i will not equivocate

A spark of worry ignites in Cas’s stomach, even before any real information has come out of Kaz’s mouth. It’s something about the look in their eyes, he thinks. Something about the way they hold themself, the way that they’re looking at him, the way they’re trying not to look at him. Kaz is being careful, for some reason, weighing the words and seeing how they settle on his tongue. They’ve always been sharp, and good at talking to people. They’ve always had a way with Cas particularly. Kaz could probably convince him to jump off a bridge, if they tried, and they wouldn’t need any superpowers to achieve it. Kaz doesn’t need the power of suggestion to make Cas listen to them and bend to their will –– they just need to love him. 

 When Kaz finally talks, when they finally settle on an explanation of their problem, it hits Cas hard. It’s a devastating idea, a devastating blow. Because that was probably his worst nightmare. Kaz, in a fight, and his powers flickering out because Cas wasn’t good enough, because he wasn’t strong enough and he couldn’t make this fucking warp stick. He tries to keep his face placid, and easy, as he bites the inside of his cheek. Kaz’s powers failed after they split up, after Parasite. When Cas was alone, with a messed up Sebastian and a bleeding Mind Master, and Fearmonger breathing down his neck again, showing him things so horrible that he still dreams about them, still wakes. up at night and has to fight the urge to find Kaz or Lazarus and check them over for injuries.  Kaz’s powers probably failed when Mind Master was in his head, during the brief moment of flickering uncertainty when he looked up at the storm and didn’t feel strong enough to fix any of his problems. 

Guilt claws up his throat, and he has to try and push it away. It takes every ounce of strength not to give in, not to look weak, not to be a crybaby. The idea of anyone getting hurt because he couldn’t keep things running just made him so scared, made him feel like shit, and he was so tired lately that he was worried it would happen again, when Kaz needed it most. 

“You flickered,” He says, finally. “I mean… I feel like I flickered for a second.” He presses his lips together. He’s been busy, lately. And he hasn’t sat down to really talk about all of the specifics with Kaz yet. They went over the basics, of what happened after they split up. They made sure that everyone was okay, that they had both come out of the mess alive. “There was this moment, when Mind Master was in my head, when I felt like I was… I don’t know. But then I broke all of the mental blocks and got my powers back properly. Maybe it was then, that yours failed? Things shifting around in the universe, rebooting for a second while everything got put back where it was supposed to be?” 

He has to swallow around his own guilt, because it all feels like a half truth, and even more so as they go on. “Maybe we’re more linked than I anticipaed.” He says, and he’s amazed that it doesn’t sound like a lie. Because of course they’re linked. He’s felt Kaz like a rope pulling at his guts for weeks now. He’s been working every day to keep this going. 

Cas answers immediately, and he says flickered in a way that makes it sound less like a description and more like a.... like a known phenomenon, like there’s a name for the thing Kaz experienced, and that it’s something Cas has experienced too, before. And somehow that alone is enough to set him already partly at ease. The knowledge that it wasn’t something wrong with. him that made it happen, that this wasn’t some unheard of phenomenon. Cas had felt it too, had felt himself flicker, and probably at the same time that Kaz had felt it. Which means there’s an explanation, at the very least.

And of course Shadow had been right. Of course talking to Cas about it instead of avoiding him, avoiding it, trying to do all of this on his own, had been the right call, the best possible decision, the thing that would set him at ease and move him towards understanding this, towards fixing it. He listens to what Cas has to say, his description of what had happened in the moments Mind Master was back inside of his head, and when he says maybe we’re more linked than I anticipated, Kaz can’t even feel anything but relief about it. If their powers really are connected, then Shadow’s right: they can practice, they can work on this, they can work together and train and figure out what happened, can find ways to draw on one another and boost one another and... he feels a spark of excitement, at the idea, of working with Cas, of the two of them helping one another.

      “Oh,” he replies, a little dumb-stricken by the revelation for a moment. “Well that... that makes sense. That explains it. That’s— that’s good, right? If something about the universe shifting when you got your powers back caused it, that means it was probably just a one time fluke, yeah?” 

He gets up from his chair and shifts over to sit on the couch Cas is on, beside him, legs crossed under him. Nudges him, with his knee, and gives him a hopeful little smile as soon as Cas is looking back at him.

He takes in a sharp inhale when Kaz sits forward, and moves closer to him rather than away. He nods his head subtly when he notices Kaz’s hand reaching out slowly, seemingly hesitant. The touch that soon follows is equal parts torturous and gratifying, he’d grown touch-starved in the months since the last time Kaz touched him in a way even close to this. And he lets some of that desperation leak to the surface as he leans into the touch, nuzzling his cheek against Kaz’s hand momentarily, stopping only when the torture outweighs the satisfaction. 

Kaz tells him he doesn’t want to be the one figuring this out for them, that he wants to do it together- and he takes in another stuttered breath of air at the word. He has to look away for a moment, because he knows he’ll do something stupid if he doesn’t, he needs to break the brief spell he’s under, and remind himself that Kaz wasn’t in the same spot he was in all of this, that he’d only just now crossed the line of touching him in a way outside the clinical manner he’d been doing so far. And as much as he wanted to push that line further, and touch him back, he didn’t feel confident that that touch would be welcomed. There’s really only one way to know for certain of course, and it’s doing precisely what Kaz seemed to be asking him to do.

“What I said in Green’s lab, about how I felt- still felt, I meant that,” he says quietly, his gaze glancing back up to Kaz’s. ”And so I’m trying to be careful… and respect where you are in this, because I know it’s not where I am,” lifting his hand up hesitantly, he brushes Kaz’s arm gently with the pads of his fingertips. 

“I mean, hell…” he laughs weakly, an attempt to lighten the overall mood, “if I was the one driving this thing, I would have asked you to stay here tonight a good twenty minutes ago, so trust me, it’s better that you’re at least the one in the driver’s seat.” 

In the end, he knows what he means though, and knows it’s important that its the two of them that do this. And so he nods his head again, his face falling momentarily before he gives him a weak smile, “I want to figure this out together too.” 

Fortune leans into his touch for a moment, and it only encourages him, only reminds him, sharply and suddenly, of everything he’s been trying so hard not to miss. Because he does miss it, miss being with Fortune, as much as he’s been trying to pretend he doesn’t, as much as he’d shut down any thought of it to stop himself from doing something stupid weeks ago. His hand, on Fortune’s cheek, makes him want to lean in and kiss him, and he knows that’s exactly why he hasn’t done it until just now, knows that his self-restraint is reliant on knowing which lines he can stop himself from crossing and which ones he can’t. 

And his chest aches, for a moment, when Fortune speaks up again, when he reminds Kaz of what he’d said, of the fact that—even if he hadn’t been able to say it until it was too late—that Fortune loved him. Still loves him. Because he wants so badly to say it back, wants to let himself. Wants to push past the walls he’d put up when he found out Fortune had lied to him, leave all of that behind. 

He’s not ready to say it yet. He’s not ready to lean the rest of the way in and kiss Fortune, either. He’s not ready to stay the night. He thinks he might be, sooner rather than later, given the ground they’ve covered just now, the way this conversation has gone. He feels closer to ready than he thought he would, feels like they’ve made more progress in this one conversation than he might have expected to make in a month. And it feels good. He feels hopeful. Especially when, finally, Fortune agrees.

And so he does lean forward, running his thumb across Fortune’s cheek, leans up to press a kiss to his forehead, and then to close his eyes for a moment and rest his own head there for a second, letting himself enjoy the feeling of it, letting himself sink gently into the comfort of not wanting to freak out about it.

     “Good,” he says. “I’m glad.”

And he knows he should move, now, knows he should pull away. Knows it probably isn’t fair to Fortune, to stay so close without giving him anything more than this. But he can’t help himself, wanting to stay close to him for just another minute or two, just a little longer.

Cas always relaxes a little bit more in Kaz’s presence than he would on his own. It’s like some sort of switch flips in his brain that tells him it’s okay to get loose, to shake off some of the baggage. Kaz means safety, and love, and family. So he sinks back into the couch and lets himself close his eyes, just for a moment. He could fall asleep there if he wasn’t careful, like a child insisting he wasn’t sleepy and didn’t need to go to bed. But he knows that Kaz would pull a blanket over him and it would all be alright. 

