Work Text:
Cole has been having dreams.
It's not particularly odd, the mere fact that he's been having them. Strange dreams (and, more commonly, nightmares) are an occupational hazard that comes with being a ninja. No, it's not the presence of the dreams at all. It's their nature.
Usually, Cole dreams of water. Walking into the sea, diving into a lake, swimming in a pool. Being consumed by cool liquid. Feeling it seep into his skin. Allowing it to dissolve his soul. Vanishing into it.
It has been almost ten years since he became a ghost, and just over eight since he managed to leave that body. A year and a half as a dead man walking. But he steal feels it, sometimes. When his scar burns. When he hesitates before stepping into the bathtub.
When he doesn't feel seen.
Sometimes, he can't believe the things that he went through when he was a kid. Fritz and Spitz are only twelve, and he'd only been two years older when Master Wu first found him. And then a year older than that when he, Zane, and Jay met Kai and became a real team.
A real family.
Then, another two years after he met the boys who became his brothers, he lost his life in the temple. The other ninja never say it as it is, but Cole doesn't know how to say it any other way. Ghosts are the physical manifestation of dead people. He died. He remembers the feeling of his entire body being overcome with a sort of coldness he's never experienced before. He remembers the sandpapery scrape of his organs shrinking, dissipating, and finally vanishing. He remembers his eyes turned to hollow globes, his breath turned to wind, his heart turned to dust.
Cole knows what it means to be a dead man walking.
And usually, he dreams of the deepest sort of death he can imagine—that of a ghost. There is something beyond terrifying about the idea of dying once, managing to retain some semblance of a form, and then completely evanescing from reality itself. That is why his nightmares linger, even if he is living once again. There is a part of him that will always feel completely empty, and a part of his brain that will always ruminate on the sheer number of times he nearly just…stopped existing.
Every time he nearly walked on a freshly mopped floor. Every time he instinctively walked towards the bathroom after a workout. Every time it snowed and he watched his brothers catch snowflakes and allow them to melt on their tongues while he remained watching through the window.
He couldn't wash his hands. He couldn't drink juice. He couldn't eat soup. He couldn't eat at all. He couldn't swim. He couldn't shower. He couldn't even risk hugging Nya sometimes. And if he managed to persist for decades without ever touching water, or anything with water, he would outlive all of his friends. He would never die.
And even if he did, what sort of afterlife could possibly remain for a dead ghost?
So, Cole usually dreams of his own super-death. Lately, though, he hasn't been dreaming of water the way that he usually does. It's a strange absence. However, when he thinks about it, he supposes that the dreams he's having now aren't so different than the ones he usually gets—
He has been dreaming about Jay.
Well, he has been dreaming about who Jay used to be. He dreams of playing video games at three in the morning and slapping their hands over each other's mouths when they laugh too loud. He dreams of sitting on the kitchen counter and reading aloud the recipe for Edna's crumb cake while Jay whisks the ingredients together by his side. He dreams of fighting in the monastery courtyard, of lightning burns and dusty bruises. He dreams of Jay falling asleep on his shoulder while, on the other side of the couch, Nya holds Jay's hand. He dreams of late nights spent dominating games at the arcade, of going to cake tastings for a ceremony Jay and Nya weren't planning to have for years just so that they could eat cake, of early morning rides on their bikes. He dreams of his best friend, of his closest brother.
He dreams of his memories lost to time.
And it is not so different from the sort of dreams he is used to, because he has always dreamed of death, and the Jay that he knew is gone. Even as he adjusted to his new life with the Finders, he'd always held on to hope that one day he would see his first family again. That he'd see Jay again. He has, now, and he doesn't remember the last time he'd felt as happy as he did when he first saw Jay's face, but his brother is gone. A person is made only of memories, and Jay, well, Rogue, has none of his.
Rogue is a dead man walking.
Rogue is the ghost of Jay.
Except, there is no sacred water that can rid them of this ghost. There is no super-death. They must simply accept that the boy they knew is gone. They must learn to grieve Jay while he is actively sitting on their couch.
Cole is there now, halfheartedly making his way through another level of Prime Empire. It's a new save of the game—him and Jay had made it further than any of the other ninja in their 4-year old save, and he can't bring himself to touch it. They never played without each other—Prime Empire was the game they obsessed over as kids, got to walk into as teenagers, and constantly beat as young adults. He can't pass a single level without thinking of Jay, so he usually avoids the game, but today, he misses him so dearly that he yearns for any sort of closeness to his brother, if only through the sting of memory.
