grrrr free me from my mind prison

The Battleline Between Good and Evil (Runs Through the Heart of Every Man)

Chapter 1: 

The sounds of hard bone hitting flesh made Peter wince as he furiously scrubbed at the now non-existent stains on the hard, polished wood of the bar. His eyes were down cast as he tried to ignore the massacre in front of him with every fiber of his being. Despite it being early in the afternoon, his shift had already started off quite eventfully, with a barroom brawl. Even now, he found it hard on himself not to intervene. However, he knew he couldn’t draw attention to himself. In this type of environment, attention was either bad or worse with no better or inbetween. It was something he couldn’t afford.

A thump in front of him drew him out of his musings, his Spidey Sense starting to tingle quite annoyingly. Whoever was in front of him was dangerous. A deep voice started to speak.

“Old fashioned,” came the demand. Peter nodded silently, willing his face to be impassive as he concentrated on making the drink for the man. When he was done, he slid the drink over to the bar counter.

“Here you go sir,” he uttered politely, glancing up and taking note of the patron. He was an older man who wore a black, fitted T-shirt that displayed his assets clearly, biceps bulging as he leaned leisurely against the counter. White hair covered his head, cut recently as the smell of fresh shampoo came off of him to reach Peter’s sensitive nose. He could also clearly see little hairs clinging to the black of his shirt. The man had an eye patch over his right eye and was huge as well.

When he finished his drink, he slid it back over to him, and stood up at his full height, towering well over Peter and the rest of the patrons in the bar. The man’s one eye glanced at him, appraising him and Peter couldn’t help but blush a bit. He looked away, but not before noticing the slight twitch of the man’s mouth as he did.

‘Fuck,’ he thought and to avoid more embarrassment, Peter glanced around the large man to look at where the brawl had gotten to now.

“You new here?” Peter’s large eyes came back up to meet the other man’s and he nodded shyly.

“Yeah, a little over a month.” Eye-Patch (as Peter has now affectionately nicknamed him) hummed and stared at Peter for a little while longer, who fidgeted uncomfortably. Even though there was plenty of noise within the mostly empty club, the silence between both men was getting to Peter, which prompted him to ask a question. “Do you come here often?” The man grinned.

“Not before.” That made Peter blink. He tilted his head in confusion. He was obviously missing something here.

“Huh?” Eye-Patch laughed, gaining the attention of several people around them.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Peter bristled a bit at the nickname, “just that you should probably expect me more.” Reaching into his pocket, Eye-Patch pulled out several hundred dollar bills and threw them towards Peter, whose eyes widened at the sight. “Just for you. Keep the change.” And he walked out the door without another word. Peter gaped at the door for a long while before looking at the neat bills on the counter.

“Weirdos,” he grumbled underneath his breath but not before pocketing the money. Another low thrum sang at the back of his head and he felt a presence sidle up beside him. He knew who it was without even looking.

“Hey Petey Boy!” Peter grabbed the glass that Eye-Patch just drank out of and began washing it.

“Hey Harley. What’s up?” The woman squealed happily, popping the gum in her mouth obnoxiously. Peter found that he quite liked Harleen Quinzel, after he worked past his first impression of her.

“Nothin’ much,” she drawled out teasingly, her blonde pigtails bouncing around her, “just wonderin’ when ya’ became such good friends with Deathstroke over there.” Peter grabbed a rag hanging on the bottom countertop and started to wipe down the glass in his hands.

“Who?” Harley giggled loudly, toying with the hem of Peter’s T-shirt as she grabbed onto one of his arms. He glanced down at her with a soft, curious look and she rolled her eyes playfully.

“Y’know, hunky Eye-Patch guy? Guy who just left?”

“Ah,” Peter realized before questioning, “his name is Deathstroke?” Harley rolled her eyes again.

“No, silly! His real name is Slade Wilson. He’s a mercenary for hire.”

‘Guess that answers that question.’ Harley blew a bubble and popped it again, winking suggestively at him, “and he was so interested in you!” Peter snorted.

“Nah. I’m new here so he was just asking. Besides, he’s a bit too old for me.” The look on Harley’s face was dubious.

“Uh-huh. Sure, honey. I’m just saying, he’s pretty hot. Also,” he felt a squeeze on his bicep, “have you been working out? You’re ripped!” Her smile became mischievous. “Trying to impress someone? Ooh! Ooh! Is it me?” Peter gave a small laugh, his curly hair bouncing as he shook his head.

“I’m always trying to impress you, Harls.” The blonde giggled and leaned over to kiss his cheek before swiping her thumb across it, wiping away the lipstick.

“Aww, you sweetie. If I didn’t have my puddin’, I would be with you in a heartbeat.” Peter forced a smile as Harley made heart eyes at the mention of her on-again-off-again boyfriend. Right now, it was decidedly on. If you asked Peter, he would say he knew the signs of an abusive relationship when he saw them. “Anyway. I just came ta tell ya’ that your shift for this afternoon ends right now and I’ll see you in a few hours!”

“Okay, thanks.” She kissed his cheek once more, not bothering to wipe away the residual lipstick before flouncing out of the bar. Peter wished she could see that she could do so much better than a man nicknamed ‘The Joker.’ Somewhere among the brawl that still had not stopped, the sound of glass shattering grabbed his attention. Peter sighed.

‘I better clean that up before I leave.’

-----

Peter walked the few blocks that it took to get to the homeless shelter where he stayed. He opened the door that housed the tens of people that wandered the streets, and closed it softly behind him. Setting towards his cot, he noticed that people were bustling around like crazy, and a nice smell was coming from the kitchen. His stomach grumbled but he willed it to stop. He needed the money to get a new place and he was a few hundred away from achieving his goal for the upfront portion. He was lucky that Harley decided to help him out and aid him in forming a bank account here. Peter reached his cot and sat down, noting that, luckily, no one had tried to steal his stuff. Again. Settling back against the pillows, Peter thought about the past couple of months.

He had first come to this world so unfamiliar to him through some sort of magical portal. God, he fucking hated magic sometimes. Mr. Stark had let him go into his lab unsupervised for the first time since the incident involving the toaster, pink glitter, and the flamethrower.

It was nice.

He was sitting at one of the tables, tinkering around with one of his web shooters, Led Zeppelin (“For the sake of America’s Ass™, Peter, it’s ACDC!”) booming in his ears when suddenly, he felt himself being pulled back, a cold feeling settling across the back of his neck and making its way to the rest of his body. Then, a weird expression came over his face as another feeling came over him, like he was being stretched thin, but it didn’t hurt. There’s a quick flash of a blinding light, causing him to shut his eyes (his overly reactive senses are a blessing and a curse) tightly and the next thing he knows, Peter hits the ground hard, his body making a soft thudding noise.

The first thing to register is the sight. It wasn’t overly bright, like the light was. In fact, it was rather dark. Brick walls surrounded him from two sides, indicating that he was in an alleyway of some sort. It wasn’t too spacious and various bags of trash were littered all over the place. Doors were lined along the brick walls, all closed and looking uninviting. Then came the smell. It was horribly pungent, probably even to the regular nose.

To Peter’s nose, however, it was hell. He could practically feel his olfactory glands swelling from the amount of stink he was admitting into his body. Gagging, he tried to stand up to get away from the smell only to stumble and nearly eat the gravel under him.

‘Parker Luck fucking sucks,’ he thinks as he collapses against one of the doors on the brick walls, then thinks groggily, ‘hey, that rhymed.’

He rested his head against the cool metal for a moment before his Spidey Sense, sensitive and overly reactive at the moment, blares a warning, making him shoot backwards. He lays on the ground for less than a second when the door he had previously rested on opened with a bang. His head pounded more than it ever did before, and the added sound of the metal banging against the brick and a high pitched voice screeching didn't help either. Peter squinted at the rather tall female figure standing in the doorway screaming obscenities into the lit room.

She screamed her last words, no response following her, and stepped outside with a huff, slamming the door behind her. Peter closed his eyes again, and laid his head against the concrete sullenly, fully expecting her to leave him. If he was a woman in a city at night, he would do that too.

“Oof, yer’ lookin’ kinda rough there buddy.” Peter’s eyes popped open in surprise. The woman was standing over him, a look of sympathy and concern displayed on her pale face. She crouched down and the closer she got, the more clearly he could see her features. She was pretty, with alabaster skin and platinum blonde hair pulled into pigtails, the ends dyed red and blue. Her bright blue eyes blinked curiously at him as he laid unmoving for a second.

“I fe’l rough’,” he croaked, his hands rubbing at his throat in an effort to ease the pain he felt as he spoke. The woman clicked her tongue and reached for his wrists, bringing them away from his neck.

“Alright, sweetie, I need you to answer every question as best as you can okay? I’m a doctor, I can help you.” Peter groaned and pointed to her, his arm bending at the elbow to raise his finger in the air.

“Wha’s yur’ name?” He managed to slur out. ‘Stranger danger Parker,’ he reminded himself in lieu of Mr. Stark. If he were here, he would be shaking his head in disappointment, Peter was sure of it.