He quirks a tiny smile, at the sound of the scoff in Kaz’s voice. Nerd shit was probably unfair. Especially given how much time Cas used to spend in this room actually attempting to read real nerd shit, to understand the things that Sebastian was trying to teach him. But it’s pretty much his job to tease Kaz, to rib at them gently. That’s pretty much what he’s picked up, as a baby brother responsibility, since they started feeling this way about each other. So he lets out a soft hum, nods his head very seriously. “Of course, highly intellectual. I shouldn’t expect anything less from you.” He rests a hand on his own chest. “Personally, I was hoping that Jay had finally stocked the shelves with the babysitters club like I asked.”

It’s clear that it’s something, though. Something that Kaz is really working on, something that they’re really thinking about. Something really important. And Cas wants to know, wants to be able to help them with it. So he shifts his body, looks at Kaz across the room, still cozy on the couch, but showing much more attention to him. His gaze is light, but unflinching. He knows that Kaz will open up, if he looks long enough. 

And they do open up. They’re working on something because The Shadow Man asked. Cas wrinkles his nose, and feels a swell of curiosity. He wipes a hand over his face, rubs away some of the sleepy aura that had been creeping in once he got comfortable. “Is it anything I can help with? What exactly are you looking for, in all these old dusty books?”

Cas arches an eyebrow, waiting. And after a split second, his usual impatience creeps through, slightly teasing. “Come on, two heads is better than one, right?”

Cas gives him that look that means Kaz isn’t going to be able to vague his way out of giving a real answer, and then he gives him a look that means he’s not gonna let Kaz stall his way out of it either. And he knows Cas knows exactly what he’s doing, because Kaz can hardly resist either of those looks. And it is something Cas can help with, loathe as Kaz is to admit it. To himself, or to Cas. In fact, Cas might be the only thing that can help with it, the only person with any information for him, because he isn’t going to find the answer to his problem in a book, he’s going to find it by doing what Shadow suggested he do: experiment, see what happens. And, more importantly, maybe acknowledge this his power actually is drawing from the same source Cas’ is. 

     “Okay,” he says slowly, setting the book down again, trying to decide how to phrase this, how to even being. Without making Cas feel overburdened, or... guilty, maybe, or anything else, to be as neutral as possible. And all without lying. Because he knows he can’t lie to Cas. He knows it would eat him up inside, if he did, or that Cas would manage to pull the truth out of him anyway. 

     “Something weird happened with my powers the other day. When Fortune and I were chasing Hourglass. They stopped working for a minute. And... not like when Parasite was around, or when Fearmonger’s nightmare had me convinced that I didn’t have them anymore. This was different. There was no good reason for it. It... might have been bad luck, because I gave most of the luck that I had to Fortune before we went up there,  but I’ve been trying to figure out what happened, so I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

For a brief moment, he thinks he’s pushed them backwards again. That whatever progress they had been making here had been washed away the moment he revealed his urge to understand further just what this was they were doing here. He’s just about to apologize, and say nevermind when Kaz places the tweezers down, and tell him they can end this- whatever it is, here for tonight. 

He doesn’t though, because that’s what he would have done before, he would have either shot the topic down as quickly as he opened it, or said something else that wouldn’t involve actually giving Kaz time to work through the rest of what he wanted to say. 

So he sits, and stays quiet, as Kaz starts again, and begins finding his way through what he wants to say. He never wanted a concrete answer here, he didn’t expect Kaz to know precisely what he wanted unless that something was for Fortune to keep himself at bay and let him move on. The answer he does give doesn’t send a spark of hope through him either, but he can work with it. It gives him the permission now to actually seek out Kaz in the future, whenever the urge came up without him forcing himself to wait for Kaz to be the one to reach out first. 

“That’s all I needed to know,” he answers, once he’s soaked in everything Kaz has said. “I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have. And I don’t trust myself to recognize without it being fully laid out, what boundaries you still need to keep with me.” Kaz was the main driver of where this went from here, he was along simply for the ride, which was what made it challenging for him. Because it meant he needed to be able to strengthen his ability to read this delicate situation between them far better than he’d ever had to do with anything before. 

 “I’m not used to not having control over something, at least not for a while. But that was by design, right. The more control I had, the more comfortable I could let myself be,” he lets out a sigh, leaning back in his chair, but keeping his gaze on Kaz as he does. “The night we met, back in the gallery, that’s why I couldn’t go with you, because the moment I no longer had control, I would lose any comfort I had in what was to follow. Even if I was the one to initially seek it out.” He’s not sure if he’s making a mistake, in explaining himself further and just why he needed the further clarification, but he figured since honesty was their policy now, it was probably worth to at least air it out. 

“But I trust you now… more than I have anyone in a long time. And I want you to have complete control over wherever this goes, and so sometimes I might need to stop and check with you where you’re at, that way I don’t misread something, and also to better ease my own mind.” 

Hearing Fortune acknowledge the thing that he himself had been straining against for so long, the way he had felt like Fortune always needed to have the upper hand in their interactions, the uneven way they’d shared information, the way Kaz felt, so often, like if he said one thing wrong Fortune would shut down on him... hearing that said aloud releases a small knot of worry he hadn’t known had long been buried in his chest. 

It isn’t that he feels like he needs control. He’s learned, over the course of his life, that there’s value in giving up control, that sometimes it’s fun to give up control, in all sorts of ways. It’s that everything had felt so unbalanced, especially when he’d finally realized that Fortune had been controlling him, through his luck, in a way he hadn’t wanted, or consented to, or been aware of. It was that, more than the breaking of his trust, that had really rattled him. That Fortune had needed to badly to be in control that he’d been willing to lie for two years about what he’d been doing. That at the end of the day, Kaz had no way of knowing how far the bounds of that control went, and no way to refuse it. 

That, if Fortune was willing to go to those lengths to make himself feel safe, that Kaz had no idea how much further he would go. 

     “Thank you,” he says, after a moment. And it feels too simple, for how much weight is behind it, for how important it feels to hear Fortune admit that out loud. But he’s a bit lost for words, really, after all of this. But he can show how much he means it another way—because that little knot of worry seems to have been the thing that was holding him back from getting any closer, psychically, to Fortune, than circumstances required. 

He shifts up onto his knees, so he’s even with Fortune’s eye line, and reaches forward, careful to avoid the spots along his jaw where the first touches of the purple of bruising are rising to the surface of his skin. Careful to reach out slowly, to give Fortune time to pull away if he wants to, before Kaz rests one hand along the side of his neck, uses the other to brush his hair back from his face. 

He’s worried at first, that Kaz might take his question the wrong way. He always tried to be careful during discussions like these, uncertain if his input was really wanted unless Kaz directly asked for it. They didn’t ask for it here, but considering the discussion at hand, he figures it didn’t hurt at least posing the question. And it sounds like it was one that didn’t go without merit, considering what Kaz’s answer is. He’s surprised that the two of them hadn’t looked into how each other’s powers might affect the other, granted, he knows that the night Cas gave them said powers was eventful enough already. 

“It might not hurt to look into it,” he shrugs, not really wanting to push the idea on them, but rather just offering it up to them as something they could think on. “It could very well be the case, that any lapses you experience are just the routine bumps and hurdles anyone experiences when they’re first working out their powers. Cas is the only reality warper I’ve encountered, so I admittedly don’t know much about how far his own powers can go.” 

 “Well whatever it is, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself and your powers,” Mathias pipes up, once again doing so with his mouth half full, “everyone else back at the manor has a good decade worth of experience on you when it comes to their powers, but that hasn’t stopped you yet. You should be proud of yourself.”  

“He’s right,” he pipes up, figuring Mathias’s sentiment was a good one to end his half of the discussion on, “and you know I’ve always been proud of you. No matter what happens, I always will be.” 