"What's that?" A rough voice calls from behind him.
Cole startles, but collects himself enough to calmly turn around. Rogue is coolly leaning against the doorway in a thin blue tank and a pair of Cole's old shorts that Nya likely gave him to wear, pretending that he's not doing so to take some of the weight off his leg. Cole almost chuckles—Jay always tried to hide his injuries the same way. Maybe a part of him is still in there, somewhere.
"What's what?" Cole asks, voice level.
Rogue nods towards the television. "The game. I've played a lot, but never that one."
Cole has to pretend it doesn't burn, the way that he doesn't remember what had been their favourite game all those years ago. He clears his throat to respond, "Oh! Uh, it's called Prime Empire."
Rogue eyes the screen suspiciously, as if he is so experienced that there is something to be cautioned about any game he's never seen before, but ultimately just shrugs.
Cole watches. Rogue is Jay. He's a little more muscular, a lot more cut and bruised, and, of course, his hair has gotten ridiculously long, but it is undeniably him. In the first few days, Cole tried to convince himself that Rogue really was some other guy who looked similar to his best friend, but he can't ignore their similarities anymore. Rogue is living in the husk of Jay Walker.
He looks at him for a second too long, and Rogue face morphs into a nearly murderous glare.
"What are you looking at?" He spits.
Cole turns away sharply. "Nothing, man. Nothing at all."
He resumes the game, making his way through the level. He is so immersed in making it passed the enemies that he doesn't even notice Rogue slowly making his way through the room and settling as far away from him on the couch as he can.
Rogue doesn't look at him a single time. Cole glances at him once, twice, three times, then pauses the game and returns to the home screen. Rogue doesn't say anything, but watches as Cole sets his controller on the couch, stands, and walks toward the screen in order to rummage through the box under the TV stand. He pulls out a dark blue controller from the bottom the container and, still bent, looks at Rogue over his shoulder.
Prime Empire is him and Jay's game, but he supposes that the husk is close enough.
"Wanna play?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.
Rogue eyes the controller, then the screen, then Cole himself, before shrugging again. "I guess."
Cole tosses him the controller—which Rogue catches effortlessly—before returning to flop back on the couch. He clicks around until they're back on the home screen, waits for Rogue to add his account—Jay's account, really—before scrolling through their various saved games.
"Okay, so we can play one of these saves or start a new one," Cole says, clicking through a series of saves with various levels of progress, skipping over one.
"What about that one?" Rogue points to the saved game at the bottom of the list. The one that Cole had been skipping.
Cole pauses. It's their "black and blue" save. The one that they played in for years, unlocking secret levels and game secrets after they finished most of the main story. It has infinitely more progress than any of the others, which were mostly used when Kai or Zane wanted to play casually.
Cole swallows. "I…I played it with an old friend. I'm waiting for him to come back so we can play again."
Rogue pauses for a moment, then snorts. "Well, that's kind of stupid. You're slowing your own progress waiting for some guy? That says 97% progress! You could've beat the game by now!"
Cole clenches his teeth. They already have beat the game in real life. Jay and Cole had dragged getting through every side quest and secret event because they didn't want to end their campaign. They loved Prime Empire, but more than anything, they loved getting through it together.
"It's not about finishing the game. It's about doing it together." Cole insists.
Rogue huffs, "That's a load of bullshit to me. What's the point of getting that close if you're not gonna finish?"
Cole nearly jumps a foot in the air. He has heard Jay yell and scream to no end, but he has never heard him swear. He always insisted it was a sign of "weak verbal skills," probably courtesy of Ed and Edna's homeschooling. Then again, Cole supposes that Rogue doesn't remember anything about ever going to school.
Cole clicks on the new save button. "Because sometimes it's not about the game. Sometimes, it's about the time with a person you love."
Rogue doesn't say anything to that, and Cole pretends to believe that it's because the game is beginning.
They start off strong, and with the combination of Cole's experience and Jay's innate skill, they beat levels in record time. They're cheering and laughing and trying not to make too much noise, and as long as he's not looking at him, Cole almost feels like he's playing with his brother again.
Almost.
They come to a slow point in the game—just fixing armour and restocking resources—when Rogue speaks again.
"Your friend," he clears his throat, trying to remain cool, "What are the chances he was Jay Walker?"