“Ah, how rude of me! Ma names Dr. Harleen, but ya’ can call me Harley!” The hand pointing at her turned into a wave, greeting her.

“Hey,” he replied weakly, “my name’s Peter. Peter Parker.” He could hear the grin in Harley’s voice.

“Well, Peter Parker, tell me. Are ya feeling nauseous or dizzy?”

“Yes.”

“Any ringing in the ears?”

“No.”

“A headache? Are ya feeling really tired?”

“Not that bad of a headache. Tired, yes,” he sighed, fatigue heavy in his voice, “look, Doctor, I don’t have a concussion. Just feeling weird right now.”

“Ya drink before you came here or eat something weird?”

“No, I’m just weird like this.” Harley was silent for a moment.

“Do ya want me to help get you home?” Peter sighed again, pushing his arms up to help himself lift his torso so he was sitting upright.

“I, uh, don’t have a home,” he looked around the alley, his senses starting to clear (though his nose still throbbed at the smell), “where am I, by the way?” Harley leaned into his vision, a slightly incredulous look on her face.

“You don’t know where you are?” Peter shook his head, happy his headache was now subsiding. The disbelieving expression didn’t disappear from Harley’s face. “Well, you, puppy, are in Gotham, the most crime ridden city in the world.” Peter sent Harley a weird glance.

“Gotham? Like Gotham City, Batman’s Gotham City?” The second the sentence went out of his mouth, Harley covered his lips with her hand.

“Never say that name unless you’re looking for a death wish!” She hissed at him, her eyes hard. “Promise me!” Wide eyed, Peter nodded reluctantly and he was let go. It wasn’t like he read the comics or anything. He didn’t really know much about Batman. Just that he had a sidekick named Robin and they fought the Joker on a regular basis. Harley straightened, causing him to look up at her. She extended her hand which he took and he slowly stood up with her help. She dusted him off, her hands sweeping across the back of his jacket and the front of his shirt for him. He nodded in thanks.

“Do ya have your phone on ya?” He reached into his back pocket and felt that, yes, thankfully, his phone was still in his pocket. He tugged it out and unlocked it, tapping on the call icon. He goes straight to Tony’s number. A ring doesn’t even make it onto his phone before the screen says that there’s no service for his phone. He sighs forlornly. There goes trying to contact home.

“Sorry Harley, I don’t have service here.”

“So ya don’t have service, no way to contact home, and ya have no idea where ya are?” Peter shook his head. It was Harley’s turn to sigh. “Alright, puppy, yer' comin’ with me. I know a nicer homeless shelter than any of the ones they got on Grand.” She grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the alleyway onto the nearly empty street. He should’ve probably been concerned that he was heading somewhere with a random woman, granted one who had tried to help him. There was still a low thrum of danger at the back of his head, but all he could focus on was that ridiculous nickname.

“Puppy?” The blonde haired woman paused, turning back with a teasing smirk on her pretty face.

“‘Cause yer’ so cute like a puppy, with those puppy dog eyes and pouty frown. Yer’ even smaller than me!” At that point, he had taken note that she was, in fact, a full four inches taller than him. He looked at her with somewhat genuine offense.

“Hey! I’m 5’6! You’re only so much taller because you’re wearing heels!” He pointed towards the pumps that adorned her feet. Harley scoffed and took off her heel for a second, showing both of them that, even without the heels, she was still an inch taller than him. He groaned. This night was just getting worse and worse. First, he’s in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar woman who was taller than him. Hearing Harley’s laugh though, as they walked through the streets arguing about who was really taller, made him feel at least a little better. It wasn’t much, but every little bit counts.

All that eventually led to where Peter was now, laying on a cot in the same homeless shelter that Harley had introduced him to. He had gotten a couple of jobs with the help of Harley’s shadier connections. He had realized early on that this dimension was not the same world that the comics had shown. This was somehow different. There was no one with super powers, though the monikers were still real. Batman was real, but Harley (the only person he trusted up to this point) hadn’t told him anything, and by the fifth time that he asked, he realized he wouldn’t be getting anything out of her so he stopped. He had wondered who Batman was here, and if he and Robin were still partn-

The sound of an alarm pulled him out of his thoughts, and Peter hurriedly grabbed his phone and turned it off. He saw the time and sighed.

“Time to head to work,” he muttered.

-----

“Hey Puppy!” Harley squealed as he entered the club that was now flooding with people, the lighting dim save for a few spotlights that roved over the sea of people. Peter straightened his clothes, a white button down paired with some slacks. They had been the Joker’s but, according to Harley, they didn’t fit him anymore. Peter shivered at the thought of taking something of the Joker’s, but he guessed it couldn’t be helped.

“Harley!” He yelled back in greeting and both walked over the bar. Peter quickly clocked in and set off to work, one of his coworkers behind the counter already. From there, it was quite the busy time, people requesting drinks all over the place. Peter and Harley talked from time to time as he prepared other’s drinks. It was a fairly smooth evening so far.

Of course, as soon as he thought that, trouble had to come, brewing in all its toxicity. When he had first started as a bartender for the club, he had been warned to keep an eye out for suspicious activity, just so the club doesn’t get hit with another lawsuit. Harley was fiddling with her phone in one corner of the bar, and at this point, Peter was used to the loud noise of the club, having inconspicuously stuffed his ears with ear plugs earlier. However, it didn’t completely cancel out the noise as his super hearing still noted everything within his vicinity. In the opposite corner of the bar, away from him and Harley, Peter somehow heard the soft sounds of paper being ripped, a drop of something hitting the water, and a soft fizzing noise.

His head imperceptibly turned to watch as a rather handsome man handed a tall glass of something to a beautiful blonde accompanied by a taller, equally beautiful redhead. ‘Taller than me too,’ he thought bitterly. The blonde accepted the drink as it was slid over to her and was about to lift it when Peter quickly rushed over. He leaned over the counter and subtly pressed a finger down onto the base of the glass, which was widened, using his strength to keep the glass down. He made subtle eye contact with one of the bouncers next to the door, and the man got the message pretty quickly. He started toward the bar while Peter distracted the patrons.

“Sir!” His voice still sounded somewhat soft and high pitched over the bass of the music. “I think there’s someone outside looking for you! You match the description I think!” At the odd look given to him, he continued trying to convince him, “what’s your name?!” The man’s glassy eyes roamed over Peter’s face before answering,

“Trevor!” Peter squinted, trying to sell his lie.

“Last name?!”

“McConnelly!” Peter nodded and waved over the bouncer, who lumbered over.

“Is this the Trevor McConnelly the person outside is looking for?!” A quick once over of Trevor told Peter all he needed to know about him. “Wasn’t it his girlfriend?!” Without question, the bouncer nodded. Trevor suddenly paled and rushed past the bouncer, a man named Gus, who followed him. Peter shot him a thankful look and then turned back to the two women, glancing about them awkwardly.

“Sorry, but I wouldn’t drink this if I were you. He slipped something into it.” The women, shockingly, didn’t look surprised. They only glanced at each other before turning to him with twin smiles, an unheard conversion passing between their eyes that Peter didn’t know how to interpret.

“Thanks for the assist. I really appreciate it,” the blonde purred over the music. Peter could’ve sworn the grin on her face turned sharp for a split second before it flitted away and an almost natural smile came over her face once more. Almost being the key word. A shiver crawled up Peter’s back and the thrum of Spidey Sense became nearly haywire as he stared at the expressions of the two women. They were a lot more dangerous than they appeared.

“I don’t mean to condescend, and I’m sure you’re both able to protect yourselves, but please be careful. No one deserves that to happen to them,” he said as earnestly as possible, using his large brown eyes to his advantage. That seemed to soften at least the red head as her smile started to turn a little bit more gentle. The blonde seemed a bit thrown by his honesty, but quickly recovered, and her smile too seemed a little tender.

“I appreciate it! Not a lot of people can make that statement sound nice!” He gave them a small, genuine smile before turning back to the bar and continuing with other orders. Harley was suddenly gone from her spot, and Peter furrowed his brows. ‘I hope she’s okay,’ he thinks as he starts on another drink for another patron. He quickly shoots a text in between requests and then shuts off his phone. At one point, he’s done with all his requested drinks and takes a bit of a break. He turns around again only to see the two women from earlier still at the bar, conversing quietly. They’re quite perceptive, he notes because the instant his attention turns to them, their attention turns to him and they’re locked in a staring contest. He shyly wanders over to their spots, nearly missing the slight amusement that flashed between both of their eyes.

“What’s your name?” The redhead asks as he nears them. Peter smiles innocently, trying to keep posture loose as his Spidey Sense reacts again. His hands pull at each other, something he can’t help, and something that both women definitely notice.

“I’m Peter. Peter Parker. And you?” He’s as polite as possible. Always be polite to a customer, he remembers his manager saying. The redhead speaks again.

“I’m Barbara Gordon, but my friends call me Babs. You can too.” Peter nodded, his curly down hair bouncing as he did so. The women’s eyes crinkled as they smiled, their expressions now a hundred times more genuine than before.