He grits his teeth through the third extraction, legs clenching together once again where his other hand can’t. He hoped it would be easier as he got used to the pain, but it hasn’t. What has gotten easier though, he’s found, is the conversation, although there’s still this veil he feels keeping him from fully knowing how to act. He doesn’t really know why Kaz is here, why he’s bothering doing this, or why he’s continuing this conversation other than to give them something to do other than sit there awkwardly. He knows what he hopes the reason is, that Kaz wants to try to figure out too just where the two of them go beyond this. But the answer could just as likely be that he feels sorry for him, after what happened on the roof, and he’s doing all of this out of pity. 

The darker voice in his head, is telling him that that’s the only real answer. That of course Kaz wouldn’t be here for any other reason than that. That he didn’t deserve anything else, that he’d already ruined his life enough, and shouldn’t hang around long enough to do any more damage than he already has. Kaz didn’t need to become another Zander….

And fuck, does he need to get out of his head. 

Taking a sharp inhale, he lifts his hand from Kaz’s during the interim between extractions, and stretches and curls his fingers that were growing stiff. He rotates his shoulder a couple times as well, urging the blood the to circulate through his arm again, using the additional motion to help ground himself, before resting his hand back in Kaz’s. 

Once his thoughts are settled, he focuses back in on where the conversation left off. “No, no plan,” he answers, shaking his head subtly as his face twists into a cringe as the tweezers fall on the next piece of glass. 

Once he grits through the first initial pain, he looks up to Kaz briefly, the uncertainty in his motivations still lingering, before shifting his gaze back down to the mess that was his palm. 

“If it would be easier for you… if I left sooner rather than later,” he adds, whisper quiet, “I can do that.” 

And he honestly would. This place meant more to Kaz than it did him, that had always been clear, and it was more important to him to give him what he wants now, if that was what he wanted. 

He’s also aware, to a certain extent, that the events from earlier with Zander, are still clouding his mind, painting everything in the dark shades of his own failures and self hatred. The slippery slope of letting his thoughts spiral is an easy one tonight, but he’s trying this best to keep them reigned in. He can’t help, though, the gnawing urge to know just where exactly he stood when it came to Kaz. He didn’t expect him to know precisely what he wanted, but what he hoped to get was at least some form of direction- should he back away, and finally let Kaz go? Or was the hold he was still trying to keep on this thing something he should at least still keep a grip on for the time being? 

He’s expecting Fortune to answer that he doesn’t have a plan yet, beyond moving out; it seems only reasonable, with how much everything has been shaken up in the past few months, not to mention that—as Fortune had told him the last time they spoke at length—he had already thrown a wrench in Fortune’s original plan, just by being here. By Fortune (and the thought sticks in his head, aching and quiet as it lingers beyond the moment he thinks it) loving him, he’d already thrown off what Fortune had been planning for himself. But it’s how Fortune follows up that thought that catches him off guard. Because he thought they were doing well, here, finally, for once, having a conversation where neither of them was reading eight layers too deep into what the other said and digging up meanings that weren’t really there.

And he feels the immediate need to course correct, here, if somehow that’s the conclusion Fortune’s come to. That Kaz wants him gone sooner, rather than the opposite, that Kaz wishes unfairly that Fortune would linger around long enough for both of them to get their shit together about all of this.

     “What?” he replies, instantly, his gaze snapping up from Fortune’s hand to his face, and thankfully he has the common sense to set the tweezers down so that he doesn’t do any damage in his distraction from the task at hand. His focus is entirely on Fortune, now, the glass in his hand temporarily abandoned, though he doesn’t let go of it, his fingers keeping their loose grip on Fortune’s hand. “No, Fortune— No, absolutely not.”

And he hates it, that what he needs is time, and what Fortune needs is an answer, an answer that Kaz isn’t ready to give him yet. That they’re finding themselves at cross purposes, here, once again, and neither of them is at fault.

And he’s so afraid, of saying the wrong thing. But god, he has to say something. All he can do is hope that it’s enough, for now. That even his half-formed mess of feelings about all of this, set out on the table for everyone to see, is enough for Fortune to understand, to meet him halfway on this.

     “I don’t want you to leave,” he starts, not entirely sure where he’s going to go, or how it’s going to come out. “I mean— if you want to move out, of course you should. I do think it will be good for you. To have somewhere that’s yours, that isn’t haunted the way I know this place is for you. But I’m not... waiting for you to leave. I managed to avoid you for weeks; if that’s what I wanted, I could do it, whether you were here, still, or somewhere else.”

Cas isn’t sure why he’s always liked the library so much. The relative quiet, the comfortable spots, the books that he didn’t really have all that much of an interest in reading. The library was a kind of safe space, where nothing painful could touch him. Even the tensest moments he could manage to have with Lazarus would never be able to sully the place for him. He’s yearning for the quiet now, because in all honesty, Cas feels like he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He’d expected, rather delusionally, that everything wrong with his life would be fixed when he got his powers back in full, when there were no walls in his head and no voices in his hear telling him he would never be good enough. 

He’d been wrong, though. As his powers grew, so did the exhaustion. As he pushed himself to do more, control more, regain his former glory, he only felt like he was running himself into the dirt. He felt a little like he was drowning. And when he managed to come up for air, the pull and the drain and the tug on his power pushed his head back under water. He’s exhausted, now, as he makes his way to the library, a perfect quiet place. He wants to pull a blanket over himself and curl up on a couch, and pretend like he’s engrossed in one of the random books he could pull off of the shelves.

But it’s almost like thinking of his own problems has summoned Kaz. Kaz, who he talked to about everything. Kaz, who he couldn’t really talk to about this. Not when he had begged the universe to give them power and the universe had humoured them for a moment, not when he was fighting at every second to keep that connection going, when part of his mind always had to be on Kaz and their power of suggestion. Still, he can’t be disappointed that Kaz is there. He’d never be anything but genuinely happy to see them, and that’s the look that comes across in their smile, in the slight slumping of their shoulders when they greet him. 

He rolls his eyes, playful, even as he’s lowering himself onto the sofa. “You know, you’re like the third person to make that joke this week.” He says, but his voice is light, because he can’t actually talk about Lazarus without feeling the warm flush of affection in his chest, the feeling of being cherished and cared for and accepted. Lazarus wasn’t quite everything to Cas, but they were everything that wasn’t Kaz, and that made them one of the biggest and most important things he would ever get his hands on. “We were fucking like bunnies before they discovered emotional availibility. No one can blame me for doubling down.” 

And he shifts back, lets his head fall back against the couch.

“What are you doing, anyway? Looks like nerd shit.” 

Cas looks exhausted; Kaz can see that, as he moves into the room, drops down onto the couch across from him. He sounds fine—sounds happy, he really does, and he’s sounded that happy pretty much every time they’ve talked since Cas told him that he and Lazarus had made up—but there’s a strained look around his eyes, a tension in his jaw, that can’t be explained by any lack of sleep that Lazarus might be responsible for. And Kaz’s chest aches for a second with guilt, at the thought of even bringing up something like training, something like his worry about his powers, when Cas looks so tired already.

Maybe, he reasons, it’s an after-effect of Mind Master having removed the blocks he’d set up to limit Cas’ powers. Maybe having the ability, once again, to change anything in the world at a whim is just tiring. But... no, that doesn’t seem right. Cas being tired always seemed to be a sign that he as pushing up against the limits Mind Master had set for him. And Kaz hadn’t know him before those limits were set, but he can’t imagine that Cas looked this tired before, can’t imagine why he would have wanted his powers back if all they had ever done was wear him out like this. 

     “Nerd shit?” he replies, scoffing and raising his eyebrows at Cas as he does, even though Cas can’t see him, leaning back on the couch like he is. “Rude. It’s very distinguished intellectual work, thank you very much.” 

He picks the book back up, for something to do with his hands, flips through a few pages. The room is filled with books about the history of super powers, scientific theories as to how and why they came about, why they manifest—and, of course, no answers. It’s a question the world seems to have stopped trying to answer, some time ago, either seeing no point in understanding it, or realizing that clear answers would just never really be possible, with the sheer scope of possibility. 

