Video Games Ruined My Life

Something sharp dug into his sides, blood splattering onto the pages of his book. He was yanked back violently, the book flying from his lap. He reached for it on instinct, but he was already too far to grab it. The pain in his sides got worse, feeling like something was stabbing right into his guts. 

He gasped for breath, looking up into red eyes.

“Mundus,” he wheezed, terror shooting through him. He raised his hands as if to shield himself, only then realizing just how small his hands truly were. What use was a child against a force like Mundus?

“Son of Sparda,” Mundus said, voice darkly pleased. “I have plans for you.”

“No,” Vergil whimpered, trying to struggle against the painful grasp Mundus had him in. “No!”

“Squirm, pathetic child,” Mundus taunted. “Scream for your mother and father. Scream for your brother. They will not come.”

“Mama!” he yelled anyway, trying to claw at the earth as Mundus dragged him farther and farther into the darkness. “Mama, help!”

The stabbing pain grew worse, erupting all along his stomach and chest. Vergil screamed in agony, but the pain only grew worse, the darkness encroaching on him, swallowing him whole.

A sudden burst of light made him wince. But the pain receded, just a bit. He choked in air, scrambling shakily to his feet. He reached for his chest, but he felt no flesh.

He looked down at himself, his small hands now covered in armor. He tried to pry it off, but he couldn’t. He reached up to feel his face, realizing there was a helmet on; it stuck to him fast. His breathing became erratic as he realized he was trapped.

He looked around, realized where the light was coming from.

“Mama!” he cried, his heavily armored steps trying to take him closer to his mother. “Mama, please!”

“Oh,” she said, noticing him, horror hitting her face. “Oh, my baby. Come here. Come here!”

She grabbed the helmet. Vergil’s breathing got easier. His mama was here. He was going to be okay.

“Sweet boy,” she soothed as she fought to pry the helmet off. “It’s okay. Deep breaths. Mommy’s going to help you, okay?”

She pulled the helmet off, and her reassuring smile twisted into an expression of disgust. She stepped back.

“Mama?” Vergil said, reaching for her.

“You’re not Dante,” she said in disgust. “Where’s Dante? What did you do to your brother, you monster?”

“Monster?” Vergil whispered. “No. No, I didn’t…please, help me.”

She turned her back. When he reached for her again, she disappeared.

“No,” he said, falling to his knees. “No! Don’t leave me! Please help me! Please!”

“Vergil?”

“Dad!” Vergil cried, jerking his head around to look at his father. “Please, father, help me. It hurts. It hurts! I’m scared!”

“Look at you,” his father said in disgust. “Powerless. Pathetic. I beat Mundus; why couldn’t you? You are no son of mine.”

“Please,” Vergil whispered, reaching for his father, his hands small once more, the armor gone. He was exposed once more. “Dad…”

“It’s what you deserve,” Sparda said, and then Vergil was alone in the dark.

Terrified, began to cry out in terror.

He jerked upright, heart racing. He scrambled to sit up, running his hands down his body, feeling no armor, nothing but flesh and the sweatpants he’d fallen asleep in, borrowed from Nero.

Nero. 

Vergil looked at his hands, flexing them, studying how they were the hands of an adult. He pressed them against his sides, feeling no wounds, no pain.

He stood up and went to the bathroom, wincing as he flicked on the bright light in there. He stared at his own expression in the mirror, his eyes their usual cool blue. Not red.

Because he was here. He wasn’t Nelo Angelo. He wasn’t a helpless little boy crying for help.

He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. He’d thought the nightmares were gone. 

He shook it off, pushing it as far back in his mind as he could. He refused to acknowledge that any of it still haunted him like this. He was a powerful adult, not some helpless kid anymore. 

Vergil left the bathroom and grabbed a T-shirt from the pile of clothes Nero had left for him to pick from. The rest of the house was quiet, a rare occurrence. Nero, Kyrie, and the children were all sleeping.

Vergil grabbed the Yamato and headed for the door. There was no better way to clear his head, no better way to remind himself that he was beyond those horrors, than reminding himself of his own power and strength. He’d train until he was too tired to think anymore.

He got off the couch, pacing the apartment for a bit, bored out of his mind. He’d already cleaned the apartment and done some training.

Needing to get out, even for a moment, he left the apartment and went down to the mail. He grabbed a couple packages and the usual junk mail. And…was that an overdue bill notice for their phones? Shit, Apollo usually paid that. 

Great. He supposed he could handle that and then figure out what the hell he was going to do tonight.

He went back up to their unit and tossed the junk mail aside to shred later. He set the packages down, stared at the overdue notice, and then set it down in favor of the packages. Good news first, right?

Except it wasn’t very exciting. He opened the first package, finding only Apollo’s razors. Package two wasn’t anymore thrilling, revealing only a pack of new socks.