“Stephanie Brown, Steph. But you can call me ‘Mine,’” the blonde winked with a small and suggestive smile. Peter’s cheeks turned red at this, his pale skin flushing. Barbara and Stephanie could tell too, as they chuckled a bit at his face and Peter turned his head away in embarrassment. When he turns back a few moments later, they’re still laughing, and he pouts a bit. ‘I never know how to respond to those comments,’ he thought. As their laughter subsided, they started asking more questions. With the danger at a small vibration at the back of his mind, he felt like he was in an interrogation.

“Have you worked here long?” Stephanie asked, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck and cleavage. Peter made a huge point to himself to look straight into her eyes or over her shoulder under the guise of watching someone else.

“Not really,” he replied, “Just over a month. I work at The Captain’s Bar too.” Both women perked up in interest.

“Really? We frequent but we’ve never seen you.”

“Well, I work in the mornings and afternoons on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. You guys should come by sometime when I work! It’s quieter then if you guys want to talk!” They smile at him and he feels the vibration of danger slowly slip away until it’s nearly nothing. Peter guesses he won them over.

“Sure thing! We’re free next Wednesday so expect us then!” Peter nods, his fluffy hair bouncing again. Sudden, dual beeps enter his ear canal as he hears both women’s phones go off at the same time. They glance at the texts and curse and Peter suddenly realizes he shouldn’t hear those sounds and he’s staring so he turns away, trying to find interest in something else.

Stephanie talks again, “do you have a napkin and a pen?” He searches around the bar for a pen and he grabs a napkin from the neat stack in the corner. He gives them to her and she quickly writes down two sets of numbers. “These are our numbers! Keep in touch!” With that, they’re gone. Peter takes the napkin delicately into his hand, observing Stephanie’s writing style before pocketing it carefully. He resumes his job, but it’s not five minutes later that he remembers, the thought irking him. Damn pet peeves.

“Fuck,” he curses quietly, “she took the damn pen!”

-----

It was a week later that he encountered Barbara and Stephanie again. In the meanwhile, he was added into a chat between the two women, their conversations ranging from everyday, talking-about-the-weather to absolutely ridiculous. Peter knew not to draw attention to himself but he reasoned that two more friends couldn't hurt. He rather enjoyed having more people to talk to, not that Harley was an unsatisfying friend to be around. Speaking of, he had found that Harley had left because her “puddin’” needed her. When he had called her later that night, concerned, the excuse rushed out of her lips, leaving him less than convinced, but he let it go.

She arrived at the barroom the next day with her usual smile and a bouncing ponytail and everything was back to normal. Eye-Patch came in more often, Peter noticed, leaving more and more hundred dollar bills on the counter. Peter had tried to get him to stop, only to receive a smug smile and a goodbye of ‘sweetheart,’ before he was on his way. He found that Deathstroke, Slade Wilson Peter recalled as his name, was a man of little words, but that didn’t stop him from making small conversation with Peter when he could. Harley thought that he wanted to impress Peter. Peter disagreed completely.

“I think he might be making fun of me.” Harley rolled her eyes.

“Not true. I know guys like him. He’s trying to impress you, Puppy. Don’t doubt me.” Peter, knowing that arguing with her would be fruitless, just shrugged.

“Whatever you say, Harls.”

Wednesday came, and just like they said, Stephanie and Barbara entered The Captain’s Bar near the end of his shift with dazzling smiles on their faces as they shifted the backpacks on their shoulders. Peter greeted them happily.

“Hey Babs! Hey Steph!” They greeted him, waving jovially and walked towards the bar, sitting on seats right in front of him. “How are you guys doing?” Now closer, he had more of a view to observe the two women. They had slight bags under their eyes and their skin was paler than usual. “Are you guys okay? You look tired,” Peter asked with genuine concern. Stephanie leaned forward onto her elbows, which she settled on the counter. Her neck dropped a bit and he could suddenly see the back of her collar, a small, nearly inconspicuous red stain on there. It was freshly made, the texture under the lighting still looking wet. It looked like blood, he realized. With that conclusion, the thrum of danger returned and another shiver was forced down his back. The women noticed.

Stephanie raised her eyebrow, “The question is, are you okay?” Babs’ look was no less concerned. Peter nodded shakily.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. It’s just, you got a little bit of blood on the back of your shirt. Are you hurt? Do you need first aid?” The blonde’s eyes widened a bit before her small hand clutched the back of her collar, Peter still looking at her in worry. Barbara’s jaw clenched and she plastered a fake smile onto her face.

“Steph’s fine, she just had a bit of a rough night. We’re both okay, so you don’t have to worry Peter.” He nodded reluctantly, still worried but content to take them at their word.

“Then what can I get you guys?” They rattled off their drinks and he rushed to make them, vaguely aware of the door opening to let another customer in. It wasn’t until he slid the girls’ drinks over to them did he realize that Slade had walked in. The one eyed man grinned predatorily at him before sitting down at the nearest end of the bar. Peter muttered a “be right back” to Babs and Steph before wandering over to the mercenary.

“Hey Slade.”

“Sweetheart,” the older man rumbled his greeting.

“The usual?” A short nod from the man sent Peter on his way to making an old fashioned drink for him. As he gave the man his requested beverage, Slade pointed over to the two women who were conversing softly with themselves, his one eye narrowed.

“Those two your friends?” Peter glanced at Babs and Steph and looked back at Slade, confused.

“Yeah? I mean we met like a week ago, but I guess you could call us that. Why?” Another body slumped into the chair next to Slade, slurring an order. Slade took that as a distraction for Peter and stood up.

“Because you have interesting taste in people, sweetheart.” He sauntered towards the women, his shoulders drawn tighter than Peter’s ever seen them. He watches Slade interact with the two women, watches their reactions to each other. He notices that, oddly enough, Slade is the one in the submissive position, while Stephanie and Barbara are dominant, despite their dispositions. Slade was stiff, in a combative stance while the other two were completely open, smirking and tilting their heads up at the older man. A hand snapping in front of his face brought Peter out of his thoughts.

“Hey, twink!” The man who slumped next to Slade sneered up at Peter from his position over the counter, “I told you to get me a fuckin’ drink,” he slurred loudly enough to catch the attention of those nearby. Slade, Steph and Babs turn their attention towards them.

“I’m right on it, Mr. Stanley,” Peter said politely, his hands starting to sweat, “can you repeat your order again?” The man squinted up at him for a moment, straightened up in this seat, lifted his hand and slapped Peter straight across the face. Being Spider Man, he saw it coming straight away, but had the forethought to remember not to draw much attention to himself. He tried to make it seem like the hit actually affected him a bit. So he stumbled off to the side, falling down in the process and watched as Slade stormed over to the man and proceeded to punch the drunk, living daylights out of the man. Steph and Babs went to the side of the bar where the small door separating the bar and the rest of the room was and rushed over to Peter, helping to straighten him up.

“You good Petey?” Babs voice was soft as if afraid he would spook like a cornered animal. He nodded distractedly, focusing on Slade who was now shaking the drunk man. He was knocked out instantly by the punch. He pushed himself up, looking at the other two who stood up with him. Slade noticed movement in his peripheral vision, his gaze snapping over to Peter in an instant.

“You okay, sweetheart?” The look of Peter’s reddened cheek made Slade clench his teeth.

“I’m fine, Slade,” he replied before pointing at the man that was limp in the mercenary’s arms, “let him go.” Slade blinked and looked at the man, sneering and releasing him, letting him hit the floor with a loud thump.

“With pleasure,” he smirked as Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 'Typical Slade,' Peter thought. Only God knows how many fights that man gets into.

“Just,” Peter leaned over the counter and took note of the unconscious male, his eye well on its way to swelling to the size of a golf ball, “wait here while I go get my manager.” The brown haired boy sighed in suffering as he headed toward the back of the bar to get his manager who would no doubt fire him soon for this.

‘Fucking Parker Luck,’ he thought bitterly.

Unawares to Peter, Stephanie and Barbara joined Slade in watching over the knocked out patron, looking down at him as if he were scum underneath their shoes. Stephanie glanced at Slade, who, even though he wasn’t looking at her, knew that she required his attention. Fully aware that he was listening, Steph said,

“I assume that you won’t struggle to say yes to this mission?” He knew exactly what she was talking about.

“No problems here, blondie. I’ll even take this case pro bono if I get first shot at him.” Slade grinned at the blonde, a ruthless intent behind his expression. Steph, who mirrored this, then turned to Babs to gage her reaction.

“Count me in,” she murmured, her tone soft but firm. She was quite disgusted by the display that negatively affected their new favorite bartender, “but you do know Dick and Tim are gonna want to know why we’re doing this.” Slade stilled at the mention of his ex, and whether or not the two women noticed it, they didn’t comment. Instead, Steph hummed.

“That may be, but I think they’ll quite like Petey.” The blonde sent Babs a knowing smirk, which Babs rolled her eyes at. Secretly, however, she agreed with her friend.