This one had had a promising-looking chapter about reality warping, but everything in it sounded so different to what he knows of Cas’ powers as to feel utterly useless in giving him any real answers about his own powers, and what might have been happening to them, how closely tied to Cas’ they might be.

When Kaz settles on the next piece to extract, he grits his teeth, preparing himself for the jolt of pain that will inevitably hit. The second shard he picked, isn’t nearly as nasty of a fucker as the first, but he still finds himself clenching his legs together for dear life, as Kaz slowly works it free. At the very least, Kaz is no longer getting the brunt of his knees, now that he slid forward, instead he’s getting the softer cushioning of his thighs, which makes the experience oddly reminisce of better times, other than the whole sharp stabbing pain shooting through his hand anyway. 

Once it’s finally worked free, he’s better able to focus his attention fully on Kaz’s answers, than only be able to listen to it with divided attention. This was probably the first time the two of them ever really talked about anything related to the future, and what each wanted for themself. The past and the future had always been topics they tended to stay away from, mostly focusing on the present than anything else. But it is difficult to hear Kaz talk about a future he no longer has a part of any more, and that the “everyone else” he speaks of doesn’t include him. 

“It won’t take you as long as it did me, to hit Tier Four,” he answers, pushing past both the dull ache in his chest and sharp ache in his hand as he does. “I only took missions when I had to, so it’s taken me longer than it should have to get here.” 

Preparing for the next extraction, he keeps his hand open for Kaz to inspect, while he sits back up again. His thoughts just as quickly drift back to their conversation though, which he figures is better anyway, than to worry over which piece of glass Kaz was going to pick next. 

“My original plan was to just leave the Collective anyway after hitting Tier Four, maybe pick up a mission here or there for a year, until I found something better. Then again-” he lets out a weak huff of a laugh, “my ‘something better’ was supposed to just marry rich, but unfortunately I think I’m getting too old to be a trophy spouse anymore, so-” 

.

There’s a hint of tension to Fortune’s voice, though it’s impossible to tell whether that’s because of the topic of conversation or because of the pain he’s still in, clearly gritting his teeth every time Kaz brings the tweezers anywhere near his open hand. Either way, Kaz wishes he could say or do something to ease it, but he knows that he can’t. The glass needs to come out, one way or another, before he makes the wounds worse, or before they get infected. And the conversation...

He’s trying not to think about it too hard. Trying to let it be easy, just to talk to Fortune. And it is, surprisingly so, now that they’ve moved beyond one of the several elephants in the room. As easy as it once was—no, easier, maybe, because he always felt a bit like he was walking on eggshells with Fortune. Now, it feels like there’s nothing left to break by stepping wrong; because everything’s already been broken, all there is are pieces to put back together, slowly, one at a time, and pieces to leave behind. 

But he still doesn’t know what he wants those pieces to be. Still doesn’t know how to proceed, from here, what’s even possible. He knows he feels the instinct to joke back, when Fortune jokes about marrying rich—there’s still time, his mind supplies, the joke he would have made in another lifetime, and I am technically still rich. He knows he feels a pang in his chest, at the thought of Fortune leaving the Collective altogether, even if it’s explicitly what Fortune wants, at the thought of cutting off contact with him altogether again. And he knows that even while both of those things are true, he still doesn’t feel like he’s ready to dive head first back into anything like what they used to have.

     “Do you have a new plan, now that you’ve gotten here?” he asks, as he pulls another piece of glass out, making decent headway on the hand he’s currently holding—there are only a few more pieces large enough for him to get out, the other few will probably have to work themselves out over the next few days. “I mean, other than moving out. Do you think you’ll leave, when all of this...” Everything with Hourglass, he means, which still feels far from over. “When all of this is dealt with?” 

He’s been thinking about what happened at the Tower, about the way his powers had refused to work at the worst possible moment. And he’s been thinking about what Shadow asked, about whether or not he and Cas had spent any time experimenting with the ways their powers might affect one another, if they were drawing from the same source. He knows it’s a good idea, to test it out, to see if it’s possible that the reason his powers hadn’t worked was because maybe he had tried to call upon them at exactly the same time when Cas was dealing with Fearmonger, or something like that. But the fact that it’s a good idea doesn’t make the possibility that his powers are nothing but an extension of Cas’ sit any better, with him, than they had a few days ago, no matter how much he’s been trying to get himself used to the idea of it. 

It doesn’t matter, in the long run. He has them, and that’s what matters. And he owes it to his teammates, to everyone, to do what he can to understand how they work, including their limitations. But he’s been avoiding asking Cas about it, because of it, still trying to work his way up to the idea. Which hasn’t been difficult, with how much time Cas has been spending wrapped up in Lazarus, an absence that is impossible to hold against him, knowing how much it means to him.

So he’s trying... other avenues. Which, today, involves flipping through one of the Collective’s expansive libraries doing research, even though it hasn’t gotten him anywhere. The universe must be telling him something, he thinks, when he closes yet another useless book, looks up, and sees Cas arrive in the doorway at that exact moment. Something like: just talk to him, you absolute twat.

     “Cas,” he greets him warmly, running his hand through his hair for a second before shoving the abandoned book to the side. “I’m surprised to see you out of your room. Did you and Lazarus finally decide you needed to come up for air?” 

He grins sharply at Kaz’s response, now this was the kind of bickering he had always enjoyed. This teasing back and forth was part of their natural rapport with each other, which probably did them no favors whatsoever when it came to how much they had been struggling lately, when the quick back and forth hurt the situation rather than helped it.

A couple months ago, he would have made a smart remark on Kaz’s “stubborn ass” comment, saying something along the lines of how he’s always seemed to enjoy his ass just fine before- stubborn or not. That, though, he knows, is far too inappropriate given where they currently stand with one another. So he lets the moment pass instead.

He flinches before the tweezer even touches the glass shard, which he knows reveals just how much of a baby he’ll likely be about this process. He was never good with pain, given the fact he so rarely had to experience it, his overall pain tolerance is fairly low. He knows he has to keep his arm still though, or else he’ll risk making the process all the more teeth grinding, so he makes a point of keeping his arm steady just as the tweezers grab purchase on the first of the bigger pieces.

Kaz’s response helps distract him somewhat from the sharp pain currently running up his arm. He can’t lie, there is a part of him that hoped to see even the smallest bit of remorse over his leaving, but he’s just as glad that he does seem happy for him, and perhaps even understands just why he’s doing it in the first place.

All of those thoughts soon leave him though, once Kaz hits a particularly sensitive spot, as the curved toothed edge of the shard he’d been working out, begins scraping against the tear in his hand as it’s extracted.

“Ah, why did you have to pick this one first,” he grits through his teeth, and because he can’t clench the fist of his other hand, he clenches his knees together, squeezing them firmly against Kaz’s sides until it’s finally worked free.

“You’re a sadist,” he says through heavy breaths once it’s over, still keeping the light edge to his voice from earlier, while shooting him a soft glare.

There are still almost a dozen other shards to go between his two hands, so he prepares himself for the next one. Straightening his posture, he scoots forward so that Kaz wasn’t getting the brunt of his bony knees, but rather the softer padding of his lower thighs for the next one.

“Do you think you’ll stay here?” He finds himself asking next, going off the routine of their last shard extraction by having some form of conversation to keep his mind half distracted. “I mean after you get to Tier Four?”

Fortune’s knees are bonier than he remembers, as Fortune digs them into his side for dear life, and he can’t believe he’s going to end up with more bruises from this than from anything that actually happened in the Tower. And he rolls his eyes a little, mostly fondly, at Fortune’s complaint, because honestly, there are two perfectly good people downstairs trained to take care of shit like this, so Fortune doesn’t have a leg to stand on if he wants to complain about Kaz’s glass-extracting technique. 

He does give him a short break, though, from the pain, as he takes another minute to examine his hand, trying to find a piece that looks like it might be more shallow, less painful to pull out, and settles on one that he thinks won’t be too bad. .