“I told him I didn’t need new ones,” Midnighter muttered as he wiggled his toes, his pinky stinking out of his ripped sock. He’d been planning to buy his own at…some point. Probably. Hell, it could’ve been something to do today.

He grabbed package number three, tearing into it. Inside was a small cardboard box. Probably the office supplies Apollo had been complaining about needing; nothing more exciting than paperclips.

He flicked the box open, and stared.

For how fast his mind worked, it took him a long moment to realize what he was staring at. The severed finger rolled loosely in the little box. The message on the inside of the box was written in dried blood.

“Come and get what’s left”

Midnighter read it over and over. His brain was trying hard not to accept reality.

Because he knew that finger. He’d known his lover’s hands anywhere. He’d held them, kissed them, studied them during long nights together. 

“Apollo?” he whispered.

He set the box down, his hands steady but his heart wild. He grabbed the letter opener, pocketing it. He walked to the doorway and shoved his feet into his boots.

“Door,” he said.

He only had a vague idea of where they’d been. But he’d track them down. He’d find Apollo. 

And he’d killed anyone who had dared to harm him.

There wasn’t a moment to waste on his costume or his conventional weapons. He’d jam the letter opener into their eyes, slit their throats with it, rip out their teeth and make them swallow them. He’d break bones with his bare hands. Their jaws would know the force of his boots. 

Midnighter let the rage build in him steadily as he stared at the door before him. He glanced back at the severed finger now sitting on his counter.

Someone was going to pay dearly for this.

He should’ve known there was a bomb in the bank. He should’ve known the boy wasn’t safe just because he was in the lobby. He should’ve taken him somewhere else, outside gunfire be damned.

There were a lot more bodies to pack up, but they were the bodies of murderers. Men who didn’t care if a child was collateral so long as they got their easy payday. Midnighter had all but threatened the cops to take care of the boy first.

He should be relieved it was just one casualty, considering how many people were in the bank when the gang robbery started. But one casualty was too high, especially when it was someone so small.

“Benji!”

It was a woman outside the bank, her sudden wail telling Midnighter everything he needed to know; the boy had been identified.

He knelt beside the body bag, eyeing it critically. No blood on it. He nodded to himself and got up, clutching the doll as he walked out of the bank.

“Benji!” The woman was still yelling the name over and over as an officer held her back, trying to comfort her. 

“Please, our son,” a man with her was saying to the officer, his eyes wide and terrified. “He was with my sister. She was taken to the hospital after the explosion. She doesn’t know where he is.”

Midnighter stepped up to them. As soon as the man’s eyes landed on the doll in Midnighter’s hands, he dropped to his knees, put his face in his hands, and sobbed.

“Oh,” the woman whispered, reaching shakily for the doll. “Oh, no. No. Benji. My baby.”

Midnighter passed her the doll. He didn’t apologize for failing; it would only make the pain worse. 

“I made sure they took good care of him,” he said instead, his voice serious. 

She held the doll to her chest, reaching out to grip the sobbing man’s shoulder. She nodded mechanically, her eyes glazing over.

He left the couple, yanking his mask off. He didn’t deserve to walk around like some hero. He wasn’t Superman. If he was, the child would probably still be alive. 

He felt a gust of air and a sudden warmth at his side. Apollo took his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“When you’re ready to talk about it, I’m ready to listen,” he said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

He’d been taking care of another emergency. It was Midnighter’s responsibility to take care of the people in the bank. His failure, and his alone.

“I want to be away from here,” Midnighter said numbly.

Apollo caught him under the arms and lifted him into the air. The wind whipped Midnighter’s face and he closed his eyes, letting the wind roar in his ears as Apollo picked up speed.

“Timmy, I have great news!” Jack said, dropping his feet to the floor and leaning forward with that manic excitement in his eyes. “We have some new people joining us.”

“Oh?” Tim said cautiously. Was he going to train them? He sure hoped not. That sounded like a lot of extra work, and he was certain Jack wouldn’t even pay him for it.

“New body doubles,” Jack said, surprising Tim. “Surgically altered, just like you. We’ve perfected the process.”

“Oh,” Tim said, now really dreading he’d have to train them. He could get his Jack-act down perfect at times, but he always hated doing it. 

“So,” Jack said, clapping his hands together. “That means you’re retiring, buddy. I’ve got fresh faces coming in. You’re heading to the casino to work out the rest of your contract, but, ya know, it’s a comfy spot. Retirement.”

“Wait,” Tim said, confused. “The casino? You’re…making me retire to the casino?”

“Sure am,” Jack said with a nod. “It’s a position only in name. I’ll be sending some of these new body doubles up there to do the real work. You’re just there to look pretty and report back to me if they get out of line.” He stood up and gestured Tim away. “Effective immediately. Go pack up your things.”

Tim stayed rooted to the spot. This was too simple.

“What are you really planning for me, Jack?” he asked. “I’m dumb, not stupid. There’s no way you’re just sending me to live out my days there until my contract is up. Because I am under contract, and it expires.”