‘Yeah,’ she thought as Peter came back out, his fluffy brown hair bouncing with every step and his doe brown eyes wide, ‘they’ll definitely like him. A lot.’

Previous: Synopsis 

Next: Part 2 

On How Being Things Come Into Being

It started with a lie and an orange. Not like that was their intention, but no one chooses how or when they were going to be born. Person A sketched in the inner peel, pulling on the sack to try and free themself from the juices. It was a constant fight, night after night, kicking, pulling, struggling to break free.

Person A would hear voices sometimes, speaking in a language that Person A never remembered learning but had complete knowledge of. Snickers and whispers of knowledge slipped into their head. That’s how they came about their name: Person A. It was repeated over and over, until a need came for them to find a place for it.

A name:....

The voice that sang hymns to them sounded bitter, old, and tired. “Beware of humans my little one. They gobble up Fae in their fruit.” 

Person A tried to match a face to it. The voice and their new title. But often there were pounding sounds and weird smells drifting their subconscious away.

A title: Fae.

All the impulses were alien, pressure pushed against their flesh. Person A was drowning but breathing perfectly fine as cold liquid poured in and out of their throat. Their skin, their muscles, and their bones were unfamiliar. Person A wanted to slip out of them. The more they tried to do so, by pulling and kicking, the more they realized how helpless they were.

Person A let out a soundless scream. The juices encasing them entering every inch of their body—they were their blood forming them, coursing through their veins.

“A little elementalist.” A voice echoed. “Surviving will be much more difficult since you can’t shape shift. Find a nice human and form a deal until the time is right to strike.”

There were no words of comfort. No feeling of safety or solitude. Person A was just a body swaddled in darkness. The only melody to keep them company was the steady hum of hymns, as constant as their beating heart.

Time was as non-existent as themself.

Until a voice filled their ears...a new one. It sounded nasally and choppy.

Person A started to shake. No. The area around them started to shake. Sacks of juice exploded and for the first time air hit their lungs at the glimpse of light.

That had to be light. Shining so bright over messy bangs and a knitted hat. Person A reached out to feel the surface—Earth? It kind of looked like a tongue. The pink object lifted from a set of... teeth? Could they call those flat white objects teeth? How could anyone possibly eat with those?

“Oh Jesus!” Person A screamed. The loudness of their own voice shocked himself, as fear rattled their brain.

Bright lights were quickly replaced with the red that lined the inside of the human’s mouth. The tongue bucked and twisted under them. Person A whined at being forcefully turned until they were laying down, facing what looked like a hanging ball over a drop of death.

Person A’s hands trembled as they struggled to stand on the squishy surface. Walking? Their feet moved like they did the action before, gliding over the slick patches and rough bumps. Person A dodged the loud snapping chompers, by slipping between a large gap.

Everything was shaking. This time Person A was sure, they were shaking. There was pressure on their back. Person A slid forward and felt something slick grip their feet. Was the human tasting them?

“No. Ngh...No.” Person A gasped. their body was unfamiliar with being touched like that, each twist pressed them more against the rippling walls. “Open up!” Person A reached forward to grab hold on a weird wire connecting all of the human’s teeth together.

Another wave of food entered the human’s mouth and Person A heard a heart aching sound one that sounded so familiar—A silent scream.

Was the human sad? Person A watched the orange colored peel they'd been trapped in fall to its death. Had the human been locked away and was just now experiencing freedom only to have it all ripped away from them? 

“You don’t have to cry!” Person A shouted, a gust of wind filled up the human’s cheeks. Wetness soaked their clothes and ruined their grip. Person A tumbled back down only to land on a surface that was more cold and tingly than before.

The cavern opened up to allow light to warm Person A’s body once more as two fingers pinched their shoulders and lifted them upwards.

“What the fuck?”

Person A swallowed nervously at the sight of two large eyes staring down at them. That was a human? Person A had sounded so sad but their expression was empty.

“Is this some sick joke? What the fuck were you doing in my orange?”

Person A held a trembling hand out. Wasn’t that how humans introduced themselves?

The human slapped a hand to their head. “I have a fucking brain freeze. Great. This day can’t get any better!” A sob escaped. “Fuck it!”

Person A felt their position shift like they were going to be thrown to the ground in an angry fit. “Wait!” Their body fell victim to gravity for about 3 seconds, before two hands caught them in a safety net.

“You can ta—You're a real person?”

“No.”

“Fuck it. Person C! Stop leaving your dumb Polly Pocket dolls everywhere. One got in my orange and I’m trying to find my guinea pig!”

“Shut up, Person B! I didn’t leave my dolls over there! And Stripe ran away because you’re a bad owner!” Another voice yelled back.

Person A tried to take in their surroundings: larger couch, big tv, small table. New sounds and words buzzed through their ears and the hymns he used to match meaning too. There was a human… a lot of humans in one place. A house. Person B? Their eyes shifted to see the giant holding them.

It made their chest hurt. So much sadness was coming from the human. Person A could feel every part of Person B silently screaming.

“Pet?” Person A asked.

Person B’s eyebrows knitted together in fear and horror.

Wait. How did Person A know everything Person B felt? How did they feel their fear and horror?

“How do you know about my guinea pig? Are you some evolved form of human from the future?” Person B rubbed their face against their jacket sleeve, clearing tears and snot.

“I’m a fae.” Person A wiped the slobbery from their face. “At least I think I am. You almost ate me!”

“Your fault for being in my orange.” Person B inhaled the scent of citrus. “You even smell good. You sure you weren’t trying to be eaten?” Person A brought Person A closer to their face to observe the tiny creature.

Person A twitched in Person B’s hand and shook their head.

“I’m looking for my pet guinea pig. Have you seen him?”

Person A shook their head some more and Person B's sorrow moved through them like a wave.

“Okay.” Person B lowered Person A to rest on the arm of the sofa. “I have to check outside again.”

“Hey!” Person A watched Person B walk away. Person A almost gawked. That was it? Person A expected more of a reaction. Maybe some kind of disbelief? “You can’t leave me here! What if someone crushes me?”

“Not my problem. Go back home.”

“Gah! You ate my home!”

“That’s a damn shame. Guess life is rough when you’re barely 3 inches tall.” Person B took a hand and reached for the light, then they saw the light. Person B jerked their hand back from the living room light switch and stumbled back from the shock of electricity. “What the—?”

“Magic.” Person A blinked and a sharp icicle appeared to form in front of them. “Eating a fae’s home is worst than walking into a fae circle. It is worthy of the ultimate form of punishment.” Person A was bluffing—but Person B was clinging tightly to every word. “For not eating me, I’m willing to make a deal.”

“A deal?” Person B sniffled, their eyes flickering with an unnameable emotion.

Blood and Water

Moonlight winked on the babbling waters, its impression a mere reflection of a sheet of beaten silver as it carried down the winding rivers end. As it waded the darkened parts of the liquid resembled black glass only to be tainted by a thin streak of crimson in the wake of delving hands yearning to become clean. From there the Ritualist sat in crouch, the long train of her cloak splayed out elegantly at her flank as she hunched over the trickling water cleansing her hands of the vitriol caked among them. Across the lake Redridge stood proudly. The candles resting within the windows indicated the majority of the little town was still awake and that the tavern was still home to the weary traveler given the gust of merriment that broke across the lake. Ottavia’s attention lingered to the idle stance of the Stormwind guards littered randomly about the pocket of land, more important those who inhabited the stone wrought bridge.

The clean wick of her thumb swiped at the corner of her mouth as she intently stared across the way for at her flank was quiet the scene. A carcass of a lamb, its parchment white wool stained bloodied lay on its flank with its ribcage splayed open in grand display with each stretch of rib dutifully swathed with bright purple string till the ‘cats-cradle’ weave intertwined with the other selection of bone. Supported within the interlace of string was that of the lambs heart, bloodied and abundantly pure surrounded by an array of burning embers. How they managed to not sear the string was an anomaly all on its own. Surrounding the precious corps lain another assortment of unmentionables. The entrails of the aforementioned creature were filled with rocks and devotedly arranged around it, several used candles joined the assortment in various stance while the lingering scent of rosewood filled the air.

“How long is this going to take, Ritualist?” The annoyed query arose from her flank several paces away from the lamb’s corpse. There a stocky man found purchase against the trunk of a tree, high height not but a foot taller than that of Ottavia’s. His face was gruff and laden with the age he so desperately tried to deny, the weight was perpetually set behind his eyes and it showed by the manner of crow’s feet clinging to the corners of his hues. There was a distinctive lack of his blonde hair and whatever vestiges he managed to keep were slicked back by an abundance of grease. He was a dirty sort, leathered attire weathered down to a disgusting sun stain, the shirt he wore beneath his vest was tapered at the sleeves and elbows, worn through time and perpetual use. Even the soles of his boots were loose and by their make one could discern he’d attempted to glue them back together at some point. Erol spared a cursory glance to the bloodied mess at his right, his less than humble features wrinkling with disgust. “They said you were of antiquated means but I hadn’t expected something like this.” The latter was pointed directed to the heart and entrails. With a low grunt filtering from the center of his chest he pushed himself from his pinion and waded toward the scene.  “How are those strings not burning?” He queried with a turn of her tongue fitting the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. 

