Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Beginning scan. Verifying BRIDGES ID.” The roar of the reverse trike beneath their body  did nothing to drown out the voice, the two merely melding together and bouncing along the shaft of the hall that encompassed their path downwards. “Verifying guest ID. Clear. Scanning weapons. Clear. All weapons will remain locked until departure. Welcome, Kaspar Maria Faraday.”

Kas held onto the tightness of their jaw until they stopped, dead in the middle of the distro’s round lift. Only then did they sit up, and breathed out through their nose, the heaviness in their chest lifting with the weight of it. The only people that ever called them by their full name had been their father and sister, and one half of that equation scrubbed away years ago. Hearing it from a automated voice over the intercom felt like baring their chest to a complete stranger, and they were stuck with it every time they paid one of these places a visit.

Clicking off the ignition of their ride with a wave of their cuff, Kas climbed off, settling onto the weight of their boots, and stretching briefly. As much as they liked the ride, all of that bending over to grip the bars of the bike left an ache in their spine, especially with the rain out as it was. They made short work of removing their damp, outer coat tucking it under one arm, before grabbing the package on the trike. 

It was a short walk to the computer nearby, the steps of their heavy footfalls loud in their ears, and the fall of water outside a not so distant hiss. A holographic screen popped up between them and the short, cylindrical tower that was the terminal, and Kas’ eyes snapped up as a figure appeared, mid air, alongside them. The figure was stout, wearing a sharp suit, with his short hair neatly combed, glasses set straight, and mouth a blooming grin of welcome. 

“Kas! You’ve arrived, good. Good.” A smile worked it’s way onto their face despite themself, and Kas gestured a hello at the image of Deadman before them. 

“Hey, Deadie.”

Deadman’s nose wrinkled, his good humor sparking with amusement. He laughed quietly. “I’ll never get tired of that. You’re looking healthy. How was the trip over?”

“Nice, it was storming, so no one was out.” That was saying something, previously being so near to the distro center of Capital Knot. But with the timefall out in thick showers, the remainder of the population were typically smart enough to hunker down and wait it out. 

It was for this simple reason that Kas normally made the trip in the rain, this day being no different then any other. 

Deadman nodded, understanding. “You never were one for company. Ironic, considering your condition. It’s a good thing you have Pragma to keep you company. He must be pretty lonely when you’re away.”

Kas rolled their eyes, if not unkindly, if anything because of the mention of their dog, and, well, it’s Deadman. A majority of the correspondences that they shared had to be about their checkups, or Pragma. The latter, Kas suspected, was to help ease Kas into talks about the former. Deadman went on, unaware of Kas ongoing suspicion with that particular subject. “I see you made a delivery in the meantime. Once you’re done there, I’ll meet you in my lab.” 

Kas returned his nod, Deadman’s image blinking away as the package on the belt slid into the wall behind the terminal, and joined the hundreds of others waiting to be picked up by another courier. The terminal descended into the floor and another someone took Deadman’s place, another familiar face, if one Kas didn’t take the time to get to know beyond a few words per visit. 

“Kaspar, another reliable delivery. If a little strangely timed,” Nick Easton commented, looking Kaspar over, from face to boots, with an odd curiosity in his face. Kaspar shrugged, giving away nothing: “I like how the timefall smells,” they replied, knowing it was strange as it sounded, but not lying, either. 

Easton’s image stepped away. “You know, some people would normally watch it from a window. But I can’t say I’m upset that there’s someone out there more then willing to make a delivery in bad weather.” He glanced to the side, Kas seeing nothing from their end, but getting the gist of what he was looking at all the same. “The soil samples look great. Deadman’s work with anti-timefall material seems to be doing wonders. You’re pretty lucky that you’ve been involved in test trials,” Nick glanced back at Kas.

“Shame whatever he uses for it is in such limited supply.” 

Kas feigned agreement, nodding, and looking appropriately concerned. Or, as much as they could bother to, anyways. So far porters had done well enough with what equipment they had to get cargo across the country, especially since the Cities had been properly united over the chiral network. Never mind if Kas’ participation would speed things along a bit more, they just didn’t have the patience for it. I’m not about to stick around long enough in any one of these places just to be used as a human blood bag.

“Whatever the case, thanks again,” Nick said in parting, waving at Kas before vanishing into the air. The terminal lifted up with his departure, the voice in the air announcing, without asking, that there were more orders available. Ignoring it, Kas made their way back to their bike, jumped on, and rode back the way they came. 

The trip to the isolation ward was a short one, Kas taking a left at the fork in the road, and crossing under the sharp cornered shadows of old America. The buildings were empty, monuments to the dead kept in relatively good condition, but otherwise only existing as a reminder of what once was. Kas liked the buildings, almost preferred them to sleek design of the newer models within the city limits.

Everywhere that made up the capital felt sterile. From the neatly manicured  indoor parks, to the white sidings of the few buildings that existed above the ground. The city, the true city, existed beneath the earth. Hundreds of miles of human beings, crawling along handmade tunnels of steel like ants. Many never even went above ground, feeling better, safer, with miles of dirt and concrete between them and the BT’s. 

Kas couldn’t understand people’s desire to hide away from the surface. Even if they had been afforded the privilege of being more capable of living within it easier then most, if not every single one of them, Kas assumed they would go mad without the taste of fresh air on their tongue every once and awhile. 

As their trike approached the ward the steel shutters of it’s entrance, emblazoned with the United Cities of America logo, creaked open. Hidden under the shelter as it was, it was free from the gradual wear that came with the elements, and shined under the damp light of the sun. A siren went off as it moved, an annoying buzz in their ears, and Kas slowed with their approach. 

Inside, only one person was nearby, a stranger holding a clipboard, and generally looking busy as they motioned Kas over to one of the spots in the garage to park. Out of the way, safe from interrupting any sudden arrival of an emergency from the city itself, although Kas doubted that the place saw a lot of action. It was always so quiet here, much like the outskirts of the city itself. The most traffic Capital Knot saw was at the center when porter teams left of arrived, or inside the belly of the beast itself. 

Kas checked in with the man, the stranger promising to keep their ride safe, and Kas tried not to twitch as it was lowered from it’s parking space, to a level below. It would be a short visit, they promised themselves, and the trike needed the repairs, anyway. 

Entering through a double set of doors, into the ward itself, Kas blinked against the sharp lighting of it’s interior, and at once picked up the sound of life within. People waffled about inside, walking to and fro along the halls, the walls so sleek they carried Kas’ reflection as they went. It was a strange sight, seeing their image in the corners of their eye, and Kas avoided it as much as they could, just as they did the straying attention of the workers within. 

There were white coats, and military folk, the latter being normal guards with UCA printed uniforms, stripes of red, blue, and white along each of their right shoulders. The former murmured to each other in constant discussion, more then one hanging around the sheets of glass, broad windows, that hung on the walls of the separated rooms they worked within. 

The first time Kas had visited the place, their attention didn’t know where to land. Compared to lives of porters, even heavily maintained one’s like Fragile’s, the laboratory facilities of Capital Knot were an entirely different world. 

Now, Kas made their way to Deadman’s private lab with confidence, and without any concern for the lights, sounds, and smells, or lack thereof, around them. In truth, after all the wonder faded, Kas decided they cared less for the place then they did for even the rest of the city itself. It didn’t help when Deadman first asked if Kas would stay behind, and under go clinical trials. 

They’d managed two weeks before they had to leave. And only that, because Fragile’s life was on the line. 

Deadman’s place was pretty big, but the guy was pretty important. As it was, only one person was with him in the lab it seemed, and they departed as Kas walked in. Deadman spotted them and opened his arms at once, enveloping them in an embrace even as Kas failed to do the same. 

“Kaspar!” It felt weird, being held, for even the briefest of seconds, and Deadman let his hands linger on their shoulders when he backed off. “Young Kaspar, it’s good to see you,” the older man started, repeating himself from earlier but meaning it no less. With Deadman, Kas found that the man rarely did anything in partial. “I know you hate it in here, but I’m grateful, all the same. More so, even,” he said, and waved them over to one of the angled tables at the center of the room. 

The lab itself held a series of strange machines, from an MRI in a connected room, to an upright glowing pod of water—human sized, and then some—to other unnamed devices held against the walls around them. A myriad of devices were left on the tables around, test tubes, beakers, a entire array of shining instruments, and Kas had no more knowledge between one thing and the next, even after their former stay there. 

As it was, Deadman set into their routine pretty quickly, and Kas took it all with an air of endless patience. He checked their breathing, their heart rate, the composition of the strands of their hair, their general BMI, and, most importantly, a sample of blood. It couldn’t be very different then the last time Kas had given a pouch away, while sleeping in bed in their private room of the facility, but they didn’t argue. 

“Everything seems to be the same. Blood work: normal. Timefall effects: non-existent,” Deadman said, rolling away from his microscope on the table, the best word Kas had for the machine even if it was three times bulkier then normal. Clutching the ends of the stethoscope hanging around his neck that the man had used to listen for their heartbeat, Deadman met their patient attention with his own, steady gaze. “As it stands, your DOOMS level seems to remain unchanged. Unless you have something to share with your time spent on the Beach?” Here Deadman smiled knowingly, a secret shared between the two of them, and a select number of individuals around the world. 

“Only one trip this month,” Kas replied, shaking their head at his lifted brow. “Besides my own Beach, anyways. A toddler’s. Maybe three years old?”

“A child’s? Now there’s an anomaly,” Deadman commented, and Kas knew what he meant. Families weren’t a rare thing in America, no, but one’s that procreated and had children were another matter. As it stood, human beings were a rarity in the cities, and for a variety of reasons. The fear of connections, of falling to BT’s, to keep resources on the level…there was a mess of excuses people made to avoid adding to the frail population of people in the world. 

Kas couldn’t even remember the last time they had seen another child. Maybe it had even been their sister, when they were young, and Kas themself wasn’t interested in raising a family of any kind. 

“There aren’t many bunkers in your area, and no recent accounts from any of those from there being a birth,” Deadman said, flipping open the screen on his cuff to double check the data he already had memorized. Glancing at them with the glow of his screen reflected across his spectacles, he nodded once: “Another randomized visit, then?”

Kas hummed, agreeing with this pretty safe assumption. “But the only one. Keeping away has helped.”

Deadman’s own hum was less jovial then his previous attitude had shown. His cuff’s screen clicked off as he lowered the bracelet, and Deadman frowned for the first time. “You know, Kas, it wouldn't be so bad if you spent more time in other people’s dreams. I understand that it’s less appealing to you then myself, but there’s really much you can learn from seeing them first hand.”

Kas kept themself from sighing over the old argument, and only because they still liked the man. They both shared the ability to walk on other’s Beaches, if unlike Deadman Kas still had a Beach of their own that they could visit. The trade off was that that Kas sometimes visited others involuntarily, randomly, with the chances of them visiting a Beach without meaning to increasing the more people they spent time around. As it was, they avoided other Beaches as long as they liked to because of their self imposed isolation. Sometimes, though, despite their best efforts, they still found themselves waking on the wet, black sanded shores of a complete stranger.

Deadman often said, hell, America often said, that connections were important. And what better was to understand other people then to meet them as their most vulnerable selves, walking along their Beaches, sometimes astonishingly unique between individuals, and seeing their memories, reading their thoughts, for yourself? 

Kas hated it. The very idea of some random person walking on their Beach and picking up their personal information, like trash in the water, felt like a violation. How could they be so hypocritical as to do the same to another person and walk away, happier for the experience? At least in Deadman’s shoes, he could pick where he went almost a hundred percent of the time. There was little to nothing unwanted about it. Kas just woke up in someone else’s head space and had to ride it out until it was over. 

“The only company I need, Deadie, are the ones I already keep,” Kas said allowed, speaking the most they had since their visit to the city began. “Between you, my sister, and Heart, I think I pretty much lucked out.”

Deadman shook his head, obviously not satisfied. “About your sister, have you been in touch lately? We still send her her monthly allotment of medication synthesized from your blood.” Kas was relived that the man let the matter drop. Only once before had it approached anything close to an actual, heated argument. Back then, Deadman had revealed his almost “Frankenstein-like nature” to Kas when they were fretting over their own mortality in the lab. 

It was after Fragile had been forcefully exposed to time fall, and their sister was barely hanging on by a thread of life. Revealing Kas’ nature as a DOOMS sufferer, and one with a natural resistance to time fall, no less, had been all that stood between the younger woman and death. A combination diet of medication laced with Kas’ blood, and cryptobiotes slowed Fragile’s degradation to a near stand still. As it was, between her condition and frequent use of her own DOOMS power, Fragile popped cryptobiotes like candy. 

Saving their sister’s life didn’t stop there. After Kas discovered Deadman’s personal Beach watching, it wasn’t just his quirky personality that caused them to grow fond of the man. Kas already felt indebted to him from saving Fragile’s life, and from there it was easy, to accepted the proposition of studying their blood further.

As it was, Kas’ timefall resistant blood could be interwoven with other materials, creating specialized, if highly prized, equipment for the most important of deliveries. As an independent porter, Kas recognized the boon that their contribution had done for America, but stopped at announcing who exactly had done it to the world. They liked their anonymity, and, more then anything, they liked the idea of keeping their life a private one. Hell, if they wanted, what was to stop anyone from locking them in a lab and sucking blood from their person whenever it was needed? 

Alongside walking Beaches, it was just another reason to keep to themself, and Kas liked treasured that isolation. Deadman, on the other hand, was still at odds with how self imposed with. But they had their own, separate battles with loneliness, and no amount of DOOMS kinship was going to change that. 

At least Fragile understood. But their sister had been privy of Kas’ condition their entire lives, and the younger sister’s own fear of having her privacy invaded, a thing expounded by the current nature of her physical form, only served to heighten that understanding. 

“She sent me an email, told me about how well things are doing for the company, right now.” The Stranding had been stalled, America was as afraid as ever, but there was a tentative hope there, one made up of careful, fragile, reaching outs to communities across the cities and beyond. Fragile Express', and BRIDGES', role in delivering resources between these settlements were as important as ever. After a less then a handful of years since the near Stranding, it was just too soon to be expecting anyone to be heading out on their own, en masse, to do the sharing themselves. 

Independent porters, like Kas, were no different. They visited preppers, townships, villages, and so on, still reluctant to make the leap and join the network officially, if ever at all. 

The email she sent was short, but they often were. Fragile usually spoke the most between the two of them, and even more so then usual when the legendary porter, Sam, made his way across the country in an effort to connect one coast with the next. 

Kas had felt helpless at the time, knowing that their sister was out there, helping combat the efforts of an ex-terrorist and, extraordinarily, the end of the damn world. But all they could do was stand back, make sure Fragile got her doses in the meantime, and wait for the signal of the end. Of everything, of Fragile’s mission, they hadn’t known. Until Fragile visited with tears in her eyes, and they held onto each other for dear life, grateful it was over. 

Fragile only had one request that night, and Kas held onto it tightly. They couldn’t save America, hell, they had barely saved their sister, but that…that one thing, they could do. Not even Deadman, or Heart, or anyone else knew what it was. But Kas would remain isolated to the end of their days if it meant doing this one thing for her. 

“Maybe your sister can convince you to change your mind, someday,” Deadman said before Kas left that afternoon, once again crushing them in a hug full of warmth and familiarity. “But I expect video calls with Pragma in the meantime,” Deadman said, pointing once, firmly, and Kas, and making them chuckle at his attempt at sounding firm. His stern continence melted in an instant, and Kas chose wisely not to comment on his boast of confidence. 

Deadman was…well, the closest thing to an uncle that Kas would ever get. They couldn’t find it in themself to shoot his hopes down for good, but they refused to make any promises to think it over. They had already done so, with Fragile, three years to the day, and no one could change that. 

Chapter Text

In the blue hours of morning, Kas crested the final ridge to home. 

It had taken a handful of days to get back. By trike, and boat, from nearly one end of America to the other, and only stopping at way stations long enough to drop off a couple of packages. Kas made the trip to Deadman maybe once a month, sometimes even less so, depending on their schedules.

Sometimes it was enough to stop at one of the Knots, to donate a few blood and skin samples. From there, porters with Kas’ DNA, and no real knowledge of what it was, let alone the benefits they contained, carried it back to the man himself. 

It wasn’t often that Kas even saw their sister, Fragile. With her business to be run, and the recent repercussions of losing to major cities and everything that comes with the recuperation of that, she had a lot on her plate. Kas did their part, and made enough to get by, by making deliveries as a porter. As it stood, they mostly kept to the central side of the country, unless it was time to make their check ups in person. 

In the end, the trip always left them tired. Given their promise to Fragile, they tended to straddle the northern half of the central region of the country. Any further and they risked putting their mission off for to long. Fortunately, due to their DOOM’s abilities, it was easier for them to make time then others, but their equipment, trike included, weren’t so impervious to harm. For now, time wasn’t an issue. Kas had a clear schedule, and fuck if they didn’t just want to plant themself in their bunker for a week of absolutely shit to do. 

That was terribly false, they had a lot of upkeep to tend to. But, for the time being, they were just happy to be at their doorstep. 

The path there, via trike, was well hidden. A winding path, tucked amidst the rocky outcropping that made up the steppes that rose into the sky. You had to know it was there to find it, the path up taking you around the ridge, aiming towards the small sea that poured out into the ocean. The closest bunker belonged to someone called the Novelist’s Son, a man still loyal to Fragile’s business, and thus one that saw little company himself beyond the rare porter. Even he, they imagined, avoided the sea, where timefall fell in a constant, inky rain, and strange BT’s floated, gently, in the breeze. 

These BT were unique, balloon-like creatures that anyone could see. Despite their casual movements in the air, almost appearing lifeless from afar, their tar drenched appearance, and permanent existence in timefall left no doubt of what they were. Kas thought they were endlessly fascinating, almost beautiful, even. More then once they took the time to walk the green slopes of their home, to picnic and watch them drift from afar.

Between the distance, the natural barriers around their home, and the nearby presence of the gasbags, Kas never received visitors. If something were to happen, they could only rely on Fragile to discover it. As it was, Kas’ cuff was programmed to let her know if anything strange occurred, medically speaking, and that was enough to assure Fragile that Kas would be alright spending the majority of their life, in solitude, north of the border.

Kas steered her trike home, seeing the square, whitewashed, and curved edges of their bunker pushing from the earth like a stuck mushroom a mile away. A few feet behind the roof of the center of the structure another rose up, it’s rectangular shape protruding from the ground with latticed glass making up a majority of it’s bulk. Behind their home in it’s entirety, hanging in the sky, was an inverted rainbow, brought in from the recent series of storms that had fled into the west. Strings of ropy black undulated together in the far, far distance, evidence of Beached Things gathering together on the horizon.

Kas drove their trike up to the steel door of their garage, hesitating as a scan pinged out, and swept over the yard. “Checking ID. ID accepted.” The entrance began opening with the close proximity of their person and the voice in their cuff continued: “Welcome home, Kaspar.”

“Thanks, dad,” Kaspar muttered to themself, pushing their trike forward with one foot, into the shadowy exterior of the containment area. The garage was small, just enough enough for their trike, and an additional, two seater truck they rarely used. Only after the shutters closed behind them did lights hum to life along the walls, providing sight without being overbearing or loud. There was no hiss of decontamination, Kaspar had turned off that function years ago when the damp of it nearly ruined a shipment of books they carried.

Leaving the trike, Kas took the few steps down into the central room of their bunker, opening the door and hearing the expected creek of wood beneath their feet when they entered. A clicking of claws followed, and Kas had time to smile just as Pragma rounded the corner from a hall across the room before the dog was on them.

“Well, hello, my good boy,” Kas laughed, picking up the set of paws propped up on their thighs, and allowing Pragma to push his wet nose into their face when they kneeled down. The basenji mix’s breath was humid against their skin, his tail a whirl wind of black, waving hair, and ears a prick with excitement. Kas couldn’t help but press their face into his neck as he whined in barely contained excitement.

The first time Kas had spent time away for an appointment, the dog had ignored their home coming. Seemed to loathe it, anyways, as if Kas hadn’t deserved his forgiveness for being gone so long. That night of their return, though, nothing had stopped him from jumping up onto their small bed, and curling up, small, and huffing with indignity, into the curve of their arm. The dog was absolutely spoiled, with the personality of a jilted cat on the best of days. Kas, of course, adored him endlessly.

“Come on, let’s go,” Kas said, pulling away from the mutt, and raising to their feet as he bounced back on his own. Smart dog, he knew business when he saw it, and fell into step alongside them with nary a complaint.

First was getting unpacked, and changed. Kas removed the pack from their back, unwinding the coat they had removed and left tied around their waist after leaving the area closest to the distribution center west of Mountain Knot City. It had left them in their customary porter’s gear: a sleeveless vest zipped over a tight knit set of under armor, chin high, quartered sleeved, and tucked into their timefall resistant trousers. Removing their knee length boots was always gross, sweaty toes was about their least favorite part of looking the part of being a proper porter (albeit, Kas was hardly resistant to the cold, or the wonders of wool socks, for that matter).

Their ensemble was made up of a series of blacks and gold, the natural alloy of the precious metal that made up the claps, buttons, zippers, and even interwoven strands of their vest soaking up electricity like a sponge. The ambient energy was fed into their gear, from their trike, to the power skeleton they sometimes used, and even the odradek they largely neglected, the scanner left folded up and attached to their bike.

The only other unique feature to their gear was their blood, joined with the material and making shopping trips for new clothing extremely rare. It also made it very difficult to fabricate new gear without visiting Deadman, or waiting eons for it to arrive at the nearest center via the porter service. Kas intended to do the same with their bike…but that meant giving it up for awhile to be reserviced, and they rarely had the patience to even consider it.

Coupled with their arm tattoos, Kas had a terrible habit of standing out sometimes. But nothing about them wanted to hide the array of flowers on their left arm. Small Solomon’s Seals, the Cry Violet, the flowers of the Franklinia Tree, and the flower of the Saint Helena Mountain Bush. All flora their mother could identify, all flowers that had long since perished from the world before the Stranding came about. Their mother, a botanist and artist, had done the work herself, and, now, they remained as a nod towards their memory, and her’s.

After spending so much time around others, and stripping their gear, Kas had been happy to see them again, as if they might wash away and be lost otherwise without them noticing.

Kas left their gear in the garage, wet boots drying by the door, with a small hiss of deterioration coming up from the mat beneath it as they were left there to drip. Barefoot, Kas walked over the resistant wood of the central room, a space with one of the two couches in the building, and a short table. It was, once upon a time, meant to receive guests, back when their dad was alive.

Connected to it was a short hall, a series of small steps leading down into the green house directly across the way to the only glass roofed structure in the complex. The floor was chilled there, as always, made up of a white, somewhat rough stone that helped avoid slippage when watering the plants.

There were short rows of them: tomatoes, soy, and the three sisters: beans, squash, and corn. The plants, sprouting green in their beds, were thankfully wet themselves, recently watered by the automated system Kas left on when they were gone. Kas plucked a few tomatoes from their vines, and walked over to the kitchenette, off to the side of the entrance to the room. It had a built in stove, sink, short counter, and brick oven, whose short chimney sprouted from the roof, but had to be kept sealed pretty often because of the rain.

Kas got to work on breakfast: eggs bartered from a day’s ride to the east, white beans grown and canned ten months back, and the tomatoes, diced over the lot. A simple meal, not something they could just buy at the nearest market though, and which warmed them to the bone when they finally took up a seat at the table near the end of the ‘house.

While Pragma munched happily on his own fare of a stew of kibble and heated bone broth. By the wag of his tail as Kas leaned down to run a hand through his hair, they figured any possible upset from having being gone for awhile was forgiven.

As they ate, Kas felt exhaustion seeping into their muscles. It didn’t help with the way the sun shone, threatening good weather, and thus an otherwise warm day outside. They could fall asleep in their chair, if they let themself, just watching the lull of the sea that met the land along the slopes that ran from their home. But waking up with a sore back in something meant for an outdoor garden, not for sleeping in, would be torture.

With the world waking up outside, Kas put away their dishes, checked the security system for a brief moment, and led Pragma into the dark room down the hall, flanking right of the living room. Inside, the air was still, the barest hint of light coming from the short window, just above the earth, that hung on the wall. A lamp on the bedside table clicked on as they pressed a button to shut it, illuminating a small room that contained a double bed with a chest at it’s end, a dresser against one wall, and another door that led to the bathroom. Originally, the bunker was meant for one, perhaps a couple, and had an added wing down the hall before Kas had been born. Kas stopped using their old, shared bedroom when they both first moved out, and largely left it alone unless for cleaning.

Their parent’s bed was an old fashioned thing, old even before the Death Stranding came about. It’s frame was made up of metal piping, something that would fall to dust outside with little resistance, and which squeaked something awful if Kas neglected to oil it from time to time. But it’s mattress was thick, the handmade blankets spread atop it numerous, and the pillows at it’s head more so.

Kas stripped as Pragma jumped onto it’s surface, requiring some nudging to make room for their human companion after, and they both settled in, into the darkness, with shared sighs. Outside, the world stirred, and sang, within their own, small, and confined into itself, Kas fell into dreaming. 

Kaspar woke up on a Beach. The sand beneath their skin was gritty and cold, as black as soot, and clinging wherever it caught on their person. Waves sounded in the air, softly brushing the shore line, and crashing, almost louder, in the spaces of the deeper depths of the water. The air was gloomy, gray, the sky above matching the atmosphere, breath for breath, and generally leaving an ambient feeling of listlessness to the place.

Kas sat up, looking out over the water as they propped one of their arms up on a knee, bracing themselves against the sand in a sitting position with their left hand. Dismal, indeed, whoever owned the place must have been caught in a wave of melancholy. No, it was worse then that. The water was too quiet, the air too still. This was something worse. A lack of a waiting, of a wanting. It was a Beach that just was, so it’s creator must have been the same.

Peering behind them, Kas saw the jagged edges of the shore, rocks that crumbled, and formed over one another, over lapping until they meant with mountain side. Those peaks went on and on, disappearing only when they were overlapped with another. There was no fog, the land was a perpetual emptiness. Feeling confusion settle on their face, Kas looked down the shore line, blinking, and watching any signs of it’s occupant.

Kas thought they saw something like movement, something apart from the crest of the near dead tides. Standing up, their still bare feet sinking into the sand, they narrowed their vision against the pale light, and saw something curved, rather then jagged. Something hunch over, instead of carved into shape.

Would it be rude to say hello?

Deadman was always talking about how important connections were, and what it could mean for those they met on the Beach. Normally, anyone that saw him assumed he was a dream, a specter in a crowd their eyes had once caught, but not a face they ever knew. It was normal for the dreaming world to reuse faces like that, to make up the actors in the scenes they played out, if they needed to be filled. So, why not? Like Deadman, Kas relied on this idea, never wanting to make much of an impression, if any, on any person’s Beach when they made an unintended visit.

But this person, if it was a person at all, hardly seemed to be moving. And the place was so…still, lacking in anger, or any other sort of upset, Kas felt a tug, somewhere in their stomach. They knew this…state of existing. Just that. Existing. And it drew them like a lifeline towards the figure on the Beach.

As Kas drew closer, the figure grew larger. Curled up as they were, wearing a dark cloak with it’s hood upturned and obscuring any obvious features, Kas thought they must be an adult. Taller then them, even, if the stranger stood up from where they were. As it was, Kas’ careful movements, and the dampening effect of sound that the sand had on their footfalls made them nearly imperceptible.

Without realizing it, Kas had fallen into their old habit of remaining as quiet as possible, but it was damned amazing that the natural silence of this world didn’t give them away. A few feet off, Kas thought to open their mouth, stopping when they saw the curve of bent elbows, hugging a pair of legs to the person’s chest, and the gleam of wet boots dug into the earth below them. Besides the cloak, their ensemble, what Kas could see it, it almost looked like porter gear…

Opening their mouth again, Kas looked at the top of the person’s head, aware that they hadn’t budged an inch in the space it took Kaspar to get there. “…Hey,” they tried.

The person twitched, their hooded head swung up in Kas’ direction, and Kas froze as they scrambled back, against the sand, away from Kas, and going so far as to raise a gloved hand hand between the two of them.

“Whoa, hey, I’m sorry-,” they started, realizing their mistake in scaring the hell out of a random person they just found, and backing off themselves.

“What, what the hell-? Wait-!”

Kas stopped, bewildered by the person, this man’s?, desperate command for them to stop while he was still very much keeping his distance between them. “Wait, wait-hold on,” he rambled on, trying to stand up in the sand, while Kas dutifully kept still. They felt a redness growing in their face, actual embarrassment over the situation taking over as they felt regret for even bothering.

“I’m not,” they tried, wondering what they were trying to say exactly. “I’m not going. I’m not moving-.”

“Good, good, hey, what the-,” the man stumbled, righting himself in the sand, and Kas finally got something of a look of the person under the hood.

The man had a pair of blue, storming eyes, twin rivers of black tar trailing down the inner curves of his cheeks and standing out starkly against the pale white of his skin.

Seeing the tar, Kas had a moment to exclaim, softly, to themselves: "Oh."

No wonder they were drawn to this one. He was a sufferer, just like themself.

"Who are you," the man asked, drawing Kas' attention away from his decidedly attractive face and to his waving hands. "How," he glanced behind him, an actual laugh eliciting from the strangers mouth as he seemed to really, really get that Kas was there.

"How in the hell did you get here?"

Wow, that was an accent. Kas placed it as something southern, a little keepsake either from all to much time around like peoples in his own bunker and/or he was actually from somewhere in the lower half of the country. But, man, did it stand out.

"Sorry," Kas started, unsure if they needed to apologize by the way he was suddenly smiling at them. "I ended up here on accident."

"Sorry? Honey, you’re the best thing I’ve seen in, well, I don’t know how long….memory’s kinda weird,” he quieted, tapping his temple from outside of his hood and looking out over his gray ocean. “This place, it’s kinda weird.”

Kas watched him, an idea forming in their head as to why that would be. For yet another time in their life, Kas had to be meeting a comatose patient. Previously, when they had been staying in the isolation ward of Capital Knot, Kas had woken up on the Beach of once such person. It had been a strange place, shifting constantly, stuck in a whirlwind of ever revolving, half formed memories and thoughts. So mercurial was it, Kas had a difficult time telling that it had been a Beach at all, and not a fever dream brought on by the haze of medical trials they had been through that week.

Which leaves a major hole in that theory, they frowned, glancing briefly over the man and at the land around them. This place is far too stable, and this man, far too lucid to be in such a state. But if that was the case, it was only natural of them to wonder and ask, even if he wasn’t sure himself: “How long have you been here?”

The stranger turned his head away from the water, the faraway state of his attention centering on their person. “I…” it flickered, his brow furrowed, and twin black eye brows, neatly manicured, and set into a smooth forehead. “I don’t really know."

Kas blinked, trying not to blush, but it was an easy enough thing as they took in what he said. He…didn’t know. 

“I have an idea,” Kas started, hesitant to even speak it allowed, let alone go through with it. With Pragma it had been natural. Seeing a quivering puppy in the sand, they couldn’t help but reach out to hold him. “I’ve done it before, but-.” They shook their head. Pragma was a dog. This, this was a fully grown human being.

The man seemed to seeing their reluctance, and he moved closer to Kas, startling with how little space he left between the two of them. He was…well, tall. The beard along his narrow chin cut an impressive sight, but it was a very, very odd experience to have something they didn’t know so damn close to their person.

“What is it? Look, I’d give about anything to be off this god forsaken,” the man turned away, gesturing around and drawing a weird look from Kas face in the process. He was certainly expressive— “Beach, or whatever the hell this place is.”

It is certainly a Beach, Kas thought, dumbly, and, again, failing to step back when he once again invaded their personal space. “Just—I don’t know who I am, or what I’m doing here, but I’m sure as shit going to go insane if someone doesn’t get me out.” He placed his hands on their shoulders, the sudden grip solid, heavy, there. 

Kas any attempt to reply snapped shut when they felt that weight—and the man stepped back, seeing what he’d done, and looking apologetic for it. “Shit, sorry, I got caught up in—I mean, you’re fuckin’ here-.”

“I can do it,” Kas interrupted, shutting the man up at once. “Give me your hands.”

The man took only a heart beat to look at Kas outstretched palms, a motion they hadn’t even intended and yet there it was, before they could finish their command. His own were large, still covered in the rough material of his gloves, but so much warmer then the rest of their time spent on his Beach had been so far. 

There it was, small, thrumming, a feeling in their chest they only recognized from other people like themselves, and only then when Kas was being touched. The natural connection between DOOM’s users, and he had one with them. 

Kas had felt it, when they cradled Pragma in their arms that first time, the tiny creature, at the time, snuffling and whining, grateful to be held for perhaps the first time in it’s life. 

Just like then, Kas closed their eyes, imagining someplace different. Someplace far, and yet not. Home. They weren’t stopping to consider what they were doing, not for long. If it didn’t work, maybe they would find the man again? If it did, well, well-.

“Darlin’?”

“Close your eyes. Breathe.”

There was a stir in the air, the gentle shift of this man’s physical person as he nodded, and Kas knew he had complied. If he hadn’t, well, who knows what he would see. 

Again, they thought of it. The smell of the salt breeze outside, the brush of grass under their feet, and timefall, forever over the horizon. Home. 

And Kas woke up. 

Chapter Text

Their waking was startling, a panic struck through their chest at the sudden sensation of falling, making them jerk in place. As quick as it came, irritation took over, the kind that came from their rational brain telling their other half that, no, we aren’t suddenly plummeting to our death, could you perhaps not?

Kas breathed out into the darkness of their room, feeling a weight shuffle at the end of their bed, tiny points of contact existing in fours as Pragma left his place near their feet. He whined, a low, concerned thing, and Kas wandered why that was—.

Something next to them moved. Heavy, sure as fuck bigger then a dog, and Kas shot up, waist forward, when they felt their arm pinned under not their pillows, or their own person, but someone else.

The light on the bedside table clicked on with the motion, and a dark form, laying horizontal beneath Kas’ shadow, stirred along the length of the bed. Directly where their mom would lay, back when she was still alive.

“Fuck,” they exclaimed, their voice stark against the quiet of the room, but they hardly noticed, and didn’t care. It worked.

Kas wasn’t sure if he looked any shorter, lying horizontal beside them, partially pinning down their arm until they managed to pull it out from underneath him. His hood had been knocked back, and now lay squashed between his head and one of the many embroidered pillows on the bed. The hair on his head was mussed, as if from sleep, and dark as tepid waters. As they examined him he began to watch them back, eyes blinking slowly and giving away life signs when there had barely been any before.

“Shit,” the man muttered, mouth pressed against the curve of pillow that molded to his cheek. “’thing’s soft.”

“What,” Kas said, clearly still bewildered. The man answered by letting his eyes slide shut, a sigh settling into his very bones by the looks of it as he drifted off to sleep again. Or, hell, Kas hoped he was just falling asleep. It’d be pretty damned ironic if the man woke up and died where their mom had.

Pragma whined again, returning Kas attention to him, and they watched as the dog carefully stepped over the man’s legs. One of his stick like limbs balanced in a place between the stranger’s own, Pragma bending his head to give him an experimental sniff. The dog glanced at Kas, eyes big and dark.

“What’s the prognosis,” Kas asked. Pragma answered by lifting his head, moving carefully along the bed, and jumping off. Kas shook their head at his departure from the room. “I guess you’re not worried he’ll kill me.”

With that thought, Kas looked at the man’s face again, pale, but soaking up the warm light of the lamp. There was a sheen of sweat there gathering that they hadn't seen before. “Shit,” Kas muttered, reminding them of their new house guest entirely too much, and they got up themselves.

It took little time for them to figure things out. Putting their cuff in standby mode, they turned off it’s function of signaling Fragile, a thing that took a few minutes since it wasn’t something they had really done before. Removing it from their arm, Kas reached over and took the man’s own, almost unsettled by the feeling of bone under the man’s skin. Just his wrist, really. They had two themselves. But hell, if this wasn’t unusual.

“People have bones, Kaspar,” they muttered out load, and slapped the cuff onto the man’s arm. The cuff’s screen appearing, hovering between the two of them as it woke up once more. First came Fragile’s logo, two skeletal hands holding it gently between their fingers, and the image faded, taking a backseat to a series of screens that Kas clicked through with easy practice.

His pulse rate was high, body temperature turning feverish—as they feared—, he was dehydrated, and, when it loaded up, his BMI showed some signs that he was malnourished. As it was, his vitals were in the yellow, sure as hell needing some improvement, but better then one might hope if you were stuck stranded somewhere for too long.

Then again, the Beach isn’t just a place, they thought, looking at the man’s face. He appeared troubled, approaching a dream, perhaps, that he didn’t care for. But at least he was here, physically, anyways. The Beach is a liminal location, time doesn’t move there.

When he arrived, he already had to be in pretty bad shape, and now either that was catching up with him, or the shock of returning was too much for his body to handle. Just like with Pragma.

But Pragma survived. Maybe this one can, too.

Leaving the cuff on the stranger, Kas got up, and went to gather some supplies.

They by passed the small door set into the hall, closed as it always was, that led to the basement. Or, as much as a basement could be in a place already half submerged by earth. The room below contained all of their medical supplies, rows of glass shelves along it’s walls that Kas was logical enough to keep stocked up, even if they rarely found themselves injured.

But they didn’t need an IV, not yet. As it was, they were hoping it was just a normal fever, and any thrashing around the man might due would possibly jerk the thing out of his arm, anyways. So, they’d do what they did with Pragma, and hope he work up soon.

If not…if not…

The IV, then. The nearest doctor was ages away, and Kas didn’t have the equipment to lug him down into the valley. Even if timefall wasn’t so frequent this time of year, now, a shower at the wrong turn and Kas could kiss any attempt at saving his life goodbye.

Fragile could help, they thought, reasonably, as they grabbed a container of filtered water. With Pragma, they bottle fed the dog, dripping moisture on his tongue otherwise, and feeding him crushed baby aspirin. He’d been tiny, though, and Kas tried not to consider the awkwardness that would ensue from trying to help an adult man.

Kas grabbed their aspirin, and took it with them to the bedroom. The man appeared to have moved, shifting fully onto his back in his sleep, and was twitching besides. The sweat on his face had increased, his body no doubt warm beneath his uniform. Kas’ eyes dropped to his feet, still booted up on their bedspread.

I’m going to have to strip him. 

Kas nodded, firmly, and grit their teeth. A wave of anxiety burst in their chest. This…this wasn’t how they ever wanted to ever consider seeing another naked human being.
Sitting aside their things, Kas got to work.

His boots were tightly laced, a pain to untie—who still uses bunny knots, anyways?— and an awful smell came up from his toes once his socks were revealed. Thick, dark, like their own, but with a hole in one of the ankles.

Disgusting, Kas nose wrinkled as they pulled them off, flinging them to the side to be recycled later. They ignored his pants, choosing to remove his coat, even though that meant rolling him around a bit to do so. He hardly seemed big, but malnourished or not, it was an effort, one Kas halted in the middle of while he mumbled in his sleep. Kas thought they head something about a mummy—mummies?—, and listened as he fell quiet again.

Okay. They continued. The cloak game off, a stylishly cut thing with a wide hood and a back that tapered into two points. A waste of a design, really, if the man spent any time under timefall before his sentence to his Beach.

What is up with that, anyway? Kas didn’t take the time to question it, too bust reliving the man of the armed vest they found on his chest. A solider? Was this man a former MULE, or something? Who else had to worry about being punctured by bullet fire? Another courier, of course. But who did he work for? The man had no cuff of his own, no identifying mark really, beyond the strange design on the shoulder of his coat. Beyond Death, it said, in block lettering. With no further adornment or coloration to be found.

A service I don’t know about? They thought they could ask Fragile, later, or do a search across the network the next time they were at a Knot. As it was, they tossed the coat aside, and considered the black shirt beneath the vest.

Kas cut it off, unwilling to yank it over the poor man’s head. He already looked properly manhandled, and was breathing harder. They need to get to hydrating him, and soon.

His chest, on the other hand, held a story of it’s own. There were injuries, recent ones in the form of a mess of bruises, forming in hues of purples, greens, and terrible yellows. Beneath them a lattice work of scars crisscrossed his damp skin. They were old, thin and small, jagged and gnarled. Wanting to be thorough, they checked his other side, and saw answers of yet still more scars. Old, all the same, but present. As if he’d been whipped, cut, and shot at his entire life.

Unsure if they were checking correctly, as it had been some time to do so on themself, Kas felt along his sides carefully, and it was as a they feared. Broken ribs, more then one for that matter.

They let him roll back, mindful of the breaks, but still catching the troubled set of his expression. 
Kas would apologize later, if they felt it necessary after saving his life. It was a stubborn thought, one that fell apart quickly, and Kas looked at the man’s jeans. The final hurdle (because, no, they weren’t going to remove the man’s underwear…if he had any on).

Swallowing thickly, Kas began to undue his belt, the zipper, and then the buttons of his water hesitant trousers. This is weird. This is so damn weird. There was a man’s crouch, inches from their hands. Right damn there. Kas didn’t want to be awkward, but when you lived a majority of your life in a bunker, some things, some concepts, remained as foreign and absurd as the idea of licking the moon.

Pulling the pair of wasn’t so hard, and yes, thankfully, he was wearing something underneath. A short pair of skin tight, thermal underwear that stopped just above his knees. Hardly attractive, Kas muttered within the safety of their mind, ignoring the fact that this was the closest they’d ever come to sharing a bed, outside of their time spent huddling away with Fragile when the storms outside were harsh enough to scare her into hiding.

Kas left his clothing in a heap at the end of the bed, deigning to deal with them later, and got to work with their initial plan. Crushing the pain medication into his water was a quick decision. The man would have to drink it all, but at least it would be easier to get down for the both of them, and the intake into his blood would be faster. They had to prop his head up on their leg, Kas sitting beside him in the bed again, and balancing the glass in one hand. They opened his mouth with the other, and stopped. If they tried to help him this way, they’d just wind up water boarding the bastard.

“Okay, okay…”

Kas let his mouth close and place their palm his cheek, the man’s skin sure as hell warmer then before as they first touched him gently, and then papped his face. “Come on, hey,” they tried again, a little harder, and spoke up. “Guy, you’re going to need to wake up.”

The man hummed, grumbled really. As if he was being woken up for an early break fast, and not because he was maybe, potentially, dying. Not dying yet, not yet. Kas tried again, not quite slapping the man, and pulling one eye open with the thumb pad of their hand.

“Hey, you need to help me,” they spoke, satisfied momentarily when the backwards roll of his eye moved, his iris centering on them. His other eye opened, the man blinking sluggishly, and Kas held up the glass in front of his face. “You need water,” they supplied, cradling the back of his head, and going so far as to press the lip of it to his mouth. When the liquid touched his skin, he seemed to respond, one of his hands moving in attempt at taking it himself, before it stopped half way, the effort too much to bother with.

Kas helped him drink, grateful when instead of letting the water drip along his chin, the man took it into his mouth, swallowing thickly. Kas was patient, aware of the bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat, and the harsh breathing from his chest. They let him stop midway to catch his breath, but managed to get him to down the whole thing with some amount of persistence.

When Kas let him go, stepping away with the intention to refill the glass, if only for later when they could make the attempt again, the man’s voice bubbled into the air from wherever half asleep place he was hanging in. “Don’t wanna…get up.”

Kas couldn't’ help the huff of laugh that left them from that. They had been right. Putting the glass aside, and sitting on the bed again, Kas reached over and placed their hand on his cheek, trying to brush away the moisture left behind from the water around his mouth. The slight, rough burr of his chin hair, under their hand, was…it was alien. As everything had been up until then. Kas felt movement in his mouth, teeth parting, an attempt to speak, perhaps, that was aborted half-formed. 
From beside his side, his arm raised, and went limp, resting below his chest, and the man was still. Left dreaming, and unaware, once more, of his new reality. 