Cole pauses, finger hovered over the left toggle. His avatar stops in front of the merchant he's supposed to be upgrading his weapons with. "Yeah. Yeah, he was."
Rogue groans, wiping a hand down his face. "Is that why you asked me to play? So you could feel like you're hanging out with that dork?"
Cole stifles a laugh. "That dork is you, man."
Rogue throws his controller on the couch and stands abruptly, completely unsteady on his feet. "No, he isn't. When will you ninja understand that I am not your friend?" He spits.
Cole ignores everything he says and stands himself, reaching to steady him. "Woah there, man. You've gotta be careful on that leg."
Rogue pushes his hands away. "Get away from me," he seethes through gritted teeth.
Cole quickly pulls his hands back, keeping them in the air and within his line of sight. "Sorry, I guess. Just wanted to check on you."
"Why? So I don't hurt your precious friend?" Rogue crosses his arms.
"What?" Cole splutters. "No, man, I just wanted to make sure that you're alright!"
"Hm." Rogue uncrosses his arms, allowing them to hang by his sides. "Fine, I guess."
Cole sighs. "Look, I'm sorry for saying you're Jay, it's just—I can't help it! You look just like him, you laugh just like him," he points at the TV, "You even play like him! Nobody except Jay ever beats level 13 on the first try and you did. It's just hard trying to adjust, but I'll do better, okay?"
Rogue averts his gaze. "Whatever. All of you want me to be something—someone I can't be. I don't know the guy you think I am," he finishes quietly.
"Do you want to?"
Rogue finally meets his eyes. "What do you—"
Cole takes a careful step towards him, accepting the minor victory when Rogue doesn't step away. "Jay. Do you want to know about Jay? The way I knew him?"
Rogue mulls this over, gnawing at his lip. It's a habit Jay never had. Cole pushes that thought away immediately; Rogue isn't Jay.
Cole watches as he seems to come to a mental conclusion and finally settles on the couch. He doesn't say anything, but he nods for Cole to do the same.
Cole takes it as a yes.
He falls back on the couch, ready to launch into his spiel about his brother, but before he can, Rogue interjects—
"Just, tell me about who the guy was as a person. You all already told me he was a ninja. Not as good as the rest of you, from what I've heard, but one nonetheless. I don't want to hear about how pure of heart and heroic he was. That's stupid."
Cole blinks.
Then, he bursts into laughter. As he bends over with the fit, clutching his stomach, Rogue's face morphs between confusion, anger, bewilderment, and curiosity.
He settles down just enough to get the words out, still beaming. "You though I was gonna tell you the heroic things about him? Ha! Jay was my best friend, I would never tell you the good stuff."
Rogue's lip curls upwards in the cruel smile he's obtained in replacement of the sweet one Jay used to have. "I thought you ninja were all about the whole 'being nice' thing."
Cole finally recovers from his fit, reveling in his newfound good mood. "I mean, yeah, but I'm talking about Jay," he says, as if Rogue is supposed to understand their dynamic without really knowing him.
He quickly turns to save and pause their game, then faces Rogue once again. "Okay, so everyone's been telling you that Jay was this great awesome guy, right?"
Rogue nods.
"They're wrong. Jay was the worst! He screamed all the time over nothing, he never did the dishes when it was his turn, he always ate the last pudding cup, and he always forgot about his laundry and left it in the machine all day and held everyone else up. The only person he consistently listened to was Nya, and if you weren't her, sometimes it'd be in one ear and out the other. He was fast, probably the fastest of us all, but he was clumsy and got in everyone's way all the time. He was the stupidest smart guy I've ever met, you know, the type to solve a quantum physics equation and then ask you why socks aren't labelled left and right. He was petty, and loud, and annoying all of the time!"
Rogue's face contorts with something close to disgust. "And you liked him, why?"
Cole's expression softens as he looks back on his memories. "Nah, man. I didn't like him. I loved him. He was my best friend, my brother. I won't say he could do no wrong, but there was nothing he could do that could ever make me stop loving him. He was the worst, but we were all the worst, really. Side effect of spending our teenage years in a house with a bunch of other annoying teenagers and occasionally stepping out to save the world. We hated each other, we liked each other, but we never stopped loving each other. That's just what family does."