     “I’ll be honest, I haven’t really thought that far ahead,” he admits, to Fortune’s question. There aren’t many Tier Fours and above that stick around, and those that do seem to be the ones who don’t have anywhere else to go—Mimic, who’s like a wanted criminal or something, and Medusa, who is stuck out of time, plus Catalyst who treats the Manor like a frat house she’s the reigning president of. There’s nothing stopping him from finding a place of his own, when he gets that far, nothing tying him here specifically other than Cas, who will probably hit Tier Four before he does anyway. But it’s still years off: Fortune has been here a decade, Kaz has only been here for two years. 

He takes a moment to focus, as he pulls the next piece of glass out, this one thankfully coming out far more easily than the last one. 

     “Shadow started off at Tier Five, you know? The whole legacy of The Shadow Man meant it didn’t make any sense for him to jump back down the ladder. So I didn’t really think about the Tier system when I joined up, and I’ve kind of been along for the ride since then.” 

     “I like it here, but more for the people than for any attachment to the place. So I guess it’ll depend on what everyone else does.”

What Cas does, mostly. What Lazarus does, maybe—which, who knows, might end up being dependent on what Cas does if things with those two keep going the way they seem to be going, their long-standing flirtation having developed into what Kaz can only think of as a weird but kind of nice mutual devotion. He can imagine the two of them both making it to Tier Four and getting some love nest together to move out, and there wouldn’t be much left in the Manor itself with them gone, and Fortune gone... 

Shadow is monitoring the conversation closely, as he wraps up handing out the rest of the takeout containers. He’d been nervous at first when Mathias brought up Kaz’s newly found powers, worried that he might press a conversation Kaz didn’t want to have. When he had touched on the subject with Kaz himself, they usually waved it off with a simple “I’m fine”. Mathias seems to know intuitively, though, the way to bring up the topic that will have Kaz open up more than they had before.

He sits in his own seat quietly, keeping himself as a silent observer to the conversation for now. He hadn’t really considered it before, how he’d had it so easy with his own powers, since he had numerous generations behind him who had them as well. He feels a stab of regret for not considering how Kaz may be struggling with their own unknown, but he’s grateful that at least Mathias may be able to help them through it.

“Well, that’s the rub in all of this, right?” Mathias answers, his mouth half full of his reuben sandwich. “Because technically, I am the guard dog in this scenario. As much as I feel like Mathias Thatch and have his same memories, even breathing through his lungs, I am actually his powers and not the man himself.”

Mathias takes a drink of his soda before continuing further, seeming to think back to something before he continues, “By the time we helped start the Collective, Mathias and I were one unit working seamlessly, but that didn’t happen overnight. It took years of us figuring each other out before we got to that point- and became more of an ‘I’ than a ‘we’.”

“Have you and Cas done much experimentation on how each of your powers affect the other?” Shadow speaks up, the topic of Mathias and his shadow’s relationship reminding him of how Cas and Kaz were connected. “Since you both draw from the same source, any fluctuations you might experience in your own powers could have something to do with what Cas may be experiencing with his own.”

.

It’s still hard to wrap their head around the whole thing: that the man they’re talking to isn’t so much a man as he is a set of superpowers currently occupying a man’s body. That he isn’t Mathias Thatch, as close as he might be to him, the same way Clara’s shadow isn’t quite the same as the old woman Kaz had known briefly when Shadow first came into their life. But it’s kind of a relief to hear that the process hadn’t been instantaneous, that Mathias and his shadow had needed to put in work to learn how to work together, to agree with one another. That Mathias hadn’t instantly known what to do, and been able to do it flawlessly. That a learning curve was normal. That it’s normal, to have to work at it—and Kaz can work, Kaz can train, Kaz has always been good at putting in the work to get what they want, practicing and studying, whatever it takes.

They’re not expecting Shadow to jump into the conversation, as they pick up their own food and start to eat while they listens to Mathias’ explanation. They’d given Shadow a fairly perfunctory explanation of what Cas had done for them, when it first happened, because it hadn’t felt like there was all that much to explain. 

     “No, we haven’t really,” they admit between bites. And with the amount that they and Cas share with one another, it’s kind of surprising that they haven’t. That it hadn’t occurred to Kaz to test something like out. 

But they hadn’t really thought of it as drawing from the same source as Cas’ power, before the Tower; they’d thought of it as something that was their own. Because Cas had rewritten the universe such that Kaz had powers, which felt like it should have been something different from him lending Kaz access to his power, or something like that. But Shadow has a point; it couldn’t hurt to experiment. Could it be the case that Kaz’s own power flickers have happened when Cas was using his powers? That maybe the moment on the roof that Kaz’s powers had failed them had been while Cas had Mind Master in his head downstairs? 

And what did that mean, for Kaz’s powers, if they were still tied that closely to Cas’? 

Kaz doesn’t say anything at first, which he reminds himself isn’t the worst possible outcome. He didn’t jump into immediately shoving his mistake in his face again, although for a moment he seems he wants to. He knows that this moment, here and now, is the make it or break it one for them. That if they can’t push past this thing, then it was time to finally free them both from it, to let this thing go that he’d been trying to hold on to for so long, and let them figure out who they were without one another. He can’t do this any longer anyway, he realizes, his exhaustion was now running marrow deep, and there was nothing else he thinks he could possibly give him. 

He’d laid his cards out on the table, not to try to prove he was somehow the winner in all of this, but rather to simply let Kaz see where he was coming from, just as Kaz had done himself. There was no winning in this situation, there was only losing, which they both had to find out the hard way the last time they tried to talk about what had passed between them. The hardest fucking part of it all though, was that he still loved him, even now after everything else that had happened, he’s looking over to Kaz, hoping that perhaps finally that they found some kind of middle ground. That instead of trying to convince one another of seeing things their way, they can simply agree that this subject will always be one they’ll differ on, and that simply respecting the other’s opinion and why they came to it, was the best they could do. 

But then Kaz gets up, and suddenly he feels him slipping through his hands again. He doesn’t call back to him, not like he did before, instead he lets him go, as he slips back into his chair, and closes his eyes. No sooner than his eyes are closed though does he hear a click of a door, but its not the heavy door that led from his room to the hall though- but rather the less solid door that led to the bathroom. He sits up, brow furrowing in confusion as he watches his bathroom door, hearing Kaz rummage through his medicine cabinet before the sink turns on. When he reappears, he has a pair of tweezers and a wet washcloth in his hand, and he’s hit with the dueling emotions of feeling both over the moon that Kaz for now was opting to stay, but dreading having to sit there while he painstakingly picked glass shards out of his hand. 

When Kaz settles himself on the floor in front of him, he eyes him skeptically, although his skepticism has the hint of a tease to it, as he slowly shifts forward in his chair, his knees framing either side of Kaz’s side. 

“If I get a staph infection from this, you’re paying my insurance copay,” he says after a beat, and again theirs a hint of a tease to his usual dry tone- although it’s still weak from the weight of everything else that happened that night bearing down on it. 

Resting his hand gently into Kaz’s, and opting to ignore the small trail of goosebumps the touch brings about, he waits for the first shoot of pain to run up his arm as he picks out the first of many shards. He figures he should say something, if anything to somewhat take his mind off of what Kaz was about to start doing. He’s unsure of what though, not wanting to throw them back into a conversation they both clearly were exhausted by. 

“I told White I’m moving out at the end of the month,” he says quietly after a moment, figuring talking about the future might help, instead of the past. The topic of his move also had the additional purpose of helping them figure out just where to go from here, because this thing between them, should they try to wade back into it, would be different with him out of the manor. Granted, he knows it needed to be different, should they ever want to try it again, but it will be far less convenient- which could be good or bad. A mutual attraction and the convenience of being down the hall from one another, was what started this thing, so it may be beneficial to see what they were when they no longer had that convenience.

 “I plan on sticking around the Stowe area, but figured it was time I finally got out of here now that I’m able,” he adds, his face twisting into a half wince as he prepares for the first shard to get pulled out. 

He settles down on the floor, Fortune’s knees on either side of him, setting down everything he’s gathered from the bathroom: a wet washcloth and a dry one, antiseptic and neosporin, gauze and bandages, a paper cup to collect the shards in so they don’t end up somewhere they might get stuck back into anybody. It’s not going to be a short process, he imagines, so he makes sure he’s comfortable before he gets started. 