Things, of course, grew more difficult from there. That moment of lucidity was one of very few, as the man’s fever picked up and raged throughout the night, all Kas heard from him was a mostly unintelligible. They tried to keep his forehead clear of sweat, washing his face with a cold cloth from a basin they kept on the table. In the harder parts of his attempt at recovery, they kept him as still as they could, least he roll out of bed and injure himself further. Giving him any water proved to be a mess at times, and test of patience during it’s entirety.

They didn’t attempt to change the bedsheets beneath him, stained with sweat as they were. They lost too much sleep themself, making sure he was hydrated, in bed, and basically taking up the only space they would consider to rest in while they waited for him to recover. Kas wasn’t used to it, at all, taking care of another person. A part of them was afraid, perhaps ridiculously, that if they left for too long for something like a nap in their old bed, that he die in his sleep. Either from choking on his tongue or succumbing to the heat of the fever.

Kas thought he saw them sometimes, when stirred while they were giving him water, and, once, when they stopped him from bashing his head on the iron bars of the bed frame—something Kas was guilty of themself, and thus sympathetic towards. The storm in his eyes raged, more turbulent then the sick body he inhabited, and all Kas could do was wait for him to calm.

It took a full day, Kas was unsure if it was the second or third morning since their return but, eventually, the fever broke, and he only slept. Kas took the time to eat then, feeding Pragma first, a habit they refused to break of course even while tending to the man, and a ration bar of nuts and lab grown, dried apples. It tasted of cinnamon, dancing along their tongue, and imprinting with the memory of the man lying, exhausted, in their bed.

Kas figured they could take a shower, and he wouldn’t combust, barely remembering to take a new set of clothing into their bathroom, and closing the door behind them. The water within the stall was warm and welcome, the full body blow dry after smoothing away lines of wariness from their face after. Kas was…tired, hell their muscles ached, and they didn’t understand why.

They’d spent enough time outside, delivering packages to and fro, in rain or shine, camping wedged between rocks, or in unfamiliar beds. Surely this wasn’t the worst they had gone through, before? But they hadn’t been afraid, not really. This wasn’t the anxiety that came with missing a deadline or merely meeting a new person. The last time they had felt this fear, Fragile had been dying in a hospital bed from timefall exposure.

But she’s okay, they told themself in the mirror, put off by the ghostly pallor of their reflection, and stepping away soon after. The door to their bedroom slid open, and Kas caught the sight of Pragma lying at the end of the bed, considering the man silently.

He’s okay. And I’m okay.

Chapter Text

There was an persistent ache in his spine, and a weight in his lower half that felt like it’d settled in there years ago, and refused to go away. He hated it, how it kept him from slipping back into unconsciousness, although he’d barely been aware that’d he’d been unconscious until just then.

The world was soft. Hell, when did that happen? It felt familiar, warm, warmer then he’d been in…he didn't know. It irritated him more that he couldn’t figure out when he started feeling like complete shit. He tried to move, unhappy all over again when he realized what the discomfort in his abdomen was: he had to piss out a fucking baby. 

Moving his eyes, because apparently he had those two, was almost too much to ask. There seemed to be something caked there, a light layer of that dust that accumulated in his sleep sometimes, and that reminded him that the human body couldn’t stop in it’s endless list of disgusting ways of reminding him that he was alive. It was one of the lesser sins of being a biological organism, at least, and as his vision began to clear, it was almost forgotten entirely.

He was in a bed.

There was a shadowy ceiling above his head, he was stuck horizontal, and there was a heinous amount of cushioning under and around his head. It could only be a bed. A stranger’s. It had to be, they didn’t know it, the scent of it’s occupant was a new one, if one he thought he was somehow familiar with. Fresh rain, cedar, he knew those smells, even if he couldn’t come up with a name to stick ‘um to.

Who was he, for that fuckin’ matter?

He flinched, or something close to it, too tired to tell either way, but something had dropped itself onto a space near him, somewhere by his feet—and there it was, creepin’ across the bedspread. Alarm lanced through his fucking bones, the closer it got, and only good sense, preservation if you will, stopped him from hurling himself away from the thing. If he could damn well move at all, his muscles, hell, his bones, said otherwise. 

His eyes snapped to the space where it lingered, hanging in the dark, and something damn well primal leapt into his throat and hung there, wanting to scream

A light snapped on, he twitched, still refusing to even blink, and the shock froze in his chest like a punch to the sternum. Whose fucking dog was this? 

The thing was all scrawny, black fur, long and waving, with bat-like ears, and a wet nose that shoved itself into his cheek. His mouth snapped open, a complaint there on his tongue, and just like that the gruesomely wet, rough, length of the creature’s own mouth muscle swept itself across his face. 

“What the f-fuck, man,” he tried shoving at the mangy mutt, but got nothing for it, sleep weighing his arms down like twin tree branches. They dropped to his chest, the dog joining by, helpfully, laying the top half of it’s body across his arms. Great. He sighed through his teeth, closing his eyes, and the light, some old as sin lamp by the looks of it, clicked off in the corner of his eye. Darkness, again.

Somewhere, in the quiet gloom of whereeverthiswas wood creaked, and his eyes shifted open again. Something was moving about, someone by the way of it, the unmistakable sound of footfalls increasing, if not by much. They were quiet, but they were getting closer-

The dog on his chest, 25 pounds, his brain unhelpfully, and as strangely as fuck, supplied, shifted. It saw something he didn’t, but he was keeping his eyes closed for the time being. Better to fake it until he made it, made it the fuck out of dodge, anyways. 

“Pragma, tu vas le tuer.” 

Welp, he was fucked. That was sure as hell not English, or anything else he knew. 

The dog groaned, the rumble in it’s chest entering his own. The presence in the doorway shifted, making him aware when they moved further into the room, and stopped by the bed. Doggy breath hit his face, the stranger giving them a thorough petting before it’s weight, mercifully, was lifted—

And pain sparked through his dick, the dog had fucking kicked him in his dick, and he groaned loudly, trying, horribly failing, at curling into himself. 

“Merde!” The stranger leapt back, the light flickering on in the room, but he just kept writhing in pain. God, he didn’t know if it made it worse or better that everything else already hurt like hell, but, fuck he needed to pee so goddamn bad. “Regarde ça, tu l'as tué!”

“Oh, shit,” he rasped, not even bothering to say please first, and squinted weakly at whoever was staring at him, apparently unconcerned by his near death experience with the way they still insisted on holding that dog like a damn baby. And with an arm a whirl with strange shapes across it’s length, designs he couldn’t quite make out from his position. Were those flowers? Actual tattoos? They sure as hell had a story to tell. 

“I don’t know what you’re saying, but it doesn’t sound like an apology.”

“Celui-ci! I never apologize for Pragma, he is his own person, after all,” they—she? he?— replied, the dog—who fucking names their dog Pragma? What happened to Spot?—almost grinning at him by the way it was showing his tongue. But man, what a damn accent. Now that he could understand it, he had to admit that he could listen to it all day, if under less excruciating circumstances.

“Look, lady, your dog assaulted me, in bed, and then kicked me in the nuts. Sounds like bad parenting to me,” he went on, pretty damn surprised at how naturally he apparently resorted to humor, now that he pain in his groin was falling to a miserable throb, anyways. 

“Une dame maintenant, n'est-ce pas,” the stranger muttered, his eyebrow pricking up at the comment, clearly meant for their dog, and they looked again at him. “I will serve him one less treat this evening, for this. Est-ce suffisant? Are you hungry?”

“I-,” his stomach growled, cutting off his question for the John, and he sank into the bed’s pillows again, nearly weeping. “I’m fucking everything, honey.”

Amusement flickered across their face, skin dotted with freckles, hair a sweet, pale honeysuckle that gathered in curls along the center of their scalp. The sides of their skull were shaved, the hairs there small and probably as soft as they looked. The stranger laughed, but kept whatever thought they had secret. In the glow of the room, they’d look like a dream, an angel maybe, if he wasn’t dying. Maybe he was, that explained the treatment. 

“But, to be honest, I really need to take a piss right now.”

Those freckles went up in flame, sparks in a rush of red heat, and he tallied that off for a win. Shit if he wasn’t laughing himself now, either. 

Seeming to decide something, the stranger sighed themself. They bent over, leaving the dog on his feet beside their legs, and they began to lean over the bed. The stranger hesitated, making him watch them immediately, on the look out for any funny business. 

“If you try to do anything, chiot, and I’ll cut you from groin to sternum. Comprenez vous?” The warning was said like a promise, and he was half horrified to find that it both made him afraid, and aroused him. What the fuck was his damage?

“You promise?”

Fucking severe, apparently. 

The stranger scoffed, but his attempt at flirting didn’t stop them from righting him with one arm, balancing him with a palm to his chest, and lifting him like he weighed next to goddamn nothing. Gaping like a fish, he was pretty sure this little package of surprises could do more, carry him like a bride across the threshold even, if he wasn’t clearly half a foot taller then them. The only issue he had was the shock of pain flaring up along his ribs. A few were broken, had to be with how much it hurt. 

The stiff visage of their savior faltered under his obvious reaction to the agony in his chest, and they murmured sweet nothings: utterly untranslated for his brain, but still getting the point across. 

They led him around the bed, slowing down, and aiming at a door that slid open a few paces away from the antiquated piece of furniture. The light that snapped on inside was much more modern, tucked into the walls, and brightening up a space that fit it’s era a little better then the room behind them. There was a shower, sink across from him, but no signs of an actual toilet. 

“Where..?”

The stranger turned him towards the shower, motioning for him to grip it’s entrance, which he did so while leaving one hand on their back. They sure as hell were small. His wavering attention caught the sudden emergence of the toilet in question sliding from the wall, apparently a button, nothing but a solid, small rectangle set into the shower, was what revealed it. 

“That’s nifty,” he said off hand, feeling…strange. Something about it was less surprising then he expected. 

“The doors will close, once you are inside,” the stranger said, backing off and leaving him some space as they stood in the center of the room, barely a few breaths away, really. “Do you…do you need assistance,” they had to ask, dropping that last word like it was still very knew to their otherwise foreign vocabulary. 

“Naw, do I uh,” he waved at the button next to the auto-John, as he decided to call it right then. “Hit the other one, to shower? Dunno if I can keep at it for long, but there’s a nasty something in the air, and I know it’s not you, sweetheart.”

“Kas.”

“Excuse me?”

“Kaspar Maria Faraday,” they replied in that heavy accent of theirs, coloring all over again, and it clicked in his drowsy noggin as he realized what the hell they were going on about. “It is my name. And, yes,” they nodded, once, and made for the door. He started to raise his hand towards them, until they halted in the frame of the bathroom, looking back for only a tick.

“Yell if something occurs. My computer will hear.”

He hummed in question, but got no further response, only the hiss of the door closing behind his host as they left. Kaspar Maria Faraday. That was a mouthful. “Any relation to the scientist,” he asked himself, and looked up. Maybe not just himself, if the walls really did have ears. 

That’s damn creepy. 

Pushing aside the obvious implication of their words, Kas’…words, he got to business doing his business. It was an effort just to move over and prop himself up with one hand against the wall, less so to shove down his shorts, and nothing else mattered once he was finally allowed the release he so desperately needed. 

Fuck, it was better then an orgasm, and his muscles agreed, groaning with him as leaned into the cold steel of the shower above the John. It took a few seconds for him to finish, and the toilet flushed when he hit it’s corresponding button, before sliding away again. He started to remove his underwear, nearly wining at the effort it took to peel off—well, maybe he did whine, a little bit—and kicked them out of the stall without looking for where they landed. 

Poking at the next button, still very much in the position he was after he entered, the door slid shut behind him, trapping him in the tube of frosted glass and steel. The kicked on, sparking alarm across his spine as it came cold, and he yelped like a stepped on cat.

The water turned warm damn fast after that, then hot, verging on scalding. Slumping against the wall, he melted onto the floor of the stall, bliss seeping into every inch of his body. Fuck, sex, he was never leaving this shower. Fuck, he would fuck the shower, if he knew how. 

A voice startled him awake like five, claw toed foot to his junk, and for the third time since waking up proper he nearly yelled. 

“Two minutes of hot water, remaining.”

He sobbed.

As Kas promised, when he stood, fell, and couldn’t get up, the voice on the other end of the surround sound pinged his host for help. The shower shut off, that much he managed, and it’s door opened, but he was left in a pitiful slump on it’s floor. The door to the room itself opened, their head popped up in it’s open, Kas’ eyes caught onto this discarded clothing, and they vanished again. He could have chuckled, hell he went ahead and did, just to sputter when they entered again and chunked a towel at his face. 

“Can you wear that?”

“And have you miss out on the show?”

“L'enfer, chiot? Enough, please, or I will leave you to prune.”

He laughed again, but wisely, maybe for the first time in his life, he honestly didn’t know, chose not to act like a smart ass. He managed to get the towel around his nether regions, even tied it in a knot on his hip, and started to stand. “All clear, darlin’. Nothing to see here.”

Kas dared to look, saw he wasn’t lying, and swept into the room. They helped him up, and he took note of the boots on their feet. It kept them from slipping, letting them grip onto the tile without dropping him in the process, and he wondered if they’d been outside, wherever that was. 

Kas carried him to the bedroom, propping him onto the edge of the bed, and he managed to remain sitting up, if feeling kind of manhandled. Dripping on the blankets, he pushed back the dark hair of his head, kept short, like the beard he sported. Whoever he was, he at least kept up with a decent styling routine before…

“You were there.”

The person, Kas, met his eyes, stopping in their search through the chest situated at the end of the bed. He’d barely noticed what they were doing, but as they stood from behind it’s upturned lid, he saw they were holding a square shaped bundle. “Your Beach, you mean.”

Not a question, but hardly an answer. His Beach? Did people just have those?

Wait, yeah. Didn’t they? The concept didn’t sound, well, weird to him. What did it mean, though? And he was there? Why was he there? How far away were they now?

“My Beach, it’s a thing,” he started, understanding when the other person in the room graced him with an incredulous look. “A thing I have, not a place, it’s uh.”

“Where you go, when you die. And when you dream,” Kas shrugged, tossing the folded material beside his thigh. His fingers plucked at it. A shirt? Wasn’t his, was it? It looked bigger then anything they—Kaspar— would wear. The thought occurred to him that they maybe knew him, if not the other way around. 

“I woke up on your Beach, and met you there.”

“My Beach. Fuck, that’s.” It was bizarre, and he said as much. But it made sense, sense in the way that it sounded so familiar, set in his brain so neatly, that he must have carried it with him beforehand. But he could see it, miles and miles of wet rock, black sand, and grey, grey, sky, as far as his eyes could see.

He’d...he’d been there for awhile. 

His mood thoroughly dampened, he held the shirt between his hands, but didn’t bother to put it on. “Why the hell was I there?” 

“You told me you didn’t remember,” Kas went on, tossing another pair of something beside him, a dark pair of jeans, and they held up some underwear, long legged, and looking warm, to consider. They glanced at him, and he barely took the time to acknowledge them, and nod. They’d work, probably. “You said you’d been lost, for a long time, and I…” they stopped, glancing down at the inside of the chest, and sounding disbelieving as you went on: “I took you away.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, just let it hang in the air, and it settled in like a weight under his skin. Away. Free. He was free. He’d been stuck there. And they just, took him away. 

“How’d you do that?” His voice was smaller then he’d like it to be.

“I’m a DOOMS user, like you,” they said, finally finding a wad of thick socks, and closing their chest. “I-,” they met his eyes, and stopped. He had to wonder what was on his face, and only felt, fuck, he felt

Vulnerable,

Grateful

Fuck

How long had he been there?

It was there, under his hands as he held himself up on the bed, as he smelled the air, as he breathed, and swallowed. The salt, the gritty earth, the fucking gray sky,

How long? How fucking long? 

“Chiot,” they said, at a loss. Fuck, he felt pretty lost too, and he saw it as they started to move. And he knew, knew that this stranger to him had thought about comforting him for a moment. How goddamn bizarre. But the moment lingered for too long, they broke his stare, and began unfolding the socks in their hands. 

“I’ll help you dress.”

Chapter Text

The puppy, chiot in their mother’s tongue, shook off his show of vulnerability the instant he was presented with food. A bowl of butternut squash soup, a recipe saved for the colder months that were due to set in any week now. He was hesitant at first, but after the first bite, while sitting propped up in their parents’ bed, and wearing their father’s clothing, the stray got into eating quickly.

He made no ask about the nickname, hadn’t yet, anyways, but Kas couldn’t help it, after seeing him complain the way he did, while still tucked safely away amidst the blankets and pillows of their resting place. It reminded them of Pragma, who was hardly an early riser most days, and it fit, considering that they had found him the same way that they had found their hairy companion. Even the color of their hair matched. Maybe they were related, somehow?

Kas said nothing about Chiot’s temporary moment of sadness, tears going so far as to gather, but not fall, from those round, blue gray eyes of his. The storm behind them had subsided, if not disappeared entirely, and Kas was relived in thinking that maybe thy could play nurse maid to another human being competently enough.

They nearly squawked like a chicken when the computer told him he needed help in the bathroom and he turned out to be still very naked, but they’d managed.

It was funny, in the space of an hour or so they’d seen the man express an entire array of emotions: annoyed, miserable, actually upset, amused, and, dare they say, goddamn coy. Hearing him ask if they meant it about threatening him with bodily harm was the only time Kas had ever heard anyone use something they called a “bedroom voice” and they’d nearly smacked him right there.

Who was this person, riling them up like this? And so easily?

Kas moved between the bedroom and the greenhouse, presenting him first the soup, and tea, and then another bowl of soup when he polished off the first. Chiot ate like a man starved, and maybe he had been, even before his time spent on his Beach.

Speaking of, it seemed as though he had been ignorant of the concept, if only at first. Kas was glad he remembered, the knowledge of Beaches was so utterly widespread nowadays, it was impossible not to know. Perhaps you had another name for it, another face for it, too, but everyone had a Beach, or that state of limbo that, like they reminded him, they all crossed while walking into death. Death, beyond, whatever awaited them that wasn’t this living plane.

As a DOOM’s sufferer, and moreso as one who, however reluctantly, walked Beaches on the regular, Kas read what they could of them. Anything Heart proposed was especially valuable, and they appreciated it when the scientist, one of their few connections, and dare they think, friend, in the world sent them whatever he had to think on the subject.

Recently he had proposed an idea of Beaches, as a multiverse, even being connected to other realties, other versions of the living world, and Kas had devoured it, and been left wanting more. As much as they disdained their power at times, that didn’t stop them from wanting to understand it. Control it better, even.

I need to tell him about this, they thought, watching their new guest as he slurped down the dregs of second helping. Pragma astounded him, previously. And to find a human, without memory no less, on a Beach as well, and bring them back? What could it mean…

“Damn, honey,” Chiot spoke, catching Kas off guard. They needed a complete cycle of sleep if they were so unfocused in the presence of a stranger. “I know I look a sight, but didn’t your daddy tell you it was rude to stare?”

He was smiling, though, so Kas let themself roll their eyes, and stood up. “My mother did, yes, but they are both dead.”

Chiot made an inquisitive noise, but didn’t ask, or offer condolences. They were glad for that, having received enough with their mother’s deterioration, and more so when her other half departed, years later.

“You have squash on your face,” they lied, amused when the man swiped at his chin, looked for them for direction, and then proceeded to paw his other cheek. Kas took his bowl, and the small table that held it up. Folding the second beneath their arm, they left the room.

Pragma didn’t follow. Their actual dog seemed to have grown a strange fascination with the man, and remained, even now, at the foot of the bed. Chiot acted as though he was less impressed by the third of their small group, if that’s what it was for the time being, but that didn’t stop the man from idly brushing his hand through Pragma’s fur when he drew close. 

In the kitchen and greenhouse, Kas put away the folding table, and set to work cleaning the man’s dishware. There was little left over of the soup, save for in jars that they put away in the fridge. He’d probably want more, later. Perhaps a cauldron full, if he kept eating the way he did. 

What am I going to do with him?

There was a thought. Kas had yet to ask his name, but neither did they know if he would actually tell them. If he’d forgotten how long he had been on his Beach, what if…no, it was better not to assume. 

That still left the matter of his recovery. Thus far, his exhaustion was less to do with atrophy, perhaps, then it was outright exhaustion. He could stand, if only for a short period of time, and with some support. He could sit up, eat on his own, and his face had already begun to fill with pink signs of life. 

Kas heard the tell-tale click, click, click of nails on the floor, and saw Pragma appear by the door. Curious about his return, they followed him up the short stairs and down the hall, peering into the quiet of their room.

He had fallen asleep, half-sitting up, and wearing exhaustion on his face, thicker in rest then even when he had been awake. He’d been hiding it then, a surprise for them given how much he complained in the meantime. 

Kas sighed, half-heartedly though, and entered the room to tuck him in. Tucking anyone in, another thing they had not done in some time, and then, only with family. He was easy enough to move, Kas’ porter strength and his weight making it a simple enough task, and the Chiot was turned onto his side, curled up the same way he had been on his Beach. In an aside, they thought to remove the cuff from his arm. Just for a few hours, since his vitals looked better, and they needed it to send out a message. After, Kas clicked their fingers, signaling the lamp to cut off, and they went to leave. 

“I can’t remember my name,” he said, in the dark, sounding sluggish. A breath caught in Kas throat…they’d feared it was the case. Just something about how he looked around so often, always questioning, but too guarded to ask. Guarded, the man who flirted with them twice in less then a day. 

Kas looked back in the room, seeing that he was still turned away. “I’m sorry,” they replied, meaning it. 

They heard him chuckle. “That’s okay…I like pet names.”

Spreading out his legs, the man seemed to settle further into bed, and into silence. Kas was grateful that he didn’t see them blushing again. Something about him, maybe it was their ignorance with other people, it got under their skin.

Kas left him, entering the main living area, and settling into their sofa. The blanket they had begun to use when his fever broke and they were sure enough that he would be fine, that their computer, at least, would tell them if signs of necrosis set into the next room, remained on it’s back. Sleep, sleep sounded nice. And maybe they could spare some time for that, at least. 

Thinking for a second, they decided to send their message first, and clicked on their cuff. With long practice, typing emails with only one hand had become second nature. As it was, they kept it relatively short. They were tired, after all, and if they needed a follow up, it could be done in person. 

Kas sent it off shortly, and turned the device off, setting it to mute, for the time being.

Removing their boots before, Kas lay down, wrapping themselves up in the throw. One of many, like the pillow coverings, and the blankets, the dollies in the kitchen, and so on, that their mother had knitted over her lifetime. And into her dying days. There was no smell they could perceive from it, and lingering remains of such a thing, from either one of their parents, was long gone. 

Sender                                                                   Date & Time

Home                                                                     09/01  9:03 am                                                     

Kaspar Maria Faraday                                   

Subject
Found a new stray

I woke up on someone else’s beach. I knew right away, with no signs of the grasses around home, it was hard not to tell that I was some place different. I saw him done the shoreline, just a shape by the waves. I was surprised when I saw me, more so when I could touch him and he didn’t disappear. A fully grown man. Dark hair, blue eyes, porter gear. He looked so alone, I had to take him home. 

He’s sleeping of fever right now, or, what’s left of it. He doesn’t know his name, who I am, where he is—not yet. I told him my own, and he didn’t blink. No surprise, there, but even you’re relation wasn’t enough. Surely, enough of the world have heard of my sister, Fragile Faraday, co-star of the saving of the world?

Sorry, it’s been a long few days. See you soon, maybe? We can talk about it in person.

“Kaspar.”

A voice in the cool air, a name on the breeze. Kaspar opened their eyes, wondering if they remained on their Beach, and finding it likely as a much older Fragile stood, kneeling, over their person. “Dovey,” they murmered, hearing the dryness of their throat. They winced as they sat up on their couch, drawing the attention of their younger sister, who took one of their shoulders, and helped right them in place. 

“You really are tired,” she commented, sitting down beside Kas, and letting the eldest sink back against the sofa. Fragile was still wearing her gear, they noticed. 

“You were working,” they stated, obviously, rubbing the sand from their eyes, and letting Fragile finish the job with familiar, familial quickness.

“And you were sleeping,” she replied, a poor attempt at arguing the point, but Kas shrugged. Fine, Kas wouldn’t complain. “I read your message two hours ago,” she started, smiling when Kas looked at her pointedly. “Thought you needed the sleep. I could tell by the amount of misspellings you had missed.”

Kas breathed out through their nose, rubbing their eyes again, but not refuting her point. “It’s been a lot. Do you have any thoughts about it?” 

Fragile hummed. “You mentioned that he wore porter gear. Was there any insignia? BRIDGES? Perhaps even one of my own,” she asked, probably knowing if it were the latter, Kas would have mentioned it. They shook their head.

“No, none that I’ve seen. I took his things and recycled them,” they said, waving a hand when Fragile began to comment on that. “They were in bad shape, and stank of the sea. I remember the sign, though. A ribbon, black and yellow. It had a name-.”

“Void Out?”

“What?” Kas both heard and saw the fervor, sudden in Fragile’s voice. They saw the panic beginning in their sister’s eyes, and understood. Taking her hands in theirs, they shook their chin. “No, no. It said something different. “Until Death”. Fragile, I don’t think-,” they started, questioning their words even as they were spoken. Fragile leaned in, urging, clearly wanting them to be certain it wasn’t him.

“What does he look like? Does he have something on his forehead? Scars,” Fragile gestured with one finger towards her own brow, not letting go of Kas hands completely as she did so. “Fresh, an equation?”

“No, Fragile. I remember, I do. What you told me about Higgs. He got into that fight with Sam, and then you left him with a gun shot on his Beach,” they said, earnest, and seeing the unshed tears in their sister’s eyes. They swept away a rolling tear from Fragile’s cheek, just as their sister had cleared theirs of sleep, and took her hand again in theirs. “Time doesn’t move on the Beach. If he had been shot, he still would have been bleeding. And, I checked him.”

“You did,” Fragile asked, not expecting that Kas would have had the foresight to do so.

“I did. I mean, Dovey? A man on a Beach, physically there? Pragma was a marvel, and I was still hoping that he was a coincidence. I think he is,” they said, thinking again of the shape Chiot was in. The bruises, the malnourishment, but certainly no gunshot to the heart. “And, I promise, he has both of his eyebrows.”

Fragile laughed, and Kas felt themself relax. That was something had, and which would forever, stand out about Fragile’s description of the late Higgs Monaghan. Perhaps the man truly had been mad, somewhere deep where no one could hope to pull him from, if he had shaved his eyebrows to make way for carving into his own skin. 

Kas had never met him. They’d had chances near misses during the short time that Higgs and Fragile had worked together, before their had been a schism in their business and he left, presumably, to form his own. Rather then do that, though, he decided that the best thing America needed was a one way trip to oblivion. But the past was the past, and Kas wasn’t about to bring it up any more then they had. Their sister deserved to move on, and a ghost wouldn’t stand in her way of doing so.

“Do you want to meet him?”

Fragile sniffed. The tears were gone, but she appeared a little tired, herself. She really needs time away from work. Their sister nodded, “I don’t have a lot of time,” she said, making Kas frown. Of course. “But I can say hello, if you’re new stray is awake.”

Kas huffed a laugh. “I’ve been calling him puppy. Not that he can speak French, fortunately.”

"Of course,” Fragile replied, looking equal parts exasperated and amused. Kas didn’t defend themself.

They really weren’t being the more abrasive sibling if the stranger didn’t understand them, right? 

Releasing her hands, Kas led Fragile to their parents bedroom, pausing to set the door to manual on their cuff, and, only then, pull the door open a third of the way. The room was still dark, Chiot was turned on his side, away from them both. They waited a few seconds, but the tell of the slope of his side, rising and falling, slowly, gave away his current state.

In the light cast by the hall, Pragma looked up at them, eyes glimmering almost supernaturally. Fragile frowned beside them, and said nothing, glancing away from the dog without comment.
Kas closed the door, turning back to their sister: “I’m kind of glad he’s still asleep.”

“Is he as rude as you are?”

“No, he’s not so terrible. I would like to say,” Kas crossed their arms. “I’ve never been hit on by a living, human being before, but I can’t say that I’ll get used to any time soon.”

“Are you being serious, Kaspar?” Fragile looked ready to open the door and wake the man up herself, so Kas raised a hand to stop her. 

“It’s fine. He’s harmless. And, Dovey, you know I could tie him up like a hog if I so wished, hm? I’m not worried.”

“If you say so,” Fragile shook her head, not entirely satisfied, but not refuting Kas’ boasting, either. Leader of a porter business or no, it was Kas that was typically on the pavement, so to speak, completing runs on their own. If they could handle cargo upwards of a hundred pounds or more, they could handle a sick, bedridden man. “If he was a porter, though-.”

“Was, perhaps. He has some muscle, but he’s exhausted, really. I had to help the man out of the shower.”

“Oh, no, Kas-.”

“Don’t laugh, it was embarrassing.”

“That’s why I’m laughing.”

Kas nudged their sister’s shoulder, urging her to stop giggling behind her hand, ever the dainty one between the two of them. “You said you’re busy? Too busy for some tea?”

“Even so,” Fragile replied, appearing bothered. “It’s another reason, why I decided to visit in person. I’ll be continuing my work in the north, helping unite the cities of the Canadian provinces. With the season, it will be difficult. ”

Kas expected this. “Because of the timefall.”

“Not all of us are so immune to it’s effects.”

“Fragile,” Kas tried, but couldn’t go on. They weren’t upset, but it was an old wound, one that Kas didn’t know how to recover from, even if it had been Fragile that had truly suffered. 

“Kaspar, I’ll be fine. It’s my men, I worry for. If I can leap across great distances to get work done that they cannot, important work, then I’ll do it. For them, and this country.”

Kaspar didn’t reply to that. There were a myriad of reasons why they lived where they did, but, to be honest, they were less of a patriot then some had become, recently. Yes, they wanted the world to recover, but as it stood, from what they head about it’s current conception, they had less then an ideal outlook on the UCA. Or, at least, it’s leaders. It’s people, on the other hand, could use the help, even if the expansion did threaten to put some strain on their own comings and goings…

“Speaking of what others can’t do,” Kaspar said, not at all proud of themselves for it, but still yet wanting to ensure that someone kept it up. “I made a recent visit, things should be fine, for a time.”

Fragile was quiet, but pleased, with the way her face cleared and eyes brightened. The topic troubled her, sure, but she was less troubled since Kaspar had agreed to help. “I’m glad. I wish I could do it myself, but until things calm down, the less attention to it, from those with eyes on me…well, the better.”

“I get it,” Kas nodded, leading her to the greenhouse. Even if she couldn’t stay for tea, Kas could play the part of the helpful sibling for a little longer. “For now, take some tea,” they started, making for one of the cupboards in the kitchen area and ignoring her quiet exclamation. “Chamomile, dandelion root, vanilla-.”

“Vanilla? Kaspar-.”

“What, I like to indulge,” Kas replied, brushing it off as they took one of her hands and placed a small, paper bag in her hand. Inside was a hand woven bag, tired with a string. The flowers they had grown themselves, the vanilla was an expense they rarely took the time to splurge on, and Kas knew Fragile had enough samples of honey in her own home. There was an apiologist in one of the Knots that was apart of the efforts to revitalize the bee population, and  they knew how to synthesize honey. 

“Share some with the scientist, if you like.”

“Apiologist.”

“Whatever.”

“Kas.”

“Yes, dove?”

Fragile sighed. She smiled. She stepped forward and hugged her sibling tight, and Kas grinned against her shoulder. When Fragile released her, they touched foreheads, an old habit from childhood, and one that was brought up again during Fragile’s recovery, when something like holding hands, let alone hugging, was impossible. 

“I love you, terribly.”

“I love you, too, and it’s awful.”

Fragile vanished, leaving a trail of water to make it’s way from Kaspar’s eye to the bottom of their chin. 

“Damn, allergy,” they muttered, their smile slipping away, and decided to make some lunch.

Chapter Text

He didn’t know who he was before being plucked from the Beach like a lost sea turtle, but ever since shacking up with Kas, he felt damn well spoiled.

Three square meals a day, an endless supply of hot tea, a bed that he almost called his own, and plenty of time to sleep, whenever he so much as blinked for too long. Kas, themself, was still as skittish as a newborn deer around him though, even if they insisted on stuffing him to the brim with nutrients, and sticking their head out into the hall every time he wandered off too far from bed. As it was, he had already managed to join them in their kitchen, a nice little setup complete with indoor, plant grown food, and plenty of natural sunlight. Not that he saw it too often, it seemed to drizzle along the mountains of Kas’ retreat as much as it did on his Beach. 

Kas kept his brain busy, when his body just wasn’t up to the task.

They had a habit of slipping into French sometimes, one of their two first languages right next to English. Eventually, he’d picked up a word or two, and from there nothing had stopped him from asking for more. 

Just the basics at first: numbers, stuff around the house, and “I love you” specifically for the dog. When he’d asked how to call Pragma a dirty mutt after catching the scoundrel gnawing on his boots, Kas looked like he’d insulted their deceased mother. 

One clear day, though, he was ready to start chewing on the upholstery of their couch if they didn’t get out, and the little porter had led him, arm in arm, outside for awhile. The grass along the rocky slopes of their home, reaching out and out, and dipping down suddenly, a mile or so off, was quiet. There was little bird song left in their world, he knew that much, and then some. 

He remembered the concept of Beaches. He also recalled the cities of America, knots tied tightly together by strands woven across the country through the efforts of a porter group called BRIDGES. There was another, some guy named Sam that did the dirty work, but Kas only mentioned him once and, seeing that he really didn’t know the guy beyond his name, let it slide. 

“I mentioned your group, and asked ma sœur cadette that she look into the whereabouts of Beyond Death,” Kas said, joining him on an outcropping of rock.

The way they sat down beside him with careful ease, close but hardly touching, made him think it was probably a spot they visited often. “She’s been busy, but so far she’s turned up nothing.”

He clucked his tongue, but getting it. “Honestly, we didn’t do a lot of work. The ball had just gotten rolling when, well,” he shrugged, letting Kas’ assume from there. He didn’t want to say, “A bitch in a red dress started talking in my sleep that said I could take over the world, and now, hell, look where that got me”. It seemed a bit early for their relationship to admit that he was maybe a little insane. 

Honestly, he hadn’t seen any signs of the red lady since waking up on his Beach, or living with Kas. As it was, the more he looked back on it, the more it all seemed to be a dream, a series of nightmares conjured up by an overworked brain. 

He couldn’t even remember her name, barely recognized that he was supposedly a DOOM’s sufferer, and hadn’t known where to start from there on the subject.

“Cadette? What’s that one?”

“Younger. Ma sœur cadette: my younger sister.”

He hummed, turning that word over in his noggin a few times before a question he’d been wondering came back around: “How’d you know you could pull me out of there, anyways?”

“Pragma,” Kas started, making him narrow his eyes at the sudden mention of the dog. The pooch in question was walking along the fields, sniffing every blade of grass and pebble to be found. It was the first time in a bit he’d bothered to give him any kind of space. Kas looked away from the bastard, and met his gaze. “I found him on a Beach, years ago. When I held him, he felt real, physical. And I knew I could do it. Just as I did with you.”

He made a noise in his throat, “Well, color me impressed, sweet, aren’t you something? Rescuing people on the reg’ without even breaking a sweat.”

“Shush, Chiot,” they grumbled, actually grumbled, how cute was that? He smirked fiercely, making Kas even more flustered by it. 

“Chiot, they say. Chiot,” he drawled, knowing he was doing something right with the way they burned for it. But he knew when to stop before provoking them into shoving him to the ground. Sure, they had yet to lay their hands on him in that way, but hell if he wasn’t tempted to pushing them into trying. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask about that, what’s that one mean?”

“It’s French.”

“What for? Hot, sexy, man-thing-?”

“Puppy.”

“Excuse me? Honey, I ain’t no dog-.”

“You certainly act like it, sometimes, Chiot. The way you talk, the way you eat, even the way you leave water all over the bathroom, just like Pragma. The stall has a built in dryer, how are you capable of such a thing if it’s not on purpose?”

He whistled low, full on grinning and not bothering to hide it. He never did, with them. “I love it when you get hot and bothered about me.”

Kas scoffed in disgust, stood up, and rounded back towards the house. He was left chuckling, until he tried to move himself, and felt a twinge in his spine that hadn’t been there before. Alright, he was over being in the great outdoors. 

“Kas.”

“What,” they asked without turning back, and he was half concerned that they would leave him entirely. 

“I can’t get up.”

“How sad,” they stopped, glancing back and meeting him a face full of false concern. He knew it when it was real, he’d seen it enough from Kas, in those small, minute expressions of theirs, that he’d squirmed with discomfort from it.

Discomfort being the only word he could conjure for the anxiety it left behind. “At least this way when you get a bath, there won’t be water left all over my bedroom floor.”

“You’re heartless, Kas.” They rolled their eyes, and he saw that they were beginning to leave again. They weren’t serious, were they? “Maria.”

Kas spun around so quickly, he thought they’d trip over their own boots. “Maria? Who are you to call me by that name?”

“Your Chiot, remember? Or is what we have….not enough, anymore?”

Kas mouth dropped. They proceeded to show off a pretty impressive show of indignity, one of their four, primary expressions around him, by raising their hands, beginning to say something—undoubtedly very rude, and, frankly, called for—, and settling for a full body sigh that convinced him that he had won this one. When they stomped over him, helping him up carefully despite the attitude, he grinned from ear to ear. They pointedly ignored it. 

“Speaking of my DOOM’s level-.”

“When were we doing that?”

“You could keep calling me Chiot, instead,” he replied smoothly, glancing down at them from above is eye lashes. 

“What about it.”

“I’m not sure where it’s at, exactly, but I wanna find out.”

“Well, the season is incoming,” Kas began, earning an asked question from him in the form of quirked brow. He was pretty sure they liked his eyes, with the way they kept catching onto so often, but he wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t like their entire face. ‘Cept if he mentioned something so innocent, Kas might keel over. He had a brand to keep up, anyways, and that meant avoiding being anything related to cute with them, unless it fell into the annoying category. 

Albeit, it was tempting…

“This time of year, near to the fall, the rains pick up. Naturally, these days rain equals timefall, thus it’s natural to be careful and assume there will be more sightings of Beach Things.”

“We can use the time to see if I can sense them somehow.”

“Precisely,” they replied. He liked it when they used big words, and was pretty sure he’d keel over if they approached to anything akin to, say, serendipitous. “Why are you smiling like a chat that caught the canary?”

“Nothin’.” It was obvious they didn’t believe him. Now that was smart thinkin’.

“When it comes, we can watch for them. As it stands, I walk Beaches, I can see them, and,” they paused, appearing to think of something, and for the first time since they’d met he felt like Kas was holding something back. “I haven’t told anyone besides a few people, but I can also walk through the ‘fall.”

“Wait,” he paused at the threshold of their little abode, propping themself up against the front door of the bunker and looking them over again. “Hold on, you can walk through timefall and come out fine?”

“Oui,” they nodded heavily, and he got that, yeah, they knew how serious this was. Hell, how serious it could be if any government kook got wind of it. “I see by your visage you understand why I would rather not anyone know.”

He sniffed, only partially playing when he placed his hand on his chest with his reply. “I’m honored that you would grace little old me with such a serious secret, Kas.”

Kaspar crossed their arms, rolling their eyes, but lookin’ like they accepted his olive branch after what he called them earlier. 

“If you stay with me much longer, Chiot, there will be no avoiding it. I was thinking about picking up more deliveries cette saison. That was, until I found you.”

“Hmmm, hiking around in waterlogged boots, and carrying some safe at home, warm and snug, bastard’s crap across the country. Or hanging with me and dealing with my frankly sparkling personality,” he followed their head shake as they walked into the living room. “Now that’s a hard decision to make.”

He watched them mime speaking with one hand, continuing inside and not looking back. He followed after, strangely willing to carry on in their footsteps, pet names or no. 

Chiot asked about his things once, his old porter gear that they recycled, and seemed unconcerned when they confessed to doing so. Kas was hardly at a loss for having to make up for it. They had the funds to commission new outfits for him, if need be, or even use their own recycled resources to do so, but as things stood, he fit their father’s old outfits pretty well.

Kas understood how odd it was, to keep their parents’ things, both of them, around after their deaths when they could be reused for new outfits. They’d put it off long enough by the time Chiot’s stay had begun and they thought, hey, if they fit then why bother. All the same, as the used ones began to pile up, they considered it again. Just as they considered changing the voice of their computer. 

“Registering user, user information saved. Welcome to the network, user six.”

“Six? Kind of cold, ain’t it?”

“It’s that, or Chiot. Do you really want to hear that over your head, even when I’m not around?”

“Good point.”

“…Wait, who makes up cinq? Il y a toi, tes parents, votre sœur—.”

“Pragma.”

“How would a dog even wear a cufflink?”

“He doesn’t, he’s chipped.”

“Right, of course, it was a rhetorical, Kaspar. I’m not that idiotic.”

“From your mind, not mine.”

Kas reused an old cuff, giving it to Chiot for use because if they did leave and he was still around it was basically the only way he would come and go from the building without being locked out for good. Chiot questioned the choice at first, making a joke about how much they appeared to trust him, but as it was, there wasn’t anything for him to take if he did decide to high tail it out of there. Basic materials, sure, even a truck they were pretty sure was stalled with how long it stood around not being used. But their funds were saved on the network, basically rendering them useless unless they needed to purchase anything from the UCA, which was the only time they used them. 

There was Pragma, but Kas would like to see the man try to kidnap their dog and turn away without missing a hand. The dog was small, but he growled at BTs when they grew too close to the bunker doors. 

So, Chiot had his own cuff. Limited in use given his lack of an apparent presence in their world, at least, for now. They could both leave eventually but in his condition, and with only one reliable means of transportation, that was put it on hold. 

And, there was the season. When it finally came, it broke the sky open in sheets of solid water. Chiot actually looked put off, gazing out the windows of the greenhouse one day, and not failing to register a smile. Kas was sitting at their table, examining the weather reports brought in by one of the way stations in the network. Chiot was propped up close to the glass of the ‘house, enough to be touching it with his shoulder, but looking less bothered by the proximity and more that it was happening. It wasn’t often that Kas saw anyone as blasé about timefall as they were, but nor was he happy about it. 

“Chiot,” they found themself speaking up, drawing the attention of their companion. His eyes were dark, thoughts elsewhere. Still, when they spoke up, he moved away from the glass, going over to join them at the table. “Does it bother you?”

He made a low sound in his throat, sitting down before answering. “Nah. Hard to be bothered by something you were never afraid of to begin with.”

This made Kas cock their head. “Are you…remembering things?”

“Kinda,” a flash of frustration crossed his face. “Little things, like, uh, smells and sounds, they sometimes trigger bits of memory. But the whole picture? I ain’t gotta clue, darlin’.”

Kas considered his words, thinking to themself: “What…what was it just now, about the rain that triggered a memory?”

Chiot’s attention turned inward again, his eyes unfocusing while they moved up, up, skating along the glass wall. “The sound… it’s louder. But in the bedroom, it’s kind of muffled. Think I…used to hear that in a bunker, growing up.” He shook his head, still displeased, and Kas found that they didn’t care for it. He had every right to feel how he liked, especially given his situation, but think think they preferred when he was laughing. Teasing. Plotting who knows what. Moments like these, they reminded them of his time on the Beach, in that moment before he saw how real Kas was. And that it meant he was no longer alone. 