Cole thinks of his father and the band. He thinks of the ninja and their adventures. He thinks of Geo and the Finders. He thinks of his mother. All of them, he has gotten mad at. All of them, he has been at odds with. But he has never stopped seeking them out, and he has never stopped loving, or being loved.
Rogue hunches into himself, looking away from Cole. "Sounds dumb," he mutters, but there's no real heart in it.
"Does it?" Cole asks. He knows that it doesn't, and that Rogue is lying, but he's taken care of two young boys long enough to know how to uncover a bad lie. He just has to wait out the truth.
Rogue doesn't respond. Cole waits. That is the way that they sit for a few moments, before Rogue speaks again. Just as Cole anticipated.
"But you're not related to me—to him, I mean, right? None of you are related except water girl and the angry red one, right?"
Cole smiles. Even the way he is now, Rogue is still at odds with Kai, just as Jay was. "No. But you don't have to be related to be family. Just close and loving."
Rogue scoffs. "I was close to plenty of people at the Administration. Doesn't make them family."
Cole shrugs. "Well, yeah, sure you were close. In a coworker way. But did you feel known?"
Rogue furrows his brows. "Uh, aren't you guys coworkers too? Being a ninja is your job."
Cole's entire face scrunches. He guesses that that's how they'd all seen each other back when they'd just started training, but that had been nearly, what, twelve years ago? Thirteen, if he counted the amount of time him and Jay spent training before Wu brought in Zane, then Kai. But that cold, distant relationship dissipated in less than a week, and soon enough, they were the type of family he'd been searching for since his mother died. "What? No, man, we're family! I feel like I just said that…"
"Well, yeah, you did," Rogue refutes defensively, "But that doesn't mean anything. You spend time together, hang out, whatever. But you're not related. How does that even make a family?"
Cole's eyes widen as he begins to understand. Rogue hasn't been accepted for who he is anywhere that he's gone. He's constantly been told that he needs to be someone else. And now, Cole is telling him about how he and the other ninja make the choice every single day to love one of the most annoying guys in the world. How they all love each other, not despite their flaws, but regardless of them.
Rogue has only been who he is since the tournament. Really, he's only less than a year old. But in his entire existence, and that of Agent Walker, he has never had that. He has never known family.
Rogue scratches the back of his head. "And known?" He continues. "What does that even mean, being known? I don't even know who I was before a few years ago. How can anyone know me?"
Cole opens his mouth to interject, but Rogue raises a hand, frowning. "And don't say you know me. You don't."
Cole opens his mouth, then closes it again. Swallows. Blinks. Swallows again. He knows what he has to be, now.
Jay is gone. Rogue is here. He's not giving up on his brother, just choosing to take care of someone who is with him now when Jay can't be.
To Rogue, he must stay kind. Malleable. Adjustable. He must be able to understand that he isn't fighting the ninja; he's fighting the world. He's fighting every supposition of who he is. He's fighting every insistence that he must be someone else. Rogue is the ghost of another man trying to gain his own physical form. Cole, at least, knows how that feels.
And to his brother, who he loves, who was purely, beautifully, and annoyingly made?
He must say goodbye.
He sighs. "You're right. I don't know you. None of us do. But you deserve to feel known, Rogue. You deserve a family. And even though you look a whole lot like Jay, I can accept that you're not him, and never will be."
Rogue slumps against the couch. "So what then? You're just going to tolerate me until I'm healed enough to leave?"
Cole gives him a sad, but hopeful smile. "No, man, come on. Did you even hear me? I said you deserve to be known. I want to know you. Ninja don't quit on people who need help, sure, but I don't quit on anyone."
"So what, I'm going to be your passion project?" Rogue grimaces.
"Worse. I'm going to be your friend." Cole clutches both hands over his chest dramatically, feigning shock. The flash of amusement that crosses Rogue's face makes the idiocy worth it.
Rogue rolls his eyes. "I don't keep friends."
Cole wiggles his eyebrows. "You do now."
"And what if I don't want to be friends?"
"You would've left already if you didn't want to be friends," Cole teases.
Rogue huffs, but doesn't refute it. Instead, he deflects, "We don't have anything in common."
Cole's smile only widens, because he couldn't be more wrong. They are both in constant search of family, even if Rogue doesn't know it. They are both fighters. They are both defensive. They are both complicated. They have both been betrayed by their own bodies. They both know how it feels to be a ghost.
He nudges Rogue in the side with his elbow.
"Well, we've got Prime Empire!"