeper with every step.
"That makes sense," his other self concedes. "Anyways, how'd you even get all this stuff? Are we, like, important?" He gasps. "Wait, what if we have, like, an army?"
He says it like it's the best thing that could happen, and Spoke can't help but huff out a faint laugh. "Not sure if I can tell you that, man. Continuity or something."
His other self pouts. "Aww," he whines. "Well, I'm just going to believe we do have an army, then."
"You do that," he replies distractedly. "Hm. I don't much like the trees here."
His other self makes a questioning noise. "Why? Aren't they all the same? I guess there's some cherry trees I'd rather get, but I… don't think they're in this direction."He can hear the other Spoke start to slow down behind him, uncertain.
"I must've gotten lost," he soothes.
"…Okay." He keeps heading deeper into the forest, and Spoke keeps following.
He wonders what it is about this boy that Jamato liked so much more than the current him. The innocence? The naivety? The eagerness? The easiness with which he's molded, or torn apart completely?
Not that last one, probably. He's aware that that part's never changed.
"Do we… I mean, we, you are heading away from Jamato's base, which, I guess I get, but if that's the case, um," he patiently waits for the boy to continue. "Do we have other friends?"
Spoke smiles, and turns around. They've found a patch of poppies to sit by while they chat. "I did learn how to make flower crowns. Wanna try?"
"I- ohh, so you wanted to find flowers!" his other self visibly relaxes. "Yeah, I mean- okay!"
He settles down on the grass with an effort he doesn't remember needing, and pats the spot next to him. One by one, he selects his flowers.
"Who taught us?"
"She and I didn't talk for very long."
"Okay, don't answer anything, I guess."
"…"
"…"
"How about this: I'll ask you a question, and then you get to ask a question."
"Uh, sure? What's the question?"
Spoke smiles. "What makes you, a born liar, an exploiter, think you'll be able to keep a single friend?"
The other freezes. "…What?"
What's so fun about breaking him, if so many others wanted to do it?
He guesses it’s nice seeing emotions he's forgotten expressed so plainly on the other's face.
Maybe he should keep pressing just to see more. Maybe he could figure out what went so wrong.
"Good question. See," he snickers, weaving flowers into flowers unceasingly. "Think of it this way. You're like this little flower crown, you don't change, you go in circles. …You'd be surprised how many people point it out!"
The other Spoke swallows nervously, shifting away. "I… what does that mean?"
"No, it's my turn," he corrects, softly. He feels thorns growing from the poppy stems, pricking through his gloves, and sighs. "I see you trying to run, you know. Do you really think anything you do is going to change the," he thinks about his words for a second, "the premeditated outcome?"
He reaches out and slams Spoke's thigh back down as the boy suddenly tries to scramble to his feet. He yelps and flounders as the Null leader swings his weight over him, pinning him into place, and continues rambling. "It's a cycle. You see, everyone is right, it's a cycle." He laughs, manically. Spoke pushes at him uselessly, breath quickening. "When have you ever changed for the better? Been worth staying for?"
"I, I," Spoke's voice is high and strained and panicky underneath him. "You're- you've gotta be wrong. I can change, I can."
"I don't think so," he giggles. "See, look—"
And he takes his gloves and tugs them off his ruined hands, stained by exploits, varnished over with blood that still feels warm. The other Spoke's glassy eyes widen with realization.
The world continues to pull at his threads, fraying. The quickest solution one has to fraying is to burn the edge, so that's what he does— takes the wreath of poppies and crushes it in his hands, opening them up like a magician to show Spoke a fresh crown of roses flopping out, snagged by its thorns in the flesh of his palm, his own blood trickling down.
"Pretty, right," he hums as he absentmindedly peels the thorns out of his hands. "You wouldn't say no to this, Spoke."
"I," the boy's breaths are coming in gasps, but he's entranced by the show of power. It's really his fault for not being able to regulate himself better, but Spoke's honestly fascinated by the vulnerability. So this is what he looked like? "I would— I would say no, I would. Stop… you, why-?"
"Don't lie to me, you know better." He tries mimicking a Minute-Jamato-Leo-fusion kind of disappointment in his tone. It's really something how many people he's disappointed, now that he thinks about it!