“But that doesn’t mean anything,” he was saying, considering them. “I mean, you know the state of things. The entire damn world may be livin’ underground at this point.”

“But it could be a start,” they said, knowing his attention was fully on them, by the way his mouth failed to turn curvaceous, while his gaze refused to waver. “A drop that starts a ripple. One day you hear the rain, you remember the sounds of it hitting your old bunker’s roof. Maybe it’s followed by a smell, or a song. And that leads to a person, someone else you may have loved.” 

“Someone else…” Chiot spoke quietly, eyes on them, still steady, still remaining. Kas thought they heard something humming in their ears. The rain, their heartbeat. The moment passed, and Chiot smiled. “You’re real talkative today, you know that?” 

“I,” Kas blinked, not…noticing that was the case. Were they being talkative? “I didn’t notice, Chiot.”

“No, no, don’t distract me with the name,” he went on, leaning in, then rising from his seat, moving around the table until he was basically in his face. This one, it was like he had something like the opposite of agoraphobia. “Not right now-.”

“I don’t-.”

“It’s the rain, ain’t it?”

Kas stopped breathing. Had he really noticed? 

“You said timefall doesn’t bother you, but when you mean it, you mean it doesn’t hurt,” Chiot straightened up, finally giving them some space, and Kas bit their lip to keep from blushing. Dammit, they were bad at that. “I bet if you ever needed some peace and quite from mommy, daddy, and your baby sister, you just took off, and had yourself a party outside. Just needed a little rain, and no one would be able to complain.”

Kas sighed, trying to play it cool, for themself. But, really. “Yes, okay,” they replied, confused when he laughed, like it was some sort of victory. “Why is this an exciting revelation.” 

“Honey, you’ve all I got, and you don’t talk about yourself,” he replied, Kas forgetting to be bothered by his first comment when they noticed how right he was about the rest. They supposed they…didn’t do that. 

“Is that something people should do,” they asked, honestly curious.

“Shit, honey, people don’t shut up about themselves,” was his reply, Chiot gesturing with both hands like it was the most obnoxious thing in the world. For humans to be…social…apparently. 

Other, humans, anyways. 

“Whether it’s about the weather, or about some new meal in a pill, or someone dyin’, people gotta talk about it and how it relates to them,” he went on, dramatically placing the back of his hand on his forehead. “Oh, Ted died, I’m so sad. Oh, it’s so sunny outside, I think it’s so nice. Oh, did you see that guy in Waystation whatever, I kind of want to bang his brains out.” Chiot had the audacity to punctuate this with a thrust, fisting his hands like he was holding onto something for dear life. 

Kas laughed, they couldn’t help it. No one in their life was as ridiculous, or obscene, as this man. Meanwhile, is was impossible to miss the gleam in his eyes, and Chiot sat down heavily, as pleased as a fucking peach. 

“Chiot,” Kas started, desperately wanting to argue, only faltering when his expression said: try me. “This is what you want? You want me to talk about everything, and anything-.”

“Anything.”

“Including who, at what Waystation, I want to fuck?”

Chiot leaned back in his chair, and Kas heard the trap slam shut. Yeah, they’d walked straight in, but they wouldn’t let it show on their face.

“Kaspar,” the man drawled, accent in full swing, and turning Kas cheeks an unpleasant shade of red, no doubt. Gods, what they wouldn’t do to catch him the same way. “I want to hear about yourself. C’mon. What’d your daddy do?”

“He was a porter. Then he founded the business my sister runs today.”

“And your momma?”

“She,” Kas said, brought their left arm closer to their chest, and considered the tattoos engraved there in the light. “She was a botanist. She studied extinct flora, in particular. Fluers, flowers, were her favorites.”

“I’m guessing she’s where you got the accent.”

“How did you? Guess, I mean?” Kas didn’t know they were leaning into the table with him, until they managed to catch the shine of the ambient light in his gaze. It was pleasant here, in the bunker, in the rain. Like all the world outside didn’t exist anymore, outside of a haze of white noise. 

“The voice, over the intercom. I once heard you talk back to it,” he said, Kas’ smile slipping as he did so. “You called it père.”

“You picked that up, did you,” they asked, quietly.

“With you I try to pay attention,” he actually winked. “Here and there. And…when your sister came over.”

Kas’ heart stuttered in their chest. 

“I wasn’t completely asleep, not the whole time.”

“You overheard us?”

“I heard words, heard you guys open the door, and stand in the hall,” Chiot started fiddling with his cuff again. Was it…becoming a nervous habit? “Didn’t mean to. I just snapped awake, didn’t move, didn’t breathe. And you went away.”

“You weren’t going to say anything,” Kas replied, not accusing the man, but making a statement. It would be rather awkward to admit, they supposed, but being eavesdropped on wasn’t something they ever considered happening. Not with being so outside of UCA, not since leaving Capital Knot. 

“Hard to mention without it being weird,” he replied, leaning back in his chair, away from them. He left one hand on the table, while the other dropped between his legs. Kas thought they knew a comfortable Chiot, they had seen it enough times with the man laying, diagonally, after a shower, on their bed. “Plus, I thought since it was in something I couldn’t understand, maybe I didn’t have to feel so bad.”

He thought? Kas could understand that, but they weren’t sure if he was making excuses to himself, or them. Unbidden, Kas recalled the array of scars dancing across his skin. They never talked about them. Kas assumed that they were from his porter business, dealing with MULEs, or worse. But…what kind of territory would he be passing through so often to end up like that?

Land like Higgs’, maybe? But Higgs didn’t sound like the kind of man to let someone run away, not unless it was to make a statement. He had with Fragile, they supposed, but that had been more personal then anything. 

So, someone else, maybe? Someone from before his life as a porter? They were making assumptions, a lot of unhelpful, and frankly rude, assumptions. 

“I’ll admit, I don’t care for the idea,” Kas replied, disliking the quiet between them. Not just because they were so used to his chatter, no, but because there were different kinds of quiet and this wasn’t one that spoke of a casual, shared comfort. “But in your place, I would have probably done the same. It’s as you said, you don’t know me. I don’t talk about myself. And our world…it isn’t very safe.”

“You’re…real somethin’, Kaspar.”

Kas shrugged, leaning back in their own seat. “Who do you have to compare me to?”

“Ain’t too many people willing to save someone’s life, give them a soft bed, and teach them a second language, to boot. You’ve gotta admit, that’s a lot to expect. A lot more to get without askin’.”

Kas was unmoved, if a little touched that he would say as much, and appear so earnest while doing so. “At least this way when you walk away, you will go with another skill set under your own boot.”

“How to treat that special someone in your life right?”

“Did I call you special, Chiot?”

“Naw, but I think you’re as good as they come.”

“Flatterer.” 

“I don’t want to pry, or nothin’. Be real dumb to get kicked out by the one person willing to lend me some aid, right now.”

“For now. When the rain leaves, that could change.”

He kept to his word though, starting simple, or as simple as he could without letting loose a deluge of questions. It was difficult, as he quickly found he was hardly someone to anythin’ by halves.

“My tattoos? She drew them herself, even laid the ink.” 

He was delighted when Kas traced them out, even if he had to ask twice, pointing out each himself, to make sure he got the names right. 

“Small Solomon’s Seals, they were white, clustered in little groups, and growing along a green vine. The Cry Violet, here, had it’s purple shades gathered together as well. It was discovered by a Frenchman. The flowers of the Franklinia Tree, also blanche, but with it’s petals open, and it’s center jaune— yellow. This one was the flower of the Saint Helena Mountain Bush, rouge— red, and spread wide.”

“Pourquoi des fleurs? Figured botanists study a lot more then just floral arrangements,” he asked, knowing by the look on their face, by then, that they knew he was being deliberately obtuse. He, well, maybe he wasn’t as dumb as he tried to act, sometimes. His quick uptake of an entirely new language, at his age, was a prime example of this. 

“Fleurs, they mostly only seem to appear with BT. They come and go, near to an instant. Sprouting, dying, here, and gone. I don’t know. These were all gone, so long ago. But once, I thought perhaps I saw one.”

“Sprouting along side some heavy steps of a BT?”

“Yeah. It was…ma mère was mostly concerned about my being any where near them. That was, really, all she cared about. But I…I couldn’t forget. Just like how I refuse to think that they’re naturally creatures maléfiques. Evil? People fear them, oui, and they can be dangerous. But anyone can if provoked, if used, if scared or confused. And they, the BT that day, for an instant they brought back something the world should have lost forever, but didn’t. As if the potential is still there, in the earth.”

Yeah, Kas talked a lot more when it rained. Like it energized a part of them that normally made others slow, and tired. He felt something like it, an exhaustion in his bones he couldn’t shake, no matter how much sleep he caught on their couch, or their truck, or the bed. 

But he just kept listening. And listening. He asked for it, after all, and something about it, something about them, made him want to soak it up like a fucking sponge. It was true, what he said about them being all he had, and how he had nothin’ really to give himself.

Like he said, though, he wasn’t stupid either. He recognized that he had gone soft over this blond haired, doe eyed porter, who’s nose wrinkled into a button every time he shoved himself in their personal space. It was most of the damn reason he did it. 

How couldn’t he be? They saved his life, they were book smart, as well as keep as a damn knife, and fuck if he hadn’t seen the back muscles they sported when they sometimes did stretches in the garage in the morning. Never in his life did he think he’d appreciated sleeveless vests more.  

But that’s all it had to be. When he was half a person himself, not knowing if he’d wake up one day with the knowledge that he was…some kind of mass murderer, or some kind of sadist, besides. He saw the scars, he was learning them every day with each twist and turn he took in the bathroom.

He couldn’t place them, for the most part. Not for longer then small instances, sparks of discomfort. Of fear. He just felt anxious even considering them. As if a part of his brain, whenever it took his identity, took the recollection of their origins with it. A safety mechanism, oppressing his worse memories so he could manage to live through the now. 

Maybe he was looking a fucking gift horse in the mouth. As it stood, he was spendin’ time with a pretty face that could cook up good food, and who offered up their very own bed for him to roll around in. Hell, if he could make it across the yard without wanting to take a nap, he’d be somewhere close to heaven.

But it fucking wrankled him. He had all these goddamn marks on his body and all these spits of memory in his brain, and pulling them together into one cohesive picture was like wrestling a wet cat. Kas said it’d come in steady, a trickle that could turn into a stream, but just as easily could be turned off again if he pressed too hard. 

And some of those memories, some of those flashes of wet, miserable existence, were just that. And the sharpest among them was the pain, aches that flared up under his skin, in his bones. He hadn’t told Kas yet, but he was pretty damn sure he had a few old breaks he didn’t have excuses for. One in his arm, near the shoulder. Another in his right knee, which squeaked sometimes if he pushed it too hard. The presence of the rain made it worse. 

He’d think they were old injuries from being stupid. He’d known himself long enough by then, or some part of himself, anyways, to figure that he was the reckless type. But, sometimes, he woke up in the dark of Kas’ room, pleading for…he didn’t know what. For someone….to be happy with him. To listen. To, fucking, something, anything, but what had been going on. He woke up feeling inadequate.

And in his current half-state, that feeling lingered. 

Maybe it was okay, if he never remembered who he was. Things were good, most times. He was getting stronger, haler, making it around the house, sure clutchin’ at anything that stood still for him to use, but he could walk. He could stand up in the shower without calling for help, no matter how he teased Kas about rescuing him. 

But, just thinking that he didn’t need those memories…a paranoid part of him figured it’d have to happen, now. 

Chapter Text

“Fucking-,” Kas hissed in the gloom of the room, glaring, still tired, at the roof above their head. There was a pain in their spine that came and went now, one that had been threatening to rear it’s ugly head for the better half of a month, and which set in deep six weeks into Chiot’s stat in their bunker.

Their couch was killing them.

Kas was a porter. They had slept in caves, napped on cliff sides, stuffed themself into every nook and crevice in the land in attempt to escape the elements. Sure, timefall didn’t bother them. But the cold did, and so did the idea of getting buffeted against a mountainside in overly windy weather. There was also the issue of MULEs and other bandits across the land, and they were far from bullet proof. Sure, occasionally they rested at a Waystation, but at the end of the day they always looked forward to returning home, and tucking themself in, neatly, into their own bed.

Said bed was now taken up by a six foot something man, who, despite heading towards recovery, still didn’t have a place in Kas’ bunker that could otherwise accommodate his size (this was something they had brought up with him, once, but refused to phrase it in such a manner). Kas, themself, had tried their old childhood bed, but it was still a twin sized thing, and it felt weird waking up in that bedroom without Fragile in the next one over. Either way, Kas woke up with their spine needing some correcting, and they were afraid that the only way that would ease up was if they spent a good few days in their parents’.

After forcing themself up, Kas peered groggily across the room, seeing a figure alight in the doorway to a hall. Chiot stood there, holding a mug of something, and looking disgustingly happy about something. “Mornin’, sunshine!”

Dog or no, Beach leftover or not, Chiot’s likeness to Pragma ended with one horrible fact: he was a morning person, and he could get up early sometimes.

“Chiot,” Kas started, stopping when they heard how horribly small, and pitiful, and tired their voice was. It was pathetic, and Chiot’s face shifted into obvious sympathy, if one still laced with his near constant amusement.

"Not sleep well, darlin’,” he asked, moving into the room, and promptly sitting himself down beside them on the couch. It pulled at the blanket still on their lap, and Kas had the random, stray thought that it would be much too small to cover his person. “You’re lookin’ mighty fine, despite the fact.”

“It’s the couch-,” they didn’t finish their confession, dropping the hand that had moved to their back, and knowing that they were complaining about something that couldn’t be helped. But even if he was a guest, it was their damn house-.

Kas sighed inwardly. Chiot had rubbed off on them, they never used to curse as much before he was dropped into their life.

“Why not take the bed?”

“Where would you go, Chiot?”

“The couch doesn’t look too bad, pretty sure I’ve slept on worse.”

“If it hurts my spine, it will leave yours disfigured.” 

"Hey, I can deal with it. Least I could do after this many days of puttin’ up with this ugly mug of mine,” he said, the way he leaned back with one arm over the couch, the space behind Kas’ shoulders, letting them know he was kidding. About the ugly part, anyways. Chiot thought he was finer then a vanilla cake topped with butter cream frosting. 

I should really tell him otherwise, Kas thought, beginning to smile at the thought of him whining over any attempt at being rude to his person. Which, frankly, came too them often, but it remained something he bounced back faster from then lightening. 

“See, you’re smiling. You agree with me, then.”

“I was just thinking that you need to be brought down by a peg or two,” they said smoothly, and Chiot grumbled low, and pitifully in his throat. They hid their growing smile, standing up, letting their blanket slip away from their legs, and stretching their arms above their head. They pulled at their elbows first one with their right hand, and the other with their left. From behind them, Chiot slurped at his tea nosily, and Kas fought the desire to turn around and hit him.

They hated those noises. Eating noises, slurping, mouth noises, and he damn well knew it. 

Turning about, barely suppressing a shove at least, because he was still holding a hot drink, they looked down at him. Well, as much as they could, considering his height. “What will you do today?”

“Well, you said somethin’ about that truck givin’ you problems.”

“Et alors? It’s old.”

“And I saw the parts lyin’ around the garage.”

“Tucked away, wrapped in unmarked boxes in the corner is hardly lying around, Chiot-.” 

“And I thought I’d give it a tune up.”

Kas considered him. They thought it was leading to this, but it was unexpected, all the same. A kindness, one person helping another, when it truly wasn’t necessary. An oddity in their world, one that was so small, it barely fit their own person, at times. 
It would make it easier, to take him to a Knot. To find people he may know. 

This voice was logical, but unkind. A terrible, prodding thing, that made something sour twist in their chest. If Chiot got the truck working, he could leave, and for good. They weren’t actually completely against the idea of letting him take it. As it was, their trike could carry enough weight on it’s own without needing a bed, and Kas rarely went out, besides. The truck, in the meantime, sat, left to rot. Which was one of the reasons why it was in the state it was now.

“That…would be a good idea.”

“So, you’re sayin’ I can,” he was asking, knees twitching like he had a tail hiding under his rear that they couldn’t see. 

“I mean, I would be grateful if you did, Chiot. It would give you something to do while I am gone…and something to use, when you are ready to leave.”

“Hey…Kas, I didn’t mean anything about taking your stuff-.”

“Non, but,” they shrugged one shoulder. “It would make it easier to take you to a city, without risk of exposure in this weather.”  And if I decide to simply let you take it for good, well, then it’s one less thing to worry about maintaining. 

“Speaking of leavin’,” Chiot said, catching their attention. “What’s so important north of the border that can’t wait in this weather? Even if you are resistant, you could still slip and fall, get caught up in a ravine, or run into the wrong person.” 

Kas shook their head, knowing what relief felt like when he didn’t ask about him leaving the shelter. “I’ve made the trip often enough, I could do it in the dark. I have the trike, and my gear. I’ll be fine.”

“I could ride piggy back, you know? I know, I know I’m hardly completely up to snuff just yet, but we could whip up some gear…maybe use my old outfit. I’d be right comme la pluie, as it were.”

“I don’t doubt your mettle, Chiot. But this one I have to do alone. There are some people out there that value their quiet more then others. And you, I’m sad to say, are hardly the quiet sort.”

“Ain’t nothin’ sad about it,” he replied, standing up as they left the room, and following after, as always, close on their heels. “You like to hear me talk.”

Kas didn’t answer this, instead walking towards and slipping into their room to look for their outfit for the day. Chiot propped himself up on the bed, one leg bent over it’s surface while the other hung off the side. 

Rummaging through their dresser, Kas refused to look at him. “I confess, when you do leave, le silence left behind will take some adjusting.”

“And if I don’t?”

Kaspar did look at him then.

“I could build a bunker, over the hill somewhere,” he went on, waving his mug towards the window set into the wall. Kas didn’t how that left them feeling.

“Would you stay there,” they asked, finally picking out their leggings, sleeved top, and socks. In case it was chilly out, this time they would cover up their arms beneath their porter gear. 

“Hey, now, it gets lonely out here. You sayin’ you wouldn’t want me swingin’ by, askin’ for some sugar-."

They picked up a pillow form the end of the bed and tossed it at his head, tea be damned. Chiot caught it with some remarkable speed, but it was a big one, and still clipped him in the face. His mug was fine, held tactfully away. As if the man had expected them to assault him. “Someone’s finally woken up for the day!”

“Shush,” they replied, pointlessly, in his direction, and swept into the bathroom. The door shut behind them, muffling his laughter. The bathroom was still, no hint of electrical buzz, or the buffeting wind of the outside world there to bother it. Outside the room, Kas heard the bed squeak, Chiot’s weight settling into the floor, and the man walked out.

Good. Not that they were terribly bothered by the idea of him being in the bedroom while they washed but…well, it had taken some time to get used to. 

Kas undressed, jumped in, and welcome the warm spray of the water. Since Chiot—so many things in their mind seemed to begin with those two words now— used their supply as well, Kas had increased the allotment used for washing. There was no reason for them not to, really. The system put into place by their father allowed for an ample supply of hot water, even if it didn’t heat up as quickly as it used to. They simply hadn’t used it as often before because, otherwise, they’d get caught in the stall for too long. 

Thinking, thinking, more and more. As they did now, of the man outside. It was hard not to, with the way he had disrupted their life. But now, they had business to attend to in the outside world. A simple trip, the promise they kept remaining solid, even if they had a grown man to entertain for the time being. 

It was lucky that his recuperation fell in the same time period when their client, so to speak, didn’t need as much themself. But yesterday, just before bed, Kas had received a message from the bunker farther north then even their own. 

Thinking of it, Kas left the shower quickly. The sooner they were suited up, the sooner they could leave, see them, and return for a night of rest. The thought of the couch that waited was, literally, a sore one. But they would feel accomplished after in a way that few things allowed. 

Chiot was already in the garage when they went to gear up for the day’s event. His mug was on the lip of the truck’s bed, topped up it seemed by the way steam rose from it’s mouth, but the man in question was by their bike. 

“Sorry if I’m imposing, but I took the liberty of grabbing your package in the ‘house and attaching it to your bike.”

“I was wondering about that,” they said, glad to see it’s rectangular shape clipped into place. Black, lined with gold, the design matched their gear, something Kas swore Dead had done on purpose.

“The design is pretty unique,” Chiot pointed out, standing by the trike as they pulled on their boots. They were level threes, a gift from their client, who had given Kas an old pair to have refitted for their personal needs. “Can’t say I’ve seen it before, either.”

“The material is synthesized from my blood. My gear is the same, keeps it from breaking down, like my own person.”

Chiot appeared impressed, an expression they always, if secretly, enjoyed putting on his face. “Hell, that’s inspired, Kas. I bet people would bend over backward trying to make all kinds of shit with your DNA.”

“Precisely,” they nodded, seeing the narrowed, wry glance of his eyes, and meeting it with one their own. “I was thinking that if the weather persists for too long, I could have some gear commissioned for your own use. But, as it stands, the truck may be enough.”

“As honored as I might be about the idea, I think I’ll try the truck.” Chiot waved his hand, as if to stave off any ill will. “No offense, but it doesn’t sit well with me, the idea of using you up just to keep me safe in a little rain.”

Kas was amused by this. Donating some blood to keep him from dying outside would hardly be “using them up”. No, such things were better fitted for the laboratories of the UCA. “It’s okay,” they told him, and finished up by closing their coat around their chest. 

Kas went to their bike, hopping on, and ready to send the signal for their cuff to open the door when Chiot stopped them. “Hey,” he pulled out something from his pocket, a flask by the looks of it. There was a clear line along it’s center, showing off a brown liquid inside. “Made you some tea, too. That cinnamon rooibos stuff you keep handy.”

“So, you do share,” Kas quipped, pleased all the same, as they took it in their hand, fingers meeting in a tingle of warmth they blamed on the steel canister. 

“I know range isn’t too long out here. But if somethin’ happens, you gimme a call.”

“Chiot-.”

“Kaspar.” 

They sighed out through their nose, blinking slowly before meeting his eyes. He…he actually seemed concerned. “I’m used to this.”

“But I ain’t. So, uh, maybe bare with me, a bit,” he said, the stumbling walk of his words catching them off guard. It was very rare that Chiot was ever less then certain with his speech with them. “I know you know your shit. Hard not to think so, with the way you hold yourself up. But, well, maybe let someone mother hen you for a change.”

That hit somewhere soft. Soft, and vulnerable, and how could he know? He only knew about them saving Pragma, of helping him, so why…?

“Just a feeling.”

Ah. He was too intuitive for his own good. That was all.

“I’ll be back soon,” they replied, taking the canister from the slight grip he hand held onto it, and their hand, and tucking into the pouch on their hip. They clicked on their trike with a wave, the door behind them in the garage moving up, into it’s dock, and the calm hiss of rain letting them know that the window to leave before it picked up was still open.

“Promesse?”

Kas looked up, saw the glimmer of something in Chiot’s blue eyes as he watched them back out, pushing with one foot, towards the timefall. 

“I promise,” they smiled, allowing their hood to snap on, even of they didn’t need it, but for his sake. Chiot didn’t wave as they backed out, entering the wet, and the waiting morning. But he watched, until the door shut, and cut him off entirely from their vision. 

Chapter Text

He hung around the garage for an hour before he had to leave the room. Pragma followed him, trying to lick at his fingers, dirtied by the lubrication he’d used on the truck, and he waved the pup off. The ‘house wasn’t much better then the garage. Sure, it was raining out, it’d picked up in the last twenty minutes, but the whole bunker felt empty right then.

Kas wasn’t the noisy sort. No, that occupation was left to him to fill, but they didn’t just not talk much. They weren’t like a ghost, wavering from one room to the next, but everything they did was muted. Even the singing they did, that careful humming he tried not to interrupt whenever he caught it on the air. They often stopped when he’d walk in, hardly looking like they knew they’d been up to it at all. If they had, and thought he had heard, he was pretty sure Kas would be all blushes. 

Now, he didn’t have their song to catch. He didn’t have the shift of the wood in the living room to let him know they were stepping in from outside, or the gentle popping of animal fat in the iron skillet on the stove, letting him know a treat was on it’s way. Kas was gone, possibly for the majority of the day if their route went well, and all he had was himself.

And the dog. Pragma was looking up at him funny, like he’d known what was on the human in the room’s mind, and he leaned down to give the pooch a scratch in apology. Pragma wagged his tail. Crisis averted, for now. 

He let out a breath, standing in the living room…not knowing when he’d gotten there…and not knowing why, either. Back in the hall, he nearly went to the bedroom, and halted, not wanting that either. Maybe a shower would distract him from how suddenly empty the space around him was.

His attention caught on a seam in the hall, a door he often passed, but only entered once.

Kas had been trimming Pragma’s nails one day, and he’d been there, of course, pestering them the entire time. It probably made them clumsy, if they were capable of such a mortal sin, and when they finished up one of the dog’s claws weren’t sanded correctly. 

He knew this, of course, because the mutt had jumped on him later that day, and caught said nail on his hand, leaving a nasty scratch behind. Kas had seen it, apologized sweetly, and even examined the wound. He complained appropriately, swearing amputation was needed, that he would surely die of septicemia, and that was all it took for Kas’ guilty concern to be wiped clean. They whapped him on his bicep, and walked away, letting him know about the door that led to the basement of the bunker.

He entered it now, the light clicking on in his wake, and figured he should know where everything was in case Kas did need help. (He had more faith in their abilities then he might have let on earlier, but, well, the world was a pretty shit place, and he had a good guess that not a lot of good, like Kas, frequented it enough for him not to be concerned). 

He noticed when Pragma didn’t follow, and called him a good dog for doing it. Pragma barely moved his tail in response, and he waved the dog’s sudden stoicism for good training. The room below was framed with cabinets, both with glass doors, and drawers, from small to long. A gurney was unfolded, near the center, appearing unused, but sterile under the stark light of the room. Fuck, it was bright in here.

He recognized the clipboard he had noticed the first time he was down there, grabbing a bandage. It hung on a wall, and as he grabbed it, he saw the lines and lines of handwriting crossing it’s surface. Actual paper, not a lot of people would resort to something so archaic when everyone and their dog had a cufflink, nowadays. 

He recognized Kas’ writing, having seen it on a digital notebook they kept in the kitchen, for supplies they randomly conjured up in their mind. The list had been growing lately, something that spurred on his idea to fix the truck. Clever thought, that one. If he couldn’t deal with the lack of their presence for an afternoon, how would he feel after a few days? 

There were barely any notes on the surface of the chart, most of it was marked with Pragma’s name, a name that went back as far as around three years ago. When the Death Stranding nearly occurred, by Kas’ account.

But there was someone else, too. 

F ragile.

He didn’t think it was a name at first, just some kind of designation or sudden change up in how the charts were written. But, no, there was no ignoring it once he saw it. Kas knew Fragile, as in the current owner of Fragile Express. 

How does some untethered porter living outside of UCA territory know the head of BRIDGES’ leading competitor?

Fragile made a good bulk of space between one of Pragma’s most recent checkups and his first chunk, presumably when he’d been rescued.

His eyes skimmed Fragile’s account before he could stop himself, his brain just doing as annoying brains did, and taking in information without first considering the ramifications. She’d been exposed to timefall, evidently. What did Fragile do to land herself in hot water like that? The gal sure as hell seemed more sensible then that.

According to the chart, the woman apparently had been fed a series of medications, varying in their doses, and models, until, it seemed, they had gotten it right.

He recalled Kas' mention in the garage, of using their blood to keep things protect from the weather, and he understood.

Right on the money, he thought now, hardly glad over his revelation. “Merde, honey, you really do make a habit of saving people.”

Him, the dog, Fragile. It was mind boggling. He’d glanced at the chart on a whim and now a whole new can of worms had been spilled out at his feet. 

There was another name, Annabelle, written in their script years ago. Someone he didn’t know, at least. According to the dates, Kas must have been, hell, fifteen at the time. Cancer, it said. Until it didn’t, and the record ended, picking up with Pragma, years later. 

He slapped the papers closed, as if burned, if that burn was something akin for guilt for having looked at all. Kaspar’s mother, they mentioned her in passing, sometimes. He knew this woman, Annabelle, had died some time ago, before even Kas’ daddy, if he put the pieces together right.

Evidently Fragile had inherited the family business, and Kas, they were left out here to fend for yourself. After years of taking care of others. And they were still doing it. 

He uttered a curse, returning the clipboard to the wall. Not knowing what to do with himself, he grabbed a med kit on one of the counters, checked it for quick supplies: gauze, bandages, pain medication, and the needles used for it’s injection. With it under one arm, he went back upstairs, meeting up with Pragma, and closing the door behind him.

He didn’t stop there, of course not. 

Considering their talk about the bed earlier, he swung by Kas’ old bedroom. They were right, the beds inside were maybe meant for teenagers, maybe a grown up Kas if they tucked themself in nice, but if he tried to fit, he’d probably roll off.

He gave it a go, anyways, picking the one to the left of the door, and guessing it was yours by the trinkets on the bedside table next to it. A framed picture, a short lamp that matched the one in your current room, and a pressed bookmark of flowers. He lay down heavily on his back, shimming around a bit, but aware of his legs hanging off of it’s side. His boots even touched the ground with the way he was lying. 

He sighed, finding they were right, again, but stubborn as a hang nail decided to stay for the time being. After all, all he had was the truck, and it’d already failed to keep him distracted. He looked up, seeing the glow of tiny, stuck on stars on the ceiling. Cute, definitely unexpected. He’d heard of them once and wanted some when he was a kid-.

Did I?

He did. But didn’t. Couldn’t. Why not?

His brilliant as always brain had nothing to say to that.

Figures. 

He turned his head, saw the photo on the table, and picked it up. There was a small girl, blond hair, couldn't be Kas because of the way her eyes rounded into blue, rather then the green they sported. Kas though, was present, too. Obviously younger, ten maybe, with plumper cheeks, an unfettered grin, and a pair of scrawny arms wrapped around a certain, black furred pooch.

Wait.

He lifted his head, and saw the dog in question tapping down the hall, in his direction.

They’d talked about Pragma, he had to, with the mention of the dog being found on it’s own Beach. Until then, no one had known that animals even had Beaches, let alone the Kas required to walk on them. But Pragma had been solid, like himself.

Three years ago had been the last Death Stranding, shortly before Fragile had been exposed. Two years before that, they rescued Pragma. He can’t be any older then five by now. 

Which didn’t explain the spitting image of him in the picture. Hell, he didn’t know Kas’ age, simply hadn’t gotten around that part of his game of twenty questions, but he figured that they had to maybe be thirty years old. 

Setting them at maybe twenty five when they rescued the pooch, not ten, or whatever they were in the picture. 

Hit with a jolt of genius, he turned the frame over and began removing the picture. He’d gotten this far, may as well throw himself in more into the deep end. I’ll let them know, that I was confused, and got fucking curious. It was the truth, the closest he could state without sounding like a creep about it. 

Yeah, it’s still creepy.

On the other side of the picture, written by a hand he didn’t know, was a serious of notes. Fragile - 8, Maria - 10, Storge - 6

Storge, the dog’s name was Storge. Not the dog he knew now, but the spitting image of of him, and with a similar name, to boot. That was just...uncanny. 

He put the picture back into place, thinking briefly before sitting up in place. Back to the truck, he thought. He knew there was nothing that would keep him from asking Kas about the dog now, but, lucky or not, he had time to decide on how to ask. 

For the time time being he had just keep his hands busy, and out of their personal space for a couple of hours longer. 

Saying that he had any hope that he was capable of such a feat, well, that’d be a dirty lie. 

Chapter Text

Being on their trike again in a storm felt fantastic. 

It was them, the rumbling toter of their ride between Kas and the world, and they sailed through the rain like a knife cutting through a sail. When the spatter of the rain hit their cheeks when they crested the hills behind their bunker they smiled, and kept on smiling, picking up speed, weaving through jagged stone and upturned dirt with the ease of someone who knew their job, and did it damn well. 

Two hours into their journey, their trike was still humming with steady life, and although they’d yet to see any signs of other human life, Kas knew the way by heart. They had to, the main path as well as the backups, trips over rivers, and along woods, all meant as fail safes in case one failed they needed to take a different path in or out. 

They often did this, taking the main path one day, and a different one on the next. Their movements had to be harder to track, already made difficult by being outside of the reach of the UCA, and in a world that still, so very much, depended on the connections of others to thrive. Most were to afraid to even leave the safety of their Knots, and Kas depended on that to do their job. 

Because of the lack of connectivity, messages out were heavily encoded, and dependent on wayward satellites of old to bounce out and find themselves caught on in the web of a dish in the bunker. It was the only one of it’s kind, the only one designed to pick up their client’s infrequent asks for supplies. On the path from their home, even Kas’ cufflink cut off any communications, forging a temporary bond with their clients, and no one else’s. Reversing this had to be done manually. 

Now that they were confident that he was healthy, that he had ample supplies in their bunker, and a cuff on his arm that would send out an alert to Fragile’s, like their own, if something happened, they no longer feared leaving him behind. Should something happen between their bunker and their clients, Kas would have to depend on their own mettle to survive. Meanwhile, their client would be warned of the interruption, and given time to prepare, just in case. For MULES. For Homo Demens. Or even for the UCA. 

For Sam’s sake, they took this risk. 

Like Kas’ bunker, it took time to get to, but more serious knowledge of the place to actually see. The door of his garage was tucked into a rock face, hidden like their road to their home, at an angle. When Kas was two miles out, their cuff pinged, letting them know that the system that guarded his home had noticed their approach, and was ready. 

It taken direction from Sam, in person, to point out his garage, and in their time away, had grown a fine layer of lichen, making it camouflaged even more so with the base of the mountain it was carved into. There was another door, somewhere, out of the bunker, perhaps even more they weren’t aware of, but for their visits they stuck to the two door shutter, large enough for his own trike that waited inside. 

No one was there to greet them, the lights clicked on, the design within reminded of their own home’s car port, and they looked for the door to their hall, without thinking, before seeing the one across the way that led further inside.

It slid open, revealing a stocky, well muscled man, with a face that seemed almost perpetually set in stone. He wore a tight shirt with short sleeves, gloves, porter’s pants, and his own pair of boots. Even after three years it was hard to shake off the habit of wearing his gear, it seemed. 

“Hey,” was his greeting as they climbed off his bike. No upturned palm, no sudden rush of physical contact, just one word, thick with gravel. Kas figured that Sam didn’t talk much, but during their short acquaintance they figured out quickly that was just simply how he sounded. 

“Sam,” they replied, nodding, and turning towards the waiting package on their bike. Their hood clicked off, folding down, and revealing the water stained state of their face. The droplets of which fell, hitting the floor of his garage harmlessly, and their effects diminishing with time. In a minute, what remained on their skin would be completely harmless.

“I have the pills.”

“No questions asked.”

“As before,” they replied, walking over and presenting him the case. He took it, glancing over it’s surface, but not opening it. Before, he would have. Would have scanned the contents inside, said goodbye from there, and been on his way. 

“I thought I saw Lou, on the Beach.”

He met their eyes quickly, chin snapping up, but he didn’t move to put any space between the two of them. It wasn’t the first occurrence, and, as with everything else, he’d had time to probably get used to the concept.

“Wants to see you,” he gave a cant of his head, a brief motion towards the door. “Before you go.”

Kas nodded, pleasantly surprised, but perhaps a little not. They weren’t sure if it was because they were looking forward to it, intrepidly, or because Sam was willing to let it happen. The man thought less of connections then they did. But in the position he maintained, they were sometimes a touchy subject.

He led the way into his bunker home, a short hall that led into a wide open living space, carved down, and shaped into being by his own hands. The floor was a smoothed, time resistant wood, the furniture around mismatched scavenged pieces that they wouldn’t find anywhere else. A dining table with two seats, a rocking chair beside a coffee table and reused couch, and a dozen, random, laid out rugs that Kas was pretty sure Sam must have hit the jack pot on. There was a chandelier that hung from the cave’s ceiling, connected by lines of wire that were pinned in place, ran the length of the wall above them, and disappeared along three other exists to the room. It was comfortably warm, thanks to the hot springs beneath he had to filter out to use for drinkable water. Kas hadn’t been anywhere beyond this room previously, not wanting to overstay their welcome more then necessary.

This time, Sam called out a name, “Lou!” down one of the halls, and Kas picked up the sound of little feet, hitting the cave floor and running. Louise appeared in the entrance of the hall in a flash, tiny hands gripping it’s wall, and her big, round eyes wide as they first saw Sam, her dad, and then Kas. 
“Dad-dy!”

Sam was walking over, and swooped into take the toddler in his arms. It was remarkable, seeing the crag of the man holding the fragile bundle of energy in his arms. Unlike Sam, Lou’s eyes were a deep brown, but their hair was the same shade, her own little pig tails and neatly cut bangs a sharp juxtaposition between his shaggy appearance. 

As Sam walked back over to Kas, one of Lou’s hands fisted in his shirt, the other went up, the toddler sucking on her knuckles as she watched this almost stranger in their home. 

“C’mon, you don’t need that,” Sam chided, taking the hand she’d been coating in spit, and letting her fingers curl around one of his own. 

“When I saw her, I’d thought she looked bigger.”

Sam exhaled softly, mouth shut, and glanced at his kid. Lou was just watching Kas, attention so remarkably focused it nearly caught them off guard when she met Sam’s eyes. 

“You remember them?” He asked, not expecting a reply as he turned back to Kas without waiting for one. “Told her someone was coming. Ain’t no one else that comes by, ‘cept Fragile.”

“Maybe she confused the two of us?”

“No,” Sam shook his head, glancing at his daughter, and Kas saw it in that gaze, that affection that lingered in his every movement around the kid. It was the same love that sent him out into the world, without certainty of any connections remaining behind him, as few as they were, that would help. 

Kas wanted to say that it was the promise of helping America’s Greatest Porter, the man who staved off the next Death Stranding, that led them to help. But really, it was this, a man just trying to keep his tiny family alive after the end of the world. And it helped, when Lou turned her brown’s on Kas and smiled. Smiled in that way a baby her age shouldn’t, with some kind of knowing in her eyes, leaving a feeling that Kas couldn’t shake for days after being in her presence. 

“She knew I meant you.”

Three years ago, Sam Porter Bridges helped connect the UCA, saved the world, and dropped off the face of it in a blink. Days later, Fragile asked Kas if they could do her a favor, and help out with a prepper that lived outside city limits. Being Fragile, Kas agreed, and they went together when Kas met Sam for the first time.

Kas had some idea that the man in question would be him. It was too much of a coincidence, having Fragile appear at home after shooting Higgs, and leaving for the span of 72 hours just to appear again with a request she could only trust with Kas. Kas lived off grid, they knew routes other porters couldn’t take without their level of DOOM’s, and there was one else that couldn’t be corrupted or coerced in some way. Higgs had proved that the best way of keeping secrets was with family, or less then a handful of close connections with one, singular person that they had a debt to pay to that couldn’t ever hope to be paid in their lifetime.

Maybe in another's, with a baby that shouldn’t be alive, guarded by that very man. 

Kas didn’t ask for the details of Lou’s existence from Sam. They knew better, not just because he was a pretty closed book, but because it was just better that way. The less anyone knew, the more secure they were. Fragile had her hypothesis, about a certain BB that the man carried while walking across America, but neither did she share them with any one else. None of them spoke of Sam like he was right next door, living, breathing, and trying to make the same possible for his kid. 

Heart, Deadman, Fragile, Kas. No one else, in the entire world, and half of those four didn’t know where the man even lived, or that Kas had anything to do with him. 

So, every three months or so Kas delivered the medicine they had used for Fragile to Sam, just in case. Having a resistance, however temporary, allowed him to move about undetected, and if there was ever an emergency, they could leave without fear of hitting timefall. Outside of the pills were simple things, parts, once batteries he could now charge, and even seeds for, presumably, his own garden.

The biggest thing Kas had delivered had been a 3D chiral printer, unconnected to the network but containing a wealth of knowledge for the man to use as he saw fit. 

Lou remained her own mystery. Sam treated her like his own daughter, and that’s what Kas left it at. 
Their visit, like others before, was kept short. Lou had no parting words for Kas, just apparently happy to see them, and Kas said goodbye without complaint. Sam saw them out,  leaving Lou inside, and watching them go.

As they went, they thought for an instant about telling Sam about Chiot.

But then they recalled Fragile’s reaction to the man, and decided not to. 

Sam had enough on his plate, gods new he probably didn’t need one more specter breathing down his neck. Especially when that specter was just an amnesiac with issues respecting personal space. No, Chiot was innocent, and as long the man knew nothing about the details of their work that day, it wouldn’t be a problem.

So, Kas left without mentioning a word of the man, and turned their trike towards home, happy again to be on the road. 

They were making good time home when a fog set into the hills. Leaving behind the mountainous region of Sam’s home, Kas took another path, cutting through a forest, and crossing along the banks of a wide, open lake. It was difficult to see, and they kept their vision wide open, slowing down as they moved along, until they reached one of the several, rocky prairies between them and home. 

Despite their words to Chiot, Kas decided to play it safe. With the fog as it was, it was harder to tell rock from knoll from any old soft, mound of grass, and remnants of the old world still lingered in the shapes of fallen structures or half buried cars. 

They were considering the the skyline when they decided to stop in the rain and pull a drink from their flask. It was still warm, tasting of cinnamon, and faint hints of oranges, reminding them that the had someone back home to actually return to. 

Licking what remained of the taste from their lips, Kas examined the hills, and saw movement.

A shift of something, between forty and fifty yards off, so far they weren’t sure of it until it grew taller, thinner. Not a BT, they would know that by the hairs on their skin raising sky high, but they were still tempted. 

Is it a deer? 

Kas had heard stories of the creatures turning South recently, but they typically never left the greater forests, and secluded mountain sides of the world. There was just too much of a risk of being exposed. But this, no.  They had the be sure.

Kas broke their vision of the creature long enough to kneel down on their seat, leaning over the tap at the Odradek strapped to their bike. It woke, a whir of sound that made them grimace, as they’d completely forgotten about it. Kas lifted their head again as it whirred, it’s blades spinning, and a release of white light, barely perceptible, erupted from it’s bulb. It danced over the land, at a mile radius from Kas.

And was answered, an orange light exploding from that figure over the horizon.

Kas had time to sputter a curse, before the stranger started shooting started firing. 

They kicked their trike into gear, twisting hard at it’s handles, and biting their tongue when a flash of white hot pain struck them somewhere on their shoulder. Later, later, Kas didn’t have the necessary equipment to answer in kind, and they didn’t have the time to stop for a personal patch job. 
Whoever it was kept shooting, another wave of energy echoing out and making Kas suddenly afraid that there was more then one out there. MULEs, had to be, but why would those package obsessed odd balls be so far out of UCA territory? 

Later, they reminded themself, picking up speed, and trying to ignore the hail of gun fire aimed in their direction. As their mileage increased, they wove within the dips and grooves of the landscape, dropping any hopes of hitting them, presumably, to nil. That is, as long as they didn’t have vehicles of their own.
Sam.

Kas looked for and spotted a boulder in the mist, gliding behind it in a spray of pebbles and wet mud. They tapped at their cuff, checking—they were still close enough, just barely, the signal between their bracelets was already at it’s lowest bar, and flickering. 

“Come on,” Kas initiated a ping, sucking in a breath when they feared for a heart stopping moment that their signal could have been, somehow intercepted by the MULEs in the process. I need to trust Sam. 

He knew what he was doing. The man was ready to pack up and run in an instant, if need be, and no amount of MULEs could stop him from fleeing with his daughter if it felt necessary. 

There was no ping back, and Kas let themself not be worried by this. It was risky enough to send out a warning, worse still to answer back and potentially help pin point his location further. 