Flicking her wrist the Ritualist dispelled several droplets of water and offered not a look over her shoulder toward the man for her attention had still be deadest across the lake.

“Magick.” She intoned noncommittally as her mile long stare narrowed ever so slightly upon a particular waver of light emanating from one of the Inn’s windows. Among its glossy panes thrummed a pink hue.

“Magicks, eh?” Erol chuckled a note from the hearth of his throat. “So, what’s its purpose then, eyah? Hired ya ta curse someone. This part of the process?”  One of the strings suddenly broke with an audible snap allowing the embers to shift just so till their potency hissed and crackled against the bloodied heart. There, the smell of cooking meat filled within the air.

“Mm? Oh, yes.” Ottavia lifted herself from her crouch and brushed the leathered palms of her hands down the front of her attire. “Everything has to be meticulous for you see magick is not just an art for those who want wield it. There’s a matter of coherency, adaptation, and drive. Not everyone can do what it is I do for most don’t have the stomach for it.” Erol scoffed derisively as her straightened his back to peer toward the approaching woman. With a languid gesture he indicated the gutted sheep. “Any butcher can do this, lass. Should I go to the one in Stormwind and ask him to curse my wife, too?” The two shared in laughter, one earnest the other feigned as another piece of string was burned free. “Tell me, Ser. Is it true that you’re in accordance with the Sullied and Uncured?” The latter referred to a band of men and women of nefarious intents. Though the world was laden with the sort this particular bunch was known to be just as unapologetic as the Ritualist albeit one did not threaten the livelihood of the other. Erol blinked with surprise and eased a step back away from the woman who in turn was but a pace or two apart from him. He swallowed nervously and nodded his head. “Yeah, but what’s that have to do with what’s happening here.”  Her rejoinder was nothing short of an unfriendly smile. Another piece of the tether snapped, causing the idle crackle of ember striking against ember to emanate aside them with the added flare of rising sparks. “ ‘Aboard the Siren’s Song there are crew and captain---one in particular a raven haired lass with an ass I’d like to shove my face ‘tween.’ I believe is what you and your associates cackled on about last week within that very tavern?” That pink light within the window beamed all the more bright. “Given that you had met her once before, hm?” Erol fumbled back, sputtering nonsense. “What’s that have to do with this, woman?” 

“Everything.” Ottavia hissed. With an unceremonious grip the sharp impression of her claws dug within the man’s throat. “I believe I overheard mentioning of raping and killing her? Along with the others on the ship? Nothing easier than robbing a new sea lover, was it? Though I don’t condone her search for crew within the slums of Borealus I must admit her resolve layers over mine.”

Another string loosened, causing the embers to tumble slightly more against the cooking heart of the lamb. Erol continued to sputter, his grey eyes widening with disbelief as his feeble mind sought to find the connection, an assumption the Ritualist was all too quick to catch.

“Look into my eyes for they will undoubtedly look familiar.” She coaxed, drawing the man closer to her face for him to garner a more appropriate look. By the way his mouth gaped and his hands fumbled at his waist for his pistol he garnered exactly who she was. Quickly, Ottavia’s attention dropped down to the pinion of his hand at the handle of his gun. “Only bare your teeth if you’re willing to get blood on them.” She encouraged. “For I so do love the taste of copper on mine.”

Alas, she’d never truly feel the hot wash of Erol’s lifeblood filling her mouth for the finality of her ritual came by means of those strings finally burning through. The audible clack of embers tumbling within the chest cavity filled the ether; a sudden burst of flame embarking within the animal’s carcass till it was lit aflame by a heady pink light.

“You will serve as an example.  Thank you for all you’ve offered me.” The monotonous lilt fled from the dark shape of her mouth. The last vision he’d witness was that of the white of her eyes bleeding to black with the bright verdant mark of her iris drawing a glow as the splay of her mouth peeled into a sharp toothed rictus.

A wet slosh filled their locale as those dangerous fingers gripped tightly only to jerk the man forward in order to thoroughly rip his jugular clear from his throat. He dropped, dead weight to the ground with a puff of dust elapsing from his corpse. He gargled and convulsed.

“Oh?” A cursory glance was afforded down to him as she turned her wrist to drop the piece of bloodied flesh within her hand to the ground. Slowly she turned, the heavy train of her cloak following in tandem as she stepped over him, one foot on either side of his body before she eased down into a languid crouch.

“Usually I’m very good with ensuring my motives end in finality. I sincerely apologize for this inconvenience. This must be terribly uncomfortable for you.” Ottavia set a bloodied hand beneath his chin while the other clasped the top of his skull. Erol gargled, his heavy and staggered breaths puffing against leaf and bloodied grass. The Ritualist leaned over and muttered near the shell of his ear. “I’ll be certain to get it right this time.” With that an audible crack resounded about their meager clearing followed by a wild series of shifting and shattering bone and sinew as she made point in violently peeling the man’s head from his shoulders. It took two fervent tugs before it finally bent to her will oozing blood and other wet gooey substances from the place where his head should rest.

Hoisting his head from the meager selection of hair he happened to hold she peered toward the contorted agony forever laden to his countenance till rot and decay took over. “Mm. Yes, this will serve well enough.” --- In a weeks’ time a lovely parcel wrapped in lavish silks and scented with lavender arrived at the den of the Sullied and Uncured. Within it Erol’s head lie inside among a cushion of satin with a single folded sheet of parchment which read: “Beware the hearts which thrum in tandem for their siren’s song will see you well within abandon. -Ritualist.” -- Mentions: @blessed-by-pride​ @hakanbelgrave​ 

Rude Awakening Chapter 9

Okay! Here's Chapter 9! Do be warned this has what will probably be the goriest scene in the entire fic. Also some characters I was looking forward to introducing! Chapter 9: Teenage Wasteland