     “If you get a staph infection from this,” he counters, raising an eyebrow up at Fortune, though his tone is light, “it’s your own damn fault for not having the superpowered healer downstairs take care of it for you, you stubborn ass.”

Still, Fortune offers his hand, and Kaz takes it, carefully, turning it over for a moment to get an idea of just how much glass there was, how hard it was going to be to get all of it out. It isn’t good, though thankfully most of it seems to be concentrated in the heel of his palm, his fingers mostly okay save a few spots here and there. And then he gets to work, as gently as he can, starting with the larger pieces towards the bottom of his hand, holding it steady as he works, his fingers bracing the backs of Fortune’s. And he finds it’s easier to listen, when he has something to do with his hands, easier to not feel like he needs to respond to every word Fortune says, that he can take it all in without needing to have an answer to every single thing. 

It makes the news easier, too. That Fortune is leaving the Manor. And he’s always been aware that Fortune was desperate to leave, the second he could, was counting down the days until he got the promotion that finally let him. It feels a little surreal, that after all this waiting and wishing, Kaz had missed that Fortune had even been promoted at all, hadn’t heard the news somehow, hadn’t realized he could move out. That it had all happened in the short weeks between when they last talked and now, in the chaos leading up to the Tower, in the aftermath of their last fight. He’d always sort of ignored how badly Fortune wanted to get out, relying instead on the comfort and convenience of him being just a few doors down, of having him close enough to swing by with coffee in the morning.

But that routine had had its reasons, its context, he’s since realized. It’s one he’d rather leave behind, however things end up between the two of them. And oddly, he thinks that a little distance might be just what they need right now. Not the kind of distance they’ve had, the past few weeks, but a different kind. 

     “That’s great,” he says, after a moment, and finds, strangely, that he means it. “Congratulations. I know how badly you’ve wanted this. It sounds like it’ll be really good for you, to get a space of your own.” 

He worries for a moment, that his reasoning behind the words he’s said, didn’t come across clearly enough. Which he’d wouldn’t blame Kaz at all if they hadn’t, he was purposefully being extremely cautious with his words, afraid he may inadvertently make a misstep that’d send them ten steps backward once again. This kind of talking never came natural to him, and so he knows it’s going to take him some time to figure out the best way to get his thoughts across how he wants, or to respond to Kaz’s in a way that’s more productive than his previous attempts. 

He nearly opens his mouth, to explain himself further, but mercifully Kaz starts talking again. The subject is still one that placed the two of them in the murky waters that was Kaz’s powers, but as he speaks he feels like he’s finally getting a better idea just why they never seemed to find stable ground before when the subject had come up. Because he knew that Kaz had insecurities linked to not having powers, but just what exactly was the root cause of those insecurities had always been a vague notion he never fully understood. 

“You do though- belong here, I mean,” he says, as he attempts to be more direct in his reply this time. He keeps eye contact with Kaz now, just as Kaz had, going off his lead on how to approach this. He’s still anxious as all hell that he’ll somehow mess this up, and so to keep his mind half preoccupied so it won’t obsess too much on the worry that’s gnawing at him, he moves his one hand to the palm of the other, and begins to slowly tease out one of the easier fragments of glass to work free. 

“I’ve been here ten years now, and you and Cas have been the only two people I speak to on any form of regular basis. But you…”, he smiles weakly, his fondness for him slipping through, “you’ve been here a fifth of that time, and have engrained yourself into this place far more than I have. The people that care for you- the people that matter, you’re good enough for them no matter if you do or don’t have powers. You were always good enough for me…. and I’m sorry-” he breaks off, worried he might be overstepping again, but decides to trudge forward anyway, “that I didn’t do a better job of showing that before.” 

He falls silent again for a moment, his hand still worrying out the same piece of glass slowly that he started on. His thoughts are elsewhere though as he adds quietly, “But I think though… that’s why I always struggled trying to understand your need when it came to powers. Partially because of how my own had failed me, but also because I don’t see this place like you do. I’m not happy here… this isn’t a home to me…. You helped pacify that unhappiness, and it wasn’t until you were gone when I realized how it was still there.” 

He’d come to the manor as a refuge, a place for him to heal after his time with Tweed, before he’d move on to greener pastures. But everything that happened with Zander had stunted the progress, and the manor soon became another prison, this time a self-sentenced one rather than the refuge it once was.

“And I’m not blaming you for that or anything,” he adds quickly, worried suddenly that his words might be taken that way. “Or am trying to undermine how you feel about this place….” he shakes his head, because he’s feels like he’s failing at this, that he was one misspoken word away from Kaz getting upset with him and leaving again. 

“As shocking a notion as it is- I’ve never been good at this,” he confesses with a sigh, half caught between laughing and crying. “And it’s going to take me some time before I’m even half decent at this.” So please be patient with me…. his eyes implore, as he looks back over to him. 

Hi bites back his immediate response, as Fortune talks—the urge to remind Fortune that he’s only ever belonged here conditionally. That from his first week in the Collective, he’d been successful here under false pretenses, that he’d done what he’d done only because Fortune’s luck had made it happen. That every mission he’d completed had been a factor of the luck running through him without him even knowing its there. He’s not naive enough to think that the Collective is actually some kind of family, as much as the people he considers to be his family are a part of it; and he’d realized, when the mission to rescue Nightingale had gone so badly, that if he tried to stay without any power to back himself up, he’d only be a liability. 

But he’s determined not to start a fight again. He came here promising himself he wouldn’t. And he can tell how hard Fortune is trying—this is most honest than they’ve been with each other in as long as they’ve known one another, the most Fortune has admitted, or tried to explain himself. That’s what Kaz had asked for: not for Fortune to be right, but for him to be honest. He can see that he’s struggling, that he’s afraid he’ll say something wrong, the way he keeps qualifying what he says. He’s always had a sense that Fortune was unhappy here; that had been clear, when they first met, even if it had seemed to fade away as they spent more time with one another. He hadn’t realized how deep it ran, and a flare of protectiveness grips him, for just a moment, one he knows is completely irrational. 

His own instincts, long established, ingrained in him from a childhood of negligence and a young adulthood of bitter, furious fighting, are giving him two options: to fight, or to run. To explain all the ways that Fortune is wrong, or to write it off completely, to decide that Fortune will never understand and that it isn’t worth the energy trying to make him. To accept that maybe they’re just fundamentally incompatible, despite everything, and that it’s better for both of them if he walks away. 

But he doesn’t want to do that. He doesn’t want either of them. He’s exhausted—tired of running, tired of fighting. And he does understand, that it isn’t Fortune’s fault that they don’t feel the same way, about the Collective, about their powers, about any of it. That different things brought them here, that neither one of them is right or wrong about it. That there are pieces of him Fortune may never actually understand, but that there are just as many pieces of Fortune that he won’t understand, no matter how honest they are with one another.

Caught between fight and flight, trying his best to reject both, he sits for a moment in silence, without responding, trying to settle himself on a third option, trying to find the middle ground. His eyes catch on Fortune’s hand, the way he’s slowly working one of the pieces of glass out, and doing a poor job of it. And he knows Fortune won’t go to Nightingale, won’t go to Jay. He thinks, in some small way, that Fortune’s using the glass as some kind of punishment for himself, some kind of atonement. 

He lets out a sigh and gets up. It’s not fight, it’s not flight. It’s not much, but it’s something to do while to works out what his real third option is: he walks to the bathroom and opens the cabinets, finds whatever first aid supplies are stashed away, a pair of tweezers, wets a washcloth in the sink, and then comes back, settles himself on the floor in front of Fortune’s chair and holds out his hand expectantly. 

It’s still a fucking weird feeling, realizing he was about to “meet” the kid he’d actually known quite well all these years. But Mathias understands the need to make an official thing of it all, or at least as official as lunch that came in the form of disposable containers could be. When Kaz enters the room he has to resist the urge to greet them with a hug, like Alex soon does, after he huffs a laugh at the comment about Alex’s ex. He’d told him from the moment Alex had met the woman, that it was a bad idea jumping into a marriage because it seemed like the right time in his life, but he figures the kid he got in exchange for it all, was worth the trouble in the end. 