Kas glanced at their arm, pulling at the taunt plastic of their coat until they saw the tear, and a swipe of red. But not yet, it could wait. Grabbing their trike’s handle bars again, Kas urged it out from under the shadow of the rock, and took off. 

Chapter Text

“Visitor detected.”

He slammed his hand on the underside of the truck’s belly, hissing like a snake caught fire, and slid out with his eyes screwed shut, pawing at the quickly forming knot on his forehead. 

“Visitor inbound, estimate: three minutes.”

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he heard himself mutter, standing up and rubbing at the pain in his skull, aware only with a glance at his dirtied hands that’d he’d left a mark on his hair line. Within the hall came a bark, Pragma bounding into the garage’s doorway, tail all a swish. He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t ignore the smirk growing on his own face. ‘Bout time.

A thought occurred that he should probably look presentable, and he glanced down at his clothing. He’d stripped his shirt ages ago to avoid leaving stains, a good idea considering the marks of black stuck all up in the thin layer of fur the had that faintly shadowed the musculature of his chest and stomach. He grabbed a short towel hanging from the side of the truck and rubbed at a spot near his collar bone, saw it smear, and decided to let it be. Hardly time to bother unless he made a sprint for the kitchen.

Hell, maybe they’ll be into it…?

“Checking ID, verifying ID,” came the voice of Kas’ dead daddy over the intercom again, and he tossed the spoiled towel over his shoulder, watching as the garage door slid open. There they were, straddling their wet trike, looking none to dry themselves, and pushing it along inside with one braced leg, and the motor still running. 

“Welcome home, Kaspar.”

“Hey, darlin,’” he called out, perhaps unnecessarily, and making sure he was clear by stepping out of the way. Kas shoved back the hood of their coat, uncharacteristically blowing out a deep breath, and making the water dripping along their mouth sputter outward. Hardly graceful, it was fuckin’ delightful to see. 

“Someone looks tired.”

Kas turned their head, considering him with a sweep of their eyes, toe to head, and he had to resist the messed up urge to either preen or hide himself. He forced himself to lean into the former, resting his his hips and trying to look suave. 

Kas didn’t blush, like he fully expected, but shook their head with a smile. “Les chiens et leur amour de la boue,” they said, making him feel like he was being insulted, but vaguely attracted to that fact. “Hallo, Chiot. I see you’ve had your fun.”

“Honey, you’ve been gone all day. How could I get up to any without your beautiful face around? Speaking of,” he said, watching them climb off their ride, and unzip their coat. He was surprised it was still done up at all. The few times he saw them come in from outside on a rainy day they always had their arms out and bare—and then he saw the blood. “What the hell is that—is that a fucking bullet wound?” Kas hardly looked concerned, turning the skin of their left bicep under the light with one hand, and narrowing their eyes at the cut. Clean, straight, a gash that struck across their arm, looking partially cauterized but weeping red just enough to catch his attention. He took their bicep between his hands, glancing it over. Sure as hell was. 

“Perceptive,” they replied, seeming like they were trying for quippy, but that was his role in the household, and Kas needed more practice if they were going to pull it off while wounded. “Just a cut.”

“From a gun, Kas-.”

“You actually used my name.”

“What happened out there? I thought you were just going on a normal run, not tanglin’ with assholes.”

“I saw one on the way back. I was stupid, thought it was a deer, and tried to use my odradek to confirm. They answered back,” Kas shook their head, shamefaced, and, yeah he had to agree somewhat. 

“Didn’t your momma tell you to not talk to strangers?”

“The opposite, really,” Kas replied, and shook their head. “I managed to get away, and lost them in the process. All is well, Chiot,” they said, meeting his eyes, and making something funny wiggle it’s way through his chest. Goddamn, feelings. 

“Fine, if you’re certain, I’ll trust your best judgment. Might pester you about going alone again, but-.”

“Chiot.”

“-for the time being, you remember me mentioning letting you be mother henned from time to time yourself?” 

Kas got what the was saying when he nodded at their wound, and didn’t argue, something he was pleasantly pleased with for once. Letting go of their arm, he let them lead the way out of the garage, the two of them sidestepping a dancing Pragma, who’d seen the commotion but hung back in the meantime. Kas whispered sweet platitudes to the mutt, making him feel frankly jealous over the attention, but he decided to not act like a fool and mention it. For the time being. 

Kas began to make their way down the hall, toward the bedroom, and probably the med bay, but he stopped them with a gesture into the ‘house. “Gotta kit ready in the kitchen,” he said, smiling when they appeared caught off guard by his preparedness. 

While he washed his hands, Kas sat at the the table, where he’d last left the kit at it’s center. Good and clean, he joined them only after. While opening up it’s contents, he heard Kas sigh, and shot them a look. 

“I think I dropped the canteen,” they said, looking the most crestfallen since they’d arrived home. “I was actually using it when I saw that person.”

“Hey, then it served a purpose. No harm there,” he said, amused when they remained put out. Over that, and not being shot up in the middle of a storm. “Let’s get a look at the damage. Might be fatal, should be careful, just in case.” He nodded seriously, forcing himself to frown in the moment, and was rewarded with an upturn of those pretty lips of theirs. 

Taking out alcohol wipes, gauze, bandages, the works, he gestured for their arm again. Kas presented the wound, watching him with their chin propped up on their free set of knuckles while he worked.

He turned the wound under the light, reassessing. “Don’t need stitches, that’s something. Gonna leave a scar, though. Ladies like scars.” He winked at them, his smile appearing and growing as they met his steady gaze with their own. 

“I might have an idea,” was their reply, a quick glance at his torso giving him all the context he needed, and a burst of pleasure erupted in his chest from that one look. 

But if they were flirting, maybe things were more complicated then he thought.

Getting to work cleaning the wound, he winced sympathetically at their discomfort from the harsh heat of the alcohol. They watched him toss aside a few cotton balls, keen on cleaning up his mess later, and kept his grip on their forearm firm, but careful.

“You’re good at this,” they commented, and he got the deeper implication.

“Guess there are some things from our business you can’t shake off, even if it leaves everything else lacking in the mental department.”

“Sometimes it sounds like you're insulting yourself, Chiot,” Kas replied, gently, chiding, and he felt his good humor wane. “Even when you’re posturing. It’s maddening.”

He chuckled quietly in his throat. Maybe they had something there. “I could amp up the ego, if you’d like. Just gotta ask kindly, and I am at your disposal.”

Kas’ smile spread, warm, and goddamn amazing to look at. Fuck, he had to focus. 

“Would you, for me?”

He wanted to call his exclamation of breath a laugh, anything but what it was, a near gasp of awe at what they said. He looked for their eyes, seeing that Kas had dropped their head inside of their elbow, hiding them from view. 

“Anything, darlin’.”

They hummed, probably lost in their own head, maybe regretting asking, and he finished his work, wrapping the layer of gauze with a strip of white bandages, wound around their arm. He looked over his handy work, making sure it stayed put without being too tight, and tapped the hand of that arm with his one of his own. 

“All done. Why don’t we see about getting some protein in your diet,” he asked, looking at their face. Kas didn’t move, only breathing, in and out. He felt himself frown. Did they…just fall asleep at the table? 

Yeah, I can only handle so much of them lookin’ cute in one sitting, he lied blatantly to himself, moving to reveal their sleeping face with his free hand and theirs. There was a small wrinkle between their eyebrows, the corners of Kas’ lips turned down, and he saw that they were blushing. Not just that, but red enough in the cheeks that worry spread out in his stomach and reached for his throat.

“Kas,” he tried, releasing their hand to touch their cheek. “Kas, you feelin’ okay?”

Their eyes fluttered open, a sight that would have been worth seein’ if they didn’t look so unfocused. “I don’t feel well.”

“Ah, shit.” He acted, jumping up, standing alongside their chair, and moving to pick the other porter up in his arms. It worked better then he expected, even if he felt the strain in his muscles for doing so, and he apologized for the manhandling when Kas complained in their throat.

“Looks like the tables have turned, darlin’. What the hell do those bastards lace their bullets with?”

He carried Kas from the ‘house, and to the bedroom, laying them atop the bed’s surface with their head propped up against a pillow. They’d opened their eyes, and tried to sit up when he moved to grab other supplies. “Hey, not an inch, we get to play doctor for a little longer.”

“If you propose such things,” they started, lying back, despite the warning in their voice. “I will have to decline.”

“C’mon, Kas, live a little.”

“Only if you wear the little dress.”

Fuck, they were getting delirious. 

“Stay put,” he told them, leaving the room to return to the ‘house. He grabbed the aspirin, and, thinking about his own time in the sick bed, filled a bowl of water and fetched a clean towel. He’d left the other on the sink earlier, and, seeing it, realized his chest was still stained with oil.

“Fuck.” 

He wiped himself down with the towel he’d just found, cursing his earlier strutting, and grabbed yet another towel after he was done. Not dried, but clean enough. Ready as ever, he balanced the bowl in one arm, and carried the rest of his supplies in his hand. 

Kas was where he left them, only now fully divested of a shirt. That was new. Shaking his head, he entered the room in full, stopped beside the bed, and saw the light sheen of sweat that had popped up on their head. 

“’Least I finally got you back in your own bed again.”

Kas mumbled a reply, something he imagined was clever, and sexy, but not currently fitting the mood for the time being. 

Time for some payback. And he got to work. 

He used Kas’ cuff to determine what was going on, but had a guess just by the way they were suddenly sweating up a swarm. Their link basically confirmed it: blood poisoning. Whatever that bullet had been laced it was meant to do some nasty work, and not just in the quick and deadly way. 

Their basement yielded antibiotics, and he kept them hydrated as much as he could, cursing like a son of a bitch when most of it wound up on their sheets rather then in their mouth. Fuck, it was amazing Kas had managed what they had in the state he’d been. 

At least their vitals haven’t slipped past yellow, yet, he thought to himself a handful of hours in. It was late, and at first glance it looked like Kas was just having a particularly bad dream. Troubled brow, sweaty clothing, a headache that had to be brewing inside that skull of theirs. He wished that was all it was, but as things stood, he didn’t even feel comfortable sleeping in a different room. If it goes red, I’ll have to find help.

But help was hours away, and without the truck in one piece, that didn’t leave him much of a choice beyond tying them to his back and taking the trike out. The chill alone would probably make things worse. 

The sound of someone’s hissing breath broke him away from his thoughts, and he saw Kas shivering beneath the layer of blankets he’d draped over their body. Pragma was at their feet, a wound ball of fur, and the dog’s bat-like ears pricked in place, listening carefully. 

Sitting beside their hip on the bed, he pushed a couple of strands away from their forehead, not liking the upset set to their features. As much as he liked to get on their nerves, this level of discomfort only set his own on edge.

“C’mon, honey,” he whispered, making sure they were tucked in, before rubbing at the bridge of his nose, trying to brush away his own urge to sleep before it set in. A few hours, they’d be fine, but he’d have to stay in the room in case that somehow changed. 

That didn’t leave him anywhere to lay down, outside of the floor…or the bed, beside them. It seemed like the best bet, if they got to moving around and he didn’t want them to end up grounded themself, he could wake before that happened. In the meantime, their cuff would go off if things got worse. 

He messed with his own, setting an alarm for an hour out to wake himself up. 

And then surveyed his options.

“Sorry, Darlin’. Hope you’ll forgive me for this,” he said, lying down beside them over the blankets, half propped up on the bed’s headboard, and crossing his arms over his chest. It’d been some time since he had any practice sleeping in the field, doing the same on a soft bed, next to a living radiator couldn’t be much of a challenge in comparison. 

He glanced at them one last time, smoothing a line of sweat from their brow, before closing his eyes.

He slowed his breathing, between one intake and another his heartbeat followed. Like slipping into a well worn pair of shocks, he fell into unconsciousness. 

Kas inhaled a burst of pain, knives centering in their lungs as the taste of brackish water cleared a path across their tongue, and into their chest. They flailed their arms, pushing against the cold current and finding merciful footing beneath their feet, they pushed off against, solid mass giving away under the pressure, threatening to suck them down even as they moved upwards.

Their hands broke the surface before their head did, catching air and nothing else, but they found it in a sputtering shout of desperation. They were blind, eyes stinging, muscles chafing from the strain of a swim they couldn’t recall, but managed to propel themself forward, up the sloping incline of the sandbank. The drop was shorter there, where they reached, but they fell in twice more before they managed to crawl up onto the bank of the black Beach, their body purging seawater the entire time. 

Kas’ arms groaned over the simple ask of keeping them up off the ground, palms planted into the suction cup earth, and half their body still kneeling in the wet behind them. The tide crashed around their form, tempting them back in, and a chill set in as they remained firmly in place, to afraid to budge unless they slip back under.

Only when their coughing began to subside did they look up, catching light between the sharp curtain of their soaked hair, made dark in it’s current state. Something stood there before them, a pale pair of legs sprouting from the strangest thing they’d seen in years: a pristine pair of red heels, shining and fit for a movie star. 

Those legs bent, a hand swept down in front of Kas’ face, and they blinked owlishly at the smooth planes of the palm presented to them. 

Rather then accept the offering, they looked up to it’s giver, and the sight shocked them into rolling back into the water. They propelled themself from the figure, a woman in a simple, red dress, as instinct alone insisted that they’d rather drown then deal with the creature before them.

The water went up, smothering, encasing their head, their body, their legs, and Kas felt themself sinking, the sand below them dropping sharply into darkness where it once hadn’t before. And that woman stood there watching, impossibly visible despite the growing distance between them.

I’m going to drown. 

Could they die on the Beach? Was it even their own or was it hers? 

Chiot--Chiot, where is he, I was just dreaming-.

A pull, like a hook gripping into their shirt, and dragging them skyward. Kas tried to grab onto it, not knowing if they intended to try and yank it free, or old on for dear life, not when they were hurdling both towards the woman above the water, and the sweet scent of fresh air at the same time. 

I’m going to die. 

The surface broke open for the second time, and Kas felt that hold on their person solidify, forming fingers and a fist, someone’s thick torso, and looming presence.

“—‘cha, I got ‘cha.”

“Chiot, Chiot-,” Ka stopped their weak struggle and released his hand, gripping instead onto the fabric of the dark sweater he wore, and pressing their face into the dry warmth of it. One of his arms encircled them, the other pulling them further onto the Beach, before he stopped to hold Kas to his chest. “Chiot, you came-.”

“In the flesh, darlin’, what happened to you-.”

“She’s here,” they moved away from their grip on his shirt, trying to see over his shoulder, down the Beach, any which way she could be hiding. “That woman, she was just here-.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” he said, urging them to look up and meet his face, one of his hands coming, calming, up to lay against their neck. Not restricting them, but asking. “You saw her? The lady in the dress-.”

“I did-“ they began to nod, and aborted the motion, a coldness gripping their chest. “You saw her, too? You’ve seen her?”

“Yeah, before, just,” he shrugged, eyes blinking, and giving his hesitancy away. Kas closed their mouth, knowing they were trembling, and not knowing what to blame first. The water, the cold, the fact that he wouldn’t look at them. “Before you, she used to visit me on my Beach. Some fuckin’ specter in heels. I thought, I thought she was a dream. Some delusion from working too hard, or-.” His mouth shut, a point twitching in his jaw, and concern settled in their chest with the rest of the emotions brewing there. “I don’t know. I didn’t think anyone else could see her,” he met their eyes, at last, looking the way he did in the greenhouse that day. Vision cast over the fields, attention wavering to some place in his mind where even Kas’ DOOMs couldn’t take them. 

He tried to laugh, they felt it in his chest, and the self-deprecation in his eyes then was something they wanted to soothe away so badly. It didn’t belong there, in Chiot’s eyes. “She used to tell me shit like…I could be so much more. Could rule the goddamn world if I wanted to. I could be stronger, if I let her in. Shit like that. I thought she was some stupid wet dream. Fuck ass like me-- one bad night, I uh, I told her to show me her tits, or fuck off. And there she fucking went. Not one of the best parts of me, but shit, I can’t even interact with my own dreams right.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing his throat, and he shook his head lightly, as if it might toss away the memory. It did something, dislodging the self reflection he had for himself, and centering his concern on them, instead. They’d never been so grateful to be fretted over. 

“Hun, I don’t know what she did to you, but this isn’t just the fever talkin’,” he went on, moving his hands to their shoulders, and rubbing their bare skin. The friction did nothing to generate heat, but they couldn’t bring themself to press their body back into his his. 

“Fever? What do you mean? And why are you here, I can feel you, Chiot.”

“Must have accidentally brought me here after I fell asleep,” he began to explain, going on as horror rose up in their throat. “You’re unconscious, the bullet that bastard hit you with did some serious damage. That, uh, left me to play nurse maid while you slept,” he said, trying to smile, but faltering. “I decided to get a few minutes in myself, and used the bed, where you are.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry-. I didn’t, I don’t want-.”

“Hey, it’s okay, no harm, no foul. Maybe when we wake up, we’ll both go back. And if I don’t, you found me once, right? Could happen again.”

“Chiot,” Kas said, wanting to ask that he not look so damn confident, that he wipe that smile off his face and tell them, exactly, how he knew the extinction entity known as Amelie Strand.

Fragile had told them the story, about the woman that Higgs Monaghan drew his power from, and how it had twisted his mind into helping her trigger the next Death Stranding. But she’d also told them about how Sam had averted that disaster, how he’d defeated Higgs, and Fragile had asked to deal with the man after.

Chiot knew about the woman, Chiot, a man they’d found lost on a Beach, claiming no memory of himself outside of a life of delivering packages. 

But. He bore scars, but not tattoos. He stayed with them in their little home at the edge of the world, unconcerned with leaving and if, by all means, he had the power to move himself through space, surely he would have done so by now. If he knew he could, then was healthy enough to make the trip, if this man really was Higgs. 

I don’t know. I don’t know.

“Kas,” he spoke near their ear, letting them sink into his chest with their eyes closed, the muffled sound of his heart pulsating in their ears after they drew close. “Wake up soon. I’m not too good at playing doctor.”

They were tired, too tired to hold themself up on their own. Their very bones felt like sand. “That’s funny, Chiot. I thought you would like playing pretend.”

He laughed, sounding breathless. “Not like this, Kas. But, remind me again. When you’re feeling better.”

When, when would that be? When would they feel better about any of this?

Unsure of anything, Kas succumbed to the drowsiness of their limbs, seeing only darkness, but feeling a weight holding them up, an anchor keeping them from being pulled under by the deep water beyond them both. 

Chapter Text

The taste of salt met their tongue, the experimental swipe to erase the dryness they felt there bringing up a lingering sense of doubt. Were they still there, on the Beach? If so, when had they begun to lay down, when had they fallen sleep, and why did the air smell familiar, something distinctly musky tinged with oil. Hearing a quite sort of buzzing in the air,

Kas opened their eyes, the sense of something tightly wrapped around them answered by way of their sight being met with a line of flesh. Someone's skin, laced with fine, dark hairs along it’s musculature, and, fainter still, decorated with pale marks. Scars, a map meant for a story they might never learn, unless the man holding onto them in his sleep surrendered it willingly. 

If he was capable of recalling the words, at all. 

Kas closed their eyes again, not with the intent to rest, although the desire pulled gently at their senses, utterly intoxicating in their current predicament. Yes, they could feel it, the remains of the sickness that had held, unknown to them for it’s majority, for the better half of a day. But there was also the alien touch that came with the stability of being held by another person, a not unwelcome but rare occurrence that had their baser sensibilities reluctant to slip back into oblivion. 

The buzzing went away, Chiot’s cuff hidden somewhere wedged between their person and the bed. The lack of it’s vibration only made the idea more cloying in it’s power.

Let me enjoy this. Let me pretend, just for a second, that I didn’t see who I thought I did.

They needed to tell Fragile.

And say what? That they had been, however ignorantly, housing the man who had damaged their sister’s body forever, and nearly killing Fragile in the process. The same man who had wiped out two Knots, cities packed with people just going about their own lives, and then had proceeded in his plans to align with a force that could, and would, have brought about the end of humanity? 

It was goddamn madness that didn’t have them fumbling for their cuff right then, sending an SOS to Fragile, and having a swarm of UCA officials descend on their bunker right then. 

So, why hadn’t they?

A movement at the end of the bed, with Kas’ legs partially bent inwards, their person facing Chiot, and one of their ankles caught between the man’s legs, turned their attention to the other someone in he room.

Pragma.

The dog stood up on all four paws, moving himself half over Chiot just so he could bend his head down, and snuffle at Kas’ flushed cheeks. That nose, something extraordinary waited at the end of it, as unique in it’s existence as, well, Pragma was himself. 

As Chiot could be, himself. 

Pragma chose that moment to shove his face at Chiot’s, not stopping at a sniff when the dog could, better yet, lick the edge’s of the man’s thickening shadow of facial hair. Chiot’s face wrinkled, reminding Kas that they had indeed managed to bring him back as easily as they had taken him back to the Beach to begin with. 

The man mumbled, raising an arm from Kas to wave, however terribly, away their dog. He missed Pragma’s head entirely, pushing at empty air, and Pragma danced back to settle on his haunches, on the other side of Chiot’s legs. 

“Gonna smell like dog, now,” Chiot said to himself, eyes still closed, and very much sounding like someone who was still waking up. 

The buzzing started again, a half whine, half grumble started in the man’s throat, and Kas sighed. They couldn’t ignore it now if they tried. 

“’Iot,” they tried, perturbed by the parched state of their tongue and throat. It made their initial attempt at speaking impossible. “Chiot, get up,” they tried again, sounding like they were almost pleading, and apparently worse off then they felt, sensibility wise. Why, why did they have to wake up? Why had the man set an alarm? 

Chiot breathed in, harsh, a gasp that turned into a yawn, as if he’d forced himself back into consciousness, and the latter had come suddenly, forcing it’s way out of his system. Chiot brought his hand away, again, from Kas, that time to rub at his face, and Kas was greeted with the image of the man opening his stormy eyes from beside them, and grinning as if he’d just come back from a pleasant dream. 

“Hello, sweetheart.”

“I feel disgusting.”

“Mmm, that’ll be the sweats you had all night.”

“All night?” 

“A fever’s a real bitch, trust me,” he winked. “I’d know.”

“How are you so happy,” they asked, closing their eyes and turning themselves deeper into his arms. They heard his breathing shake, the remnants of rest hanging onto his vocal cords, no doubt, while Kas focused on their earlier thought. Unique, singular, let it be true.

“Well, I got to play hero and helped out a person I care about, so there’s that.”

Oh. 

“I mean every morning. It’s ridiculous.” 

“Dunno what you just said, so I’m going to translate late that as “You’re a charming man, utterly sexy sometimes, and I think it’s remarkable that you even”-.”

Kas’ eyes snapped open. “How would I even fit that much meaning into five syllables, Chiot?”

“The wonders of the French language, Kas. It gets me every time,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest, as if in an earnest gesture of heartfelt love for Kas’ mother’s mother tongue. 

Kas said a few choice words in said language, earning a few chuckles from the man…who slipped his arm up from underneath their person, and rolled himself onto his back. His sudden departure…took them off guard. Kas expected him to take advantage of the situation, fluster them a bit by continuing their…impromptus cuddling session, as it may be called. But instead they watched as he sat up, leaving the bed entirely, and stretching on the other side. With his back to them, they noticed how he did it, so much like their customary exercise routine, and flinched when he looked back at them. 

As if he knew they’d see, and be watching. 

The bastard.

All the same, it mollified their…well, concern for his out of character actions, and tried to sit up themself. Chiot made a few noises of protest, sitting back on the bed to help them do so, and even letting them unwrap the blanket they’d been tucked into. Goodness, they hadn’t even recalled removing their shirt.

“No sneaky business here, darlin’,” Chiot said, hand to heart, but meaning it this time with the way he tipped his chin. "Strictly adhered to the the patient-doctor relationship of respecting your privacy, as if it were my own.”

“Is that why you ended up sleeping next to me so quickly?”

“Are you, my good Kaspar Maria Faraday-.”

“Chiot.”

“Questioning my honor?”

“I don’t believe for a second that you’ve been anything short of a complete, and absolute slattern, Chiot,” was their reply, Kas using the motions of getting out of bed, and thus turning from him, to hide their grin. He gasped like a maid jilted, a zealot slighted, Heartman, perhaps, the singular time they had called his impressive fossil collection, “Just bones.”

Heartman, and Deadman. They could help me, here.

“I’m going to shower,” they announced, successfully stepping around the bed, and making their way, however dizzily, towards the bathroom. 

“Might I be too presumptuous as to offer a free hand, my dear, Kaspar.” 

Kas huffed, supporting themself with one hand against the room’s door frame and looking back at Chiot long enough for a reply: “Don’t bother, Chiot. You’re going to be needing it for a long, long time.”

The strangled noise that this resulted in only lasted as long as it took for the door to close. After, Kaspar could only hear him laughing, full bellied and loud, from the other room. 

Kaspar had the brilliant idea of sending out pictures of Chiot to agencies, after Fragile had left for own business outside of the UCA. Not wanting to bother their sister with combing any databases for information on a man who, very well could have been at the time, just a random porter when she had other things on her plate without adding more stress,

Kas had reached out to the Waystations themself.

Having done work for only a select few people of the UCA should have, for some people, led to few respectable connections among it’s populace. In Kaspar’s case, being one of the few people willing to deliver critical supplies in heavy timefall, and get out of it unscathed, left them with a slew of good reviews. Likes, as silly as they may seem at first glance, were an incredibly important facet of their modern society. The more likes you had, the more likely you were to appeal to others, and, as in Kaspar’s case, if you had earned the trust of certain important individuals, then they were bound to ask others of their ilk. 

So, with only some hesitancy, but admittedly less faith in their reputation then perhaps warranted, Kaspar asked the head porters of the stations for answers. At first, a majority of them looked at the sent files and said that they had no recollection of the man in the picture. Chiot was a mystery, made more so when they asked their people, and their people asked others if they had ever met them. 

Even the apparent name or slogan of Chiot’s porter group, Beyond Death, yielded nothing. 

Two weeks into Chiot’s stay, and they received an email from a porter claiming that they thought they had seen someone matching his description while visiting friends in another Knot. Kas was, at first, elated to read this, and opened up communications with the porter directly.

It was someone named Lineman, an unaffiliated porter who had gone to school in Capital Knot, and who was on an apprenticeship when they visited friends outside of their own city. When Kaspar asked which city this was, exactly, hoping that the answer would at least lead them to a place they could  perhaps visit in person, Lineman’s answer snuffed out their excitement all together. 

Central Knot City, the city pinned on Fragile for it’s destruction. The city that was actually destroyed by one of Higgs’ nuclear bombs. 

It was done before the reconnecting of America, back when information in one black box couldn’t be guaranteed to exist in any other. At the time, Kaspar knew this meant that any information about Chiot—school records, business contracts, the works—could have been eradicated in that same fire. 

Now, as they stood in the shower of their home Kas thought about his fingerprints. Information sealed, saved, and kept secure in the most important facilities in the UCA, the laboratories of Central Knot. 

Deadman helps keep track of everyone what was born during and after the initial inception of the UCA. They had Kaspar, and Fragile’s print. Higgs had been in their same age group. 

Chiot must be in the same group. Sure, time stands still on the Beach, but his knowledge, however scant, of the UCA is enough to prove that he could be in there. That he should be. 

After Chiot stepped out of the shower, they used their cuff to send off a simple message to Deadman. They hoped they didn’t disturb their friend with such an ask…but as it stood, Kas thought he would forgive them when they explained later.

Between waking up and finishing their shower, Kas was starving. Chiot was willing to take them to the kitchen to be sat at the table, any more then that and he complained, stating that he, “wanted the chance to play caretaker for a little longer.”

Kas wasn’t sure what kind of sexual fantasy he was ripping off from that remark. They didn’t complain, only doing as much needed to point out where they had some frozen soup for lazy days like this one was turning out to be. The meal in question was cauliflower based, a leftover crop from a time before Chiot. Pragma was gifted with his own: chicken broth from lab grown meat, diced carrots, and rice. 

“How is it you always think more about your dog’s meal then your own,” Chiot muttered, but didn’t complain. They knew he meant it as a joke, he often poked at how lovey they could do with their canine companion, but they weren’t about to ask if he wanted to eat the same thing with how big his appetite could be. Pragma had too few treats as it was.

While their separate dishes warmed, Kas asked Chiot to grab some paper and bottles of dried pigment from some boxes under their bed, and a cutting board from their cabinets. He complied, but not without commenting: “I don’t know if your muscles are up for any arts and crafts for the time being, Kas.”

They rolled their eyes, but understood that their request was strange. “It’s for you, Chiot.” I should have done this awhile ago. 

He perked up at that, and went to do as he bid. In a matter of minutes, Kas had the paper on the board, with several left over, and a box of different colors: apparently Chiot had wanted to make sure they had what they needed. 

“Is this your momma’s supply?”

Kas hummed. “Not…not entirely. Some of it was mine, I mean,” they said, catching the spark of interest in his eyes. “I dabbled, for awhile.” They left it at that, and asked for a bowl of water. They picked black, the color that would show up sharpest against their paper, and probably something someone would take seriously at the sight of. Mixing up the paint was second nature, they were grateful they had kept it at all, even with the years spent since they last had bothered with trying to paint. 

By the time they were set up, Pragma was served his meal, and Chiot placed two bowls of their own on the garden table. Kas was grateful that they had the foresight to ask for the board, otherwise pressing into the paper would have only turn it. 

“Do you recall the existence of the UCA census?”

“I…it sounds familiar,” Chiot replied, having taken the handle of his spoon, but not a bite of his meal. He was too distracted by what they were up to, and now the question at hand. “In a general sense. I reckon’ if I’m a member of the UCA-. Hell, Kas, you're a genius.” 

“Non,” they shook their head, smiling at his enthusiasm all the same. Even with the present circumstance, his personality remained a refreshing one. “As I let you know before, I tried using your picture, and we don’t know your name.” And with the loss of two Knots making it harder, well, still. “I should have thought of this sooner.”

“You think as a porter I might have my prints in the data base?”

“Précisément,” they said, nodding. “Even if the remnants of your adult life, where you went to school, what porters you worked with, the likes, even if they existed in the Capital, maybe you have something from your birth that still exists in Central Knot.” Even as we age, our faces, and name might change. But our finger prints…they are completely unique.

Even Higgs had some of those.

Deadman had replied to their message in haste. The man sent what information he, and the UCA, had on Higgs Monaghan. His age, his eye color, his blood type, height, weight, natural hair color, the name of the porter service he had been affiliated with (Fragile Express), the terrorist group that he led (Homo Demens), a pseudonym he used (Peter Englert) and where he was born (a burned out bunker in UCA territory).

Accompanied was one set of prints, tiny things from when he was born to two, now deceased, people. 

Kas’ cuff wasn’t the most advanced piece of UCA technology, but it could compare prints, at least. 

Wiping his hands, Chiot dabbed his fingers, one at a time, into the paint, and pressed them into the paper. Kas examined them carefully to be sure that none of them smeared too much, possibly buying time before they found out of their house guest was a terrorist or not (an idea that twisted uncomfortable in their gut for more then one reason). Chiot only began to eat then, forgetting to wipe his hands clean before digging in, but still watching Kas all the while. 

If he knew…if he knew, he would be stopping me. If he doesn’t and he is, I’ll be consigning him to death.

Because they would turn him in. They would have to. Out of loyalty and love for their sister, if anyone else, they would have to notify her right away. Already Kas had flipped the switch to send signals out to her, they had to in order to talk with Deadman. But, but-.

Maybe it was something to with their morals, maybe it was because they had spent weeks getting to know the man, however much they could, and he was beginning to feel like more then a guest. But it still didn’t feel right, it would still come to haunt them at night. 

They scanned his prints, uploaded them to their cuff, and checked for a match. It took time, too long and yet not long enough. Could it be sure, one way or another? Prints are unique, a person couldn’t even have them changed without some kind of…intensive surgery. Would Higgs have bothered, as an adult? No, he seemed like the type to burn them off. Better yet, keep them around to better leave his mark on the world he was trying to destroy. 

Their cuff signaled a response. Kas leaned back in their chair, tired.

“Did you send them,” Chiot asked, none the wiser. 

“They were still processing,” Kas replied, not lying, but not telling him everything. Sure as fuck not wanting to either way. But neither had they looked at the results.

So they did.

“Why’re you grinning so much,” Chiot asked, dare they think, suspiciously. But they kept on, tapping at their cuff until they sent off his prints to Deadman. 

“Just thinking if we can’t find a match I might really have to help build a bunker for you nearby.”

“Yeah,” he asked, leaning back in his chair, and looking satisfied. “So, you do like me bein’ around.”

“Just let me know what color you want the roof of your dog house to be,” they replied, inhaling the aroma of their meal, and feeling the pangs of hunger return in spades. “Maybe bleu, for your eyes.” 

“Aw, well ain’t you a softie. You actually noticed.” 

Chapter Text

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oui, Chiot?” 

“I think I should sleep on the couch tonight.”

Kaspar kept putting up this argument that he need to stay in bed, their bed, that is. But after getting some calories in their system, they still struggled to change the sheets off of the old mattress. He’d come in from the bathroom seeing them doing it themself, and they did their best to shoo him away, (Or telling him to shush, like they were some school teacher trying to get a riled up kid to calm down), but in the end he called it a point one to him when Kas backed off. It went so far that they told him where the extra linens were at (stored where he had found the paints) and he got the bed made with Kas only helping enough to hold down the ends of the sheet (because god forbid that ever gets any easier, no matter how many apocalypses they survived). 

At the end, with the bed made, it’s sheets due for recycling, and it’s blanket for wash, he sat himself on the fresh spread and tried to put his foot down. Again. 

“Chiot, you are much too big-.”

“Darlin’, I know we’ve been over it, I’m a lot to handle.”

“Puis-je encore échanger contre le criminel de guerre?”

“Okay,” he tried, momentarily at an honest loss. “I obviously need to take a more extensive course, or safe words are going to be a problem.”

“Chiot,” they started, lifting their head from their hand, and looking at him with those shiny eyes of theirs. “You will hurt your back.”

“More so my pride, if I don’t give the bed to the one who needs the rest.”

“You are still recovering, yourself.”

“I’m sorry to say, Kaspar Maria Faraday,” he said, grinning when they dropped their head in both hands this time. “But you're winning the infirm awards. Which is a terrible name, but honey, I’m afraid you’re holdin’ the gold.”

“Au moins, le terroriste ne m'a jamais embarrassé.”

“I agree, at this point, it’s a losing battle.”

“I said,” they cut themself off, sighing deeply after. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes, Chiot, fine. You can sleep on the couch tonight. I’ll, I’ll even let you use the good blankets. Mon dieu, this man.”

“Hey, I understood that.”

“If you make any comment, whatsoever, about hearing me say my god more often-.”

“Oh. Oh, ho, Kaspar, mon tendre,” he was grinning like a fool, more so when they tipped back, back against their bed, and face covered entirely by a pillow they snatched off of the head of the bed. “You know me too well.”

There was the muffled sound of words from beneath the object, and he imagined it went somewhere along the lines of, “I’m so happy you came into my life and made it exponentially better then it ever was before.” 

In this, he had to agree.

He couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t for lack of trying, by all accounts he should be pretty tired, even. After a full meal, a night’s worth of taking care of a sick Kas, and staying up for awhile after, that’s all it should have taken. Even the couch, as tight as a fit as it was, should have been conquerable in his present state.

But the dog wouldn’t stop moving around the damn house.

At first, when Kas had gone of to rest, leaving them with a goodnight, made sweeter but the yawn and upturned hand, meant to muffle the sound, that caught midway between their words, the dog had followed. Shortly after, he’d emerged again, sitting down beside the couch, and welcoming a few scratches. He himself had been set to doze off when the click click click of the mutt's nails signaled his retreat a few minutes later.

He thought he heard Kas’ voice down the hall, and, lulled back into a pleasant space between sleep and wakefulness, failed to hear it stop altogether. 

Then something shoved itself into his face, and he’d been forced to catch himself from falling off the furniture when it shocked him awake. 

It was the dog again.

By the way the mutt was standing, on all four paws and staring him down in the dark, he had half a mind to assume that something had happened with Kas. He even asked, knowing the dog was smart enough to know his owner’s name, at least.

Pragma’s tail swished in the air, but that was it. The dog left, again, randomly. 

He sighed, covered his eyes with his arm, and tried to doze off.

Then the pacing began.

From the couch, into the hall, presumably down to Kas’ room and back again. Over, and over, and over again. He had time enough to wonder if Kas had a third dog somewhere they could pick up—which reminded him of what he still needed to bring up with them, and woke him up entirely. 

By then, he’d heard Kas voice again, and saw Pragma making his circuit back to the couch.

“Okay,” he started. The dog stopped in place, watching. “Okay, what do ya want?”

The dog said nothing, as dogs do. He sat up, back creaking in a vicious reminder that he was still alive and probably getting older by the second, small couches aside, and watched the dog. Who just stood there.

“Okay.”

He lifted himself up off the couch, followed Pragma out of the room, and to Kas’.

He’d expected to be led to his food bowl, maybe the dog needed to take a piss outside, even. But instead he met Kas’ tired gaze as they sat, head propped up in their hand, waiting for the dog to settle down.

“Can’t sleep,” he asked, knowing their tiny, answering grin was coming before it did.

“I don’t know if he wants you or the bed more.”

He tried a chuckle, rubbing the corner of his eye with the pad of his thumb. Pragma had been sleeping, for the most part, in the bed since he arrived. He figured it was because it had the most space, even if it surprised him that’d he’d been willing to be away from his owner during the night. Wasn’t that the time when hounds tried to take up the most room beside their human masters? 

“Maybe we just-.”

“Sleep together tonight.”

Not a question, but baffling all the same. He’d been about to suggest it himself, but had been prepared for Kas to insist on just sleeping on the couch again. But this? “If you’re sure, darlin’? I ain’t about to want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I see it is the chase, Chiot, and not the capture that you find agreeable.”

“It’s as I said,” he raised his arms, really not intending offensive, and heard them chuckle. 

“I know. It’s no worry, truly. Maybe it will just be for tonight,” they went on, only then beginning to look reluctant. “I’m worried I’ll take you back. De nouveau.” 

“And you’ll bring me back, again,” he shrugged a shoulder, not using his words firmly, or in argument, but, well honestly. “Thus far experimentation has provided evidence that although you can take me back to the Beach, you can also bring me back. Besides, you were there, too, last time, Kas.”

“J'étais,” they said, not looking at them, but stating it aloud. Maybe to convince themselves. “I will try, to be. But I-,” he saw them beginning to shake their head, and sat on the bed, catching their gaze in his own, and holding it there as much as he could without taking their face in his hands. 

“Listen, darlin’, I know your powers are random, I know in the past you’ve had a hard time controlling them. That was then, when you were alone and didn’t have another DOOMS user about to pull you over to their own Beach.”

“You think,” they began, considering his words carefully. “You think perhaps we’ve forged une connexion since then?”

“I, uh.” Of course he was fumbling with his words now, hard to pretend not to understand that one with how clear it was. Fuck, he was acting worse then some asshole during a marriage proposal. ‘Cept he wasn’t sure if he was the bride or the groom. “It’s pretty well known that DOOMS’ sufferers have a high connection to the Beach, and so far you’ve been to mine at least twice. Sure, you might accidentally send me back, but then you just might find me there anyways, while I’m sleeping. Whatever the case, I’m pretty sure you could suss me out just by trying at this point if you need to.”

Kas still didn’t look completely happy, but there was a faint blush of red along their cheeks telling him that they were either embarrassed to be tethered to his sorry ass, or fuck forbid, happy about it. Being tethered, or connected might be a bit of a presumption on his part, but there was a look on their face besides that made him think Kas saw some merit to his hypothesis. 

Or maybe I’m tired enough I’m just seeing shit at this point. 

“D’accord, we will see,” Kas finally replied, making him release the tension hidden in his shoulders. He rubbed a hand through his hair, probably mussed all to hell and him only making it worse, and nodded at the right side of the bed.

“Wanna give up my spot?”

Kas snorted, fucking snorted, but shoved themself over. He started to situate himself, laying down above the blanket situation like before when

Kas mumbled out loud: “You’re going to be cold, Chiot.” 

Never mind that the bunker was self heating, but he was too spoiled with weeks of sleeping with his toes covered up, and quickly scrambled under the blankets. He thought he heard them laugh, mouth pressed against their own side of the bed, but the light clicked off before he could investigate. 

“Bonne nuit, Chiot.” 

He released a breath, hearing the rain on the roof, feeling a weight by his side, and a heat that shot itself down under his skin, and lay down somewhere deeper.

“Goodnight, darlin’.”

He still couldn’t sleep.

It’d been a half hour, long enough for the dog to stop circling for the optimal position at the end of the bed, and probably for Kas to find their own shut eye. 

Him—ever nameless save for that one, sweet word—he couldn’t find it in him to follow after.

What the hell is it? What could it possibly be, this time?

All of the above, maybe. The rain sounds, the too hot bed spread, the presence of an actual person next to him for once. He’d done just fine earlier, too strung out on concern to look to into it, apparently, and now get couldn’t damn well get it out of his head. He literally didn’t know when the last time it was that he’d shared a bed with someone. 

Fuck, what if I have a nightmare?

Because he had those, as a DOOMS sufferer. Sure, there’d been substantially less of that since he was taken in, but that hadn’t stopped the trips through his sleeping mind from boarding on something fucking awful. 

All of those tiny hints of memory, of experience and perspective, rather then hard fact, too often had they been paired with pain. And if there was anything that stood out the most, it was memories of pain. Evolutionarily, it was meant to improve survival, to give examples to their bearer on what not to do in a given situation. In the end, though, it resulted less in him tripping over his own feet and not dying, and more in losing sleep at night, thinking about things he couldn’t have avoid.

At least…as far as he could tell. 

Someone…someone had done him bad in his past, he was still sure of that. And they were doing him wrong, now, making him toss and turn in the fine hours of the morning. At least, at least he was good at keeping it to himself.

Hypocrite. And I accuse Kas of hiding things.

Not that they didn’t have a right, wounds of their own that he may never be told about. 

And that’s fine. I just want-.

What did he want?

The weight beside him turned over, not enough to startle the motion sensor into sparking up some sight, but still abruptly catching his attention.

What if they noticed him awake-? 

“Chiot-.”

He inhaled, cedar and rainfall. 

Their soft mummer in the dark wasn’t a beginning of a statement, but an exclamation of his name. The name Kas had given him. It was on their mind, even in their unconscious state. Maybe…maybe he was already with them, there, on their own Beach. A face in a dream. In their dream. 

“Yes, darlin’?”

He asked all the same. Just…just in case.

There was no reply, but he could hear them, breathing, and a wave of exhaustion hit him again. Wanting to drown in it, he lifted one of his arms, curved it under their chin, reaching up, and carded his fingers into their hair. Kas shifted, stilled…and kept on breathing.

He did the same, one inhalation after the next, until he lost count the spaces between them entirely. 

Chapter Text

Sender                                                                   Date & Time
Central Knot City                                                   11/09  7:04 am                                                     
Deadman                                   
Subject
No results, yet!