It was dark. The clouds rarely let the sun through. It had been this way for years, as had the Risen shambling across the landscape. Somewhere in the ruins of Yilissitol, a small group of these Risen advanced toward what looked to be an enticing target. For their efforts, they were slashed clean in half, the insects that made them move fleeing into the dirt. The one that had done the deed sighed and started moving on. "...Valentina? Is that really you?" Palkia paused. Then turned around. It was Tiki, staring her down. "...Tiki." Palkia said hollowly. "It's been a while." "Yes... But you! You seem to be the only survivor of the Shepherds I could find..." "I'm sure there are... Others..." "I need you, Valentia." "What for?" "Mommy?" said a voice. "Are the Risen gone?" A small child peeked out from behind a brick wall. This seemed to stir up some actual emotion in Palkia. "Is... Is that...?" Tiki sighed. "I... I've decided to take on Grima myself. With my Divine Dragon power I may be the only one who stands a chance. But while I'm gone... and... just in case... I need someone to watch over Morgan. And as far as I know you're the only one I trust left." "You... You can't," said Palkia, stammering. "Taing on Grima, it's suicide, I-" "Valentina, please!" said Tiki. "You're my only hope... You're... her only hope..." Palkia looked between Tiki and Morgan a few times before sighing and nodding. "I'll... Take care of her." "Thank you..." said Tiki. She bent down to adress Morgan. "Sweetie? I'm going to see your father so we can stop the evil dragon." She started tearing up. "Miss... Miss Valentia is going to take good care of you and protect you from Risen until I get back, okay?" "Okay mommy, " said Morgan. She headed over to Palkia. Tiki looked over at Palkia, tears still in her eyes. "...Goodbye." And in an instant, she was gone. Palkia stared numbly in the direction she went for a good few seconds before noticing the child clutching to her leg and promptly panicking. "Oh no... This was a mistake, a huge mistake..." She scooped up Morgan and rushed after Tiki, but stopped when she realized she had no clue where Tiki went. "Not good... If I knew where she was I could just warp there but..." She noticed Morgan clinging very tightly to her chest, bit her tongue, and started navigating the city on foot. She searched every nook and cranny, behind every wall and broken building, even blasted a few Risen lurking in the depths. Still no sign of her. Palkia was starting to get irritated before hearing a loud roar not too far in the distance. "Grima... She's going for Grima!" She looked at Morgan, who by this point was eyeing her oddly. "Brace yourself kid." She immediately warped within view of but a safe distance away from the massive dragon. And realized her mistake as she heard a scream. And saw Grima's jaws crunching down on the flesh and bones of a much smaller dragon, pieces either falling away or being swallowed whole. Morgan screamed. Palkia screamed. --------------- S E V E R A L Y E A R S L A T E R ------------------- Dialga sighed as his time powers vaporized yet more Risen. It seemed he encountered five or seven of them every five feet, and no matter how many even his powers eliminated more kept coming. He turned to Giratina and Hoopa, who were rummaging through a hut. "Anything?" "No sign of life dude," said Giratina. ~Much less any of the Shepherds. Or... Her.~ said Hoopa. Dialga sighed again. They'd found plenty of apocalyptic logs and ruins of old homes, but it'd been literal years since they'd seen any surviving Shepherds aside from the three they rescued. And about as many years since they'd seen Palkia. "Let's... just... go back to the bunker." ------------- "M-Mom?" "Yes Yarne?" said Panne. She turned to another Taguel, one with a nervous look and a shock of dirty blonde hair in his otherwise dark brown locks. "They've taken a while to come back..." "They'll be all right. Dialga, Giratina, and Hoopa can handle Risen better than most of us." "I s-sure hope so because-" Yarne yelped as the door opened and sighed in relief as Dialga, Giratina, and Hoopa entered. Wuzzles perked up from the corner he was sleeping in. "Told you," said Panne. "No sign of them," said Dialga. "As usual." "You know, big scary zombie apocalypse is totally my aesthetic, but this is still getting kind of frustrating," said Gratina. ~Should we ask Virion and Libra if they saw anything?~ said Hoopa. "You can," said Panne. "Even in the end of the world I'm still not asking Virion for anything." "Uh, I'll go then," said Yarne. The other three nodded, and they headed to another room in the bunker. Libra was taking notes in a journal while Virion was fidgeting nervously while also occasionally glancing at Libra and blushing, which stopped when he realized there were other people in the room. ~You guys see anything?~ said Hoopa "You saw nothi-" Virion started to say. "We didn't find anyone in our search, no," said Libra. "...Yes that." Libra gave Virion a look. Virion blushed harder. ~Great.~ said Hoopa. ~Now what?~ "My hand has been forced," said Dialga. "I have to find Naga again." "She's been elusive since Grima reawakened, Not even answering my prayers," said Libra. "I know. But she's our only shot at finding everyone else." "Good luck bro," said Giratina. "We'll hold the line here," said Hoopa. "Wait, r-really?" said Yarne. "What if they like, ambush us while he's gone?" "I can take care of it, kid," said Giratina. ~Hey! Don't leave me out!~ said Hoopa. An insulted bear roar came from Panne's section of the bunker. "...I guess we'll be fine?" said Yarne. "Mom's here too..." "And with that I'm going," said Dialga. And so he exited the bunker, turned into his rabbit form, then zoomed off. ------------- Eventually Dialga reached Naga's lair. No sign of her. Dialga called out. "Naga. It's been a while. We need to talk." Silence. Then, slowly, Naga's figure emerged. "Dialga. Good to see you again. Especially in a time like this." "Same to you. But I need help." He pawed the ground with a bunny paw. "We're looking for survivors among the Shepherds, but of all the ones we've found none were affiliated. Also... My sister, Palkia. She's missing." "Your sister? This is concerning..." "Indeed. She just... Disappeared one day when we were looking for survivors. But the Risen or Grima couldn't have gotten her. Palkia and I are like two sides of the same coin metaphysically; I would have felt it. She's... Distant, but she's there." Naga frowned, then soon after her face lit up. "In that case... Perhaps I can use you to locate her." Dialga's face also lit up. "Please do." Naga reached over and placed a hand on Dialga's head, closing her eyes. All was still. Then she opened her eyes, which glowed briefly, before she spoke. "I found her." "Where?" "The Outrealm Gate, a place able to access other worlds much like you and your siblings can. She's in a dimension there. It's been barely functional since Grima's rise but your powers should jumpstart it. Will it, and you will find her. I also sensed a presence tied to both me and Grima, so keep an eye out for that." "Thank you," said Dialga. He paused. "Why hasn't Grima gone after you? Or you him?" "Grima and I's powers are directly opposed in a strange way. He cannot destroy me, nor I him. So... He's focused on destroying everything I care about instead." "...I see. I will protect what you have left, then." "Thank you. It means so much to me." "I must find Palkia to bring that to fruition, however. So I have to be off." "Farewell, Dialga. Good luck." And they went their separate ways. --------- At the bunker, a table had been decorated with a map and minifigures. Giratina sat at the head behind a screen while the others sat at the sides. "Okay," said Giratina. "The dire Arcanine pack seems wary, but not yet hostile. Same with the orcs, who keep them as pets. The orc general is eyeing you oddly." "We try diplomacy." said Panne. "They are not man-spawn, they are worthy." ~I can offer them goods!~ said Hoopa. "We can try just slowly backing away..." said Yarne. Wuzzles simply growled and pawed at his paladin figure. "We can show them the way of Zekrom," said Libra. "Or-" "I'm rolling to seduce the orc captain!" said Virion. "Roll please," said Giratina. Virion did so. The twenty-sided die landed on a one as everyone groaned. "What?!" Virion said. "These are my lucky dice!" "The orc general is supremely offended at your terrible attempt at flirting and orders the other orcs and dire Arcanine to attack," said Giratina. "Roll initiative." Everyone sighed and prepared to roll when there was a noise at the door. Yarne yelped and scooched back, while everyone else stood at attention. "Is that a Risen?" said Virion. "Sounds and feels... Off for one." said Libra. "Regardless, we must proceed with caution," said Panne. ~So, what's our plan?~ said Hoopa. ~Pounce on it when they think we're not there? Wait until it leaves? Offer it cookies?~ "I'll get it," said Giratina. To everyone's surprise he simply got up and opened the door. He was met by a sword to the face. Said sword was held by not a Risen but a girl, with dark blue hair and eyes and a blue outfit. Giratina raised an eyebrow. "Dudette, if you're a zombie apocalypse survivor you probably have better things to do than interrupt my Dungeons And Druddigon session." "You... You look familiar." said the girl. "Were you a friend of my father's?" "...Lucina?" said Yarne from inside. "...Yarne?" said Lucina back. "Lucina? Chrom's daughter? That's you?" said Panne. "Well this is certainly fortuitous," said Libra. "How'd she find us?" said Virion. ~Hey there Lucina! We could use the help!~ said Hoopa. Lucina turned to respond to Virion when she heard and saw Hoopa, who was in his Confined form, and stared. "What are you?" ~Er, I'm a dijin from another world is all I'll say.~ "...At least you're not a Risen then." ~Hey!~ "So, Lucina, what brings you to our humble... Abode?" said Virion. "I was looking for Yarne, actually." "Huh? M-me? Why?" "I'm organizing a resistance! Of children of the former Shepherds. You were one of only two not accounted for." "Dudette, you know who would be all over that? My sister Palkia," said Giratina. "Will she be able to help?" said Lucina. ~Theoretically,~ said Hoopa. ~Her other brother Dialga is looking for her right now.~ He put a hand to his chin. ~I wonder how he's doing...~ ----------------------- Dialga, in dragon form was standing before the Outrealm Gate. Or at least what's left of it. Bits and pieces were strewn everywhere and the gate was barely still standing. Dialga sighed. His eyes glowed. The Outrealm Gate slowly but surely repaired itself. And he focused his mind on Palkia and entered. When he did he found a sunny forest far different from the one he left behind. Pools of water were everywhere. But it was silent. Dialga looked around and stepped carefully through the wood. Then he heard a roar. He turned his head and was met with flaming breath to the face. When his vision cleared he saw a small Manakete dragon hovering before him, fangs bared. He stared, as this Manakete had traits of both Naga and Grima's dragon forms. ~Who are you? Where is my sister?~ ~This is me and aunt Palkia's turf! Leave now!~ ~That answers part of my question. Can you show me her? I mean no harm.~ ~Are you sure?~ ~Positive.~ ~Aw, OK. You seem fun to mess with. It gets boring around here.~ The dragon landed and shrunk down, revealing her to be a young teenage girl with pointy ears and short, light green hair, with simple peasant clothes. She pocketed a small blue stone and looked up at Dialga. "Your dragon form is cool. Not as cool as mine but then again what is?" ~Keep telling yourself that kid. Where's Palkia?~ "Say please!" Dialga sighed. ~Take me to my sister please.~ The girl snickered."Sure thing! I just wanted to make you squirm." ~Mission successful.~ The girl snickered again and started leading Dialga off. "So, I guess you're that uncle Dialga aunt Palkia keeps mentioning." ~Yes, I am.~ "I'm Morgan! It's actually pretty great to see you. There's no one else here but me and aunt Palkia. And a few wild guinea pigs in the woods, I guess. They're cute!" ~I guess.~ Eventually, Dialga and Morgan reached a rift in space in the middle of the forest. "That's her sulking spot!" said Morgan. "She goes in there a lot." ~Palkia!~ said Dialga. ~Palkia I know you're in there!~ Silence.Then the rift slowly widened and Palkia, in dragon form, stepped out. ~How did you find me?~ ~Naga helped. What are you doing here?~ ~...I failed. The Shepherds died because of me. I need to be alone with Morgan.~ ~No you don't.~ "We're safe in here though!" said Morgan. "Safe from... G-Grima. Grima killed my parents..." ~See? We're better off here,~ said Palkia. ~No you're not,~ said Dialga. ~We still need you. There are still survivors. You can help.~ ~No I can't. I'll... I'll just screw up everything again.~ ~I'll help you. We can do this. We're going to win this time.~ ~Grima is as powerful as we are. We can't.~ ~Grima is nothing compared to us. Please sister. We need your help. There's still hope.~ Palkia paused. She thought deeply to herself before replying, ~...Morgan, we're going.~ "Well, you heard her! Looks like we're staying safe in he- huh?" ~Dialga's right. I can't hide from everything forever. We can't.~ "But Grima-" ~We'll find a way to deal with him. Just stick with me, okay?~ Morgan thought to herself, then shrugged. "Okay then! It was getting pretty boring in here anyway." Dialga smiled despite himself, and the three headed out. -------------- When the three got back to the bunker, Dialga and Palkia back in their disguises, Dialga opened the door, only to be greeted by Lucina. "More of you?" said Lucina. She noticed Morgan. "...You found Morgan!" "Lucina?" said Morgan. "Is that really you?" "Yo, Palkia!" said Giratina. "You're back!" Palkia didn't really listen. She just stared at Lucina intently before breaking into a wide grin. "Oh dear, now this makes things interesting..." ~Something up?~ said Hoopa. "Lucina, I know exactly who you are," said Palkia, "And you give me hope I haven't had in years!" "...I do?" said Lucina. "I know you were kind of a friend of my father's but..." "What's she on to now?" said Virion. "Shh, I'll get to it," said Palkia." "Lucina, what are you here for?" "I'm organizing a resistance of the children of the Shepherds," said Lucina. "Morgan was the last one I needed." "Okay then! Could you take us to your base?" "This bunker's kind of cramped anyway." said Libra. "I will!" said Lucina. "We've probably got a long way..." said Yarne. "Be strong," said Panne. "We have good company. And Virion, I guess." "Hey!" said Virion. ~What do you have planned anyway?~ said Dialga privately to Palkia. ~I know exactly what's going on here,~ said Palkia, ~And instead of derailing it I'm helping it along!~ --------------- Lucina opened the door to an old cathedral, in surprisingly good shape. Inside were several teenagers and young adults, going about various activities, when they all turned to notice their visitors. "...Fathers?" said a young girl with pointed ears in the direction of Virion and Libra. "Father, father, is that you?" said another girl with short hair and a spear. "...Nah? Noire? You're alive?" said Virion. "It's... Been so long..." said Libra. "I thought you two died shortly after your mothers..." The four shared an embrace as a woman in thick armor with blue hair and a young man in yellow with orange hair approached the others. "Sister! You're back! And you found Yarne and Morgan!" "Indeed, Kijelle." said Lucina. "Now we can begin plans to-" "Greetings, travellers!: said the man in yellow. "The mighty Owain Dark beseeches you to look around and take in the sights! Especially his muscular ar-" "Owain," said Lucina, "What did I tell you about showing off to new survivors? You'll scare them off." "I cannot help myself! No more than I can help my sword hand twitching - Oh no.There it goes again!" Lucina rolled her eyes and sighed. "Ignore him. Yarne, Morgan, make yourselves at home." The two promptly headed in to do so, while Lucina turned to Palkia. "Now... You said you thought you could help?" Palkia rubbed her hands together. "Well..." She thought a bit. "Let's exchange some ideas. Relying on my own with just a bit of guidance from the others has been too costly; we're all going to have to work together for real on this one." ***