It works wonders on his younger self, and he shrinks into himself under his touch, stilling, suppressing his hyperventilation to the point of quiet, pained keening. "Mm. Here, let's do this…"
He carefully arranges the crown of rose thorns on his other self's head, adjusting it until he almost stops looking so pitiful. "Isn't that nice?" The boy's stopped responding, so he takes that to mean all of his turns get skipped.
He decides to make himself comfortable, resting his head on top of his other self's shoulder so he can see all of his microexpressions better. At the very least, if he can figure out how to copy them, he can prank Jamato when he gets back.
"C'mon, don't be too mad at me," he croons, smiling contentedly. "Sooner or later you were going to learn that you could only rely on yourself, anyways."
There is no response.
"Better sooner, in my humble opinion. It'd save you a lot of trouble. You know, with exploits," he sighs, running his hand down Spoke's chest, marvelling at its rise and fall, alive, safe from rot. "It's always a question of when, rather than if. Doesn't everyone want something to keep them safe?"
There is no response.
"…the thing you need to know is that safe people can't be good people, Spoke," he continues, duller. "And if you're not going to be a good person, then it's probably to the benefit of everyone around you that you don't get too attached. Hey, you know what—"
There is no response.
"Maybe Jamato really was onto something!" he props himself up, suddenly giddy with revelation. "If I— if we had never gotten close to anyone at all, then that's basically, like, community service! How good it would be if nobody had ever cared at all."
There is no response.
"But you, you know," he shakes his head, in a mock-paternal way. "You're always trying to get someone to care, because there's an emptiness inside that will just never be filled. That's all you do, but you need to understand—"
There is no response. At this point, Spoke's quite tired of it, so he grabs the boy's face with his hand, clawed fingers digging slightly into his cheeks, and forces him to look.
"The people who you think care about you, you will hurt. There will be no taking it back and no… no forgiveness. In the end, nobody will come for you at all, if you disappear, nothing will have changed. And it will be all your doing."
…There is no response, no, there's a faint sniffle. He smiles.
"…Spoke?" he hears Jamato's voice call tentatively through the trees, and suddenly the boy beneath him writhes violently, twisting to sink his teeth into his hand with bone-crushing force, scrambling away like a fox having gnawed off its leg to escape the steel of the bear trap.
"Ow!" he yelps, automatically. Honestly speaking, it's pretty hard for him to feel much pain these days. He lunges forward and grabs his other self's arm with his good hand. The boy tries to shake him off, a distressed growl ripping through him.
"Let go of me!" His voice breaks on his panic.
"Spoke!" Jamato calls again, getting closer. He hears the sound of coppiced shoots breaking and being pushed aside, with a hurriedness generally uncharacteristic of Jamato. He forgot what it was like when he cared, he thinks with some wistfulness.
"You're just the same as me," he leans in, speaking lowly. "But don't worry. It was always going to be this way."
He lets go and steps back, watching the boy nearly bowl Jamato over, running to him as he emerges into the clearing. He can feel a smile stretching on his face. Jamato looks up to glare at him, and then recognizes him, disbelieving horror dawning on his features. He waves. The world picks at his unravelled strings with a discomforted groan.
With a jolt, the ground falls out from under him, and he locks eyes with his Null Commander.
"Took you long enough," he sighs. "Well, I suppose at least one of you is managing to do your job, because I did not get where I was supposed to be!"
The Null at his stasis chamber politely steps back as he emerges, flicking grass off his cape and tugging his gloves back on his bloodied hands.
"…Would you like us to recalibrate?" they ask, haltingly.
"No need," he waves off. "We're running out of time."
He hears a scoff from the direction of the cage. "I wasn't aware you had a time limit, Spoke. You know, you could just give up." Jamato says it like a friendly suggestion.
Spoke decides, as a joke, to treat it like one. He doesn't have a mirror around, and he hasn't bothered to look in one for quite some time, but he softens his features just-so and leans to grin into the bars of Jamato's cage. "Mm, I trust you, 'mato," he chirps, trying his best to emulate his younger self. "But I dunno. I've got quite a few people counting on me, you know?" He gestures with the totem into the general direction of the Null.
Jamato's face of complete and utter revulsion is absolutely worth his own discomfort. He giggles, trying to keep the bit going longer at first, but it quickly devolves into manic cackles. He wipes a tear from his eye. "Oh, Jamato," he sighs, long and content and disappointed. "It was always going to turn out this way, no?"