I’ve done a complete sweep of our database for any sign of this mystery porter you have, Kaspar. Still, no matches! I must say that I’m a bit jealous that you’ve welcomed someone so readily into your cozy abode. 😔 But also very excited! It’s good that you’re making friends, even if they’re people you’ve found wandering the Beach. Didn’t I tell you that your DOOMS would prove as useful as mine?
All the same, I understand your apprehension. When I received your request for what I had on the former leader of Homo Demens, I was quite shocked! I’m certainly happy that the two didn’t turn out to be a match. 
All the same, whoever this person is, it’s strange that they didn’t show up in our archives. As recent as the UCA is, it is indeed thorough. Perhaps he was one of the few to slip through the cracks of the UCA’s notice when he was young? Maybe when his prints were taken later, it was at one of the destroyed Knots. But as perceptive as you are, Kaspar, you must have already hypothesized this... That said, it has proved to be monumentally more helpful that we are so connected as we are now! 👍👍
On the mention of forging connections, you are more then welcome to bring your friend by the lab during your next checkup. It is not due soon, but since you will be donating blood, why not make the full trip and introduce them?
I’m certainly excited to meet who could have captured our lovely Kaspar’s attention so quickly! 💖💖

Kaspar dropped their arm behind their head, exhaling slowly and feeling their heart thud nosily in their chest. Deadie, he could certainly act the part of an overbearing member of the family at times. But they couldn’t ignore that the news brought some trepidation into their life.

Now what? 

Chiot was a porter, but he had no place in the database of the UCA. It could have been as they both assumed, he’d somehow managed to escape notice after his birth, and thus avoided the census entirely, and all that remained of him was simply…gone.
Maybe there was a before. Maybe his family has crossed over the border after he was a child, settled down, and raised him from then? Maybe there was a now, and they were still out there, waiting for their boy to return home. After the decimations of two major locations in their small world, they might not have hope left. 

So, what could they do? Travel the knots? Hand out missing persons fliers from the missing person himself, asking for his friends, or family, or lovers, even, to phone home? To call Kas, or show up at their doorstep, weeping, but grateful that he as alive?

Or maybe, just maybe, he was like Pragma. The universe had proved so far that it could be just that unpredictable. But then that would mean drawing his blood and sending it out for study. How much could one person take, being poked at like that, both mentally and physically?

That isn’t up to me.

It was up to the person curled around their chest, pressing his face brazenly into the space below their chin, and, probably, drooling into their shirt. 

Kas didn’t know when Chiot had found rest. They assumed quickly, given his track rate of finding it pretty easy—outside of Pragma’s interruptions last night, that is. Speaking of, the dog in question was nowhere in sight. Seeing over Chiot’s head wasn’t easy, per se, but neither could they feel the furred beast at their feet. He’d swanned off, pleased as a peach, no doubt, after having gotten his way.

Anyways, there was a man unconscious on top of their person, and Kas didn’t know what to do with themself. It wasn’t the first time they’d woken up with him attached to them in some way that night, either. But the last time they had woken, during some period before dawn and after they’d settled in, it had been Kas curled into him.

Yet again. 

It seemed every time they turned their head, Kas found themself in a series of repetitions with Chiot. Whether it was…sharing a meal together, pestering each other over the same issues, hearing him call them darlin', sweet heart, honey, over and over…

It was domestic.

It was comfortable.

And they found themself fiercely not wanting to let go of it.

It’s only been a little over two months. 

He mentioned connections, maybe, maybe it just naturally made it easier, being Sufferers. Maybe they were just drawn to each other, like a same species bird to the same flower, gathering together naturally, and naturally…What? Sharing a bed? Bickering? Being friends?

Shit, speaking of DOOMS: Sam. 

They hadn’t heard from him since the attack, but Kas trusted that he had burrowed in some where safe. Meanwhile, they wandered if their shooter had moved on. They had to have, who would stumble around that area for too long, devoid of humanity as it was, and expect to see anyone again, especially after firing at them? 

People are odd, maybe they are still there. 

But that left Deadman, and their donation. If they decided not to see him, not yet, they still had to drop off a share of blood to send to him in the meantime. Which meant leaving.

I’ll give it a week. Long enough for me to well enough to make the trip, and to pacify Chiot. 

The man truly was fond of this…mother henning, as he called it. I certainly feel like I’m being “mother henned” with half his body on my person. 

“Chiot,” they tried. Calmly, without raising their voice.

Nothing.

I could certainly use the knowledge of his full name right now. 

He so liked to do the same with themself. Now, it had less to do with being reprimanded by a parental figure and had a better relation to a man that, simply put, liked to get under their skin. 

Not that I haven't found weaknesses in his own. Any discovery was swiftly followed up by his unbridled amusement, but the fact remained. He wasn’t completely impervious to being riled up himself. Seven weeks is too long. He’s gotten too deep.

“Chiot!”

“What the fuck-?”

“Chiot, there’s a BT in the room!” 

“What the fuck-!”

Kas remained prone as the adult sized man scrambled up, placed his arm between them and himself, and scanned the room like Pragma during his first thunderstorm. Where are the intruders? Where? Where! 

Kas was flattered that his immediate response was to create a barrier between them and any potential danger. Perhaps they were even guilty, as it was all a farce to begin with, and he actually looked frightened. 

“Chiot, there’s nothing.”

“No shit, darlin’, I don’t sense a damn thing,” was his reply, the man slumping into the spot next to them and nearly elbowing them in a face for it. He began to apologize, bit his tongue, and sighed roughly enough that it came out as a growl. 

Kas couldn’t stop themself. They laughed. They laughed until their giggles began to peal, until they grew louder, and louder, until they could only clutch at their stomach in the sheer god given hope that they wouldn’t lose the contents over their stomach over it. Their sides twinged, their eyes flooded with tears, and they felt happy. 

Until their world flipped, they found themself pressed into the man’s chest, and surprised startled them into yelping when they were lifted into the air. “Ch-chiot!” 

Chiot was stone faced. Unmoved. Raw determination glowed in his eyes, like twin flames under the heavy set of his brow. Kas struggled in his arms, wiggling, and wiggling harder as he turned into the bathroom. “Chiot, enough! Chiot-!”

Their cries turned louder as the two of them went in, first into the room, and then into the shower stall itself. 

As gracefully as a crane, with his visage cracking from the strain for the first time since his manhandling of their person, Chiot made to jab at the wall with one of his bony knees. “Chi-AHHH! HOW COULD YOU? YOU ABSOLUTE CRETIN! YOU DOG SNIFFING NEANTERTHAL!”

Chiot cackled through their sputtering cries. He laughed while they threw obscenities like grenades, in whatever language leapt to their tongue. Long enough for the water to turn cold and remain that way. At last his own discomfort must have been too much, because he turned the water off, crouched to his knees onto the floor, fell onto his behind, and let them slide, soaking, shivering, between his legs. 

“We golden, darlin’?”

“I-I’m never sha-sharing a bed with you a-again, you overgrown cow.”

After getting dried up, the two had breakfast. Kas steadfastly decided not to mention being forced to sleep next to the ape they shared a home with, for the time being, but that didn’t stop Chiot from pestering them throughout the meal. By the end, they were begrudgingly smiling over his attempts to get them to laugh. It made it difficult to be upset with someone when they had the energy and enthusiasm of toddler. 

It helped, also, that he mentioned wanting to work on the truck more, albeit in a mixed bag sort of way that left them simultaneously grateful, and hesitant to rush him. Even if they never found out his true identity, why would Chiot stay? If he wanted, he could get a job at any of the Waystations in the UCA. He could join BRIDGES or form his own porter group. What sort of man of his type—charismatic, clever, and, yes, easily enthused— would want to stay in a bunker like theirs for the rest of his life?

Or even nearby. It’s too far from the maddening crowd. And he’s the worst sort, in that way.

“Hey, Kas,” Chiot spoke up, bringing them from their thoughts, and reminding them of where they were. The two of them split for the garage after their meal, Kas opting to sit crossed legged on on the ground, combing their hand through Pragma’s hair, while Chiot had planted himself on a sliding board. The man switched between shifting in and out from beneath the vehicle, accepting tools from Kas whenever it called for them.

By all means, they could have worked on the truck themself, as they should have done as much ages ago when they originally had it’s replacement parts printed. But Chiot shot that idea down before they could fully form the words, as if they’d broken both arms, and not simply caught a mild graze from a single bullet wound. 

“You seem awful thoughtful today,” he went on, sliding out from underneath the truck’s stomach, and unaware of the way his dark hair had managed to rumple from atop his head. They thought about just reaching over and fixing the mess, but he already looked the part with his stained, white tank top, and oiled up hands. It was stupid, in their mind, to find anyone, well, remotely attractive when they looked so disgusting. But, alas. 

“Thoughtful,” Kas asked, beginning to smile sardonically at that. “I thought I treated you thoughtfully everyday, Chiot.”

“Hey, freakin’ me the hell out this morning and making me thing we were under attack was hardly thoughtful.” 

“Oh, certainly, you are correct there,” they nodded, aware of the suspicious gleam in his eye for the easy acceptance. “It took very little time in thinking about it before I decided it seemed like a wonderful idea.”

“Oh, ha,” he mocked, but, yes, he was fighting a grin of his own. A battle he always lost, and this time it was no different. “No wonder you’re out here alone, I doubt any guy, gal, or gumpkin would marry you with the kind of soft touch you have with people.”

“Us gumpkin, we understand each other, Chiot. It would work just fine,” they nodded, as if certain of that after the inner bout of turmoil they had just faced over this very subject. A subject that pertained to him. “You, on the other hand? It is good we have the truck, when the time comes, you can leave me here with only Pragma to torment.”

He snorted, none too eloquently. “Pragma? Dog doesn’t know a good joke when he hears one. Nah, I’m the best option you’ve got for now.”

“So, rude,” they murmured to their four legged companion, disguising their interest in that statement in placating Pragma’s no doubt soiled mood. The dog, himself, he hadn’t budged an inch the entire time, only doing so much as a tail flop to signal he was even awake. “Look, you’ve ruined his entire day.”

Chiot slid an unimpressed glance between the dog and them. And then his face changed, a thought taking over. Kas had half a moment to consider being suspicious themself, before the man actually…looked ashamed. 

Alright, now they were concerned. 

“Speaking of, I have something I need to tell ya. And, ask about, if it’s not too much of a complete insult to the kindness you’ve shown me so far.”

What? Was it…? Was he going to ask to take the truck? To borrow funds? They really couldn’t think of what it could be. “Go on?”

“While you were gone, I went down to the basement to grab some things. I’m glad I did, since something wound up happening.”

So that’s why the kit had been ready and waiting in the greenhouse. They had forgotten entirely to bring it up. “I don’t mind that you did it, Chiot. I’ve let you go down there before, it’s truly no different then the rest of the house.”

“It’s not that. I, uh, saw the medical files hanging on the wall.”

Files? What files would they have-? Oh, the clipboard. Another thing they had forgotten, considering how often they rarely even entered that room. “The board, yes, I make notes whenever something…happens.” They shrugged, knowing specifically what he meant, or, having some guess on the matter, anyways. 

“I didn’t know that the head of Fragile Express was your sister.”

“How did you-?” Kad stopped, considering this statement. Had they truly never mentioned it? No, they supposed that they had mentioned having a sister, even when Fragile had visited previously they had both been speaking in French, and he’d been tucked away in bed. They could see how it would make it harder to recognize her voice. And with his scattered memory? Who knows if he would be able to place it all. 

That still left how he was able to connect the dots between the two. 

“After that discovery I went to your old bedroom,” he went on, confusing them further. “I thought I’d try out your bed, see if I couldn’t make it work, because your stubborn ass refused to use the master.”

They waved away the comment like an annoying fly, still very unmoved in the subject. “I’m guessing that you saw our picture.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, tipping his back behind him, and leaning against the side of the vehicle. “I couldn’t help but notice that Pragma was in the medical logs from a few years back. But he was also in the picture of the two of you.”

Ah, there it was. 

Kas nearly smiled at the irony. Just yesterday they had been checking his own prints for matches out there in the world, and now they were being reminded of another’s. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Shoot, after all I’ve done without asking that seems pretty fair.”

“Have you ever heard of the Thumb Print Multi-Verse Theory?”

His brow crinkled, signaling that he was ignorant to the subject perhaps, but they also couldn’t avoid that light of interest in his eyes. Chiot, with all his flirting, and general absurdity was clever. He was intuitive, and knowing, always asking questions, about them, and the world at large, while also showing signs that he would be quick enough to pick up on anything else. If he set his mind to it. As much as he enjoyed playing the part of the fool, Kas had to wonder what was locked away in that brain of his. 

“Can’t say I have, sweetheart,” he said, voice quiet, and his back straightened. Ears pricked, indeed. “I mean, I’ve read up on the concept of multiple universes, and the like.” He waved a hand, glancing away as he thought and drawing their own interest.

“Newton’s Third Law: for every action there is an opposite and equal reaction. In this sense, that means for every choice you make the opposite is made on another plane. You go left today, on that same day in a different but like world, you go right.”

“Yes, precisely,” Kas nodded, laughter in their reply. It was impossible not to be amused by the sudden energy in this words.

“Beaches are often given the moniker “multiverse” because they exist separate but apart of ourselves, a place untapped by time, but changing depending on our personalities. Our ideals. Even our dreams. 

“It is the place we go to when we sleep, but also the place we cross when die. In this, it is a multiverse in the sense that is multiple, separate copies of the same world. I have a friend, of sorts, that postulated that our Beaches exist not only as a connection between us and death, us and the dreaming world, and us and our subconsciousness, but as a connection to all versions of ourself.”

Chiot had fallen entirely silent, utterly enraptured now. Kas would think that such a thing would be distracting in itself, but it was cathartic talking to someone, anyone else, about this. 

“Versions both near and far. Those who took that right turn, and those who were never given the chance to step onto the initial path…at all,” they stopped, placing one of their hands back on Pragma. “Despite this idea, it is hypothesized that if we ever were to come in contact with a replicate of ourselves the damage would be irreversible. A dimension folding, world exploding, utmost perversion of the laws of reality. This is of course only a hypothesis, including the assumption that things would simply be…destroyed. Perhaps it could be fixed? Perhaps the universe, life, reality, is so infinitely vast and full of power and potential it would be able to correct that mistake without causing any harm.” 

“Except for the reality where it couldn’t do that?”

“Exactly! It’s, it’s frustrating,” they replied, feeling as though his own energy had leaked into their own system. Or maybe, perhaps, it wasn’t often enough that they were given the chance to feel this way on their own, through their own capacity of thought. “As terrible as it is, that’s a long discussion for later. Heartman, he would truly, Chiot, go on for hours about it with no urging from my person.”

“My, honey, should I be jealous? This is the first time you’ve mentioned another potential beau outside of myself.” 
Kas shoved at one of his bent knees, ignoring his chuckle. “Heartman is a widower, a recent one at that. And I think he’s found another now, anyways. You’ve distracted me!”

“Non, go on. I could listen you talk physics all day long, darlin’.”

“Lech,” they muttered, but needed little to get them back to the matter at hand. “Multiverse theory, the Beaches, yes. When I found Pragma, I had recently been rereading Heartman’s interviews on them, the Beaches. He has many, I promise, and I would share them, if you like-?”

“Yes, please, with a cherry on top, and some whipped cream.”

“So enthused, this one. Well, I told you that I found Pragma as I did you, on his Beach, physically, and I took him back to the waking world. What I did not mention was that I had a dog previously, the one you saw in the picture,” they gestured to him, Chiot nodding along dutifully. “As you know now, of course. I wasn’t sure of it until some time had passed and he grew up but he…he looks so much like our Storge, down to the length of his tail, to the color of his eyes, to, well everything. Such things can indeed be affected by diet and possible complications of health, but by all rights Pragma is a healthy example of his breed. The same breed Storge was. Half the time-.” 

They stopped, shaking their head at the memories. At least a majority of the time they spent time with Pragma alone, so no one was around to witnesses their mistake.

“I would sometimes call Pragma by Storge’s name. He would not respond, of course, it is not his name: it was not the one he was given as a pup and thus taught to respond to. But, but-. I had this…this strange, absurd thought. A dog with a Beach? It raised so many questions, enough that I thought to message Heartman and ask if such a thing had occurred. Well, our acquaintance began from there. He was very interested.” 

“Certainly not a thing most people would figure happens,” Chiot said, seeing their line of logic there. “Hard to ask any common squirrel or reptile, too. But that was before someone like you came into the picture.”

“I and,” they stopped, unsure if they should divulge Deadman’s secret or not. Not that he would meet the man, not unless Kas gave into Dead’s request. I should ask first, to be sure. “And perhaps others, should they exist. The timing, in my circumstance, was perhaps just short of perfect for the cards to fall in my favor, as one might say.”

“You really need to learn to take credit where credit is due, Kas,” Chiot said pointedly, and their reaction was to shake their head. They did not, knowing he would only argue the matter further. But maybe…maybe they could, this once, think it wasn’t that bad. Maybe it was, in some way, at least remarkable that they could do this. 

It took saving two lives from the Beach, but, perhaps that much could be said. 

“A-anyways,” the started again, not denying it, but saying nothing of the sort in favor of it aloud. “When Storge was born, samples of his DNA were saved alongside other members of my family. We thought it a nice idea, to have him recorded with our census data. This included his birthday, name, DNA—everything as it would for a human. Including his unique prints.”

“There’s a thought I never had figured.”

“Few would. Well. One may consider it, laugh, and move on. But canines do have prints, only, not on their toes,” Kas replied, removing their hand from Pragma’s belly, to tap a finger on his nose. The dog lifted his head briefly, before laying it back down on the floor of the garage. “The marks of a dog’s nose are unique as any human’s fingerprints. They are singular in their existence. Even, evidentially, if you find another dog on the beach baring their likeness in every other way as well. Including their DNA.” 

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me,” Chiot exclaimed, his voice a breath of wonder, and the man drew closer. He’d already begun leaning into his knees, drawing closer as if to soak up the information easier. He truly was excited. “You tellin’ me this mutt helped prove the existence of multiverses?”

“Oui,” they laughed. “Well, as much as we could. What other excuse did we have? Heartman was thrilled, and mortified, and, well, he is a scientist. It was a lot to take in at once. Pragma, well, he had a paper named after himself and Storge. And the Thumb Print Multiverse theory was born.”

“I’d like to read that paper, though I’m guessing I got the basic gist of it just now,” Chiot said, and Kas watched several questions flit across his face with any internal monologuing he was up to. “That leaves the question of how Pragma got there to begin with.”

Kas sucked in a breath. And yourself, but we’ve been asking that for sometime, they thought to themself. At least they knew how to answer his current question. “When I was young, and Storge died, I learned then about my ability. To…take others to the Beach, I mean.”

Chiot’s eyes snapped to theirs. He didn’t need to ask them to extrapolate on that, they could see that he already understood. But, but they wanted to say it. “He died of a tumor, you know? Along his spine. There was no means of it’s removal without risking his demise, anyways, so my parents sought to let him pass in his sleep. I was inconsolable. He was my best friend, and I felt like I had let it happen. A child’s logic is unshakable sometimes, no matter how absurd. So I—well I had been to the Beach before. To my sister’s, even my parent’s. So, the night of his prognosis, I slept beside him, and there we went. 

“I woke on the Beach with him, thinking perhaps if he stayed, he could live there forever. I could visit him, and all would be fine. A world without pain or hunger, it sounded sublime.

“But even while the pain was muted, my friend could not walk. He could barely move, all he could do is lay there in my arms, and wait to go. He died there, not even the timeless of the Beach could halt his progression into death,” Kas finished, plucking away an errant tear from the corner of one their eyes. It was an old pain, but one that still ached. “I left his body in the waters, and left his Beach forever. At least, I thought I had.”

“You think that when he died on the Beach, the same happened to Pragma?”

“I think perhaps there was another version of myself that could not take the loss of him in another world, and did the same. Or perhaps there was a version of my Storge that died shortly after birth, and somehow…” they shook their head. “I am unsure, the possibilities are endless. As endless as there are stars in the sky, or planes to walk, evidently,” they waved their hands, ever feeling helpless over the matter. “Heartman believes perhaps with Storge’s genetic materials in the sea, Pragma’s Ha had something to latch onto in death. But who knows. 

“He enjoys the mystery of it, even as a man of his kind. Always asking, needing to know, and yet sometimes it makes it all the better: the not knowing. His words, not mine,” they stated, and dropped their upturned hand in their lap. “Well, sometimes I think the same.”

“Hmmm, what about the fact that these events happened at different times. After all, Storge—am I gettin’ that right? Good—, he died when you were tiny. Pragma, you found him just a few years ago,” Chiot said. It was a reasonable ask, but as his face changed, they let him voice their own conclusion out loud: “Unless you figure the timelessness of the Beach allowed things like that to happen? Like a sort of time shenanigan?”

Okay, perhaps not an exact match to their own conclusion. Shenanigan, what a word. “As Heartman and others have suggested, and as the multiverse theory presumes, time is ever in flux. Such places as the Beach, it acts as a center where such may be observable. At least, as far as Pragma and Storge are concerned.”

And perhaps yourself. 

“And me?”

“And…you,” Kas sighed, having finally reached their conversation’s inevitable lead up. “I had another reason for searching Knot’s database for your prints. I and my source have thought that it is perhaps possible with the destruction of Capital and Middle Knot, that your-.”

“Wait, hold up. Back up a little, Kas. What do you mean by their destruction?”

Kas fell silent, seeing the shock on his face, and wondering if he was serious. 

“Kas?”

Ah.

He doesn’t know. 

Chapter Text

Several dozen thoughts crossed Kas’ face right then.

He could see them, surely as he could see their initial surprise, the shock that followed, the realization that set in, and fuck, there it was, a straight up flurry of processes happening in front of his face. He would have thought it was goddamn adorable, fucking intriguing even, if it weren’t for what they’d just wonderfully told him.

Middle and Capital Knot were gone? Destroyed? When the ever living fuck did that happen?

“It’s true then, it must be—Chiot, every one knows this.”

“Well, I sure as shit, don’t. Sorry, Kas, pardon the language, but I don’t know how I could miss somethin’ as important as that!”

“Maybe you forgot, just like your name, and, well, other things, perhaps. But I’ll tell you,” they nodded, setting their hands on their upturned knees. He couldn’t say he was mad at them, but, well, bewildered sure as fuck fit the bill. I am so goddamn sick of being confused all of the time. 

“Years back, a—well, a group called Homo Demens sent a package via Fragile Express to Middle Knot city. Unknowingly, the package that was delivered contained a nuclear bomb.”

“Fragile Express, your sister’s company.”

“Yes, and-,” they appeared uncomfortable, as much as they had been since the discussion started, and he had a sudden inkling he knew where this was heading. “It was my sister that carried it.”

There it was.

“She had no idea, but the backlash-,” they grimaced, closing their eyes. He couldn’t help it, he reached forward with one of his own hands and set it atop a set of their white knuckles. Kas opened their eyes, saw the gesture, and breathed in. They turned their hand over, as slowly as a flower opening in the sun, and the physical contact of their palm meeting his…sharing a bed, however casually, couldn’t fucking compare. 

“Kas,” he started, their eyes meeting his. “You don’t have to tell me the fine details, not if it gets personal.”

“But I do, because-,” they stopped themself, actually covered their mouth with their other hand. Before releasing themself, lowering their hand again, and joining it with holding his own. “Central Knot followed months later. It was destroyed by a giant BT. It wasn’t until someone, until another porter met the leader of Homo Demens that it was recognized that he had the power to summon them. At will.”

He whistled low, making one of their eyebrows inch up at the sound. “Sorry, thats, hell, that’s one helluva thing. Talk about a level I ain’t never even heard of.”

“Yes, it was,” they canted their head, bemused. “He could do a lot. Thankfully, that same porter helped bring an end to him, and his group, as far as it can be said. Without their leader, the Homo Demens dispersed. Some were captured, but without that man, they aren’t much more then dangerous MULES. Hopefully.”

“Big ask?”

“Well, it’s been three years, but. Yes, it is a rather big assumption,” both of their brows went up at this, clearly giving away Kas’ opinion on that. “Well, with two Knots gone, and honestly at least a third nearly destroyed as well, I worried that perhaps your personal records might have been destroyed with them.”

“Which is one of the reasons why you wanted to use my prints.”

“And why I was embarrassed when I had not considered it sooner. Still, I wonder,” they turned distracted, those cogs still turning ever and ever on. 

Now that the initial, well, everything had settled, he didn’t know what to think of it. Two Knots wiped off the map, just like that. Sure, he didn’t have any personal connection to either, not that he knew of, but it was a big fucking deal. And all before this UCA business got cleared up. And who is this mystery porter, anyways? After seeing all that shit go down, I bet he’s as much of a whack job like the rest of us. 

“It’s weird, you know,” Kas was smiling, and he watched them, not expecting the strike of humor in their face, especially after the last topic of discussion. But the more he got to know Kas, the more he saw how much easier it was for them to bounce back from the fucked up shit going on in life. “I thought for a moment that I didn’t find your prints because maybe, just maybe, you’re the same as Pragma. Maybe if we go by Capital Knot and compare blood samples, yours will match someone’s there, even without a good picture to compare your face to.”

He looked at them, that…fine little idea dawning on him something fierce. 

“Chiot…do you want to,” they asked, looking like they were seeing he wasn’t so adverse to the idea. “You’re better now, and if we can fix the truck…we could go in person. We could meet my contact, and see.”

“That…that doesn’t sound like a half bad idea, darlin’.”

Kas laughed, shortly, and he looked at them questionably. “Sorry, it’s just a certain someone is getting what he wants, and he’s going to be, what would you say, pleased as a peach, for it?”

“Kas, honey, was that supposed to be some kind of impression of my good person? ‘Cause, I gotta say-.”

They shoved at his led with one of their feet, hardly budging him an inch, short of sending him into a laughing fit of his own.

“Enough, Chiot, I do not need your terrorizing-.”

“That’s half my goddamn personality, Kas.” 

“Chiot! You do not need to make being unkind to me your life’s work.”

“Honey, sweetheart,” he said, leaning in real close, and feeling a fire light up in his heart at the sight of their nose wrinkling up in discomfort. The freckles along their cheeks, and those little spots looked like caramelized sugar sprinkled across their skin. "Kaspar Maria-.”

“Enough, Chiot-!”

He obliged by falling completely forward, snaking out his tongue, and drawing a path across the side of their face. Kas flailed backwards, shrieking with indignity, and he had to stop himself from nearly tumbling onto their sprawled body.

Pragma started barking, dancing around without turning into help, and he found himself laughing at the sight of Kaspar beet red, and sputtering like a locomotive. 

“Pourquoi je te supporte? I saved your life, and this is how you repay me! With vulgarity!”

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps calling me puppy. I’m just playin’ the part, sugar-!”

“The part? La partie? You do that every day when you wolf down my food, and take up all of the room in my bed, and forget to flush the toilet-!”

“Hey, that was one time-!”

“One time? Chiot, once is enough, and I have had it-.” He tried to help them as they stood up, pushing away his hands, and leaving him chuckling on his back, looking up at them in all of their fiery glory. “Lick me one more time, and you will sleep outside, in the rain!”

“C’mon, hun. We’re one spat away from a wedding. You know I’d do you right-.”

Kas let out a strangled noise, something like a cross between a kitten and a vacuum cleaner, and grabbed the can of oil that was sitting by the truck’s wheel. He started to sit up, raising his hands, and meaning to apologize through his own tears—but just got a mouthful of shit nasty fluid for his efforts. He started sputtering himself, wiping at the rank slick on his face.

“Honey, you’re killing me-.”

“Puis périr. The bed is mine, sleep on the ground, for all I care,” they said, and he blinked open his eyes, trying to see as their distorted figure made for the exit. “You’re lucky you're pretty, tu m'as foutu.”

Pragma zipped after his master, and the door shut with a resounding click behind them both. He went on laughing, the racket he made coming out more like a wheeze then anything else.

Man, I just love a special someone who could actually kick my ass. 

Later, after Kas took pity on him, and let him use the shower after unlocking the garage door, he joined them outside. It was one of those rare breaks in the stormy weather their side of the world was so often seeing, although Kas themself was soaked to the bone after spending a majority of his own washing up outside. 

They wore one of their favorite outfits, a sleeveless turtle neck, and porters', water proof pants over what were probably a set of shorts underneath. Their boots were a nice grade, something his brain had picked up on a few shots after first seeing them, and well taken care of. Standing in the wake of the garage steel door, he saw them out under the blue sky, bare skin rain kissed, and sun licked. Their short hair was a mess of tangles still drying under the faint bits of warm air in the breeze, and he almost thought he saw their eyes glow golden when they turned and saw him there. 

Fuck, I’m screwed. 

“Chiot,” they said, their voice carrying across the yard, and reaching his ears like birdsong in the spring. “Would you like to go on a picnic with me?”

It could have been would you like to go to the end of the world, and he would have agreed. Anything involving food, that was just child’s play.

Kas’ idea of a picnic was more old fashioned then he had figured, until it wasn’t. 

They started it off right, the kitchen filling with the smell of bread as they whipped up a loaf from scratch, and Kas digging out jars of jam from a stash they had hidden from him the entire time. 

“I have enough experience hiding treats from nosy dogs.” 

They stashed the jam with apple and peanut butter in a basket, joined the wrapped parcels with cloth napkins, and blunted knives for spreading. When Kas unearthed the chocolate spread, it turned into a gold mine of sugar, and he sure couldn't be happier at the sight. Everything prepared, in the late afternoon air, they walked along with Pragma down the slopes of their home, until they came upon a vestige that over looked the sea. 

The sea being a gray clouded, ever pouring mess of BT territory.

“Gas bags,” he asked, incredulous, and holding the basket in one hand, and for the fist time second guessing his host’s sanity levels.

“You remember,” they remarked, brightly, and carrying the blanket continued on ahead, near to the edge of the overlook. If the dog didn’t mind, who was he to worry? So he grinned, disbelieving all the while, and followed after. 

Kas spread out the checkered blanket, thick, and almost made for the otherwise rough expanse of lad, and he set down the goods. In minutes they had things set out, napkins shared, and he’d stuffed his maw with two slices of sweet covered, homemade heaven. 

Kas was hardly behind, spooning out some chocolate with one of their fingers, and he only half bothered to hide his interest at the sight. Despite his leering and the day's events, Kas lay on their stomach, looking out over the ocean, black masses of depression included, and looked as at peace as their four legged companion. Pragma, he had his head situated on Kas’ ass, and he could swear up and down that the dog was gloating through those big eyes of his. 

“I will say now, Chiot, that Deadman has a strange visage,” they were saying, eyes caught on the horizon as they did so. They were continuing their conversation from earlier, if leaving out the bits about attempted genocide. “And a quirkier personality. He’s a kind man, but odd, as all seem to be who make their lives studying the Death Stranding. There’s no one else, save yourself, that has been so adamant in disturbing my personal space.” 

Kas turned their head away from the view and towards him, a challenge in their eyes as if they expected what he had to say next, and how could he disappoint? “That makes two potential suitors I didn’t know about,” he began, his own grin widening when theirs, remarkably, appeared. “Tell me, hun, how many guys you got lurkin’ beyond those hills? And what is with the weird naming conventions? Is there a Snakeman, or a Die-hardman out there I don’t know about?”

A flicker of something crossed their face, and he about nearly choked on his next bite of jam spread bread. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me-.”

“In their defense, those are probably code names!” They glanced away from him, but only for a moment. “And I am currently not in a romantic relationship with any man in existence, in name or otherwise.”

“What am I, a cabbage,” he replied, under his breath, but not really, and dodged the toss of food they aimed at his head. 

That night, he tried to sleep in the living room, he really did, but Pragma got up to his pacing, and there was no way around it. Kas was in their bed, one arm over their eyes, which they moved out of the way as he entered to reveal that they were very much awake. 

He made various gestures between him on the bed, varying on obscene, until they scoffed and slapped what was quickly becoming his side. He dropped on the mattress like a sack of potatoes, eliciting a startled noise from Kas. They pushed at him in response, nearly shoving him off, taking up all the room on the mattress. He wrapped himself up in the blanket in response, teetering on the edge, and smiled like it was the happiest place in the world for him to be. They rolled their eyes, turned over, and made room. 

That night they walked the Beach together, Kas tossing sand at him that burst across his shoulders like black tar. The next morning he woke up with Kas surrendered into his arms, tucked in tight into the curve of his body like a hatchling in a nest. He buried his face in their hair, breath shuddering when they sighed deeply in their rest, and he fell back into sleeping. 

Chapter Text

A handful of days later, the truck had been fixed, Kas had learned how much of an extensive cuddle monster their house guest was, and they were getting ready to leave. Kas gave Chiot back his gear, which has been fixed up nicely after it was tossed through their recycler and recreated from scratch. 

It looked odd to see him in his gear again, more so with him bending over and giving Pragma mournful scratches behind the dog’s ears as they were preparing. They told him again and again that the autofeeder would take care of Pragma’s basic needs, and the autowaste box of his, tucked away in the garage, was just as dependable, but that didn’t stop Chiot from acting as though they were leaving the dog to die. 

Kas knew he was excited. Excited, and anticipatory, and everything that made him spring out of bed that morning like a cat caught in the rain. That didn’t stop him from finding time to aggravate them until they were both sitting in the truck itself.

“C’mon, lemme take it for a spin-.”

“Chiot, only I know the path, and I will not allow you to drive us off the cliff face just because you “gotta go fast”." 

Chiot demonstrated his full return to health the day before by taking a few turns on their trike, shredding across the land like a boat in the water. He’d had to do it fully dressed in his gear, insisted on it even, to show that he was less concerned with the weather and more with proving his mettle. Kas had watched, a small, awful voice in their head disparaging over the sight, while the remainder of them was amused by his antics.

Near the end he stopped beside them, offered his hand, and nearly goaded them into jumping onto the back of the trike…they took the front, Chiot hanging onto their waist with one arm, and whooping as they took off across the rocky fields, towards the horizon.

Ultimately, Chiot was officially given a fine bill of health, and they decided the truck would be more comfortable for the long trip. Well, they had. Chiot complained about not getting another chance to be so up close and personal with his caregiver for a while.

It was odd, driving away from their home after so long, especially in a vehicle they largely ignored. They had to take a different route due to it’s bulk, crossing the ridge line, headed north-eastward, until they hit a river that led into the valley. They took a path down, and made for the bridge situated further along the river path, directing the truck south in order to do so.

“Man, talk about a long way ‘round.”

“It deters visitors,” Kas replied simply.

Chiot had made himself comfortable in the passenger seat, spreading his legs wide, leaning into the open window, and looking out over the landscape. He looked like he couldn’t get enough of it, and Kas tried to understand. It wasn’t just that he’d been stuck with only their home for weeks, but this was a world he had, for a time, forgotten. One he was still recalling, and might never fully be capable of doing so.  

He had fallen mostly quiet, distracted by the changing of the scenery, and Kas let him stay in his head.

It took some time, but eventually they found a paved road, and passed by the Distro Center North of Mountain Knot. It’s sharp angles were stained with the effects of timefall, and a few porters milled outside, carrying packages. In or out bound, Kas couldn’t say, but as discussed they kept going.

They intended to hit up the Waystations on the way back, there was no point in stopping at every one when any attempt to reach out, so far, had turned up nothing. So, Chiot didn’t complain, but watched the lallygagging figures, likely concerned about the upcoming rainfall, like a dog seeing a squirrel for the first time. 

“Are you okay,” Kas asked, frankly amused, and Chiot looked at them like he was already reconsidering his options. He appeared even more weirded out by the situation when the porters waved to their passing, decrypt vehicle, one pointing and appearing taken aback despite their protective layers.

“What the hell was that?”

“People are strangely friendly in the UCA, disturbingly so, Chiot,” Kas replied. They knew it helped, indeed more so with the likes based system that helped make things more light heartedly then they really were, but it was still odd. The human race had basically become a large group of socially awkward, bumbling strangers. Kas recalled their father comparing it to his first day of kindergarten, a period of his early schooling wherein a bunch of small children, between the ages of six and eight, were sequestrated together and taught the basics of education. They were excited to meet people, but didn’t quite know how to do it without mentioning their collection of toads, or spotted rocks, as if such thing made up the entirety of their personalities. It worked, all the same, however strangely. 

Porters, they were the links between their cities, and were their own kind of odd. They saw a porter, they thought, “Oh, a porter like myself! Hello, porter! Thank you for, also, being a porter,” and were rather excited about it all the while. 

Meanwhile, I still feel like the odd one in the corner, confused as to whether I should wave, or pretend to have missed them entirely. 

Chiot looked like he wanted to bark at the strangers, and they kept moving. 

The riverlands made way for the sloping, pine dotted hills that led through the mountains. The path here, once thick with MULE activity, and the dangerous sort for that matter, had been cleared by forced of the UCA. Now there was only a small check point, two buildings meant to deter any of the former parcel hoarders from resettling in the area and accosting travelers coming down from the lake. 

It was taking several hours just to reach Lake Knot, but Kas was determined to get there in time to find respite in a room, on one side or the other. 

Beyond the foreboding structure of the incinerator, Kas didn’t need to point out where Central Knot once was, it’s severe lack was enough to leave a mark on the horizon. Chiot looked past their profile, one hand on their seat, and the other on the dash, as if trying to find any sign of once was. 

Lineman said he thought he’d seen Chiot there, in another life.

Kas looked at Chiot’s face, wondering to themself if his mind sought any recognition there, on that empty skyline, for the life he was led. When Chiot leaned back and settled in his seat again, not a word said, but only signs of further deep thought on his face, they decided not to ask. Least they interrupt whatever was processing in that head of his. 

If he has questions, he’ll ask.

The incoming rain had them turning up the windows, and the land darkened. Kas clicked on the truck’s headlights, eyes on the road that simultaneously led the way and kept their truck’s battery full. It was a clear road that got them through BT territory, Kas choosing to gun it through a stretch of open land that crossed by a strangely intact, old world warehouse, with Chiot laughing the entire way. 

“Holy hell, darlin’, if it weren’t for the corpses hangin’ around, dead in the air, I’d ask if we could go again!”

They’d found out about Chiot’s skill at sensing BT two weeks ago. It started with his mentioning of one of the thick, black cords hovering over the horizon, just beyond their home, and ended with him slowly watching the prints of one such Beach Thing make it’s way, slowly, across the glass roof of the ‘house.

It was rare that one of them swept across their home, rare enough that they forgot to mention it to him, but it was sure as certain funny to watch the startled man examine the processing of one of them, mere feet above his head. Kas was kind, reassuring him that the glass was thick, as well as sound proof. They could see them, perhaps, but making too much noise wasn’t an issue.

“But does it have to look like that, Je-sus-?”

Kas was mildly surprised. So, he was at least a level three if he could see them. They agreed, watching ink covered humanoid, large handed, practically faceless, and leaving tar like prints in it’s wake as it moved across the space above them. It’s arms were too thin, too long, it’s gait unnatural and, frankly, unnerving if you weren’t used to the sight. It didn’t help that it dragged itself across surfaces, it’s tether to the beach ascending into the sky, like an astronaut connected to it’s vessel in space. They, the gazers as these hunters were called, didn’t use their legs, the limbs hung in the air behind them, as weightless as the remainder of their bodies. 

Kas had nearly laughed, seeing Chiot so startled, stiff as a board and watching for any sudden movements that might indicate danger. Or maybe it was something else, a training from their time as porters, as ingrained by then as breathing. 

Either way, the BT, and it’s pack, passed by in time, leaving them unmolested. 

All the same, the encounter left Kas wondering what else Chiot could be capable of. 

By the time they reached Lake Knot City, night appeared to be falling, over the red walls of the encased settlement, and the last ferry of the day was preparing to make it’s path back across the shore. 

It was odd for Kas to be in a place so active, as active as it could be with a skeleton crew overseeing the departure of the ship they slipped onto with nary a bother otherwise. The outbound cost was waived, not a word needing to be traded with anyone living, as their pre-paid, permanently held boat pass in their cuff’s library was pinged and approved. 

Chiot jumped out of the cabin of their truck with legs a wobble, made worse when the ship started moving. Kas provided some mercy in favor of suggesting they eat dinner in the bed of the truck: a reasonable fare of left over bread, and yet more stored away soup, minestrone this time. 

The sky was awash with stars, blending in with the darkness of the land, and merging together with the lake’s water. Where one ended, and the other began could only be found along the jutting backs of not-so distant mountains, giants as seemingly unchanged by time and timefall no matter what occurred amongst the ants that crossed their peaks. 

Kas was tired, an absurd notion after having sat all day, but after freshining up in the ferry’s tiny bathroom, joined Chiot in looking out into the air, personally contemplating noting in particular at all. 

“So, why is it that Fragile got the family business, and you didn’t?”

“Why the sudden curiosity, Chiot,” Kas asked, their voice sounding small on the cool air, it’s breeze non-existent save for in the path the boat stubbornly cut through it. 

“Nothin’ much, just been thinkin’ about my own porter life, as much as I’m able,” he said, drawing their attention. He’d shed his own coat and looked comfortable, despite their hard bed for the night, and the chill that caused the dark hair of his arms to raise to attention. “I think I was considerin’ joinin’ up with her before,” his hands, propped on his knees as they were, spread as if to gesture at them. At where he was, instead, of where he should have been. “But I don’t recall ever hearin’ anything about a sibling. Not much beyond her daddy, really.”

Kas shrugged, understanding. Although he could have blamed it on his lack of recall, it could have been the simple truth of things: there wasn’t much to say. “I thought about becoming a porter myself, but working for a company in a city, with my DOOMS, it was not preferable. When dad made the offer to her, we all understood I would have turned it down, anyways.”

His eyes narrowed ever so much, but this distaste wasn’t aimed at them: “What, he didn’t even ask? Don’t they say it’s the thought that counts.”

“This is true, but we also had our mother’s ailing state to consider. By the time she died, our dad didn’t want to be any where near the house. And after, when he still yet followed, someone had to watch over it,” they said. They admitted to themself the appreciated his concern, but avoided mentioning it, for fear of seeing him puff up like a poodle over the praise. “Fragile knew I disliked the idea of living in crowds, but she did make the offer, and she asked, after I said no, if I wanted a place there allt the same. Like…some others, she understands my reasons for being apart, but remains worried, all the same.”

“Like this, uh, Dead guy, we’re going to see?”

Kas chuckled at his confusion, but didn’t seek to clarify it. “Yes, like Deadie.”

“Deadie, there’s a pet name. Why don’t you tell me the guy’s weaknesses, that way when we finally dual for your hand I’ll stand a chance.”

Kas outright laughed then, imagining either one of them turning about face, and wielding pistols at one another. They may as well be bananas, with how much good it would do them. “Again! Not a suitor, Chiot. Deadman is more uncle then suitor. Get that right in your fur brained skull,” they said, pushing at his cheek. He caught their hand, holding it in his own, and making them inhale sharply. 

If he asks if something’s wrong, I’ll blame it on the trip. 

“Shit, I’d rather shoot someone, now. How am I supposed to impress some guy that feels like family?” He tutted, shaking his head, and apparently bemoaning his cruel fate. 

He didn’t let go of their hand, and they didn’t make him. 

The remainder of their journey to the east coast went about the same, save for Chiot’s energy levels. Apparently all it took was one contemplative evening on the boat, because after he couldn’t be stopped.

There was something to be said about Kas’ ability to keep him in the truck, and, perhaps more so, his restraint when it came to staying within it’s vicinity, at least. Beyond that, all bets were off. Chiot wanted to be in the bed, he wanted to drive the truck, and, at one point, he sat atop it’s roof. Kas let him do all of the above, knowing that they had a clear shot between Knot’s thanks to Sam’s implemented road system. Even if he did somehow fall off, or out, they figured if they had patched him up once, they could do it again. 

Chiot’s chaotic energy also bled into his speech. He wanted to talk, and often, pointing out things for their proper translations, asking about what he saw, and basically the only source of his entertainment otherwise: Kaspar. He asked mundane things, like what their favorite color was, where they would go if they could anywhere in the world, and their favorite physical attribute of his person.

“Bleu. The redwood parks. Tes yeux.”

“My eyes? I sure wasn’t expecting that.” 