Souls of Glass Chapter 7

And now we begin to get into a more depressed side of Lost QwQ My poor bb.

Lost is mine and Undervirus belongs to @jeyawue

Chapter 7

Lost slowly opened his eyes, yawning as the sun hit his face. "Ngh......" He slowly sat up, wincing at the pain in his back. Shit....ow... He looked around the small hotel room, confused for a brief moment before the memories of last night flooded back into him. Xans....holy shit.... He blushed darkly and looked around for the albino, but he didn't see or hear him. "Xans? You there?"

Hearing nothing, Lost slowly got up, rubbing his arms and looking down at the floor. His tattered shirt and pants laid there, and his face turned even redder. "I...I can't believe we did that...." He looked at his arms and finally noticed he was wearing Xans's black jacket. "Why am I wearing this?" The jacket was a little baggy on his slightly thinner frame and he fiddled a bit with the leather strings. It's comfy....warm.... He inhaled, then let out a soft sigh. Smells like him too....like... He frowned a little. No. Nope. Not going there.

He took the jacket off and went to stand, only to have pain go up his spine. He hissed and sat back down. "Ow...shit...that hurt...." After taking a few moments, he stood again and made his way to the bathroom. After taking a quick, hot shower, he felt more refreshed and dried his black hair. "Ugh....what a night..."

"I will say so." Lost's red eye glowed and he spun around, holding his scythe out at the figure behind him. "Easy there Lost......I am not going to hurt you." Lost narrowed his eyes. A tall, purple monster stood before him, wearing clothes he recognized. White eyes looked down at him, sharp horns on his head. A small flower was coiled around him and Lost sneered at it. "Sorry to startle you."

"Perhaps you could've fucking knocked." He growled, still holding his weapon. Blood leaked through his fingers and dripped onto the tile floor. "Who the fuck are you? You're clearly one of the viruses."

"Ah, my name is Vasriel. I do not live with the others." He said and Lost backed up slightly.

"Oi, don't forget me, jack asssssssssssss...." The flower loomed behind Vasriel. "The name's Vlowey......bessssssssssst not forget it!"

"I don't give two shits who either of you are. Get the fuck out of here." Lost snapped. These two...they feel different from the others. Stronger....and I can sense the malice in them. Lost frowned.

"Now that is quite rude." Vasriel smirked as he moved closer. Vlowey raised vines in the air, wrapping them around Vasriel's arms gently. "And all we wanted to do was give some advice."

"Right, like I'll believe that shit." Lost spat. He made to brush past Vasriel, but the virus goat monster easily pushed him back into the bathroom. "Get the fuck out of my way."

"Why?" Vasriel smirked. "You could just kill us. I mean....your LV is quite high.....25, isn't it?" Lost's fingers twitched and he looked down. "Are we wrong?"

".....What the hell do you want?" Lost growled, glowing eyes hidden by his bangs.

"Like I said...to give some advice." He chuckled. "You truly think so badly of us?"

"I don't know you." Lost countered.

"Just like how everyone else doesn't know you? The real you?" Lost paled as Vasriel held a screen out. It showed him killing countless people, their screams echoing in his mind. "The you that you're so desperate to hide? The you that kills without mercy?" He watched as his scythe cut through people, sometimes cleanly, other times more bloody. His blasters fired and incinerated flesh from bone, dusting monsters of all sizes.

"I....I'm not like that anymore..." Lost shook his head, looking off to the side. "I haven't been in a while....I..."

"You've changed. That's what you think, isn't it?" Vasriel smirked as Lost's weapon finally vanished. "But it isn't true...and you know that." He smirked as Lost backed up further, his back hitting the sink counter. "And if they knew the truth.....where do you think you'd be now? You think Frisk would look at you with the same kindness?"

"Stop it...."

"You think Valphys would be willing to help you get home? You think Vapyrus and Vundyne would joke and laugh with you?"

"Please...stop...."

"You think Xans would waste his time on someone like you?" Lost flinched and turned away, gripping his arms tightly. "Ah....hit a sore spot, hmm?" Vasriel chuckled. "Face it. To him, you're nothing more than another fling." Lost's eyes widened as vines slowly brushed his hair from his face and a fuzzy paw pressed to his cheek. "You mean nothing to him. All he wanted out of you was your body...and even that wasn't much."

"Shut up...." Lost trembled, gripping the sink tightly. "He...I know he doesn't...see me like that but he isn't that shallow!"

"So you think. But people never change....and he is no exception." Vasriel chuckled. "Why do you think he left you here all alone?" Lost shivered as Vasriel grinned, hands placed gently on his shoulders. "I'm even willing to bet he lied about what you both did last night....and where you currently are."

"No. He isn't like that."

"Still trying so hard to cling to that delusional hope?" He smirked. A screen flashed in front of Lost, showing him Xans wandering around at night, meeting up with random people and leaving their homes at night, sometimes with a slight limp. Lost felt his chest tighten as he watched, unable to look away. "Always the same....never changing...." He then showed Lost last night, and Xans leaving him behind after waking up three hours before him. "And no one can make him change." Lost looked down and shivered, trying to hide his bare chest. "Look at yourself...."

Lost looked in the mirror, his scarred riddled chest sticking out to him the most. "Hideous. Your sins cling to your body just as dust would cling to that ghost." Lost's breath hitched and he covered his chest more. "Imagine how Xans would react if he knew the truth about you...."

"Go away!" Lost spun around, eyes glowing angrily. Vasriel backed up slightly, a grin on his face as Vlowey cackled.