“If you think this is bad, you should hear what the inside of his head sounds like, when he’s got both me and your grandmother’s shadow in there,” he greets, deciding that a handshake would suffice for now until both of them got more used to the idea of him being more than just a shadow Kaz would see on occasion. He’s actually surprised Clara hasn’t chosen to split herself from Alex for this little get together of theirs, given Kaz had known her for a handful of years before she passed, but he could understand how that might be a little overwhelming for Kaz to have to deal with both of them at once. 

While Alex goes through the take-out containers, and passes them along to their rightful owners, Mathias slips into the chair opposite the one Kaz was standing in front of. “So, Alex mentioned you found yourself with powers after that shit back at the prison we all went through,” he starts and finds Alex quickly shooting him an annoyed look, like he somehow wasn’t supposed to bring that up, even though that was the last time he saw Kaz. Waving off Alex’s pointed look, he focuses his attention back on Kaz. 

“How you faring with ‘em? This one over here had the advantage of knowing exactly what he’d be in store for,” he continues, pointing the plastic soup spoon in his hand towards Alex before continuing, “but I remember what it was like not knowing a damn thing about something that’s suddenly such a big part of you- and hell, that was back when the first wave hit, when no one knew what in the hell was going on.” 

They slip into their chair as Shadow starts passing out food, and Rocky settles down at their feet, pressed against their leg as she curls up and lies down, and they reach down to give her another scratch behind the ears as Mathias sits down and starts to ask them about their powers. And they see Shadow shoot him a look, and let out a breath of a laugh—it’s an unexpected topic, but not one they have any problem talking about. 

And as he goes on, they find themself feeling a little relieved, at the mention of feeling like he didn’t know what was going on. Because everyone else in the Collective, Cas, and Lazarus, and Fortune, and Zenith... they all seem so at ease, with their powers. Even if they’ve had moments where they didn’t. Even if Mind Master had fundamentally shifted the way Cas’ worked for him, even if Lazarus had no memories of how they’d gotten theirs. They still all seem to know what they’re doing. And no matter how much Kaz practices—and they have been practicing, about as much as they can stand do, thanks to Zenith’s rather threatening encouragement that if they’re going to do this, they aren’t allowed to half-ass it—they still don’t fully understand their powers. 

Especially when, when they need them most, sometimes they just don’t work. What had happened at the Tower, when they’d tried to stop Hourglass... it’s been eating away at them a little bit. A lingering feeling, there, that something isn’t quite right. That that tiny flicker was only one symptom of something much larger, the beginning of a problem they were going to need to figure out how to solve. 

     “Um, yeah, yeah I did,” they start their answer. And it does feel strange to talk to Mathias, who feels simultaneously like a stranger and also like someone they’ve known for half their life. Which, technically, is true, both ways. “It’s definitely been an adjustment, trying to figure it all out. I mean— probably not as weird as it was for you. They’re pretty straightforward powers, in the scheme of things.”

They glance, for a moment, at. Shadow, who is putting the last few take out containers out of the bag over at the kitchen counter. And they haven’t talked to him much about their new powers, really, since it happened. Every time he asked, they said the usual, it’s fine, I’m great, because they don’t want him to worry about them. They are fine. It is great. They’re happier than they thought they ever could have been again, after what happened with Fortune, after realizing how little of their capability actually belonged to them.

But it seems kind of stupid to pass up on an opportunity to actually talk to Mathias about what it was like, to find himself with powers and have to figure it all out on his own, just because Shadow’s there too. 

It had been strange enough to consider that they had all but confirmed that they had a family out there, that there was a real chance at least one person might’ve been looking for them, or convinced they were dead, and was mourning them. But in a way it just hits even harder to think about that person being their sister. They can’t really imagine what it’s like to have family like that, family who’s known them since birth, grown up together, gone through life side by side. Sure, if hard pressed they might admit that some people in the Collective felt like their weird, fucked up family at this point, but they still think there’s a difference there, especially to someone like them, who can’t remember ever having family before. 

They’ve always made a point of not trying to think of their past, once they realized that their memory wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Now, though, they can’t help but imagine it, with so many pieces falling into place, waiting to be put together entirely. They already have half of one memory, after all, they can practically fill in the blanks to create a happier one with this woman who might be their sister in their mind. Maybe they used to cook family dinners, have her over to their place, maybe their parents, too, or extended family. Odd, that that thought elicits a strange feeling in the pit of their stomach, that extended family is a complicated matter, that if anyone is waiting for them, it probably wouldn’t be them.

That brings them back down to earth, just as he goes on, saying it’s the sort of thing he could see himself doing, that if he were in that position, he would do all he could to try to find someone he cared deeply about. And it feels like it’s right, but it’s frustrating that they have no way of actually confirming that right now, that they don’t have the time to dig deeper and try to figure it out, even if they are afraid of what it’ll be like to know who they are. 

The nudge he gives them brings a small smile to their lips. “Thanks, man, I really appreciate that. That’d be nice, us doing some digging once things calm down a little again, whenever the fuck that is,” Lazarus nods, looking down at their cold coffee, before grinning again, falling back into some teasing. “I’ll owe you some homemade beignets. I’m still not sure if I remember how to cook or not, so they might taste like shit, but they’ll be plenty of love in them.”

.

He’s glad to see the concerned expression lift from their face, even momentarily. He gets it, the frustration, the distress, everything else he’s sure they’re feeling. He can’t imagine how he would be feeling in their situation. But they’re also right that there’s not much to be done about it right now, when they’re all so busy preparing for something totally different, an entirely unrelated set of impossible problems that Kaz feels embroiled in for an entirely different set of reasons.

And he almost says something, at that thought. He wonders what Lazarus’ take would be, on everything that happened with Fortune, if they heard the whole story. He wonders if they’d think he was right, or if they’d think he was being stupid. He loves Cas, he does, and he trusts Cas, but he also knows that Cas isn’t exactly an impartial judge, when it comes to conflict between Kaz and anybody else. 

But he decides against it, shifting back to lay down on the couch again. With the specter of Hourglass seeming to follow him everywhere as Catalyst lays out her plan and puts everything together, with the unavoidable certainty that all of this is going to come to a head one way or another, he thinks it might be nice to try to spend an afternoon not thinking about it,

     “Surely the interminable wait for someone to attack Guardian Tower can’t extend indefinitely,” he says. “Maybe we’ll all get a nice well-deserved break after that, and I can take you up on that offer. I’ve always been a sucker for choux pastry.” 

He makes a point to focus all of his attention on Kaz, from the words he says, to how he’s holding himself. He’s not worrying about what the best response is here, because it seems like the most important thing to do is listen. Which was never a strength of his, when his own thoughts so often drowned out the words of others. Now though, it’s not as difficult as he’d thought it’d be, not when it’d been so long since the last time they even spoke to one another. 

Once the room falls silent again, he remains quiet for a moment, as Kaz’s words sink in. The topic of Kaz’s powers, or lack there of, had always been a difficult one for them to discuss, given their differing views on them. But this really wasn’t a discussion per say, he reminds himself, more so the act of the two of them unloading their truths. And so he picks a truth that reveals a little more about how much he can relate to the frustration Kaz seems to be feeling, and in return give him some of the past he hadn’t realized until recently that Kaz had been so desperate to know. 

“Before I had my luck, I wasn’t anything exceptional at all. Just some unimportant kid, from an unimportant family. Neither of my parents had powers, nor my sister. My grandmother could manipulate two-dimensional images with her mind- but she was the only one with powers before me.” He pauses for a moment, before continuing, as he thinks briefly of the older woman, and the way she used to make the pictures in storybooks move whenever she read to him and his sister. She had to hide her powers for the majority of her life, due to the stigma and strict government regulations that once came with them, and even after those laws were long abandoned, she hid that beautiful gift of her’s from the world, showing it only to those closest to her. 