He looked more like he hadn’t been expecting them to answer truthfully, but they shrugged. “They’re pretty. And I could probably tell if you were smiling if half your face was hidden by a mask,” they answered seriously, holding up their hand and partially blocking their own nose and jaw. 

At the time he’d been driving the vehicle, and sure enough those blues of his had lit up at the compliment. Kas was often reminded of a story their mother would tell when they and Fragile were small. They lacked a physical copy of the book it had been based on, but that had not stopped their mother was drawing out a likeness of one of it’s central character’s: The Cherisher Cat. 

It’s astonishing that it took me this long to see it. 

He asked more intense questions. About the president. Fragile Express. Bridges. And who had built all of the roads between the Knots. 

“Il s'appelait Sam Bridges,” Kas had answered, with little thought. He was bound to find out, one way or another, about the world’s Greatest Porter. Avoiding the topic would just make him more curious, and Kas wanted to be careful. It was Sam’s trust, after all, that they were concerned with, less so in this circumstance then Chiot’s. “The same man who defeated the leader of the Homo Demens. As a means of connecting America, and making his job easier in the process, he finished them.”

“Hard to imagine that one guy can do all that work while trying to save the world at the same time.”

“It helped that there were plans to do so, anyways, drawn up by the former president: Bridget Strand. The materials were provided by the Knots, in good faith, to Sam after he did what he could to earn their trust.”

“My, Kas, you almost sound like you admire him.”

“Je fais,” they met his eyes, honestly and openly. “I’m not a patriot, by any means, and I value my own personal privacy more then many things. But as a porter, I can say there’s something about a man capable of pushing himself to do as much as he did, with what time he had. He really was good at his work.”

“Was? Did the big baddie of that terrorist group finish him off? Some kinda double knockout, issue?”

“Non, he just left,” they said, looking out their window, and wondering what Sam was up to for the time being. There was still no word from him, but they chose to take that as good news, rather then bad. “He did what he could— beat the bad guy, as one might say—  and retired. The UCA hasn’t seen him since the last presidential inauguration.”

The UCA. But myself, I’m just a passing visitor. 

Chiot snorted. “Can’t say I blame him, there.”

“Quoi, would you not like the added attention, Chiot? Your face in the news, and on every screen across America?”

“Now, now, I know I’ve got one hell of a mug to show off-,” he started, smiling, and stroking his chin, reminding Kas more of a villain then a hero. 

“Je n'ai pas dit ça.”

“You called me pretty just a second ago-!”

“I said your eyes were pretty, Chiot.”

“And you mentioned mon visage, just the other day,” he pointed out, literally removing a hand from the wheel to point. 

“That was to keep you from whining when I dumped oil all over your precious visage.”

“Ah, ain’t nothin’ keepin’ me from whining, honey. I outta keep at it for the rest of the day-.”

“I’ll climb out the window and into the back, leaving you alone for the duration of our trip if I have to.”

“Now, hold on-! No need to get hasty.”

Between the two of them, they managed to cut their trip down to four days. Capital Knot city crested along the coast, presenting all of it’s glittering edges to the afternoon sun, and Kas made for the laboratories directly. It was strange, arriving in a much bigger vehicle, with someone else in tow for that matter, and Kas sent a message to Deadman with near shaking fingers.

Why were they suddenly so anxious? If they were lucky, Chiot would get the answers he sorely needed. If he wasn’t, they’d turn around and go back home…and from there, it was up to him. 

Kas led the way to Deadman’s lab with well worn practice, not saying anything, but noticing how…well, strange it was to see Chiot’s face under the florescent lighting of the Isolation Ward interior. 

As punctual as ever, Deadman was there to meet them both in his lab, and Kas felt a familiar, if restrained, rush of fondness for seeing the man again after so many months. 

“Kaspar, there you are,” he began as if he’d been waiting for them for sometime, and crossed the space of his room. He was more reserved then normal, and, when he glanced at Chiot, Kas had to guess it was because of the unknown variable in the room. “And your guest. Come, the two of you,” he said, motioning to a trio of chairs along one side of the lab. “You must be tried after the journey.”

“Weird, how that works. All that sittin’ around, and it just makes you wanna take a nap,” Chiot said, lightly smirking, and meeting Kas’ eyes. Kas smiled themself, but said nothing. Normally here they would retort, laugh along with him, make a joke, but for the first time since their initial meeting they weren’t alone. There was a layer of ice there they couldn’t find themself to be the first one to break.

“Indeed,” Deadman was the first one to reply, however awkwardly, and motioned them both to take the desk chairs he had presented. “Kaspar has told me much about you. That is to say, what can be said from meeting your person but having, well, little to go else on otherwise.”

Chiot huffed under his breath, leaning back in his chair, and resting one ankle on the other leg, and crossing his arms. Apparently his natural aptitude for making himself comfortable extended everywhere. “Does that mean they told you all my dirty little secrets? I promise I don’t hog the bed too much-.”

Deadman sputtered, looking for Kas for answers. They could only sigh, seeing Chiot’s aforementioned ice breaking for what it was.

“He’s joking, it’s half his personality I’m afraid.”

“The rest is charm and good looks,” Chiot cheesed, winking at the then blushing scientist, and nearly causing a startled laugh from Kas at the mere sight of Deadman looking flustered.

In perfect French, Deadman had to ask, rolling his chair in close to Kas’ and pointing, not carefully, at the man in question: “Is he truly always like this?”  

“If he stopped he would be dying,” they replied the same, amused by Chiot’s offended “H-hey!”, and shaking their head. If he knew the full contents of their conversation, he’d still be smiling. As it stood, if they spoke too quickly it seemed, it still came out as a jumble in his clever little head. 

“And you’ve lived with him for this long?”

“A lesson in patience.”

Deadman looked astonished, glancing between them and Chiot, before backing away again. To Chiot, in English, he spoke: “Dear Kaspar told me the results of your fingerprints analysis. I was not entirely surprised of the dead end it led to, there are many of those of the UCA that started off grid, however rare, that do not have their fingerprints in the systems. Some have remained as such, separate from the UCA, and, it is sad to say, any outside of our jurisdiction are only known in bits and pieces. A name here, a face there, and a world-full of monikers, otherwise. As much as people value their privacy, it does make the solid creation of a nation wide, united front, difficult.”

“Can’t say I blame them. Being apart of a country wide registry sounds kinda invasive, doc.” 

Deadman glanced at Kaspar, taken by surprise all over again, as if he didn’t know what to do with the new nickname. Kas secretly grinned, they knew he was delighted by it. Clearing his throat, Deadie wiggled in his seat. “Yes, well, it makes certain circumstances such as this one difficult. But as it stands, if you were registered as a child at either Central or Middle Knot, in this circumstance, it was simply bad timing. If Sam had come along sooner, well… 

“But there’s no use crying over spilled milk,” Deadman said, punctuating this by standing up, and beginning to make his away over to another side of the room. “You came here for blood testing, and testing you shall have.”

It was Chiot’s turn to lean into Kas ear, albeit his whispering was better then their host’s: “I can see why you like him. He’s pretty excitable-,” Chiot said, chuckling when Kaspar pushed him out of their face. Deadman had turned around meanwhile, and looked at their small discussion as if he had suddenly spotted some new specimen, crawling across his floor and crying for it’s mother.

Fascinated, and disturbed. 

Kaspar suddenly felt themself regretting the in person visit, and mentally prepared themself for the bombardment of emails he was bound to send them the second they left. 

Deadman went through with all of the necessary precautions: washed hands, sterile gloves, a fresh blood testing kit from his supplies. Chiot’s hands were rough in Deadman’s own, the palm’s of their friend’s hands criss crossing with old scar tissue. 

“Now, there will be a small pain,” Deadman warned him, perhaps necessarily with the needle in his hand, and didn’t stop to hear Chiot’s response before piercing the pad of his forefinger. 

Chiot winced dramatically, “Usually someone buys me a drink first before they prick me.”

Deadman stuttered, dropped his pipette on the floor, and had to fumble to get a new kit. Kas hissed Chiot’s name, earning a cheeky grin from the man, who proceeded to whisper to Deadman conspiratorially when the other returned: “Someone’s a little jealous.”

Dead sent them a pleading look, small eyes wide behind his glasses, and Kaspar centered their own on Chiot’s: “Play nice or  I’m never doing the same for you again!”

“Oh, shit,” Chiot exclaimed. And leaned back towards Deadman. “They mean that. They tried to set me on fire, once.”

“S'il vous plaît, je ne peux pas en connaître un seul, un homme normal,” Kas asked the empty air, and Deadman had the heart to look chagrined. 

“I think that means they like me,” Chiot said to Dead, who shrugged one shoulder as he prepared the new pipette, squeezing at Chiot’s finger until a bead of red blood welled upon his skin: “They must for you to be here now.”

“I think I knew that after the first time we slept together.”

Deadman dropped the second pipette, red touched the floor, and Kaspar gave up entirely.  They washed their hands, pulled on a pair of gloves, and did it themselves, holding his hand steady as he chuckled, humming sweet nothings under his breath the entire time.

“Now you know how to handle a man right.”

“Yes, by making him sleep in the garage the second we get home, and serving all of his meals in a plastic dish.”

“Coquin.”

They looked up from their work, handing over the pipette to Deadman, who wheeled it over to one of his computers in the lab.

“When did you take the time to learn that en français?”

“Oh, uh, a month or two ago? You lose track of time in them hills.”

“Cet homme.”

“My second favorite pet name!”

Kaspar removed thier hand from where it had come up to cover her face, any attempt at exasperation failing, in part, due to the playful nature of their partner. The anxiety was still there, but if they focused on his teasing perhaps they could ignore it for a while. Meanwhile, Deadman was across the lab, staring into the readings of his screen, and having fallen quiet in the mean time.

“I’m amazed that you waited this long to use it, Chiot. I would assume that it would be the third most used word in your vocabulary by now.”

“Behind what, honey?”

“Shit, and fuck,” they replied, knowing this to be true, but he actually had the audacity to look insulted. 

“Excuse me, darlin’, my first and second words would be darlin’, and fuck, thanks to a certain someone-.”

“Don’t you dare-.”

“Now, if I were only using the word fuck in a more pleasing context, then we could really see coquin hitting the third spot on my list-.”

“Kaspar.”

Kas looked up, mouth parted for their own reply. Their mouth closed when they saw the pale look about their older friend’s face, and Kas was immediately concerned by the pale sheen of sweet they could see gathering on his brow.

“Deadman-?”

“Nous devons parler en privé,” he looked to Chiot, Kas aware of the sudden strike of fear that flashed in Deadman’s eyes before he dragged his attention back to theirs. “I-I just received some startling news concerning your wellbeing.” 

Chapter Text

Suspicion lanced like a sword through his chest, breaking out the back of his spine, and settling in cold. The feeling surprised him more then anything, since meeting Kaspar he’d rarely known anything more negative then vague irritation, even disappointment, at his own failings. His own lack of ability to recall something as basic as his own personal identity, his name of all things. Suspicion, like this, was as new to him as...the changing of fall leaves. He’d heard of them phenomena, but had yet to know it himself. 

He disliked it, he disliked himself more for it, but here was the first time he was presented with a someone he didn’t trust. One of only two people, now, in the entire world he had ever spoken to. And he didn’t know this person. 

Kas, the other half of this equation of people, met his eyes, an uncertainty there he’d been seein’ since they got to the ward growing brighter, and making his stomach twist tighter in response. He didn’t suspect them of anything in the world that could be equated to something bad. That he should distrust. But they were worried, had been since they got there. 

He’d been askin’ himself that entire time what was wrong, but had been sure he could ask later when they were alone. But seeing it grow now started to answer some questions: it had something to do with him. Or maybe who he was supposed to be.

The doctor’s comment that it had to do with Kas’ well-being…he didn’t know if he wanted to be concerned that something was suddenly happening to Kaspar’s DOOMs, or if this was the man’s shit attempt trying to avoid what he was already feeling about the man now.

“Kas,” he said their name, reaching for their hand, and when they met it squeezed his back in turn. 

“It could be nothing,” Kaspar replied, muffling that very same anxiety they’d failed to hide before not with an empty grin, but with a firmness around their eyes.

Their gaze hardened, determination setting in, and he let their hand slip out of his as they stood up. 

Because he trusted them to know what to do if things turned up sour. He trusted them to tell it to them frank, because at the end of the day Kas didn’t beat around the bush. And he trusted them to know what to do with him, because even if he’d been someone else once before, they knew him as the person he was now.

He didn’t know what to do with the look the doc shot him before Deadman led them to a separate room, so he said nothing at all.  Despite the different space, he could see them both through a glass window set into the wall. And the hurried gestures of the doc did nothing to dissuade the dark fog in his gut.

“Deadman,” Kas caught his eyes, unfamiliar with the fear in it’s eyes, but knowing it for what it was immediately. He released their wrist from the urgent, barely restrained pull he had on it since they had approached him, and only once the MRI’s room’s door closed behind them did he allow his façade to crumble. Now that

Chiot, wasn’t there with them. “What did you find out?”

They half hoped that this really did have something to do with their well being, that he’d just…popped his attention into their case files for a moment and saw some kind of change in their blood work. Never mind that they hadn’t even donated yet for this visit, but maybe? Of course, his expression now, changed that. 

“That man is the leader of Homo Demens.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“That man,” he pointed to the glass set into the wall, and Kaspar was set with the sudden, distracted horror of remembering that although Chiot couldn’t hear them, he could damn well see them. “He shares the exact same DNA as Higgs Monaghan, former leader of the Homo Demens-.”

“Deadman, wait a moment,” they tried, setting a hand on his arm, urging his to drop. He did so, but the alarm didn’t falter.

“And former attempted murderer of the entire human race. Of all of life, as we know it,” his arms went into the air, and Kaspar’s eyes caught sight of his loose cufflink. Why did they have to take note of it? But they knew why, if he wanted, Dead could send out a distress call in seconds-.

“I have to tell someone,” he already started, grabbing at his wrist with his other hand, and Kaspar’s fell over his cufflink to stop him.

“We already talked about this-.”

“We talked about the possibility.” 

“He doesn’t share the same fingerprints.”

“Kaspar-!”

“He has the same DNA, yes, perhaps, but not the same fingerprints. You know what this means, Dead. You know about Pragma and Storge-.”

“And this-. And he,” his hand dropped, the man looking helpless, his fingers touching his face for a moment, and falling away again as he tried to collect himself.

“One moment, I need to think. Kaspar, I think you could be right. I think you are correct. But, but there is no telling what he’s done in his own timeline-. In his own reality, his own life. What if he’s no different-?”

“But he is, Deadman. I know him, or, I know this version of him. I know…I know the only version of him that exists in his head right now,” they tried, glancing out the window, seeing that Chiot had stood, begun to walk towards them, and had stopped in place. Like he’d wanted to join them both, but made himself be patient, to just wait things out. “The Knots. Middle and Capital Knot, I mentioned their destruction, and he didn’t know that they’re gone.”

Deadman paused, the obvious chill of fear in his eyes stilling: “He doesn’t know?”

“He didn’t, no. And out there, at my home, we have no connection to the network. Unless he had previous knowledge of their loss, unless he had heard the news himself, which no one in the UCA could have missed, then that means it didn’t happen. Not for him, not in his reality. 

“And do you know what else? He’s never met my sister,” they shook their head, seeing the drawing of the man’s brow, and knowing he was putting the right pieces of the puzzle together. “He told me he recalled wanting to join her group, to combine his own with hers as a joint venture, but that never happened. He met Amelie on the beach.”

“What?”

“And he told her to leave. Chiot told her strip, or fuck off.”

“He told the Extinction Entity to-to-to expose herself-?”

“Deadman,” Kaspar went on, unable to be amused with his flustered response, and settling their other hand on his other shoulder. “What if Chiot is a version of Higgs that said no? To that power, or whatever it was that she had hanging over Monaghan’s head? And after Fragile shot him, what if what happened to Stroge, happened with him, too?”

Deadman fell silent. Since entering the room, he’d not looked at Chiot directly, but then, he did. His heard turning and attention drifting to the person in the other room. Chiot blinked a few times, seeing their shared attention, and waved. Smiled and waved, with one turned up brow, and his mouth in his quirk. As if to ask “Are you okay? Everything golden in there?”

“I think I need to sit down,” Deadman started, and Kas shook their head. 

“No, you don’t. I know, it’s a lot, Dead, but this, this means so much.”

He met their eyes, a tell tale spark of excitement alighting behind those glasses of his. “When Heartman discovers this-.”

“It will mean so much more.”

A breath caught in Deadman’s throat, and Kaspar dropped their hands as his voice fell into a conspiratorial whisper: “And this means he’s in danger. Both of you are.”

“I thought of that, too.” How couldn’t they? With that persistent worry lingering over their head about Chiot’s past. But they already had something to dampen his concern: “We’ve driven by every Waystation, someone could have stopped us along the way. I’ve sent his image out everywhere, Dead, asking if anyone knew who he was. Higgs, when he destroyed either Middle or Capital Knot, I think he wiped out the only data the UCA had of him, outside of the record made when he was an infant.”

“We only have the fingerprints, yes...And his blood work.”

“Everyone knows of Homo Demens, far fewer still know the name Higgs Monaghan. And you didn’t know what he looked like.”

Deadman fiddled with his spectacles, appearing self conscious for a tick long enough for them to relax almost completely. Almost. This really is the best case scenario, now. 

“To be fair, Dead, I didn’t either. I worried when I found a man, alone on his Beach, but what Fragile described to me didn’t match up, so I let myself believe that it wasn’t him. That I’d just found someone in need. And…I guess I did.”

“I assume he wasn’t bleeding out his chest when you found him, either.”

“That would have also very much given it away. But, no, just a few broken ribs. Old scars, a multitude of fresh bruises. Amnesia, nothing else.”

Deadman reexamined Chiot through the glass. Chiot had begun to pace, poking at various instruments while he waited. He really couldn’t sit still for very long.

“The journey across Beaches may have resulted in some serious stress on his psyche…but that would be Heartman’s place to decide, not mine.”

“We’ll go see him, after this,” Kaspar said, already deciding. That was, of course…

“Will you tell him,” Deadman had to ask. Not Heartman, although Heartman would have to know if they went. But Chiot.

“He has the right, it’s his person we’re discussing. If, perhaps, a different version of his person. Even so…just waiting out there must be driving him mad.”

“And the UCA,” Deadman asked, and Kaspar worried for one paranoid second that he meant to ask if they would tell the president himself. “They may not know his face, but if they discover that it is him, if it is another Higgs, it may not stop them from arresting him all the same.”

“To…to use as a scapegoat. An idol to burn. I…I had not thought of that.”

How many people worried about the reemergence of the Homo Demens? Of their leader, the so called Particle of God, returning and putting an end to the fledgling united cities? To publicly put an end to Higgs, whatever Higgs they could find, might be seen as a means to further tighten those bonds. To put up a strong front and further cement their place in the new world. To maybe even use it as a means of drawing more people into the fold. 

Kaspar felt disgust in the back of their throat…but this, this was the reason why they kept their own secrets away from those in power. The UCA was fine, it was getting stronger every day on it’s own, it didn’t need to bleed anyone dry to help in regard. Figuratively, or literally. Neither Chiot or Kaspar had to be apart of that.

“Deadman…”

Deadman saw their concern and took their hands in his gloved hands. Great big paws they were, in comparison, carrying promise just as he had before after they first met. “I will tell no one. But Fragile, have you thought of how she might react?”

“I…I have, and I…I’ll tell her everything we know. It’s up to her from there.”

And if she chose to hate him all the same? If she said she couldn’t stand for him, any version of him, to be in their lives, well, then…

Then I will have to say goodbye to him. 

Because Fragile was their sister. Not just in blood, but in love, and memory, and a connection that would transcend time and any other that would seek to come after theirs was initially forged. That included Chiot’s.

Kaspar knew the idea alone would ache. As much as they loved their sister, as much as they were certain of all of the above, they’d come to care about that ridiculous, crass, endearing man in the other room. They’d ask him to go. And they knew he would. 

“You’ve really come to care for him, haven’t you,” Deadman asked, and Kaspar blinked. They blinked, their steady gaze breaking from Chiot’s. When had their eyes met? Gods, why did his have to be so damnably blue?

It’s not fair what that man did to us. 

Fragile, Kaspar, this version of him that had never asked for such a legacy. 

“Can I use your lab to tell him? The sooner we do, the sooner we can decide what to do first.”

Deadman nodded. “I’ll give you some space.”

Deadman left the lab, telling them he’d fetch refreshments while they talked. Kaspar took Chiot’s hand and led him back over to the seats, the man always so strangely pliant to their whims, and following along as normally as ever, even when they said they had something to tell him.

Before they did, they turned his palm over in their hand, seeing the deep lines engraved in his skin, and tried to imagine them trying to tear about the seams of reality. To rip it all apart and bring about the end of it all. What had that man been thinking to give into such temptation? 

So they told him. The paleness of Chiot, of this Higgs’ face, told them all the needed to know about what he thought of that. 

“I’m some goddamn terrorist?”

“Our version of you was-."

“Your version? Honey, that doesn’t change a thing. Why didn’t you tell me?” He started to stand up, a rise in his voice they’d never heard before, but he sunk back into his chair before they could think of an appropriate reaction to it. That rise quited, a tumultuous, unnerved fear lingering behind it: “I’m sorry, that’s not fucking fair to you.”

“I could have said something,” they tried, but-.

“And what? Tell me you think I was some asshole power trip that wanted to end the world and go down smiling while he did it? What the fuck? What the absolute fuck kind of thought crossed my head that made me want to do that?”

“But he’s not you.”

“Ain’t he,” he asked, his wide blues meeting their eyes, and his vision blinking in horror at the thought of it. “What the hell was the straw on the camel’s back that could lead me to wanting to kill people? Because my work was hard? Because the pay wasn’t enough? Because I got bored, or my daddy beat me too much-.”

His teeth snapped shut so hard, Kaspar heard them audibly click. something in them froze, unbreathing before it finally dared to shiver: “Chiot?”

He leaned back in his chair, hands drawing together, then his arms, and his eyes were wet, when they weren’t before, and, no, this wasn’t just some kind of joke he just spat out.

“When did you-?” They stopped. Remember? Forget? Had he? Was it something he’d never wanted to admit. But those scars on his body—no, they weren’t about to assume. It wasn’t doing right by him to assume, or ask, or expect anything. 

“In the night, I think,” he started, shook his head, and looked at them again. “Started out as flashes of pain, some big ol’ fucker in the room. I thought it was just a dream, but I started to think someone did some shit to me once, once upon a time, and fuck, that’s not something I really wanted to drag up. Out of fucking anything, why the fuck remember shit like that?” He shrugged, as if to say, What are you gonna do? “There it is, but even if that’s true, and both me and that asshole share a fucking origin story, it’s no excuse for shit. Just ‘cause someone in the world did us wrong, doesn’t mean we gotta fuck over the rest.”

Kaspar smiled for him, agreeing. “You’re not wrong, Chiot.”

“Sure as hell ain’t,” he sighed, a haggard, tired thing, and raised one of his hands to squeeze at the bridge of his nose. If he whiped away the moisture while he did so, and they didn’t ask about it. “I don’t know how you can stand to be in the room with me.”

Their smile dropped. “What do you mean?”

“I…he…that fucking asshole nearly killed your sister.”

“We need to decide on a name for him.”

“Higgs is fine.”

“It’s not, because it’s your name too, and it isn’t right, Chiot, that he would take it from you,” Kaspar said, firmly, the man before them meeting their eyes and seeing the insistence they projected there. He had to, with how important it was that he understood then, what they were trying to get across.

“You aren’t that man, Chiot.” 

Chiot: a lifeline in a storm. An oasis on the moon. Fuck, fuck, fuck did he want to believe it. Maybe he’d chosen to forget it all, chose to purge his personal touch in wiping out humanity just because he’d failed, and some sick part of him thought he deserved a vacation after fucking up so heavily. But he meant it when he didn’t remember the Knots going up in flame, meeting their sister, fucking trying to murder Fragile, or anyone else for that matter. 

But how the fuck could he call himself by the same name that ass carried, especially after he’d been given this new one? After the goddamn saint Kaspar swooped in and showed him what heaven could feel like? A single house at the edge of the world, and someone to share it with. 

Raw, physical stubbornness rose up in those eyes of theirs, a port in the storm, and he didn’t have it in him to tell them they were wrong. Such a concept, it didn’t fucking exist in his mind, not with Kaspar. 

“I hope you’re right, Kas. I…I think I prefer your name for me, all the same.”

“Chiot.”

His breathing hitched, something like a sob, or a prayer, or maybe just a sneeze, who knows. But he liked the feeling, all the same.  Like a sudden pain, a bone being set, right before the relief set in. “That still leaves Fragile.”

“I’ll talk to her, when the time comes.”

“I’m not sticking around if that means driving a wedge between the two of you.”

This eyes shuttered, he wanted to reach out to smother his hands in theirs, and he did. He told himself it was for their benefit to…he didn’t know, somehow drive the point forward, but really he wanted to feel them touching him. He craved it like an itch, and nothing about that was new. No revelation of any sort could change that. 

“I know,” they said, making him think for a moment that they could read his thoughts, and when Kas’ eyes centered on his again, he sure as fuck wish they could.

God, the things he’d tell them that the human tongue couldn’t begin to describe. 

“For now, we go to Heartman. We will corroborate our findings with our previous understanding and move on from there,” they stopped, a blush of red crossing their cheeks, there and gone, like a touch of sunrise between the clouds at dawn. “That is, if you wish to come with me.”

“Honey, jusqu'au bout du monde.” They laughed gently, that flash returning, and he winked: “And to everything in between.”

“You tease,” but they held onto his hand tighter.

“Je promets.”

The door to the lab hissed open, he, Higgs, tensing up and drawing closer to Kas the moment a figure walked into the room. It was the doc, balancing three paper cups, and looking like he’d been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “Am I…am I interrupting something?”

“I proposed.”

“Excuse me,” he dropped all three cups, and he called it a win even as Kas dropped his hand, and got up to help the man. Only when he saw the coffee spilled on the man’s boots did he start to feel bad, just a smidgen, and Kaspar muttered something about dogs. Or men. Either could have been about him, and he grins either way, before getting up to join them.

Deathman gave them express permission to use Sam’s old quarters for the night.

Kaspar was used to the allowance, it was where they stayed whenever they stopped by the Capital, as were all of his private suites. It simply made sense, with the room having a built-in blood drawer, set into the walls to take as they slept. 

“Cozy,” Chiot commented, as they walked in together, and Kaspar dropped their pack by the entrance. 
Of course, there was Chiot. 

Kaspar reasoned that it was better not to draw more attention to the human canine then necessary, but even before leaving for their trip they had made no plans for sleeping apart from one another. At that point, it was only natural for them to find themselves removing their suit next to him, skimping down to their shorts, and undershirt, stretching after to relieve any lingering tiredness from the day. 

“So, who first,” he had to ask, and Kaspar considered the shower, next to the farthest wall, not containing the door, the bed, or the unlit, side to side length gun case that no longer saw use. 

“You, first, Chiot,” they replied, crawling onto the bed, and lying down on their stomach. Pretending to rest their eyes as they replied, “The wet makes dogs smell terrible.”

The man chuckled, the sound a rich, warm rumble in the air near them, but he didn’t argue. The bed shifted as he lifted himself off it’s edge, where he would rest, the same place where he would be if they were home.

Home. Kas let them consider it again, too aware of the sound of cloth hitting the ground, the hiss of a glass door opening, closing, and the rush of water that followed. If they went home, they would want to take him, this they already knew. It would be too quiet without him, and Kaspar couldn’t imagine staying there long without going out on runs to keep the silence from encroaching on their life too suddenly. Too abruptly, after his leaving. 

But that would mean Fragile’s acceptance of him, and that was absolutely necessary.

Without meaning to, their eyes opened, and they saw the hazy image of their companion in the water. With the glass and the steam, they could make out little shape wise, save for the length of his body, the darkness of his furthering darkening hair with the wet, and the rise of his arms as he ran his fingers through those strands. The length of metal on the glass, crossing horizontally across it’s center, cut out his abdomen entirely.

What if I don’t worry? What if, for a second, I wonder what it would be like if he stayed? 

Chiot staying. Higgs, staying, with them. 

It could be…early morning breakfasts, maybe in bed. Because he was merciless, a creature that rose with the sun, and met it full on, with a smile, with laughter, with endless needling. But some days, some days they would wake first, curled into him, breathing in all of the scents that defined Chiot: his deep, pleasant musk, like a fine wood they couldn’t name, dirt if he’d been outside walking along the rocks and had forgotten to wash, always so impatient as he was to move, and the smell of peppermint, for the tea he drank like water if given half the chance. 

They would pretend to still be sleeping, and feel him press his nose into their hair, and draw them closer. The first time they caught him they blushed into their roots, unprepared for the sting of tears in their eyes when the feeling of a nose against their scalp brought back a faded memory from their childhood, and loving it too much when his hold on them strengthened. 

He liked smelling things, Chiot. The air after the rain, the teas they presented to him every evening, the food they made, or even Pragma, the man stuffing his face into the dog’s fur and hiding himself from view. Maybe Kaspar could find the white flowers of the slopes that popped up between storms, and collect them along the greenhouse’s windows. Maybe they could make a game out of stealing them and others as the grew between the steps of BT. They would delight in Chiot's horror for their carelessness, but Kas would know it was worth it, as he would welcome every gift of spontaneously grown black eyed Susan, daisy, and cornflower they stole. 

Maybe, they could go on porter runs together, share a room at every Waystation, and sleep under a tent, woven from strands of Kas’ DNA. 

Maybe, Fragile could see in him the person she once knew: the joker, the fool, the good natured, if clever as hell, foul-mouth fox he really was. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe-.

The shower stopped, Kaspar closed their eyes, and kept them closed as the door slid open. They heard him humming, a faintly familiar song they realized, as he dressed, belonged to them. The bed dipped with the weight of him, Kaspar breathing in that distinct, warm scent that only came when he had washed himself--  something they never thought they’d notice on another person. 

“Shower’s all yours, Kas.”

They opened their eyes, and saw him lying on his own stomach. He was shirtless, with his head balanced on one of his arms, bent at the elbow, as he considered them. The light of the room was, mercifully, lit low, but it did nothing to help the palpitations of their heart when they met that gaze of his. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“The future.”

“What’s that like?”

If they had their way?

Rather then answer with words, they sat up, closing their eyes as they moved closer, and pressed their forehead into his. They heard the intake of his breath, a startled, always so unlike him response that they heard sometimes. Like when he held them, thinking them asleep, and they whispered his name into the planes of his chest just to feel his chest shudder. 

They opened their eyes, saw the deep, deep blues of his own, and sat up further. Their hand found his back, still damp, still very solid under their touch, and as they moved to leave the bed their fingers skimmed, briefly, across his spine. Chiot didn’t follow, they left him there to walk to the shower, trusting him not to look when they disrobed, and taking his place in the fading steam. 

Minutes into their washing, and their heartbeat never slowed. 

Chapter Text

Heartman lived in the same region as Kas, the doctor due south of their small homestead, and just as out of the way to reach. His was an issue of elevation, the air growing colder, dotted with falling snowflakes, and hovering BT, as any one ascended the mountains to his abode. With Sam’s crossing, the ascent had been made easier with a series of zip lines leading from Mountain Knot, to his lab, and, then more so, with the appearance of a doctor Spade, who implemented a lift system for possible visitors. Leaving the truck at the Knot, Kas opted with Chiot to use the latter, although stars settled in the man’s eyes when he first set his sight on one of the zip lines.

“Why not on the way down,” Kas suggested, less of a question when they thought about the amount of air he could pick up during the descent. It was the same either way, the lines built specifically so porters could use them without fear of being jostled about too much, while still making good time. All the same, the grin he gave to them made it seem as they were the cleverest person this side of the planet, and filled them with warmth.

A dip in the springs wouldn’t be half-bad either, they thought while watching the rocky fields of the mountain’s face dip below them. Chiot was quiet on the way up, but not for any awful reason. They would know this, they think, if his soft grin slipped away, and the thunder clouds moved in. As it was, the weather was nice, both figuratively, and literally, and they made their way up, easily, to the lab. 

The doctor’s lab was one of the nicest places in all of the UCA, as far as Kas had seen, no doubt his salary making it easier to maintain the shelter against the slight bit of snowfall that made it’s way down the mountain. A majority of it’s front half was made up of tall, frost cloaked windows, and a sleek staircase angled down towards the heart-shaped lake that made it impossible to miss his location on a map. Chiot whistled low as he got a good look at the place from the lift’s landing, above it’s roof, and the appreciation in his gaze didn’t shudder as they followed a short flight of steps to the front door.

“Shit, this guy knows how to flaunt it,” he commented, the sliding, also glass, doors opening to reveal a foyer warmed by a long fire pit, built along the back wall itself. A terminal for porters and other visitors sprung up from the floor as they entered.

Kas shrugged one shoulder: “He lived here with his family, before they died. Otherwise, oui, I would say he makes good money with his work.”

Chiot hummed low in his throat: “Fuck, I don’t blame ‘um. If what I read is just what the guy’s got published I can’t imagine what else is going on in that noggin’ of his.”

Kas laughed, delighted despite themself, and Chiot grinned bright, and merry, despite the question in his gaze:

“What?” 

“Noggin’, you say. Chiot, you should listen to yourself.” The entire trip back to the Central region Chiot had spent his time reading Heartman’s interviews, his papers, everything the man had shared on his work as a scientist following the aftermath of the Death Stranding. When he caught up on the material, it only led him down a rabbit hole of information.

For at least three hours straight he read up on the Egyptian mythos of death, relating it back to Heartman’s own interests on the subject. 

While he read, he’d rambled the entire time, sharing anything that he found to be frightfully interesting. Kas as much as relearned about Heartman’s work, as well as was education on a vast array of other separate yet similar subjects just as

Chiot did the same. Kas had heard of the word hyperfixation before, but not thought Chiot capable of fixating on anything for too long a time without growing bored.

It was amazing, truly, that he had put down his cuff during the ascent up.

They thought it was cute.

Which brings back the concern of another matter entirely…

The terminal suddenly spat particles of light, and there he was, the doctor himself materializing holographically to hover, mid-air, before them. 

“Dear Faraday, you’ve finally arrived!”

What was it with people exclaiming over their sudden appearance, as if they hadn’t seen them in a hundred years? This world is such an odd one. 

“And I trust that this is the man in question that our shared companion spoke of?”

Chiot pointed directly at Heartman’s image: “Hey, doc! I’ve gotta few questions about your dissertation on the possibilities of chiralium existing as a cosmic fingerprint between the separate, yet parallel realities of our universe.”

“Excuse-? I can’t say I’ve written such a paper, as of yet-.”

“No, but you’re thinkin’ about it, ain’t cha’,” Chiot grinned, cheeky as ever, and Kas watched as the doctor was visibility taken aback. 

“My word-.” Here he glanced at Kaspar. “I see you’ve brought me a man after my own heart,” he moved his hands, matching the likeness of such over his chest using his fingers, before making sweeping motions down the hall: “Come in, please, come in! Lest we be caught by prying eyes.” 

Chiot looked at Kaspar, expectedly, and Kas sighed, leading him down the carpeted hall. “I suppose, Chiot, this is the day I give you away at last.” They stopped by the door, seeing the way those blues of his sparked at their words. Even with the majesty of intense, scientific discussion a mere few seconds away, he still found time to be hotly interested in their own words. “It has not been too terrible, sharing a home with you.”

“Hey, Kas, ya know that ain’t true,” he said, Kas unsure if he meant the former comment or their latter. Perhaps both. “I can talk to another man about bones all day long, but that’s not what I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

There it was, that ache in their face from trying not to smile too much. It was so utterly persistent since their night in the Capital, and all because Kaspar let themself dream of a life with something more. With him. And ever since they’d drawn a line down the fine center of his back, he’d been watching, searching their face for any sort of cue for something…

My only problem is I don’t know what I want to do. How does one even start?

Their world grew warmer as the door opened, welcoming them to the sight of a very large, open living space. It was as Kas remembered, and more. From the skeletal remains of a small whale hanging from the dark ceiling, to the thick rows of books that ran along two of the walls. Even the plush floor remained, although he no longer required the protection. 

The man himself stood beside a dark coffee table, sitting beside his matching couch and that piece of furniture, in particular, was new. The man himself was standing up from crouching over it, a glass tea pot at it’s heart, several paired mugs beside it, as well as what looked like, from where they stood, a dish of sugar. 

“Faraday, I’ve collected something new for you to try,” Heartman said as by way of a greeting, and Kas’s brows rose at the sight of a blossoming white peony, resting, at the center of his tea pot. “A white tea, complimented by a white flower. A mix of high antioxidant properties and a dab of fluoride, perfect to keep that smile bright.” He gave them a thumbs up smiling, cheerily, and Kas could almost hear their like meter springing up. 

Kaspar could bet their dog’s dowry that half of their likes came from this singular man.

“Kas, you’ve gotta come clean,” Chiot started, and Kas was already groaning low in their throat. He was spreading his arms, looking at them almost pleadingly, but they refused to meet his gaze. “If half the world is wooing your ass, I’m going need to learn how to shoot a gun.”

“Chiot, I’m fairly certain your muscle memory does not lack the credentials for such.” 

Chiot winced, comically, and Kas kept walking into the room as Heartman circled around the table to meet them. “I am unsure if Faraday has made it known, as I have little doubt there would be a reason to, but I assure you I am, currently, spoken for,” the doctor said, hand to chest, and Chiot clicked his tongue, irritably. 

“Here I made it all this way up the mountain, a heard of cattle outside to make my price known-.”

“Chiot, très cher, you are not worth a heard of cattle.” Kas turned away from his broken hearted visage, and faced the doctor: “Excuse him, doctor Heartman. Dead told me of your liaison with the doctor Spade— I promise, our visit is one of business.”

“Always set on the end goal. This I respect, dear Faraday,” he said, gesturing to the couch. Kaspar slid onto the fine upholstery, making room when Chiot joined them, slinging his arm over the back behind them, and crossing one of his legs over the other. Right at home, this one was. Meanwhile, Kaspar leaned forward, examining the tea set, or, more specifically, what the doctor had brewed. 

“It was my Sam that began ordering such specimens, and it wasn’t long before I thought of your person. I was unsure of when your next visit would be, and it would be happy happenstance that it would be so soon after my initial thought on the matter.”

“Truly, doctor, you did not need to consider me-.”

“Ah, but who else to admire such beauty then the child of the Botanist, herself,” he said, going so far as to pour, himself, a share for the both of them. It was odd seeing such finery in between Chiot’s fingers, his hands were made for the thick handled mugs of their home.

My home. 

Kas hid their mistake, coupled with a drawing of breath, in the inhalation of the proffered drink. A sip revealed a hint the light aroma of the brew, and a hint of vanilla, their favorite. A mug of warmth meant for comfort over stimulation. 

They blinked open their eyes, smiling when they saw the doctor’s interested gaze, and their cheeks nearly smarting when they caught the look Chiot was sending in the corner of his eyes. His attention blinked away, as if he’d been stealing a sight of them indulging in something they enjoyed, rather then simply seeking to tease them, for once.

The thought made their stomach twist, not unpleasantly, either.  

“Now that you’ve settled in, let us discuss the matter at hand,” the doctor said, waving one of his own, gloved hands at Chiot. “Higgs Monaghan. Or, perhaps more appropriately named, the Higgs Monaghan of other possibility.”

“In the flesh,” Chiot replied, answering grin almost shark like, and he placed his glass on the table between them. “Though I’m not too fond of the name, period, after hearin’ about the asshole’s exploits in this here backyard of the space time continuum.” 

“Albeit my lack of personal experience in the subject, I can see where such sentiments may, very appropriately, exist.”

“And, pretty fucking sadly, persist despite my remarkably stunning good looks in comparison to my other half.”

“I confess I never had the experience of knowing the deceased in person, but Deadman did remark upon a rather disfiguring scar that spread across his cranium, from brow’s end to end,” Heartman replied, touching his finger from one of his temples to the other. “If there happens to be another moniker your prefer, state it now to better suit myself in a show of good faith between our two parties.” 

Chiot glanced at Kaspar, successfully making them blush, and pull deeply from their glass, and they nearly choked when he bore his canines. 

This bastard-.

“Chiot, works. It’s a sort of-,” he waved between himself and Kas.

He would not-.

“Pet name they gave me, back when I was a little less in my right mind.”

Which has yet to show signs of improvement!

“Chiot,” Heartman parroted, correctly accented, and Kas wanted to sink into the couch. But then…the man smiled, and Kas swallowed, aware, in fact, that they were in a room with a man who had loved once, loved still, and did so deeply.

“Then we are in accordance,” he nodded heavily, jumping up from his seat, and leaving Kaspar with a faint feeling of dread. 

And of course he would recognize Chiot’s attempt at torturing me. 

“On the matter of one Chiot, i.e. Higgs Monaghan, we turn to the hard, factual evidence that exists presently before us,” he said, walking over, and waving at the screen that enveloped the entirety of one of the room’s walls. It lit up, showing strands of DNA, structural readings of the information therein, and a string of information beside it, another helix, in comparison. 

Chiot got up, looked to Kaspar, and they felt humbled by his continued desire to include them in the exploration of his self…and the version of himself that once existed in their, current, reality. 

They held their glass in their hand, sipping from it’s contents as they approached the doctor. 

“By nearly all, biological means the two versions of your person are exactly the same. The chemical makeup of your DNA, the blood type running through your veins, et cetera, et cetera. This information, I agree, is reductive, but serves as a point of emphasis that, by all means, outside of your personal experiences you should be the very same individual,” Heartman waved at Kaspar, Kas’ pulse fluttering at the implication there. After all, the old Higgs had never known them. “But, it is absolutely true in that your fingerprints are not identical, and it is in this that I must thank you, and dear Faraday, immensely, for helping in the support of my thesis,” he looked at Kas, smiling truly without hint of deception. “Our thesis.”

“You presented the writing, doctor-.”

“And you, the evidence! Many of which of my ilk can only dream of, a matter that separates the philosopher from the scientist,” he said, earnest in his words, and Kaspar could only agree with how much energy the man was extruding.

“And here stands the man who would prove it further. Chiot,” he placed a hand on Chiot’s shoulder, Kaspar twitching at the use of his given name. “My newest companion, I must ask you for information on everything.”

“All of it,” Chiot stated, Kas seeing clearly that he was having a laugh.

“Anything, everything, all that you can about the man that is the one standing before me.”

“Well, fuck, alright.”

Everything was simple, and yet so much more. Chiot was raised by his uncle, in a bunker outside of the not yet formed UCA. After the man’s death, it’s details left out and respectfully not asked about, Chiot sought a proper vocational education at Central Knot. There he found interest in becoming a porter, building his own brand, and, after his training, thought to form a group of his own.

“I’m guessing it’s that Beyond Death thing you saw on my uniform, back at the house. Whatever I had goin’ on there, couldn't have been enough if I was tryin’ to shack up with Fragile.”

Kas frowned, a little put off by his wording, and caught the apology in Chiot’s mouth as he formed a quiet “sorry”. Surprised, they let it drop, embarrassed by their own response, while the doctor failed to question their private exchange, entirely. 

“As Deadman shared, you had no knowledge of the loss of Central or Middle Knot until recently,” the doctor said, Chiot nodding with his hands propped on his hips. “If I may be so bold, it’s safe to make the assumption that he chose Central, specifically, due it’s containment of the evidence of your aforementioned training. That is to say, if you followed the same footpath. Where this diverges, as was shared would be the refusal of the extinct eternity from your service. If it is not unkind for me to confess, there are few in this world who would be capable of doing such a thing. A man in my own shoes could only be tempted by such power and what it may entail.”