"Sssssssso sssssssensssssitive~...." The flower grinned. "Do you truly think he'd care about your feelingsssssssss? I mean, he left you here all alone......and it wasssssss your firsssssssssst time assssss well...." Lost looked at the floor, shivering slightly. "You are hopelessssssssss."

"However....we are just like you."

"Huh?" Lost looked up as Vasriel stepped closer again, an almost comforting smile on his face. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"We aren't allowed to stay there because of.....past events. They are unforgiving to those who hurt others...even if it was for the right reasons. In that regard, we are very similar, aren't we Lost?" Lost remained silent and Vasriel chuckled. "I see...you need some form of proof." He turned as Lost's cellphone went off. 

"That must be him...go ahead and answer.......and you'll see." Lost walked over and picked the phone up.

"Hello?"

"Well mornin' ta ya, sleepyhead." Xans's light, teasing tone echoed over the phone. "Hey, ya mind gettin' some groceries on yer way home? I told them that's why yer out,oh, and I left ya a little money fer a new shirt."

"You...didn't tell them we-"

"Tsk, ya honestly think I want Frisk ta hear that? She's just a kid." Lost turned to Vasriel, who just shrugged. "Also, please be careful with mah jacket....it's important to me."

"...Alright. I'll uhh...see you at the house." He heard the call hang up and he slumped.

"See? I told you so."

"Piss off...he had a very valid reason."

"Keep telling yourself that Lost." Vasriel smirked. "Well....We'll take our leave for now. But if you ever wish to talk...just come to the park alone." He smirked. 

"Also...for your safety, best not mention that we were here." Vasriel flickered and vanished, leaving Lost alone again.

Xans isn't like that.....he....he isn't...... He thought, but his chest ached even as the words entered his mind. ....Right?

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Xans hung up and sighed, running fingers through his hair. Ugh....damn. He didn't sound to happy... He thought, sitting down on the couch. "Fuck..."

"Alright Xans....what did you really do?" Sans asked, arms crossed.

"Tsk, why ya so nosy? Wish ya were there?" Xans chuckled. Sans rolled his eyes and tapped his foot. "It's none of yer business."

"True...but Lost never leaves here without telling someone. If he was grocery shopping, he'd have waited until we were awake to tell us." Xans ignored Sans, looking out the window and sighing. "Xans-"

"Whaddya want me ta say that ya can't figure out on yer fucking own?" Xans growled, his lips curled into a snarl. "Yer really pissin' me off this mornin' Sans..."

"Oh really now?" Sans frowned. "And you're being a no good, grumpy asshole. What did you-"

"We fucked, alright?" Xans sighed and rested his head on his arm, looking out the window. Sans was quiet for awhile and Xans glanced at him with his green eye. "What?"

"...You're serious right now, aren't you." When Xans didn't reply the small skeleton shook his head. "Xans-"

"I don't wanna hear yer shit."

"He isn't just a fling, you dipshit! Sure, leave those behind if you want, but this is Lost we're talking about here!" Sans snapped. "He isn't someone you can just fucking ditch! He lives here-"

"As a guest." Xans said. "This ain't his home." Xans felt a hand grab his arm tight and he glared down at the small monster. "Release m-"

"You have no right to say that. Frisk welcomed him here, same as all of us." Sans hissed through clenched teeth. "This is as much his home as ours!"

"He may be living here, but this isn't his home, and we're not his family!" Xans snapped, spinning around and holding Sans by his neck. His teal and green eyes seemed to flicker with emotions and Sans coughed, clawing at the hand squeezing him. "Get that through yer fuckin' skull, you idiot!" Sans struggled more as he was lifted off the ground, Xans baring his teeth in anger. "He ain't fucking staying here! This-" Blue magic surrounded him and he was tossed aside, releasing Sans as he hit the floor. "Fuck!"

"What the hell is your problem?" Xans looked up to see Lost walking over, his blue eye and left hand glowing. He knelt next to Sans as he coughed, rubbing his neck. "You alright?"

"I-I'm fine Lost....thanks." He said softly, standing up. Lost walked over to Xans and held a hand out. Xans looked at it before slapping it aside, getting up on his own.

"What were you doing?" Lost asked. The groceries were sitting on the counter, and Xans could see his jacket still on Lost, hugging his frame slightly.

"....Nothin'. Just a family squabble, that's all."

"Family squabbles don't usually result in you nearly choking someone to death." Lost narrowed his eyes.

"And what the fuck would ya know about our family fights?" Lost's eyes widened a little, and for a moment, Xans's stomach churned painfully at the slightly hurt look Lost's eyes held. "Ya haven't been 'ere long enough to know jack shit."

"I-"

"Yer an outsider that got stuck 'ere." Xans continued, despite his own Soul panging hard in his chest. He walked forward, jabbing his finger into his chest. "Ya don't know anything about me."

"...I never said you." Lost said softly, his red and blue eyes flickering with hurt and uncertainty. Xans's eyes widened and he scoffed, backing away. His form flickered, as if to teleport, but it ended abruptly and he wobbled on his bare feet. "Xans?"

"Wh...what the....the fu...." He felt light headed, and the world tilted in his vision. The last thing he felt was arms wrapping around him as the world blackened.

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When Xans opened his eyes, he could hear voices from near the entrance to Frisk's room. "He isn't going to like this...." Valphys sighed, rubbing the back of her head.

"Well tough shit." Vundyne piped in. Xans slowly sat up, rubbing his head as it pounded slightly. The two turned to him as he sighed. "Ah, he's awake. Good evening, ya dumb fuck."

"Evening? How long was I out?"

"Several hours. It's 7 in the evening now Xans." Valphys said, pulling a screen up. "Vundyne, go let them know he's awake...that way Frisk and Sans will eat something." Vundyne walked off as the doctor sat down next to Xans. "So....I'm just going to say it. You're losing your magic."

"I...I what?" Xans laughed, shaking his head. "That's fucking stupid. I'm not-"

"She isn't lying." Xans looked up to see Lost standing next to him. He was in the corner of the room, arms crossed in front of his plain red t-shirt, blue jeans hugging his legs perfectly that made Xans's gaze linger on them. "I've been losing it to."

"Then how come ya haven't passed out, eh?" Xans scowled.

"Because unlike you, he doesn't use his magic at a constant rate. Your screens, teleporting...even your tail is a constant use of magic." Valphys explained. "I've been monitoring you since you appeared here as a human, and I would have more evidence earlier if it wasn't for the 'other distraction'....." She growled slightly, glancing at the young man in the corner. Lost shrugged, his face showing indifference. "Regardless, you need to cut back on using it."

"Or what?"

"You'll lose it all and be stuck a human." Xans's eyes widened as Valphys left, his gaze then turning to Lost.

"Not surprising. Humans in this world don't have magic, so it'd make sense we'd lose our powers." Lost said. Xans huffed and looked away, irritated. "It isn't that big of a deal."

"Maybe ta you, it ain't." Xans grumbled. He sighed and rubbed his neck. "Ugh...look....sorry." Lost raised a pale brow in confusion. "I uhh....prolly should've at least left a note or something...ya know, explaining why I left."

"Or you could have stayed." Lost scowled. "Look, it's fine, alright?" Xans frowned as Lost rubbed his upper arms slightly. "I get it. You're right. This isn't my home....I'm lucky Frisk has been kind enough to let me stay." He sighed and went to say more when Frisk burst in, tackling Xans in bed.

"W-Woah kiddo-"

"You're ok! Thank goodness....I was so worried Xans!" Sans walked in also, the small doll of Chara floating in only to be slapped aside by Vapyrus, who also hugged Xans on the bed. "You just....you collapsed and-"

"Heh, I'm fine kiddo. Guess I was bone tired."

"Xans! That joke is old and no longer counts!"

"Well, tibia honest, I'm just out of new material." Sans snickered as Vapyrus screamed at him. He turned as everyone chatted, and his gaze caught Lost's. Lost's eyes seemed to hold a deep sadness to them as he watched them all.  Xans watched as he quietly slipped out of the room, with no one the wiser. Lost......shit.

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Vasriel watched from a distance away, smirking as Xans left the house at night. "Typical. He never truly learns...."

"Can we follow him?" Vlowey asked with a twisted grin on his face. "I wanna sssssssssssee what he'sssssssssssss up to."

"It doesn't take a genius to figure that out, Vlowey." Vasriel shrugged. "Besides....he isn't the one we're focused on right now." He held a hand out, watching it flicker and glitch out slightly. "He won't ever let his guard down. But...." He turned around to the park, seeing Lost sitting once again at the lakeside. He looked lonely, the dim moonlight shimmering on the lake in front of him. "He will. With time and patience."

"Time is sssssssssssssomething we do not have Vasssssssriel!" Vlowey snapped. "We sssssssssssssshould find a way to sssssssspeed thingssssssss along!" Vasriel moved in closer to Lost, a grin on his face. "What do you have in mind?"

"Hmm...." He smirked and hid in the shadows, watching as Lost scanned his surroundings, sensing his presence but not seeing him. "The Soul is afraid.....perhaps....." He smirked and licked his lips. "Oh this will indeed be fun...."