“When I did realize her gift had somehow made it’s way to me, but manifested in a different way, I was over the moon. Suddenly I was special, suddenly I could do whatever I wanted, and get whatever I wanted, without ever having to worry about the consequences. Because as long as I was lucky, there never would be any consequences.” He keeps his gaze away from Kaz as he continues, because he finds it easier to focus on his own words, than to start to worry if Kaz may be misinterpreting his intent in saying them. 

“I started saving up for the moment I could move away. And once I had enough, that was when I moved to Vegas. Because where else would a twenty-one year old go with infinite luck on his side, you know?” He huffs a laugh briefly, before his face falls again, because they both know just what- or who he eventually found in Vegas. “I was so mad at my luck for betraying me like that, it used to be my best friend in the world, my ticket to any life I wanted for myself, and suddenly it wasn’t mine any more to help me.” 

Letting out a long sigh, sinks deeper into the chair, resting his head against its back before finally looking over to Kaz. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, before adding, “that you had to go through that. And I know that what happened wasn’t my fault, but that doesn’t make me any less sorry.” There are a million other apologies that linger on his tongue as he looks over to Kaz, but he holds on to them for now, not wanting to push them back into the mess that his past mistakes had made between them. 

“In that nightmare of mine he was hurting you, so I can only imagine what the real thing felt like.” 

Fortune listens to him without interrupting, without trying to contradict him, or argue, and so when Fortune finally does start to speak, Kaz figures he owes Fortune the same. He has to tamp down the instinct to respond, to talk back, has to suppress the urge to stop listening and start thinking about how he might respond, planning the next words out of his mouth. But it’s easier than he thinks it will be, once Fortune starts. He doesn’t know much at all about who Fortune was before the Collective, doesn’t know anything about who Fortune was before he was Fortune, before Tweed and the Rabbits, before his luck got the better of him and got him trapped. So he’s surprised to hear that that’s where Fortune starts. 

And he can’t help the ache that blooms in his chest, when Fortune begins to talk about how happy he was—even though he knows how the story ends, even though he knows where that carefree happiness got him—but he can make himself move beyond it, can make himself keep his focus on Fortune instead of the lingering hurt, the long-familiar ache of want that moments like this make him worry like a loose tooth. 

He doesn’t understand, at first, why that’s what Fortune has chosen to say, especially when he shifts the conversation swiftly back to Hourglass, back to what happened on the roof. It feels so much like they’re having two separate conversations, that even now when they’ve stopped talking over each other, they’re still talking past one another somehow, unable to come to a point in the middle where things start to make sense. But after a moment, he thinks he gets it. And he hopes that, even if there are things they might never agree about, that he can get them to see eye to eye on this.

     “He didn’t hurt me, Fortune,” he says, finally sitting down in the armchair, because it’s the easiest way to move closer to him without actually going to him, and Kaz still isn’t entirely sure how he feels, in some respects. Fortune had said, the last time they talked, that Kaz should come to him when he was ready to talk. And he is. But he’s still piecing together the rest of it—what talking means, for them, what trust has been broken. He cares about Fortune, that part has always been undeniably true, and seeing him with Hourglass on the roof had only cemented how true it was, how there was no world in which it wasn’t. But there’s a lot of ground left to cover before he’s ready to go back to what they used to be. Or, maybe that isn’t it: he doesn’t think they can ever go back to what they used to be. But it might be a slow road towards finding something new in its place. 

     “I wish I could have stopped him, of course I do. But I’m not an idiot. I’m not— naive, even though I know people think I am. I never thought that having powers would fix everything, I never thought they wouldn’t come with their own set of complications. And believe me, they have, in ways that have nothing to do with Hourglass, or Parasite, or Fearmonger, or any of it. I never wanted them because I thought they would fix everything, or make me powerful, or stop me from feeling helpless sometimes.” 

He realizes, as he’s saying it, that he’s never fully articulated this thought before. Not even in his own head. And he thinks, distantly, that maybe that’s because it’s easier, to act like he wants power, that he has ambitions, that he’d like to reach out and shape the world into something that he’s touched, than it is to admit how much of him is still covered in the frayed nerves of a parentless child.

A weird sort of tension settles in the room, once Kaz slips inside. He’s not sure what to do with himself, and he can tell Kaz is struggling with a similar problem, as he carefully answers his question, being mindful of the minefield such a question posed. He feels like he should do something to break the tension, this was his room after all, and Kaz was the one that made the first move in coming there in the first place. He’s clueless as to what to say though, so instead he moves towards the pair of chairs they both usually occupied when Kaz was in his room, figuring sitting was better than just standing there and staring at one another awkwardly. 

Settling into his seat, he looks at his hands only briefly afterwards, once Kaz speaks again. He figured the suggestion was coming, considering how he’d clearly not gone to either yet, but that didn’t stop his face from twisting in distaste at the thought. He’d always hated doctors, he hadn’t been to one since he was a kid, and thankfully he hadn’t a reason to ever since, considering his luck. In addition to his general distaste for examinations, he also just really didn’t want to have either Jay or Nightingale look him over, and have to answer the questions they’d no doubt would ask about just how he got his numerous injuries. 

“I was just going to clean them out myself,” he shrugs, hoping it’d be the end of the discussion. He moves to pull the sleeves of his robe down to cover the injuries, but realizes a second too late, that the sleeves on it were short. He rolls his eyes as his fingers slip through the fabric above his elbow, before moving his attention back to Kaz. 

They probably really should talk about what happened on the roof, he thinks grimly as he looks back up to him, seeing how much he seems to want to. And he realizes it wasn’t fair not to- because seeing that shit isn’t great, he knows. And as traumatizing as his half of what happened was, he recognizes he wasn’t the only one suffering on that roof when Hourglass froze time. 

“You didn’t need to apologize. Back on the roof, I mean…” he says finally, figuring if he was going to attempt to open up, he should at least start with where they’d last left off. It’s still fucking hard as hell to try to talk about it though, when every impulse he has is screaming at him to shut the fuck up about it, and shove down every thought he had about that night. 

“He knew what he was doing, when he did that,” he sighs. “He’s all destruction now, there wasn’t anything either of us could do once he made up his mind.” 

He needed to listen to his own damn advice, he knew. It was easy to fall into the old routine of being mad at himself for this, but he knows deep down, even if he managed to fight Hourglass back, the result would always be the same. 

“Are you alright?” He asks after a beat, rephrasing the question he first asked Kaz. 

He almost says something, when Fortune refuses to listen on the matter of his hands, which clearly need medical attention. It’s instinct, the don’t be stupid that nearly makes its way out of him, the urge to argue, but he manages to refrain. Not now, this isn’t the time for arguing. Not after everything they’ve both already been through in the past twelve hours. And that thought only grows stronger as Fortune keeps talking, because he’s not going to start an argument when Fortune is actually talking about what happened. They can deal with his hands later; for now, he just wants to make sure Fortune doesn’t shut down again.

So he makes his way over to the other chair, across from him. Doesn’t sit down, quite yet, but leans his elbows down on the back of it, as he listens. As Fortune asks him how he is. And as tempting as it is to say I’m fine and turn the question back on him, he knows he shouldn’t do that, either. 

     “I’m...” he starts, not really sure what’s going to come out when he lets himself start talking. “Not exactly alright. I will be, but right now I’m frustrated. I should have been able to stop him, before he froze time, and I’m not entirely sure why I couldn’t. If it was Fearmonger, or Parasite, or something else...”

He finds himself looking down at his hands, as he talks, having trouble bringing himself to look back at Fortune. It’s easier to talk, this way, he thinks. To be honest, after so many difficult, impossibly conversations in a row. 

     “He might be the only one to blame for his actions, but that doesn’t make me feel any less helpless. Doesn’t make it feel any easier. And seeing you— seeing the way he talked to you... I should have been able to stop that. I’m not really sure what the point of having these powers is, if it means still having to watch him hurt you.” 

He looks back up, finally, at Fortune, meets his gaze. Finds it easier to keep talking, now that he’s started, finds the thoughts and feelings that have been swirling around in his head clicking into place as he speaks them.