“Jeez, doc, you’re probably sellin’ yourself short,” Chiot said, rubbing the back of his neck. “She ain’t that much to look at.”

“The fact remains. Two roads there were, and you took the one lest tread. It happens that it is here,” Heartman rose a finger. “That I have hypothesized on the reason for how you found yourself on the Beach, as you did.”

“Well, shoot, I’d love to hear this one,” Chiot stated, sharing a look of agreement with Kaspar, before they both met the eyes of the doctor.

“She didn’t want you,” he stated, Kaspar nearly snorting in their throat at the frankness of his words. “Hear me out. The EE is an incredibility powerful being, with a link and power over the Beach that none other in existence is aware of. That is, outside of other EE. This may be a brave assertion on my behalf, but I have reason to guess, if sadly only to theorize, that when our Monaghan was slain on his Beach, the EE made a direct swap of your persons. Trading one who was not willing, for one that was.”

Kaspar’s jaw tightened, the implication there impossible to miss: “If this were the case then that Higgs may not be dead, merely wreaking havoc on a separate, and thus ignorant reality.”

“And there lies the the crux of my argument. But, however regretfully, it is something that for us, who lack the EE’s abilities, cannot alter.”

“Hang on, you said that Fragile shot that rat bastard,” Chiot said to Kaspar. “Call me stupid, but I’m hangin’ onto the hope that he fuckin’ stayed dead after the bitch made her trade.”

Kaspar had to agree, unable to reconcile with the idea of Fragile being faced with the knowledge of all of her efforts of putting the man down being in vein. And if she should, somehow, blame herself for putting another reality in jeopardy…

It was absurd, but no different then their sister’s current attempt at “making up for” the loss of Central Knot. 

“Whatever the EE’s choice and the result thereof, we will remain wholly ignorant,” Heartman looked to Chiot, the hair along Kaspar’s arms prickling with involuntarily discomfort. “Unless she has approached you since?”

“Nah, just-,” Chiot stopped, appeared to consider something, but then shook his head. “I’ve seen her since then, maybe twice? But she hasn’t said a lick of anythin’. Before, back in my place, she wouldn’t shut the hell up. Call it wishful thinkin’ but I think that’s all she is now: a dream. Ain’t nothin’ left but the after image of one bad memory.”

Heartman nodded: “And there it is. As I understand it, the Entity of our reality has stepped back, and we have nothing to fear from her return save for the fear itself. All the same, you mentioned a hypothesis on chiralium as a finger print identity?”

Kaspar stepped back, taking a seat at the couch, directly where they sat, and leaning in as the two began discussing Chiot’s idea. It was something that they had already picked at with him in the truck, something related to examining any chiral matter that might exist in  individuals that actively used the Beach, and how, in composition, it might somehow differ between realities. It had been nice, to be used as a sound board on the way there, but Kaspar enjoyed taking the moment to rest and watch Chiot talk to actual scientist who had dedicated his life to the matter. 

Visiting the doctor had not been pointless. Their fears, concerns, everything on the matter of Higgs v. Higgs had been, for the most part, settled with the further examination of the subject by the doctor. But maybe, perhaps maybe, Kaspar was putting off going home for the time being.

Fragile could find them anywhere, and who would Kas be to ask their sister to wait to see them when the woman could literally teleport to their side in a moment’s notice? But the idea of being home, being caught unaware with a visit, and seeing Chiot step out of the bathroom, wearing only his underwear, well…well, that was certainly an image. 

I needed the time to prepare, to think of what I might say. To find further proof so that Fragile does not have to fear him. Even so, it was possible that she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye without remembering what happened. 

Kas felt their cuff buzz against their skin, and, just as they lifted the device, it turned into a low beep. Both men in the room turned their heads towards them, and Kas licked their lips, catching the taste of the tea when they saw the name on it’s caller ID.

“Je reviens sous peu,” they stated, waving the cuff, and standing up from their chair. Heartman nodded, smiling friendly, while Chiot rose a brow in curiosity. They didn’t answer his silent query, merely walking away from the couch, taking the stairs up, and leaving the room.

It couldn’t wait.

The light of the day fled coldly through the wall length windows, and Kaspar took a few steps down the hall, away from the door, before accepting the call from their sister. 

Her image appeared, a live shot of her standing  near a row of familiar plant beds, and looking out of place without them there. “Kaspar, you aren’t home for once.”

“Hello, to you, too, Dovey,” they replied, smiling, even though there was a nervous tick working it’s way from their stomach to their heart, confounding it’s rhythm and sending the former into knots. It was strange how they felt like they were lying, even though no mention of Chiot had come up yet. “I’m visiting Heartman, he’s keeping Chiot busy in the other room.”

“Perhaps I should visit, too? Finally meet the man in question who has stolen my dear eldest sibling away from me.”
Kas’ breath caught in their throat. Why did they think it was okay to accept a video call? Just seeing the brick wall behind their head had to give away their position. “I don’t know if you would want to meet him, Fragile. The reason why we’re visiting Heartman at all is to confirm what he is.”

Fragile’s often porcelain visage tightened, Kas not liking the wrinkle that appeared between their brow, but grateful for it all the same. “What? You can’t mean he’s like the dog?”

“There it is,” Kas nodded, hearing the youngest frown audibly, and noticing that Pragma, was, in fact not yet mentioned.

“I know that your reasons for disliking Pragma may not be the same, but it remains,” they started, dropping their gaze to the floor as the soreness of the old problem came up between them, as they knew it would. As they hoped it would.

“Kaspar,” Fragile sighed again. “I’ve…I have learned to accept your adoption of the, of Pragma. He’s become more then a coping mechanism for Stroge’s loss, and if it is true that you no longer blame yourself-.”

“It is true,” Kaspar interjected, wanting Fragile to believe that. “I was a child, it was a foolish thing to do, and even an adult in my shoes may have done the same thing. Pragma may have begun as just that, a means of making up for Stroge’s death, but it’s since grown from that. I do not blame myself, not now, and not the me of then.”

Fragile was quiet, watching them steadily through the camera, before nodding. “I’m glad.”

“On the matter of beach walkers, what I said is true. His situation is unique, even outside of that fact, but both Deadman and Heartman have confirmed that he had a “self” in our world previously. And, like with Stroge, that person is now gone.”

Not dead, perhaps…but gone. 

“I can’t imagine what it would be like to wake up in a world so like your own, and yet not,” Fragile stated, looking across the room to where the windows of the ‘house stretch, and missing the quiet tightening of Kaspar’s jaw. “Have you found family, yet?”

“He has none, at least, none that he can yet recall. There is still the issue of his latent amnesia, although, for the most part, it seems to have cleared up.” Kaspar simply let themself say it: “All the same, his existence cements the proof that if I had found our mother or father on the beach neither of them would be who raised us.”

“Kaspar-.”

“Not really.”

Fragile’s image vanished from the camera, and, if it were not for the many, many years of knowing their sister, Kaspar would have jumped with the sudden presence of her beside them. They looked to their right, into her damp eyes, and felt guilt pull strongly at every heart string that held that vital organ in their chest aloft. 

“I did not want this to come between us again.”

Kaspar shook their head, agreeing. “No, it was just…simply on my mind,” they waved their hand, trying to appear casual, and knowing, too, that Fragile was too used to their own person to believe it. “I know now, for certain, that they are gone. Truly, gone. Beyond my reach, anyways.”

Despite the contradictory evidence of Pragma not truly being Stroge, between his age in comparison and his prints, some absurd idea had bloomed that maybe if they had found him, they could find their parents, as well. Some version of them, perhaps, some sort of carbon copy almost, when the same memories, the same love, the same everything, but-but.

“Even if I did find them, it would not be them, not the people who raised us. He, Chiot, is proof that other versions of ourselves may walk and be trapped on the beach, but they are not us. They are not the same people,” Kaspar said to her, imploring although it was not Fragile who had brought the issue up. Truly Kaspar was unsure of who mentioned it first, the idea of Kas finding their mother, and, later, their father, and bringing them home.  

Fragile took their hands in hers, bringing them closer, and being sure that her words reached them: “I will not be disappointed in this, or in you. I never could be, this changes nothing.”

Kaspar shook their head. “No, I know, I know you. But, Fragile, I need you to hear this,” they shook their head again.

They couldn’t be too obvious, not yet. “I need to hear this. Chiot did not know about the Knots.”

She blinked, not comprehending at first: “What do you mean? Did the UCA-.”

Kaspar laughed shortly, mirthlessly. “No, it remains the same. Middle and Central Knot do, as well. They are unchanged. Fragile, neither have been destroyed in his timeline.”

Fragile sucked in a breath, ragged and harsh, her attention breaking away for a considerable moment before returning to rest on Kaspar’s face. “Higgs didn’t send me with the bomb to Middle Knot?”

“No,” they shook their head, suddenly worried, quiet frightened actually, that the man would be summoned to their side at the mere mention of his name in the air. “Neither did he send a BT to Central Knot. Nor did he form the Homo Demens.”

Fragile appeared utterly stunned. Paler, even, then her typically pale pink appearance. Her hold on Kaspar’s hands loosened, the woman backing away a few steps, and looking, almost listlessly, into the air. 

Kaspar released one of her hands, only to brush away an errant tear that trailed down the apple of her cheek. “It didn’t happen, Kaspar.”

“There exist realities where it never happened,” Kaspar nodded, reaffirming her statement. “A reality, even, where Higgs may have never took the entity’s offer of power.”

Fragile chuckled quietly at that, making Kas’ stomach sink with her reply: “Higgs? With his ego? I don’t…” her chin dipped, Fragile’s vision skimming the polished floor. “He was a different person once.”

“If you got to meet him again, would you?”

Her head went up: “What?”

“That version of Higgs. If he existed still, if it all never happened, if he had been strong enough to say no, and just wanted to be some…big shot porter with a pretty name attached to it, would you be able to spend time with him again?”

“I don’t know,” Fragile turned, seeing the white, pristine landscape of the world that rolled out, beneath the laboratory, meeting with the heart shaped impression where Heartman’s family had perished. “With what he did, with what that…version of him did to me, not even to the Knots…I don’t know. If it were a version of him that spat on her pretty heels and said no, perhaps I could even share a drink with him. God knows I wanted to do it myself.”

"What kind of world destroying entity wears heels, anyway,” Kaspar had to nudge, liking when their sister smiled at the tease.

“The kind that can seduce Higgs Monaghan," she replied, and her smile faded. “I miss the old version of him. We were friends, business partners. I think you could have been good friend with him, too. Although, he had a tendency for invading one’s personal space.”

Kaspar probably laughed a little harder then necessary at that, and hoped that Fragile blamed it on their already terrible composure, given their current discussion. It also didn’t help the prickle of jealously that ran through their system at the idea of Chiot being close to their sister. Friends, she said. Business partners, and still crowding her bubble like a wet nosed dog looking for treats? Of course, he would.

“Maybe I could get used to it. Like a wart.”

Fragile snorted prettily, apparently finding the comment perfect, and she shook herself. “It doesn’t matter, though, does it? Higgs is dead, and unless the man you found on the beach happens to be his counterpart, then it’s all useless conjecture.” 

Like poetry, the door behind them hissed open. Kaspar closed their eyes, willing themself to believe that for, just one moment longer, everything would go as they imagined it would.

“Hey, sweet heart--whoa, you aren’t alone out here!”

Fragile’s breath slid between her teeth, as sharp as the tip of a blade, sliding from it’s sheath. And that hope collapsed. 

Chapter Text

Higgs.

Something primal made the leap into Fragile’s chest when she saw his face across the hall. That awful, fucking face of his, daring itself to smile. Disgust welled in her stomach for that smile, disgust and hate, hate that he stood there, disgust that he even be given the allowance to grin at all.

“This is not how I wanted this to go,” he bothered to say, that stupid grin of his faltering, and finally falling away. Later, Fragile would take note of that fact. The fact that he had failed to keep up his charade in the face of killing intent she sent him across the hall. 

Even on the beach, when she aimed that gun at his heart, he hadn’t stopped smiling. 

There was movement in her vision, Kaspar’s face turning away from them both, to the windowed wall, and something like regret echoing in their face. As if they thought the same thing. 

They know.

It hurt worse then knowing Fragile had failed. Far worse. 

“Kaspar,” she started, grabbing their sibling’s shoulder, and feeling the frozen state of their being, moving around them. Shielding them from that creature that stood mere feet away from them both. I can take us away. 

But she didn’t want to. Not when she had the chance to kill him again. To finish the job.

“Wait, let’s-,” Higgs raised his hands, took a step in their direction, and stopped, but not before glancing at Kaspar behind her. “Kas-.”

“Don’t you dare speak for them.”

“Fragile,” Kaspar started, a roll of actual irritation rolling along Fragile’s nerves at what she could already hear beginning before they started speaking: were they actually going to defend him? Kaspar turned about, a growing desperation in their eyes, despite the continued self restraint shown with the rest of their body. “This isn’t him.”

“How can you say that?”

How can you stand there and tell me that you helped this man? That you chose to help this man? Even with who he is? 

“I wasn’t certain,” they tried again, wincing, and telling Fragile that they knew every word she had to say, even if it went unsaid out loud.

“But the fear remained.”

“It did,” they looked up, past Fragile, and she saw it, the trading of glances between Higgs and their sibling. Higgs had the gall to look hurt, a faint spark of discomfort that Fragile hadn’t seen in a very, very long time. 

She couldn’t let herself doubt her fears. Not when she stood in front of that man on the beach, listening to his laughter as he went on and on about everything he would have done again, if he had the chance. Killing those people. Betraying her trust. Ending the world. 

“That includes what’s left of your precious family.”

Fragile flinched, just remembering it. His face, bloodied, purpling under the washed out lightening of the beach, and still, those rows of black stained teeth wide, and flashing. 

“I did my research, I knew what you had to lose.”

Everything. They are everything.

“But I was wrong. We both are-.”

“And what if he’s lying? What if everything he has said to you now has been just apart of his pointless game? What if everything I have done, Kaspar, has been for nothing-.” 

“Chiot could have killed me a dozen times over if that was the case, Fragile. He had no reason to wait this long, and I believe him. I do.”

“You believe him,” Fragile echoed them, unable to contain the burst of pain in their chest at those three words. “You stood next to him. You shared our home with him. And at any time I could have walked in and seen him there,” she only halted then, seeing the roundness in her sibling eyes, and feeling that maybe it could have been worse. Maybe Fragile could have been right, they could have been friends, Kaspar and Higgs.

They could have been more, too. 

I used to think it would be funny, if it would be him of all people, to drag them out of their shell.

“Fragile-.”

Fragile ignored Kaspar. She moved, vanishing from their sudden hold on her arm, flashing across the beach and feeling the drain in her system, and ignoring it, too. She reappeared before him, looking into those damnable blue eyes of his, and grabbed the face of his cloak in her hand. 

He didn’t fight it—another observation saved for later—and Fragile failed to heed Kaspar’s call just before Fragile jumped again. This time, taking Higgs with her.

The world went white. A cacophonous blue of steel tipped cold, whipping in the wind, and finding purchase on her cheeks, and in her hair. Higgs stumbled, Fragile dropping her hold on his cloak, and letting him tumble to his knees, kicking up snow between them both. Despite the wind, the storm was away off still, but not by much.

Fragile was smart enough to step away from him, to be aware of the placement of the pistol on her hip, and the knife in her boot. Ever since Higgs, Fragile never went out into the world unarmed. 

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Higgs said, coughing and she saw his eyes dart around, not doubt taking note of the whirlwind of the weather, and only then looking up to meet her vision. “There really wasn’t any other way for this to go, was there?”

“What did you expect, Higgs,” she asked, nearly spitting. “That I see the man who threatened to wipe out all of life, and not threaten to end you for your crimes?”

“Hey, hey, I heard the shit that went on between you and that fucker, I really fucking did, but I’m just as fucking upset to know he had anything to do with me-.”

“Do you? Do you Higgs Monagahn, because if you did, you would have left them days ago, instead of subjecting them to the inevitable-.”

“I’m sorry, but it turns out I was wrong. Me and Higgs? Me and me? We’ve got at least one thing in common, and that’s we’re pretty fucking selfish people. I met one good fucking person in this world and was too self centered to let them go-. And Kas, they were too nice-.” 

Fragile dared to break the rule of distance, of safety, to get in his face. “Don’t you speak a word against my family-.”

“I wasn’t! Kas made their choice, and it was to save some lonely asshole, and then continue to help that same asshole that could have royally fucked them over. I don’t fucking deserve that—no one fucking deserves that. Higgs least of fucking all. But I ain’t the Higgs that tried to kill you-.”

“How do you know that,” she went on, urging him to tell her exactly what was required to set things right. To make any of this make sense, let alone for it to work, in a just, and fair world.

“I…I don’t. I turned it down, I said no to that fucking extinction entity, or whatever you want to call it. But…I don’t know,” he shook his head, still on the ground. Still kneeling, just as he did in the sand. In the wet. In the cold. “I don’t know how he made that choice, I don’t know how I could. You just…you’re just going to have to trust me.”

Fragile stilled. She stood up, seeing the falling in his shoulders, and wanting to relish it. Just as she wanted to love killing him the first time. “I can’t.”

Perhaps it was mercy that made her leave him there. Alive. Untouched. Alone.

It wasn’t a mercy that she allowed herself before, on the beach, when she had made the decision to end Higgs Monaghan forever.

There were so many stories that their mother had told them, in the night, about selfless heroes who always left the villains alive in the end. It was always to prove that they were different. That they weren’t capable of committing the same act of evil that they so despised, and which they had fought against for so long. 

After the destruction of Central Knot, Fragile thought those same heroes were fools.

How did the death of one villain equate itself to the thousands lost at their hands? If anything, it was the destruction of that evil that made for the most perfect sort of good in the world. If anything, it was at least some small means of making up for what was lost. And, if not even that, at least it made sure that evil never had a chance to hurt an innocent again.

So, Fragile shot and killed Higgs Monaghan on the beach, and she didn’t regret it.

She carried the sight of his eyes in her mind after. That lack of pleading in those eyes, that certainty that in a way he wasn’t surprised, not Higgs.

After all, she was human, and humans were the dirty, destructive things he so despised, and she was just following the way of things. 

All the same, even with that memory in her mind, there were others along side it. His betrayal, yes. How could she forget it, between the frequent nightmares and permanent damage done to her body afterwards. A sort of damage that only stopped short of death because of their sibling, Kaspar. 

But she also recalled the Higgs from before, yes, the same one she thought of when Kaspar asked if she had a second chance, would she take it?

She would, if it wiped the slate clean. She could, if it was all undone, nothing more then a bad dream, another horrible, imagined reality with the rest of them. 

It was Kaspar that saved Fragile’s life. It was Kaspar that saved Higgs’. This time.

Kas eyes were red when Fragile returned to them.

She found them on the steps leading up to the lab, sitting outside, with their hands on their knees. Just waiting. They couldn’t follow Fragile across the Beach, not willingly. Fragile had relied on this knowledge to transport Higgs at all, and, now, they had no way of following him at all.

They raised their chin as Fragile descended the steps, stopping on the step above where they sat, remaining standing as they met her eyes. They had not started crying, but already Fragile could see it in their gaze, the first hints of mourning. 

“I left him alive.”

Kaspar said nothing, but then nothing could hide the flicker of surprise that caused their shoulders to rise. 

“He’ll stay away, if he cares about you at all.”

Kaspar’s lips parted. They began to speak. But, then, did not. They knew better then to try to apologize so soon. 

Fragile jumped, aiming for home, and landing neatly in the foyer.

It was quiet. Still. An unnatural stillness without even Kaspar to fill it’s empty space, with their quiet humming, their soft steps, their withdrawn sentences. As if they still feared to wake their mother, sleeping still in her illness, in the room down the hall. Fragile found her umbrella, forgotten in the greenhouse, and left shortly.

She could never stand the silence there without Kaspar. 

Chapter Text

Sender                                                                  Date & Time

Incinerator West of Capital Knot                            12/02, 23:22                                                      

Chiot                                   

Subject

Hey, sweetheart

Started writin this message about a dozen times, and it still feels like I’m sending a letter to an ex. Hey, honey, are are you doing?

How’s the dog? The garden? I know you were lookin forward to growing rutabaga, just cause you said it sounded like some kind of cuss I’d use. 

Shit, Kas, I wanna apologize. I know it was your sister that dumped me out in the middle of the back end of nowhere, but fuck if I didn’t see it comin’ when the other shoe dropped. If anythin’, I suspected worse, and you did, too, I’m guessin’. What she did was a kindness in comparison to what that asshole deserved, that so called “Particle of God”. 

Yeah, I’ve been doin’ my research, lookin’ into the terrorist organization he joined up with way back when. Turns out he didn’t even found the lot, Demens were showin’ signs of terrorizing the UCA before Middle Knot was bombed, if what you said about him teamin’ up with Fragile correlates with what I’ve picked up, he roped himself in later. 

Beyond that, there’s not much else, ‘sides what you see in the news. I’m goin’ to start portin’ again, just a little here and there, nothin’ to tip off ol’ Bridges, I promise!

I know...I know yer probably worried about me. And I’m shit for waitin’ this long to contact ya. But you’ve gotta know what Fragile did, I get it. Even if I’m not that ass, I still look like him. Still sound like him, probably. Still remind her of all the bad. And if had the potential to go buck wild as he did, how am I so different? 

I don’t mean this to be any sort of pity party letter, Kas. I just want you to know I’m thinkin’ about you. And the dog. And the garden. Mostly you. I might go south, to Mexico. See if they need an old dog like me down there, helpin’ ferry crap from one place to the next. It could be a whole new frontier.

As it is, this might be my last message, and I’m cuttin’ off any replies. I want your sister to have room to breathe, to recover. Havin’ a ghost like me around, that’s not gonna let anyone move on. 

I do want to say

I’m grateful

I’m really fucking grateful. You didn’t need to do shit for me, Kas. I know, in your bones, you had to, because that’s the kind of person you are. Good. Fantastic. Cute as hell. I’m goin’ to miss that little nose of yours, you know it gets all wrinkled up, and snooty when you're mad? It’s damn perfection.

I owe you everything Kas. You gave me a second chance. Fragile, too. I’m not gonna waste it. 

Kas closed the message, looked up to their bathroom mirror, and rose a finger to the tip of their nose. They pressed against it, narrowed their eyes, and tried to look angry. All it did was remind them of their mother, comically screwing up her nose to resemble some sort of goblin from a story she once read. 

Kas dropped the impression, rubbed at one of their eyes, and sniffed, aware of the redness that rimmed their bottom lids. Under the light of the room they looked washed out, tired, and they really were. 

They’d received the message from Chiot five days ago, on the second, and reread it so many times they’d gone crossed eyed.

Between then and that day, the ninth of December, they’d been across the UCA multiple times, hitting up station after station, Knot after Knot. It was unfair to Pragma how often they spent their time away from home, but at one point they decided he would be best with Fragile, for the time being, until they finally settled down.

As it was, they were in the distribution center of South Knot city, feeling as though they had just missed the man’s departure out of the UCA ,when really they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since Fragile left him in the mountains. They didn’t want to talk about it, not with Fragile, neither of them, not yet. Kas even messaged Fragile, asking their sister to take care of Pragma, rather then asking in person, or even using a video call. 

Fragile had agreed, shortly, and that had been that. Whether that meant she ferried the dog back to her office, or stopped by the house, they didn’t know. Without Chiot, the house was too empty, they couldn't stand to be in it for longer then necessary.

After their mother had died, Kas hadn’t known what to do with themself. It taken a few days before they resumed their porter lifestyle, and, before that, it was like they spent all of their waking hours breathing in coffin dust. The entire time they expected to hear their mother talking. Laughing. Coughing up a fit, anything. And the silence that stretched thin in the air threatened to break what patience they had left. It was either leave, or crawl into their parents bed and never leave.

It was the same with Chiot’s loss. 

They didn’t even try to stick around. Traces of him were all over the house, just as it had been with their parents’. The bed’s blankets were ruffled, left undone after their departure, and “his” pillow in particular was crushed against their own, the dog always insisting on half lying on Kas' pillow while they both slept. He’d left a pair of underwear hanging on the bathroom sink, and his dark hair was in the shower drain. His mug was left out, to dry, by theirs in the kitchen, his hair was half turned away from the table, so he could stretch out one leg, and take up as much space as possible while not accidentally nudging the dog. They’d left out a packet of rutabaga seeds on the counter, as a reminder for planting, and Chiot had left mud tracks by the front door, a result of forgetting to wipe them off outside before he had walked in. 

Without meaning to look, Kas saw a dozen little imprints of him around, reminders that solidified in his short stay, and lingered after his passing. They couldn’t find it in themself to disrupt any of it with him gone, with no means of making up for it, so they left the house entirely. They left to enter the big wide world, sans the truck they’d driven in for nine days straight, and crossed hills and valleys, walked under trees, and found streams to cross that hadn’t heard the echo of his laughter. 

He was right and he was wrong. It felt like something had ended, but neither of them really had the chance to decide to separate, and it wasn’t so final as death. Somewhere, he was out in the world, in the UCA even. At any second they could turn a corner, or enter a room, and there Chiot would be. 

They would imagine his face. Astounded, certainly, in that spooked way he could be, like that night a BT crossed over the house, or the few times when they flirted back to him. But then he’d burst into that grin of his, metaphorical tail all a wag, and run over to them like his heels were on fire. He’d take them in his arms, give them a twirl more then likely, bring them in close, and his face would melt into that quiet smile he reserved for soft moments, moments they’d catch him in sometimes, when they turned their head just quick enough. And thought, maybe, just maybe. 

Kaspar sighed, fogging up the image of their face, and stepped away. The glass went opaque with their departure, and they walked over to the bed, sitting down.

Two months with Chiot.

That was it. That’s all they’d had. Two months and a little over a handful of days and, hell, that’s all the time they’d known of his existence. His, not Higgs’. They were…being absurd, ridiculous. But…maybe it was true, with the way they said the world worked nowadays.

Humans were a social species, the Stranding had driven them to being more reserved, no, careful in building relationships. In even having neighbors. But when those forms? They were as tight as iron, as impenetrable as steel. Timetables be damned, it worked, making up a world that contained a multitude of different familial units, blood related or not. Humans couldn’t help it.

It’s what helped solidify the bonds between Sam, and all of those solitary, bunker families out there. Sure, they were slow to trust, but once they did, there was no ignoring the unwavering loyalty they felt for the so called legendary porter. 
Sam. They needed to see Sam. 

It was actually next on their list of to-dos. Fragile had sent them a message, letting them know she had stopped by to see him, after receiving an untraceable notice to her cuff link. His code name had been “Otter Man”, an apparent nod to a strange hat that had been given as a gift to him from the Cosplayer. Kas’ question about that had been the first step towards normalcy for their relationship in days, but had only occurred that morning. Fragile didn’t know, but was, quote, “rather curious myself”, and that

Kas should ask, in person. 

Evidentially Sam had returned home and saw no signs of intrusion while he or his daughter were away. All the same, he was grateful for the warning, but short on pills. Kas was grateful for the chance to deliver to him again, eager to be certain in person that they hadn’t accidentally given him away, and, honestly, curious to see if any one showed up again on their route. 

If they did, they would be more prepared, and eager to let out a little steam, even if it meant just knocking a few luggage obsessed bastards out with rubber tipped bullets. 

Settling on that thought, and refusing to return to any other, Kas collected their things, boots, and thermal cloak alike, and headed out for the day. There was a long road a head, and no one’s thoughts to consider then their own.

Kas stopped long enough at their home to refuel their trike’s tank, and grab their rifle with it’s bundle of bullets. It was rarely ever fired, and Kas had learned to shoot years ago, first from their dad and again from a girl they’d fallen in with for a few months. Six months was how long that had lasted, four for the courtship, as it was, and two before things ended when it turned out love did not always equal sexual desire for Kas. 

They were grateful, all the same, for the knowledge, if left frustrated whenever considering the topic of any romantic exploits. They’d tried sharing a bed with one other person, and gave up after that. Figuring that tracking body’s desire, their own sexual interest, and the alignment of both depended entirely on the movement of the planets.

Kas thought that Chiot would find it funny, if they told him they’d learn to shoot from an old fling, but knew it wouldn’t matter.

Not any longer.

Ignoring any desire to entire the heart of their home, they left the garage shortly after that, driving out on their trike, and not looking back. North, they pointed their vehicle, feeling anticipatory as they took the same path there as they had away during the last trip. 

It began to rain, part way through. Kas was partially relived, forever loving the feel of timefall on their skin, and knowing it meant they were less likely to run into trouble. They were frustrated for the same reason, a negativity that they shortly reprimanded themself for. 

I don’t need to find an excuse to bring nonsense to the man’s door, again.

Their mind a whirl of agitation, Kas rounded the lake, crossed the rocky plains of the fields before the sprawling mountains of Sam’s range, and kept their eyes out for signs of life. 

They came two hours into their ride, half way to their goal, and too close to where their first encounter took place for comfort. 
Kas rolled to a stop, a prickling sensation along their spine that crawled with warning. They remained, leaning over their trike, ready to gun it in a moment’s notice. Ticks passed, they turned their head, and caught sight of a body on the horizon. 

Bulky, nearly inhuman in their weight, but certainly two-legged and watching from afar. The figure stood in the rain, undeterred by the fall of water or the passing of time, and, this time, there wasn’t a fog to hide their solid stance among the stone.

Black armor, striped with yellow. Kaspar watched as an odarek unfurled from the figure’s shoulder, like a flower set to bloom, and saw the gleam of orange in the light, even from the distance between them. They reached for their rifle, slowly upholstering it from it’s place along their trike, and watched, as tense as a predator watching for any sudden movements in it’s next meal.

Home demens. 

Light pulsed, a thin wave of orange flickering across the landscape, and Kapsar answered: unpinning their cloak, tossing it aside, and grinning, feral, in the timefall. 

“Come on!”

The echo of gunfire erupted into the empty air, a line of shots kicking up dirt and gravel, and leading a trail across the plain directly towards Kaspar. Kas jumped off their bike and fell to a crouch on the other side of their trike, using it as a barrier between the lethal hailstorm and themself. Tsking over the sound of their ride getting hit, they dove away from it, making it obvious as they scurried out from undercover and made for an outcropping of rock several feet away. The shooter’s aim was rendered imperfect by the distance between them, and Kaspar guessed they had figured as much when the bullets stopped just after they fell behind their new means of cover.

Kaspar used the lull to check the rounds in their non-lethal, anti personnel rifle. The WM.556 NL 2 was fully loaded, it’s scope already in place, and ready for careful aiming. Kas knew to be prepared, but they thanked their readiness all the same, leaving it in a case attached to the trike would have taken more time to disassemble the weapon then they would have liked.

The bullet fire fell upon their rock again, they pressed their back against it’s hard surface, looped the rifle’s single over their shoulders to make it easier to sprint without risk of losing the firearm, and listened for the attackers approach. 

A shock rolled across the plains, orange light blanketed their vision, and for one odd moment they thought the Demens had somehow lost them-.

The shock was answered, curving not out over the rock from behind, but from a point in front of them. 

Shit, there’s more.

One, two, a third answer. 

What the fuck?

The idea of abandoning the skirmish and returning to their bike suddenly seemed like a very good idea. 

They glanced over the rock, looking for the location of their first attacker, and seeing the Demens a few yards off yet. Not a great deal of space—

The person shot, using their own rifle as they saw Kaspar peeking up above the rock, and they dunked back down, deciding to hell with it as, in the corner of their vision, movement in the form of several shapes over the horizon took form. 
The Demens’ backup was much closer then they had expected.

Fuck, Kaspar leapt from cover, spraying a short burst of fire in the direction of the first and hopefully distracting them long enough to make good time back to their ride. They swung their leg over the bike, dunking down as a shot flew over their head, and releasing their rifle, letting it dangle between them and the seat. 

The trike leapt to life, taking them with it’s momentum, and Kaspar hung on for dear life, their leg’s grip on the ride tightening as the bullet fire thickened. The others had arrived.

Kaspar dunk and wove, relying on their experience again to take them through the plains, along natural rows of cover, and over spreads of land that would be too difficult on foot to traverse quickly. A few minutes into the race, the shots had ceased, and Kaspar realized that they needed to turn around. The Homo Demens couldn’t follow them back to Sam.

With that lovely reminder in mind, Kaspar slowed their ride, just long enough to get a wide turn around, and directed their ride in the direction of where their first attacker had been waiting. Leading them home didn’t sound any more appealing, but perhaps they could make for the area above the weather station, the mere close proximity of UCA borders enough to dissuade them from continuing their attack.

I need to message Sam, he only just returned-.

Kaspar narrowed their eyes over the moving land scape, a quick building horror rising in their gut as they caught a flash of yellow, a large one at that, further in the distance. Not light, or body, but a fast moving approach of what was very much a four door porter truck. 

A scream went up from their odarek, the device picking up the call of another of it’s kin, just before, for yet another time, an orange glare swept across the land. The truck was too close to bother negating the scan, not because Kas had been seen, but they had a gut feeling that they knew they would be there, all the same.

The numbers, the truck, this is a damned ambush!

The truck barreled over the fields, scattering debris, artfully weaving along the rough landscape, making Kaspar clinch their teeth like a steel trap as one of their few advantages was apparently shared with the enemy. Gunfire kicked up, again, heavier this time, the Demens’ on foot and their shots like comparing a fly’s buzz to a the wings of a chopper. The truck’s gun failed to pock-market the landscape, but broke it, sending a wave of dust and rock in a jagged path directly where Kaspar had aimed their ride.

They cried out, pulling the handles harshly in an attempt to skid to a stop before they hit the onslaught of steel, and it was too much. The trike skidded across the grass, turning too sharply, and Kas felt their world upend itself as they tumbled off, directly towards where the shots had pelted the earth. 

They’d pulled up their arms, just barely, to protect themself from the fall, and tightened their grip on their head, growing small in an attempt to make it harder for them to be hit. 

Ihaveto,Ihaveto-.

The roar of the truck’s engine grew too close, the vehicle stopping close that the resulting opening and closing of it’s doors came sharply, making their muscles quiver. The adrenaline remained, but Kas could feel a creeping chill setting it, a warning that it wouldn’t last.

They moved their arm from their eye as the first figure approached them, no different then the Demens from before, although now they could see a hint of more human life behind that mask. Two eyes, uncaring, unblinking, catching theirs just before the person lifted the butt of their rifle, and slammed it into Kaspar’s temple. 

Chapter Text

Fragile was sitting at her desk when her cuff signaled a warning. She dropped the papers in her hands, and with a twist of her wrist a screen appeared, small, but pulse stopping. 

Kaspar’s cuff had just sent out an SOS. Further detail supplied a simple statement: they were unconscious, with head trauma.

His name flew to her temple as quick as lightening: Higgs. 

I’m an idiot. 

How could she let herself be pliant? To let the storm take him, and wipe out any issue his very existence might have posed. Sucking in a breath, Fragile swept her fingers across her cuff’s screen, enlarging it, expanding on the data presented. Kaspar wasn’t only reported to be unconscious, but their cuff was off. It’s signal’s coordinates made things worse. North of their homestead, and hour, ten, somewhere in the middle of their path to Sam.

The sick, hot hot feeling in their stomach, impossibly, grew worse. She’d not just put her family in jeopardy, but a friend.

Fuck, fuck-.

Fragile acted.

Already on her feet, she moved around her desk, making for the panel in the wall that housed her closet set of firearms, and pressing against it. It sprung open, revealing the rifle inside, that she removed, checked, and snatched up extra ammo, the extra seconds it took to belt on the gear, armor plates included, enough to make her reconsider the placement of her armaments. Later, later.

More then ready to leave, Fragile grabbed her umbrella from where it leaned against her desk, checked the coordinates again, and nearly jumped before she remembered to grab a med kit set into the wall. Stupid, stupid.

She jumped, her umbrella lifting from her hand, guiding her across Beach and land, and dropping back into her waiting palm as she appeared.
It was raining, a pale drizzle kept off by the lengths of her umbrella, and she looked through the weak down pour for signs of life. Nothing, not at first. Then, walking about, she saw the break in rock, the unnatural scarring of the landscape, and, blending almost entirely to the backdrop of the land, Kaspar’s trike.

Fragile darted to it, almost forgetting about her DOOMs entirely, and a cold panic set into her chest. Not only had it fallen over, it looked like their sibling had crashed, the tracks in the mud and stone worrying, and, as she raised her eye line up, she saw an ugly line of great puncture marks mere feet from where it had stopped.
Kas had not only been shot at, but whatever had been used had been big, powerful, and they’d just barely missed falling into it’s path. 

And there was Kaspar’s cuff, half buried in the muck.

She scooped it up, wiping off the dirt from it’s face, and swallowing at the sight of it’s off state. She tried to turn it on…and it worked, a welcome greeting flashing across the flickering screen, and a map of the land appearing after. It had nothing else to offer, no notes save for Kaspar’s recent crossing from home, to this spot. 

Fragile nearly tossed it aside, before thinking better, slapping it onto their wrist instead. Her hands were trembling, and she clutched her gloved fists tight, unable to comprehend what she had to do next.

“Kaspar!”

Her yell, pointless, dangerous, bounced across the landscape.

Whoever had them was gone. Kaspar was gone. 

Calm down, you need to calm.

Fragile saw tracks in the earth, thick tire marks that left, curving, away from the scene. Into the depths of the valley, and pointed not towards the UCA boundary, or towards Sam, but somewhere in between. 

Decision made, Fragile went back to the trike, folding away her umbrella once she had located a spare cloak tucked away into Kaspar’s gear, alongside their odarek. Fragile, too, spotted the empty holster where a rifle had been left. Was it often that Kaspar carried a weapon? Had they come prepared? 

Kaspar, what were you thinking?

She couldn’t know, not without finding them first.

Fragile unwrapped and wore the cloak, checking the vehicles vitals, and feeling marginally better when it hummed to life. Tucking their umbrella into the straps of the trike, she set the device into gear, and began driving. Assimilation took little time, the cobwebs were there, but Kaspar wasn’t the only one in the family with a license, and, feeling somehow faster then ever, and yet still terribly bound by the laws of earth, Fragile traced the path due northeast. 

Dusk fell in softly, a husk against the landscape that came in early with the reach of winter weather. The rain drifted into snowfall, like ash on the quiet breeze, the white diluted with the darkness, and only revealed in it’s true color through the cut of the trike’s headlights. Fragile killed the engine, daring to creep slower, and certain of her quarry’s location. The growing absence of light had taken the marked path in the earth from sight, but it had been replaced by something different, artificial sources of sight, clustered together in a camp deep in the heart of the rocky valleys.

How had she not seen it? 

Fragile had been working with the Canadian Unity for months, but had failed to be drawn so far south, into that precious bit of space where Sam and Kaspar resided, tucked away like treasures in the still landscape. Within their midst, thriving, coiling, was a viper waiting to strike.

Fragile was smart enough to kill the engine and walk the rest of the way on foot, opting to hide out within the same terrain that protected the camp, rather then risk being caught, too soon. An odarek would be helpful, to pick out numbers, but it also risked giving her away, should she not negate any signal that swept out from their own devices. 

She’d have to do reconnaissance the old fashioned way, opting to use her tucked away binoculars, and saving her DOOMS for when it counted most. 
There were several large tents, as well as short building, long and thick walled, with sloping corners, and no signs of entry outside of the front door. It looked a touch old, but only by a year or so, if the pale marks of timefall had anything to say. 

She watched for an hour, counting ten…maybe fifteen soldiers, perhaps more inside the bunker. It was a lot, even for MULES, but any hope for it being an estranged, more violent sect of the package thieves was dashed soon after she began her observations. Their yellow stripes gave them away, clearly, for what they truly were: Homo Demens.

There were rumors that the Demens persisted, even still, without their leader, somewhere outside of the realm of UCA jurisdiction. It was suicide for them to operate within, all knew their insignia by now, and, if not that, the flashy yellows of their cloaks that they wore otherwise. It was foolish to assume that they would disappear entirely after Higgs’ death, especially since they had begun their attacks before he was allegedly made a member. But they had to be loose, after. Scattered, weakened by his loss.

Not weakened enough. Not if they were stealing random porters. But why? Why Kaspar? 

Fragile’s cufflink buzzed, she dropped her sights long enough to check its surface, certain that she had posted a warning on her feed that she was unavailable for the time being. The name on the ID nearly choked her.

Caller: Chiot.

This man.

They turned around, creeping back towards the trike, staying low, until they managed to find a particularly nice rock to hide behind. Big enough to hide both her, and the light of her cuff.

His face greeted her, uncharacteristically stern when she was certain he should have been cackling with glee by now.

“Fragile-.”

“Higgs! What have you done,” she started, a hissing, yet hushed whisper. She wouldn’t allow her rage to give her away, not yet. 

“I’m guessin’ you saw the feed.”

“What feed-?”

His image was replaced by a video, a familiar yet unfamiliar face, belonging to that of an news anchor, taking his place. Fragile read the partially hidden line of dialog beneath the man, and was quick to play the video: “This just in, UCA officials have received a video from an unknown location detailing the kidnapping of a former, UCA civilian. Kaspar Faraday, eldest child of the founder of Fragile Express, and sibling to the current head of Fragile Express, herself, makes their star debut in a ransom that has people scrambling. Warning for physical harm, and violence, is as follows.”

The man was replaced by a video, a cut of a well lit room, white walled, and plain. It was empty, save for a body hanging from the ceiling by their ankles, and a figure looming beside them. His face was half hidden by a black mask, his bold head ropey with raised veins, and studded with golden stones, carved into the very flesh. This wasn’t Higgs, not by half, but the stranger reeked of ill intent, his eyes as dark as leathers that protected the upper half of his torso. 

“Homo Demens have successfully found and captured one Kaspar Faraday, sibling to dear Fragile, the very one that plucked our beloved God from the world,” the man turned towards Kaspar, Fragile gritting her teeth closed to keep from uttering a sound when they saw the head wound that dripped crimson from their scalp. Bruises blossomed along Kaspar’s pale cheeks, and their otherwise blond hair was thick with mud. Ignoring the pained twist of Kas’ face as he took their hair, pulled against it, and drew their face closer to his camera, the man continued: “Do you see them, God-killer? It is but a fraction of what you deserve, and lesser still then what I will inflict if you fail to hear our call.” He dropped Kaspar, allowing them to swing, leaving a trail of blood dotting the floor in a swooping line. The camera straightened, showing both him and the dangling presence of their sibling behind him. In a poor attempt at imitating Higgs, the man placed a hand to his chest, “I am the Officiator, executioner to our departed leader. If you do not shortly make yourself known to us, your family will be executed.” He bow, a small thing, an echo of the man who he apparently once served.

The video cut off, Higg’s face refilling the screen, and looking grimmer then before. 

“You have to take me there.”

“Take you? How do I know this isn’t a trap? How do I know you aren’t trying to take us both in, in some sick means of taking revenge for your failures-.”

“If you go there Fragile, he’ll just shoot you both! I don’t know who this asshole thinks he is, but apparently he’s got a real hard on for that fucker, and I’m willing to bet he’ll play nice if I’m there too.”

“You just want to be with your people again,” Fragile starting, knowing he was right. If this Officiator saw her, why would he bother to let them both live? Why not wipe out their blood entirely and set an example? 

“I know you have to be considering it-. Look, Kas told me you could find them, if anything happened. I don’t know what the deal is with whoever they’re helpin’ but this is a little more important then some job.”

“Fuck you, Higgs,” Fragile seethed, hating that she had little choice otherwise. With Kas cuff off, she had nothing to lock onto. Sure, they were probably in that bunker, but who knows how many rooms in contained? How many men, or automated defenses to makeup for where it’s soldiers failed? “Be prepared.”

He had seconds before she was reading his location, memorizing the coordinates as she hurried back to the trike, and found her umbrella. The jump pulled at her already strained nerves, but the urgency to keep going, to find her sibling, fueled her to move. 

Fragile appeared in the incinerator interior mere minutes later.

Higgs was there, alone, although he raised his arms when she pointed her weapon at his chest. “Whoa, no one here with me. C’mon, we’ve gotta go,” he started in her direction, her hackles rising, and only the need to see Kaspar safe kept Fragile from shooting him right then. Three times he should be dead, now, and she was letting him stop beside her. She glanced over him, seeing porters gear, generic, along with a black cloak, and a pulled up hood. She recognized it as the same outfit he wore at the laboratory, where she left him, if somewhat more worn. 

“Do you have a spare-,” he pointed at her weapon.

“No, and even if I did-.”

“Look, if you’re goin’ to be my escort, I’m goin’ to be the one carrying the firepower. Shit will look suspicious otherwise.” 

“I don’t trust you-.”

“Fucking good, that will keep us both on our toes. Fragile, please,” he pleaded, that small word making her step back when his initial approach had not. “For Kas. You’re wearin’ gear, it’ll take more then one shot to get cha, and you can jump if I shoot.”

“You shoot, and you’re left behind, with your Demens.”

“And so is Kas, but I know you won’t just leave ‘um,” he nodded, seeing her line of logic, and agreeing. “You shouldn’t trust me, but I need you to work with me. Here, I’ve got no protection-“ he raised his arms, showing the thin line of his tunic, and little else. “You pop off, pop back in, twist that knife in your shoe straight into my kidney, and we call it good. You’re one step closer to Kas, and I’m fucking worm food. Is that something? That mean fucking something, because I really just want to go now.”

Fragile wanted to bite off another argument. She wanted to claw into his face, and strangle him with her bare hands, but the same sense of urgency in his words she could feel in her very veins. She didn’t have time to hate him, not right then. 

So she grabbed his shoulder, and without warning sent them directly back to where she had come. 
Just like their last trip together, Higgs stumbled, this time catching himself on her shoulder, which she shrugged off, before getting a look round. They were alone, that was good, and if they were lucky little to know time had passed at all.

Higgs moved past her, looking through the darkness, at the camp beyond, before glancing back. “This it?”

Fragile went up to meet him, shoving the rifle into his chest, but not letting go, even as he took it, until he looked her in the eyes. “Don’t screw us over. Or I’ll gut you.”
Higgs breathed out, the exhale almost sounding like a laugh, and making her tense up all over again: “You really are related. Good. Goin’ to need that grit.”

She shook her head, letting the weapon go, and regretting it even as she did so. Higgs situated the rifle in his hands, getting a feel for it’s grip, before nudging his chin in the direction of the camp. “Let’s walk and talk, I’ve got a plan.”

“And what would that be,” Fragile replied icily, moving ahead of him, aware and uncomfortable of the role of playing prisoner, even if it was supposed to be an act.

“I get you to Kas, you zip on out of here before they can blink, and then we’ll be all peaches and cream.”

“That’s it? And what happens when they ask where you’ve been? It’s been three years, Higgs. It would look rather suspicious that you’ve kept to yourself this entire time. Would they even trust you?”

“I'll say you had me on the Beach. You snatched me up to use as a bargaining chip, and, in the middle of everything you ran out of steam. After that, that’s all it took for me to get the drop on ya’,” he said, continuing when she met his eyes. “Look, DOOMS is pretty normal ‘round these parts, but how many of these assholes know the fine details? ‘Sides, you hardly look up to snuff, right now, and I figure that’s enough to convince them you can’t just pop on out of here whenever you want.”

“The same can be said for you, you know?”

He met her eyes, clearly confused, and she sighed, rethinking her initial assessment of Higgs. If this was the man she had known, the one who had destroyed the Knots, then why was she still alive? Why stay with Kaspar? Why not rejoin his Demens and continue his rampage? If it was truly due to the amnesia, there was nothing left to be said about it, to blame. He could have ended her on the mountain, when they were alone. Hell, he could have ended her right then, on their march to the camp. 

The Higgs she knew would be using his DOOMS, flaunting it like a toy gun, and not giving her an inch of space to maneuver in. If it was true Amelie had given him a majority of his power, that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t shot her yet. But…if this was a different Higgs, then he was more ignorant of the truth then what could be permissible. It could get them killed. 

“Higgs, the…Higgs that I worked with,” she started, seeing the surprise on his face as she actually seemed to be accepting the reality previously presented to her. “His DOOMS power was exceptionally high. Telekinesis, the power to control BTs, and Beach walking, like myself, perhaps even better,” she hesitated, turning to look at him straight on, and seeing the interest in his eyes. “He was quick. If you show up, not flaunting your skill, as he so often did, you’ll have to use the same excuse. You were on the Beach for too long, and it will take time to recuperate. They may see weakness in that.” 

“I’ll make due,” he said, a troubled tightness around his eyes that deepened in the dark. If it weren’t for the light of the overhanging moon, it would be pitch black where they stood. Fragile allowed herself to keep walking, determined to get back to Kas, if anything else. 

It took little time after they were near the camp for them to be surrounded.

It started with someone spotting them in the dark, pinging them with their odarek, and a cry followed, other signals going out. Marking their movement and identifying them all at once. The first cry was followed by several more, and Fragile was placed in an uncomfortable state of deja vu as she found Higgs at her back, the head of a rifle digging into her spine, and his men moving them circle the two of them like wolves in the snow.

“Honey, I’m hooome,” Higgs sing-songed, propping his gun on his hip to fire a few shots into the air. If the entire camp didn’t know they were there, they sure as hell did then. Fragile had to roll her eyes to keep herself from telling him he was over doing it: only Higgs could upstage Higgs. 

A few of them still watched their duo wryly, but the others seemed to be fighting the urge to approach him, calling out words like “boss!”, “my lord”, and even “my God”. It was absolutely absurd, but did wonders on quelling her fears.

“Did ya’ll miss me,” Higgs went on, moving beside Fragile, and daring to wink at one of his hovering admirers. 

“Boss, where have you been? How can this be,” one of them in particular, wearing a yellow hood and more porter like gear of the Demens stepped in close, flinching as Higgs’ smirked, but not yet backing off from the obvious danger in Monaghan’s grin.

“Now, now,” Higgs raised a placating hand, hushing the group like he might a classroom full of children, and not full grown adults wielding guns. “’Fore I spend all my time repeatin’ myself, how ‘bout one of you assholes get my loyal Officiator out here to talk business.” He knelt in close to Fragile’s face, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his exhale, and Higgs grinned anew. “I’ve a gift for as all to partake in tonight.”

A series of whoops went up, chilling Fragile further, despite the weather already doing it’s job. Several in the back broke up to, presumably, follow his request, but the first hooded figure stood his ground. “B-but, Higgs. We thought you were dead-.”

Higgs lowered his rifle, and shot the man in his foot. The Demens screamed, jumping on one leg, before collapsing in the dirt, cradling his blown open boot, red already staining the newly minted earth beneath him. The crowd had gone silent, as still as the looming mountains over the far, far horizon, and Higgs bowed in close to the whimpering figure.

“What the fuck did you call me,” he hissed, mirth replaced with pure acidity. “Did you deign to use my name, boy?”

“I-I’m sorry,” the man sobbed, red dripping from between the tight grip he had on his wounded extremity. He rocked forward, his eyes falling to the ground, and away from the figure standing before him. “My lord, I’m sorry.”

“That’s better,” Higgs replied, reaching forward to brush his hand over the man’s head, pushing it down briefly like he was giving a friendly hair tousle, and simply teasing a friend. The man whimpered, but managed to utter nothing more. Higgs stepped away, lips still upturned, although he hardly looked impressed. “Some asshole please give this little shit a band aid?”

The crowd didn’t move.

“Did I fucking stutter?”

Higgs shot into the air, again, and people dunked, armored and cloaked alike. Two broke from their numbers, hurrying over to tend to the man in question. Done with the matter entirely, Higgs nudged Fragile forward, further into the compound, and into the masses, his people parting like waves on the shore.

There was a commotion in the back, the herd of yellows and blacks parted, and a particularly tall figure broke through the crowd.

The Officiator was larger in person. Broad shouldered, the golden studs in his head gleaming under the harsh lamplight, and the man stopping before Higgs, abruptly, before falling to his massive knees to deal in the wet earth.

“Our savior has returned,” the behemoth said to the earth at Higgs’ feet. 

Higgs chuckled. “Now, this I like,” he knelt down, reaching forward to lift the man’s half-masked face with one knuckle of his hand. “My dear Officiator….are you ready to have some fun?”

The man, the Officiator, seemed to gasp, his eyes blowing wide, and his head tilting down as Higgs released him: “My lord!”

Fragile would have thought that Higgs, of all people, would be getting off on this, but it was only as he turned, looking at her from beneath his hood, that she saw the wide set of his own eyes.

“What the fuck,” was all he muttered, utterly impossible to be heard by any one but Fragile in her close proximity. For one, mad moment, she felt the urge to laugh.

Chapter Text

It was the pain that woke them.

A shocking arc of pain, erupting in their head and upper back, spreading to their tail bone, making the breath in their lungs choke out in a rush. The world was dark, and then white when they opened their eyes, aware, and terrified, but in a distant sort of way, that the bleeding in their skull had started again. 
Kaspar heard their teeth crack, the strain of keeping themself from screaming partially failing as a muffled groan worked it’s way, tightly, up their esophagus. 

“Nothin’ like a family reunion to make up for lost time.”

Chiot?

His voice should have been a blame on their senses, but all they could feel was agony, that agony and a belated bloom of confusion at hearing his voice at all. What was he saying? 

Kas tried to look out through their eyes, to find him above their prone form, on their back, on the ground, but there was a blurriness there that lingered frustratingly in their way. They weren’t going blind, were they?

White, just white, that’s mostly all that could be seen, save for a dark figure, looming like a sky scraper over their head. The figure moved, departing from the space next to them, and Kaspar opened their mouth to call out for him.

“I’ll see you later, darlin’,” he spoke again, cutting them off, and leaving only the taste of copper pennies on their tongue as he left. A door opened, and closed, and Kaspar coughed around the phlegm caking the back of their tongue.

“Kaspar?”

Kaspar coughed again, startled by the sound of their sister’s voice. It shouldn’t exist here, but neither should have Higgs’. At once, they found themself suddenly afraid.

“F-Fragile?”

“Quiet, they might be listening,” came her disembodied voice, and Kaspar stilled. The cameras. They suspected that there were some in the corners of the room, watching them while Kaspar had hung from the ceiling of the small room. They’d woken up there some time ago, hours perhaps, and had been transferred from being sprawled out on the ground, to hanging up by their feet, heart thudding like a rocket in their chest as that man, the Officiator, demanded Fragile’s presence before the world.

“Fragile,” they choked again, a warm sting in the corner of their eyes. They’d failed to protect their sibling. Again.

“Kaspar,” Fragile whispered, just as softly, just as harshly, and Kaspar blinked around their tears, warm and useless as they were, but impossible to stop completely.

“Take my hand.”

Kaspar tried to turn their head, darkness swimming around the edges of their vision even with the slight motion, and gasped. But they moved, rocking to their left, where they thought they heard her voice, and breathing in sharply when they felt something else warm. Something solid, too, and more familiar then anyone else in the world. 

“My hands are tied,” they said, turning into their sibling’s back, and feeling Fragile’s fingers, also evidentially secured behind her, brush against their arm. 

“Kaspar, think of home. Think of our greenhouse. Think of Pragma. The garden. Home.”

Kapsar closed their eyes willfully, focusing on the images of exactly that. The little couch. The plants growing in their beds. Their parents former place of rest, when they were still together, and alive. 

That place they’d shared with Chiot.

“Wait-.”

The air changed. Once cold and stifling, it widened and warmed. Smells met their nose, smells of drying tea leaves along the damp windows of the greenhouse.

Smells of the wooden floor beneath their nose, and the tell tale smell of a four legged beast, his claws clicking against the floor in a rush of movement.

“Pra-Pragma,” Kaspar sputtered, feeling the rough texture of his tongue spread across their forehead, their cheeks, even their bruised mouth. They wanted to laugh, to ask him to get away, but they could only hear the rush of their pulse picking up speed beneath the thin veil of their skin. 

“Fragile, what happened-?”

“Sush, Kaspar,” Fragile was moving, twisting until she could balanced on her behind, and maneuvered her arms beneath her feet. Kaspar continued to blink, nearly sobbing when their vision crystallized, little by little.

They saw their sister, Fragile, removing something tucked into her boot, and sliding out the knife there with practiced ease. She turned the knife over in her hands, cutting through the thin rope around her wrists until it fell away, frayed and easily forgotten. Her ankles were next, Fragile’s movements picking up, obvious waves of impatience rolling off her thickly. 

“I heard Chiot. He was in that room-,” they tried again, not caring about the irritation that graced there sister’s eyes. The youngest worked at Kaspar’s bonds until they, too, fell away, blood returning to their hands, beneath the raw skin of their own wrists, and making them bite back a curse at the feeling. Fuck, everything hurt. Their ankles were next, Fragile refusing to slow down for even a moment, and Kaspar grateful all the same. “Fragile, did he put you there-?”

“Kaspar,” Fragile exclaimed, exasperated, and at last pulled them into her embrace. Kaspar failed to return it right away, finding their arms like lead hanging from their shoulders, but eventually managed to do the same. They buried their face in their sibling’s neck, smearing the sharp tang of blood and the salty sweep of tears on her pale skin, and feeling Fragile trembling beneath their hold. They tightened it, their head going light as a feather, taking their senses with it, and not caring as long as the pain reminded them that they had Fragile to hold onto. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the words came, from them, or Fragile, or both at once, they didn’t know, or cared. They just needed to hear them, to hear it was alright.
Minutes, hours, they didn’t know, but eventually Fragile released them to look into Kaspar’s eyes: “I’m getting the med kit, you’re still bleeding-.”

“Fragile,” Kaspar tried, remaining, astonishingly, upright as their sister stood up. Fragile began to move away, and in another act that could only be called a miracle, they snagged the leather of her pants, a wrinkle where her knees had curled the fabric into a permanent, scarred shape. “Fragile, what did he do?”

They didn’t want to hear it, but they also did. They needed to., If he betrayed them both-.

“It was his idea. Ask Higgs.” That was all she replied. It was all Kaspar needed, to release their hold, and stare blankly across the floor of the greenhouse. Pragma whined, feeling forgotten, no doubt, and leaned into Kaspar’s side. 

They closed their eyes against the light, and drew in a breath.

What was he thinking?

Higgs was thinkin’ he had landed himself in some hot shit, and that feeling only got worse when Fragile vanished with Kapsar from their containment room. 
He’d been the one to toss her in there, flinging her over his shoulder, carrying her to the room, dropping her like a sack of potatoes next to Kaspar’s red painted face. It’s been another Demens, his Demens, that had cut them down, and nothing short of God had stopped him from slamming the fuckers skull into the wall for making them hurt like that. 

The bastard had seen his dark look and scurried on out of there faster then a headless chicken, strangled squawk and all, and Higgs pulled off the biggest trick in his acting career by not dropping to his knees and cradling Kas’ head in his hands right there. Just the sight of them, blinking, searching, up to his face after he spoke made him feel just like the piece of shit Fragile claimed him to be. 

“I’ll see you later, darlin’,” he said, trying to push all of the animosity, and humor he was supposed to be feeling right there, at the sight of them, and only hating himself more. It was a promise, a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep after he left the room.

The Officiator, as the creepy bastard liked to call himself, was right there in the narrow hall, ready to lead Higgs to wear their office was apparently located. “My lord,” he said, fist to heart, head bowed, and Higgs squirmed somewhere deep inside his gut. God, he was skeeved the hell out.

“My Officiator,” he managed to reply, nodding himself, and sounding for all the world grateful and, frankly, not like he wanted to throw up on the man’s boots. He cocked his head down the hall, away from the door behind them, and the man got the hint.

Higgs’, as much as he hated to call himself that right then, narrowed his eyes on the bastards back, and let him do the talking as they made their way through the building. “The men have been waiting, most impatiently, for some time, my God. Some among our ranks showed doubt, thinking you could never return,” he was saying, a guard in the hall nodding to them both, and Higgs making note of where the doorway they stood next to led. Just a dining hall, by the looks of it. Maybe a kitchen, further on. If there was an additional exit there, he had no way of knowing without looking for it. 

The man stopped in front of another door, looking comically large as he fit through, but stopping half way and nearly making Higgs bump into him in the process: “I made an example of them all.”

“Fucking good,” Higgs spat out, too pissed off in the moment to even try to act nice. All the same, it was impossible to miss the pleased gleam in the guy’s eyes.

“Dissenters go out in the rain, for all I fucking care. There’s no room for doubt, in the new world order,” Higgs stated, shoving his way past the asshole, nearly flinching when they, temporarily, made contact, and hearing the man chuckle in the air behind him.

“I agree, most sincerely, my God.” 

The room was a wide, rectangular thing, complete with a long table, steel chairs, and various maps that dotted the walls. Maps, cork boards, leaflets of information spread out every which way. Information met plans, plans meant destruction, and Higgs had a feeling he was close to the heart of their goal for world domination just by standing there.

There was one window in the room, set into the center of the wall to his right, and his eyes snapped to it like a drowning man would a buoy. 

Fucking bingo.

He crossed the the left side of the room, grabbed a chair by the table, and leaned back, propping one foot on the surface of the flat piece of furniture, and sighing, like he’d finally settled back into where he’d belong. Fuck, he was uncomfortable. 

He realized his mistake when he saw the giant stare at him, glancing, briefly, towards the chair at the head of the table and back to Higgs in a flash. He’d have missed, he thought, if he didn’t almost innately know how to look out for danger by then. 

Figures years of gettin’ abused beat a sense self preservation into my ass. 

It was one of his least favorite revelations about his character, albeit the world conquering part was a close second. 

Higgs cocked an eyebrow, daring the man to question his actions. As if he had fuckin’ time to play the part of god-king with all the shit going on around him. Although, I guess that’s exactly what the fucker would have done.

“Do you have somethin’ to say, Officiator,” he asked, letting that name slither out of his lips with all the attitude he felt right there, and meaning every second of it.

The fucker winced, and Higgs regretted his wording, if only because he thought the asshole enjoyed his subservient role. 

“You left the woman, Fragile, with their sibling in the containment cell.”

“What the fuck of it?”

“My god, does the woman not share some of your power? The DOOMS ability of walking the Beach?”

Higgs scoffed, unsurprised that he’d reached this conclusion, as Fragile had before. Luckily, he was ready. “That woman took her time getting here, to me, and back here the fuck again. It took a lot fucking out of her. But by the fucking way,” he dropped his foot from the table, standing up, and stabbing a finger into the man’s chest. He nearly cursed, the fucker was built out of stone, but managed to hide his discomfort in his scowl. “That goddamn executive head managed to make her way to outskirts of the camp, and none of you mother fuckers picked up on that. Me, I just waltzed my happy ass in, and you didn’t shoot first, ask questions later?”

“M-my lord,” the man started, stuttering for the first time, and Higgs cut him off: “What the fuck did I teach you assholes? Apparently not a sense of self fucking preservation.”

He scoffed again, turning around, his nerves screaming not to put his back to the enemy, and propped his hands on his hips. Course, I’d be fucking cheese if he did. Thank god, these assholes are stupid.

“My lord,” the man tried again, his voice quieting, and Higgs made a show of turning around again just enough to catch his eyes. “It will not happen again. I should know not to question you, my lord Higgs.”

Higgs rolled his eyes, sighed, and turned again. Shrugging his shoulders with a lift of his arms, he pretended to ask the open air for some sort of deliverance: “What the fuck do I do with these assholes? It’s lucky ol’ Higgs is back to put things right back where they need to be.”

“My lord?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, tired, and meaning it. “I’ve got history right, but in the mean fucking time, give me some goddamn space.”
There was a hush, Higgs wondering if the man was going to budge at all, and feeling it when sweat started to dot the back of his neck.

“Yes, my lord,” the man said, simply. Blessedly, Higgs heard the door open, again, and shut behind him. He gave himself a moment to listen, to hear the man stomping down the hall, and finally dropped his shoulders. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he hissed, under his breath, and looked around. No signs of cameras in the room, as far as he figured, he was fucking alone. It didn’t make him feel any goddamn better about his situation. Any second now, the Faraday’s would be out of the picture, and he’d have a real can of worms on his hands. 

Thank fuck, for that. 

It was as if he’d summoned the situation himself, out of thin air, as suddenly as he’d been given a moment to ponder, there came a thudding on the door of the room. 

“What the fuck, now,” he shouted, turning around and seeing another, different guard shove themself into the door.

“M-my lord, they’re gone.”

And just like magic, the tension in his chest uncoiled, released, and finally let him breathe out. 

“Excuse me,” he asked, all trace of anger gone in a moment of relief, relief he hoped came across as disbelief as he heard the ring of his coffin nails being driven home. “I’m going to need a fucking minute.”

“My lord?”

Higgs cocked the rifle in his arms, the spent shell snapping out and hitting the floor.

The man, wisely, chose the close the door behind him.

Higgs moved, all but flying to the window, and hopefully, his salvation.

Unless that motherfuck listened to me and put guards outside. 

Fucking hell, he hated himself. 

“We have to go back for him.”

Fragile’s frowned deepened, their sister’s hands dropping away from their face and the butterfly bandage staying in place, a temporary stitch for the split in their eyebrow.

“That place is crawling with Homo Demens.”

“They’ll kill him, Fragile,” Kaspar pressed out, watching her drop the crumbled remains of the band aid’s slip on the table beside them, and feeling worse when she failed to react appropriately. “He isn’t the man you, or they, think he is. Hasn’t he proved that enough-?”

Fragile stood up, snapping up the empty glass near the med kit she had spread out, and going towards the sink to refill it. “I just got you back, Kaspar. Do you think I’m mad enough to let you go back in there?”

“Fragile, I know you hate Higgs, but he isn’t-.”

“I know he isn’t!”

Fragile dropped the glass in the sink, the faucet continuing to run as she stood there, leaning with both hands into it’s steel shape, and breathing calmly. A quiet fell between them, and Kaspar knew to let it remain there, to be patient, even with how much they feared wouldn’t be left to save if they went back for Chiot at all.

“Don’t you think I’ve seen it, Kaspar? I didn’t want to at Heartman’s lab when he looked at you like that, and I sure as hell didn’t want to believe it when he insisted on going in to get you,” Fragile bit out, and Kaspar didn’t move. They listened, and they tried to understand. “But I can’t help it,” she turned her head, eyes wet, and regret immediately rising into Kaspar’s heart. “I see it, and I still see him, too. That man that watched me rot. That man who killed thousands, and would have laughed, and I can’t help it. Call it instinct, or self preservation, or fucking PTSD, but I can’t fucking help it.”

Kaspar met her eyes, they wanted to say anything, the right, most perfect way of answering that, but nothing like it existed. 

“We’ll get your dog. But I can’t be around him right now.” Fragile looked back at the wall above the sink, reaching over, and turned the faucet off. “Not yet.”

Kas had to talk to Fragile. They felt like a selfish sibling, more so when they had to insist on putting Chiot’s well being before her own. But the clock was ticking, and all they could do was bully her into eating from their supply of cryptobiotes before they made the leap back.

No alarm seemed to be raised in the night, but it was a surreal experience, standing yards away from the place they had apparently been contained in, and yet never having seen the outside of until then. 

Their plan was a simple one. Fragile and Kas would circle the complex until they found Demens out on their own. As it happened, they found two, making things simultaneously more convenient, and more difficult at the same time. They were also headed in their direction, the glare of one of their odarek’s sweeping over the land, not in a wave, but a solid beam, a mere flash light for the time being, and making them both dunk down impossibly further.
When it passed Kas met eyes with their sister, the two of them crouched low on the ground, depending on the shadows of the night to keep them from being spotted. Fragile nodded, and Kas made themself stay put as she, again, vanished into thin air. 

Fragile appeared behind the two figures, slowly walking along the rocky land, and she crouched down, approaching with all the stealth of a hunting cat. Kaspar would have let themself admire their sibling’s ability if Fragile wasn’t in any sort of immediate danger, focusing instead on watching the second guard. They stuttered a gasp when Fragile shot forward, planting her knife in the space behind their knee, where steel had to leave room for cloth. Kas was already getting up and moving when the second turned, seeing Fragile, and began to reach for his odarek.

Fragile was gone in a flash, moving beside him, grabbing the man’s arm, and starting to wrestle for control before Kaspar dropped their sprint, and grabbed the back of the man’s hood. The man yelped, fell, and was tossed backwards, onto the ground, by both siblings. 

Kaspar made short work of smashing their boot into his face, once, then twice when it didn’t land hard enough the first time to knock him out.
Fragile was gasping, they both were, and Kaspar could feel the patched up laceration on the back of their head throbbing. A pain in their ribs, signs of a broken bone they hadn’t told their sibling about, screeched, and they bit the side of their cheek until blood came, fresh, to stop themself from whimpering. 

“Kaspar,” Fragile started, and they shook their head. Of course, their sister could tell they were hiding something. But it still wasn’t the time.
They took what they could, undressing the men, tying them together with the blue and red lines of their porter rope, and taking the bare minimum to hide their faces. Half masks, cloaks, gloves, and padded gear, complete with two odareks. The gear of the common Demens infantryman wasn’t so different then a MULE’s, fortunately, and getting dressed was a quick process.

They checked each other over, Kaspar satisfied when they were sure they wouldn’t recognize their sibling right away if they didn’t already know better. The worst part was how much the gear stank, but neither could complain.

They grabbed the men’s guns, double checked their current unconscious state, one still bleeding out, and possibly dying, but, again, they didn’t have time to care.
Kaspar made peace with the face that they had taken down two terrorists, or co-conspirators of such, and left them both behind with their sibling at their side.

“The cuff,” Fragile muttered, and Kaspar nodded. They maneuvered their cuff out from underneath their arm guard, scowling lightly over the knick on one of it’s sides. Fragile had returned it earlier, the weight of it felt right on their skin, and, what was better, it still had a connection to Chiot’s own cuffs. Swiping through the screens, they looked for signs of his immediate location.

What they saw made them almost laugh. 

“What?”

“He’s already outside.”

He was booking it. Nearly stumbling, nearly falling flat on his ass, Higgs fled across the landscape, into the dark, like the goddamn chicken he was. He didn’t know what he’d be doing otherwise, besides getting the fuck away, but he had a pretty bad feeling in his stomach that he was fucking something up by just running away. 

It can fucking wait until I’m not about to be splintered full of holes by some costume wearing fanatics. 

So he ran, ignoring the camp behind him, ignoring the sudden shouts being thrown into the night, and only sputtering to a messy stop when he spotted a couple of those very same fanatics headed in his direction. Fuck, there were only two, but they had goddamn guns with them, and he knew what Higgs Monaghan fucking wasn’t, and that was bullet proof.

He started to slow down, move into a walk that was a touch closer then casual, even with the even pace he’d just been taking, and they had already spotted him.

They both stopped, looking at him, and then not, seeing something behind him he hoped was just the camp still in uproar, and not the gunning of someone’s engine. 

Jesus holy fuck, kill me now. At least he’d be over all this goddamn running.

Higgs turned around, seeing the truck skid to a spot between him and the campgrounds, and it’s back doors popped open. The Officiator himself dropped out it’s rear end, two other bitches in yellow leaving the passenger and driver’s side, to hang out nearby. The Officiator didn’t just hang out, he marched his ass towards Higgs, looking between him and the two guards from before.

“What is the meaning of this,” he started, voice actually an octave higher into something akin to mutiny and preferable, by a long shot, to how he’d been acting before. “My lord, your men require answers-.” 

“Here’s my fucking answer, fuck face,” he replied, raising his rifle, pulling the trigger, and sending a spray of bullet fire across the man’s torso. The fucker fell, crying out, while all four of the others jolted in place. Higgs aimed his rifle at the two by the truck, aware that only their confusion was probably keeping them from shooting him right then and there.

“Now, there, there, let’s play fucking nice for a second-.”

Someone fired, and Higgs startled, before he saw the same fellows he’d been studying drop to the ground, one, then the other. 

“What the fuck-,” he hissed, spinning about, and seeing that one of the other guards with their rifle pointed towards the smoking bodies. “What the fuck?” 

“Sait-il vraiment comment dire autre chose?”

“Fragile?”

The second shook their head, making his heart swell til it threated to blister: “C'est sa langue d'amour: dire baise aussi souvent qu'il expire.”

Fragile looked back at him. “And you chose this, over me?”

“Sweetheart,” he exclaimed, looking back at the second guard, hearing the break in his voice, and not giving a damn how much of a sissy it made him look. 

The guard pulled off their hood, snow settling in their hair as they tossed aside their mask, as well. Nothing stopped him from crossing the space between the two of them, wrapping his arms around their torso and swinging Kas around, rifle and all. They squeaked, not a happy or startled thing, but something faintly pained, and as Fragile commanded him to put them down he did so carefully.

“Kas, you’re fucking hurt-.”

“And they’ll be worse off if you keep manhandling them,” Fragile stated, raising a hand between them, and pushing Higgs away. Higgs backed off, understanding that Fragile needed space for more reasons then one, but unable to help himself from looking Kas over. 
There was swelling in their jaw, a split on their brow, red in their yellow hair, and fuck knows what else under their new outfit. “What’s with the duds,” he said, weakly, waving at the yellows in question, and liking when he saw Kaspar momentarily smile.

“We were going to rescue you.”

He laughed, couldn’t damn well help it, with how tired he was, and how sweet that sounded. “Again? Honey, we gotta stop making a habit of this.”

“Then stop getting into trouble, Chiot, and we can try.”

“Enough,” Fragile shook her head, not scowling, but nearly. “It’s time to leave,” she started, stepping away from them both to head towards the night. “The trike waits, and with it my umbrella. I’m going to send out a message to the UCA, and we can’t be here when they arrive,” she looked at him, eye brow going up. “Not unless we want them to see your lapdog out in the open.”

Kaspar looked at their sibling, and nodded, clearly not ready for a confrontation for the time being. Higgs didn’t like it, knowing he was the cause for their kerfuffle, but made himself keep his trap shut when Kaspar took his hand in theirs, squeezing it tightly. They began moving, heading off to follow their sibling, leading him along just as he preferred, but that didn’t stop him from hearing the Demens behind them.
Not the guys at the camp, but someone closer, the Officiator lifting his front half up, and looking towards them with his hand clutching at his blown open chest.

“Mother fuck,” Higgs exclaimed, drawing both of the Faradays’ attention.

“You are not well, my lord,” the man had the balls to utter, hard to hear from his place on the ground, and worse still with the blood probably filling his airways. Higgs began to walk to him and reply, and that’s why he saw the man pull his hand away from his wound, not with a fistful of red, but his hand clutched around the pistol he probably had hidden in his coat.

“Chiot-.”

Higgs dragged Kas between him and the weapon, saw it go off, and felt the steel shoot through his side. Fragile’s fire followed after, the fuck’s face being filled with lead, just as Higgs was trying, and failing, to keep himself from crumbling to the ground. 

“Chiot,” Kaspar repeated, catching him with one arm, and with all that muscle of theirs going to his rescue, yet again. “Hang on,” they said, slinging his own arm over their shoulder, as Higgs pressed on the fresh wound. 

“It’s time to go,” Fragile said, moving to them both, a hand on both of their shoulders.

“Your umbrella,” Kaspar asked, barely a question when they probably trusted the woman’s abilities more then anything else in life, and Fragile nodded at the affirmation.

“I don’t need it, not for where we’re going. Just think about it,” her eyes found his in the dark, just for an instant, and then Kas’. “Think of home.”

So he did, he closed his eyes, felt the embrace of Kaspar’s hold on his body, the two of them lying in bed, in another life, whole and together. And that’s all it took, before the darkness went up, and he was swallowed by the Beach.

Chapter Text

Higgs woke up on a Beach. He could taste the salt in the air, feel the cold grit of sand pressing into his cheek, and hear the waves, that constant in and out of endless, deep water. He was on his stomach, feeling like a star fish caught on land, but there was a surprising lack of discomfort in his spine when he started to budge. 

To add to things, there was someone next to him.

Kas was planted on their rear end, one leg bent up with their arm resting on the knee, and the other leg pointed to the water. As he moved, they took a moment before looking at him, that quiet smile of theirs pulling against their mouth, and making it horribly tempting to join with his own. 

“Hey, Chiot,” they said, watching as he managed to roll over, and prop himself right up next to them. 

“Hey, darlin’.”

He leaned into their shoulder, and although he thought he felt the solid press of their skin against his there was something…off about it. Higgs looked down at the place of contact, and back at their face, realizing what was going on before they said it: “You aren’t really here. Not physically,” they shook their head, answering that question. “You’re back in bed, resting up. I thought it best if I left some distance between the two of us, so you would have a chance to recover in peace.”

“In peace? Kas, you know I have a hard time sleepin’ by myself,” he joked, but, admittedly, felt a little disappointed. They were here now, but it was just a faint impression against his subconscious, an idea when there should have been solid evidence. 

“Don’t worry, you have Pragma with you,” they said, smiling widening when he pouted in response. “The bullet went clean, nothing vital was hit, but you need to sleep off the shock. Healing takes time, and time has no place here.” 

Higgs sighed, only half meaning the drama he added to it. “Speaking of, your sister isn’t goin’ to want me around for much longer.”

Kaspar’s eyes fell to their feet, bare against the grit, the wet nipping playfully at their skin. His Beach was peaceful, today, but the skies were still so damn gray, and something in his mood was, too. Figures it’d be reflected here. 

“She told me it was your idea, to swap yourself out in the camp so that I could escape.”

“And then you had to to turn around, wiggle your happy butt back over—hey, no hitting in my dream!”

Kas lowered their hand from his shoulder, still scowling, although they didn’t mean it. Not completely. “I refuse to leave you behind, Chiot. I spent too much time bringing you back to good health before, I would not see it wasted!”

“Aw, hun,” he nudged their shoulder with his own, ignoring the uncanny way their clothing didn’t wrinkle. So, he could retain the feeling of getting smacked easily enough but not the fluid dynamics of cloth was too much? “Just say you didn’t want to go without your favorite cuddle buddy for the rest of your life.”

They rolled their eyes, “That, too.”

He smiled, preening. Somewhere over the seas, the clouds smudged, and light filtered through, a gorgeous blush of red appearing on Kas’ face, and making the whole skyline light up further.

“Will you talk to her, Chiot? I think…I think it’s what she needs, and you’re all she has.”

His grin softened, finding the sad lines around Kas’ eyes, as subtle as the beginnings of sastrugi on fresh fallen snow. They weren’t jokin’ when they said love turns you into a poet. 

“Yeah, I’ll do that. If she has anythin’ to say, I’ll listen for it.” The waves in the water started to pick up, just a bit, and Higgs had the uncomfortable feeling that he was starting to wake up. “Kas?”

“Hm,” they hummed a question, turning their head and meeting his eyes again. He took that time to lean his own down, and press his forehead against their own, the solid, real memory of that night enough for him to believe that he was really there with them. 

Their tiny gasp made him grin in victory, and, yeah, he woke up. 

From Beach to bed, Higgs had to admit that he preferred the latter when Kas’ words proved true: he was alone, except for the mutt at his feet. 

All the same, even with the stitches he could feel in his side, and the, then present, ache in his spine, he could feel himself relaxing back into the mattress at the sight of that familiar ceiling. The smells in the air. The sound of Pragma’s softened breathing. 

It should have been only two weeks since he’d last lain there, but it was the closest comfort he could get to something adjacent to home, short of getting up and finding Kaspar themself. The door to the room was open, a waiting invitation, but there were possibly two Faradays in the house that might not take it well to his walking around, unaided. Or, at all.

Not like that ever stopped him from being a nuisance before.

His action of rising to meet danger head on was aborted when he picked up the sound of footfalls. Different ones then Kas’ boots, something closer to a heel. Not a click, but something more solid. And there she stood, the second of the Faraday siblings, and, suddenly, Higgs didn’t know what to do with himself.

“You’re awake,” Fragile stated, not sounding particular one way or another about it, and he actually succeeded in not making some kind of quip about that right off the bat. “Kas will want to know,” she went on, but didn’t leave. Instead, she entered the room, and did the remarkable, sitting down on one side, near the end, and running a gloved hand over the dog’s head. 

Pragma lifted his skull, removing the weight so he could give her hand a good sniff. The situation was odd, even for the dog. But Pragma was a different breed, and nosed back into Fragile’s hand without complaint. 

“Where are they,” he had to ask, his voice bone dry. He wasn’t about to ask for relief, and yet Fragile stood up, going to the bedside table, and grabbing a glass, already filled, that he’d failed to notice while watching her instead.

She held onto it, waiting, as he pushed himself up, back against the bed, and only offered the glass once he was settled against the old, creaking frame. Taking it was weird, drinking it in the middle of the silence of the room was weirder, but he thanked her all the same. Baby steps.

“They’re outside,” Fragile spoke up, leaning against the wall of the room, next to the doorframe. A more presumptuous man might think her nervous, but either way he wasn’t so far from that himself. “They were planting in the garden, and chose to wash up using the snowfall, rather then the sink.”

The muscles in his face jumped to life, but she only rose her eyebrows, unmoved, by his frank amusement. “God, I love them.”

“You do, don’t you,” she asked, and he felt it, those metaphorical steel teeth clamping around his throat. A vice grip he couldn’t shake off, but could breathe through, and thus speak through, all the same: “Yeah, I’m afraid I do.”

“You should be. Afraid, I mean,” she said, confusing him altogether. “If you hurt them, I will be the least of your concerns. All the same, Higgs, what has it been? Two months,” she asked, sighing, and frankly getting on his nerves, then. 

“Maybe closer to three, by my estimate,” he crooked up ones of his legs, mirroring the way Kas had been sitting on the Beach, and really wishing they were there right then. Or maybe…maybe not. They were right, they needed to talk. Or, more specifically, Fragile needed something said. “But I wasn’t goin’ to tell ‘um. Once I’m outta this bed, I’m givin’ you both the space you need.”

“Giving in to defeat so easily, Chiot,” Fragile said, crossing her arms, and sending him an icy grin. 

“Not askin’ Kas to choose, is what I’m doin. We already know who that’s goin’ to be, anyways. It’ll save a lot of heartache if I mosey on out of here ‘fore I cause more trouble then I have.”

“You aren’t the man who betrayed me,” Fragile interrupted, stopping him, and the cogs in his head, in their tracks. Although the skin around her eyes tightened, and she looked for all the world like was she was saying was hard, she kept going anyways: “Kaspar was right. He would have used them to get to me. He would have been waiting with those men, ready to kill us both. Whatever the case, he certainly wouldn’t have taken a bullet for them.”

“What are you sayin’, Fragile?”

“Once, there was a version of him that I liked. He was egotistical, and clever. He made me laugh, but he was a damn fine porter. One that America could depend on. That I could depend on.” She drew in a breath, and he waited, listening, unable to help that blossom of hope in his chest from blooming. “I told them that it would take me time to be able to look at you, without just seeing what he turned into. But if there’s anyone I can trust to watch you in my place, it’s Kaspar.”

“Do you mean…?” He wouldn’t let himself say it, not when whatever it was could just as easily fall apart in front of his face.

“Kaspar can keep you,” she replied. “Staying in a place like this, at the edge of the world, would drive any version of you mad.” And, unexpectedly, unthinkably, the muscles in her face loosened, and she only looked sad. “I missed you, Higgs.”
With this she removed herself from the wall, and walked out.

He remained still, hearing the departure of her heavy step through the hall growing quieter, and quieter, until there was a pause. The front door opened, and closed, and a hush fell on the house.

It took him an honest second to sink back against the frame. His heart was thudding in his chest, and he could have sworn the woman could have heard it across the room, if it’d only bothered to budge while she was still present.

Fuck me, Kas. He ran his head through his hair, thinking about what Fragile had said about them. They’d vouched for him, in the face of their own sister. What he wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall during that conversation. Nah, ain’t none of my damn business. He should be grateful he was allowed to stay at all. 

Aren’t I? Staying at the house, with Kas? First was his debt with them, and now Fragile. He’d never be able to live up to either. 

“Might as well start somewhere,” he muttered to the air, seeing Pragma’s head perk up. He chuckled as the dog stretched, and yawned, feeling the soreness in his legs and deciding he’d been put off seeing Kas again long enough. 

The world outside was bright and new, a sleeping expanse of white that smarted his eyes as the door slid open before him. The air was fresh, not so cold as to be a terror, but making a shiver run along his skin. He hadn't stopped to put on his boots, but clutched at his side, bandaged beneath his thin sweater. It took a few blinks to adjust, and the dog didn’t wait, Pragma bounding out into the still air, the timefall caked snow nullified after founding purchase on earth. 

The sky was a baby blue, and the white the expanse that made up the front lawn and then some carried the shape of someone’s prints, but he didn’t need to follow them to find Kas. They were there, not too far off, arms bare, feet just the same as his, and head turning as the hiss of the door must gave him away. 

They blinked, frowning at where he stood, and he held up a hand, regretting the action, just a bit, when a tinge of pain fled through his system and he had to use it to grip the doorway for support. He saw the shape of his name on their mouth, Chiot, and grinned. There went the regret, just like magic. 

They met him half way, Higgs expecting the lean in they offered, and breathing in the warmth of their embrace. Maybe they were taken off guard by the support turned hug, a simple act he sorely missed but which he'd make up for in the coming days, but they soon wrapped their arms around his chest.

This, this is what he wanted.

“I talked to Fragile,” he said into their shoulder, their cheek turning against the side of his head as they listened. 

“It went well?”

“I think that’s up to her,” he admitted, continuing to hold on, even if, just maybe, things were tipping into the awkward side of things. Five more minutes. 

They hummed, understanding, and heard them breathe in, and out. “I thought…I thought maybe it would be fine when she came outside.”

“She still here?”

“No,” they shook their head, just a bit, the motion felt, if not seen behind his shuttered eyes. “She called the UCA, just after we left. They took the camp. She said she made no mention of your existence.”

“What about yours?”

“Hm?”

“Everyone knows you’re out here now. If they didn’t know, before.”

“They…” Kas sighed. “They don’t know where home is, but, oui. If they weren’t aware that the CEO of Fragile Express had a sibling before, they do now.”

“Could others come lookin’? Stragglers?”

“I don’t know. I’ll handle it, if they do.”

“You’ve got a guard dog, if you need it,” he said, and, finally, gave them some breathing room. Just enough to look them in their eyes, and see the curious tilt to their chin. Fuckin’ beautiful, is what it was. 

“Pragma?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, kinda a lap dog, that one.”

They chuckled, their smile appearing, and brightening, and the light in their eyes doing the same. They were getting the idea. “Chiot, you know you’re the lap dog here.”

He started to protest, rolled his eyes, mightily heavily at that, and gave in. As if it weren’t obvious. “Hell, sweetheart, what can I say? I’m good at findin’ spots to rest my head.”

Ignoring the pain in his side, frankly not giving a damn about it at all, he raised his hands to both sides of their face. Just, holding it, and delighting in the red of their cheeks, warming still when he brushed one of his thumbs along the space under one of Kas’ eyes. 

“You can stay,” Kas asked, just to be sure, and raised their own hands to rest over his. 

“For as long as you want someone else to help hog the sheets,” he winked, unashamed. “I’ll be here.”