Jack got a sharp grin. “Ah, Timmy, I tried to make it quick and painless as a courtesy for being part of the team. But you just had to go and be smart for once.”

Tim went cold as Jack lifted a gun. He’d known it was coming one day, but…but he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to die.

“I figured it’d be like a favorite dog, ya know? You turn around to go pack your stuff and BAM!” Jack mimed shooting the gun. “Problem solved. See, you always were stubborn. Clung to that little scrap of morality you kept from Elpis. It made it impossible to trust you, and I can’t have that these days. I’ve got plans too big for a wild card like you to be in play. But, hey, I tried to be nice about it. You ruined that.”

Tim should run. He should grab his own gun. He should tackle Jack and disarm him, shoot the bastard and end all this madness. 

He stayed perfectly still.

He’d brought this on himself, after all. Joining up with Jack, staying with him after Elpis, refusing to ever fully give in to what Jack wanted. A part of Tim had always known he wouldn’t make it out of Jack’s employ alive.

“Jack,” he said quietly.

“No use for you, kiddo,” Jack said, placing the gun to Tim’s head. “Nothing personal. Well, maybe a little.”

He looked at the spot where he used to sit and read. How he had loved the breeze ruffling hair, the sun warming his skin, the words engaging his curious mind. 

His mother would admonish him for going out there without telling her first. He used to soothe her worry by pointing out he never left the playground. He explained that sometimes he just needed time away from Dante to read.

He hadn’t told her he was coming out here that day.

He sat down amongst the rubble of his childhood, looking down at the book he’d brought with him. He opened it, eyes scanning over the familiar poetry inside. There was a bookmark - if a torn piece of paper stuffed in the edge could be called that - from where Nero had left off. Something flickered inside Vergil at the thought of his son reading this.

A gentle breeze picked up. Vergil tiled his head up to it, feeling it catch his hair. A few loose strands tickled his forehead, but he made no move to brush them away.

If he closed his eyes, he could imagine his mother’s hands brushing through his hair as she passed by him. 

He clutched the book to his chest. In his mind, he called up the image of her loving, encouraging smile as he would read to her. He would scowl when she brushed his hair back and told him what a wonderful voice he had, what a good reader he was. Point out that he wasn’t a baby anymore. But he never stopped her, and her growing smile told him she knew he was always secretly proud.

This place should haunt him.

Instead, he felt a peace he had not known for a long time. 

It was where everything in his life had shattered to pieces. But in the minutes, the years, before the attack, it had been his refuge. It had been a place he could sit and enjoy himself in peace. It was where he could be a child, free from the cruelty of the world that awaited him. Just a little boy who could read and play as he desired, his worries gone in the face of a nice breeze and the warm heat of the sun shining down on him.

Vergil leaned back and opened his eyes. He opened the book again, flicking through the pages until he found the one Nero had crammed a makeshift bookmark into. He let himself relax as he began to read the same words his son would read later tonight. 

This place had destroyed him. Tortured his nightmares for years.

But in this moment, it was sacred to him. It was a sign of a peaceful, happy childhood. It was a reminder of what he had lost, and a chance to temporarily reclaim it as he read.

Cassandra seemed closer to Dorian’s “exhausted and need to sleep for a year” state than Bull, but she gave a firm nod. She was already examining the area around them, ensuring no other dangers were lurking nearby.

Dorian slid down the wall until he was sitting, tipping his head back. “I’m done for the day. No one ask another thing of me. If we are attacked again, I will simply surrender and accept my fate.” 

“You’re so overdramatic,” Bull said, shaking his head. 

“We should head back. We’re exposed here,” Lavellen said. “C’mon, Dorian, up. Let’s get moving.”

“You are demanding and I despise you,” Dorian said, but forced himself to his feet. 

Lavellan just trudged forward, making Dorian frown. Someone was grumpy. 

They followed their leader, all too tired for banter or conversation. Dorian let his mind wander so that he didn’t have to focus on how hard it was to put one foot in front of the other. He was absolutely grabbing Lavellan and taking a nice, cuddly nap when they got back, whether his love wanted to or not. 

“Lavellan?”

Cassandra’s sharp tone had Dorian snapping back to himself. He looked to Lavellan, who had hunched over a little as he walked, clearly in pain but trying to hide it.

“Amatus?” he asked, speeding up to be next to him. 

“Sorry, got a cramp,” Lavellan said. “I’m fine.”

Dorian knew him well enough to know when he was lying. He grabbed Lavellan, stopping him in his tracks and looking him over carefully. Lavellan had pulled his cloak on after the battle, something Dorian hadn’t taken notice of before. He yanked the cloak off and sucked in a sharp breath.

Blood stained the side of Lavellan’s shirt. Lavellan grimaced.

“You knew,” Dorian said.

“Got stabbed in the fight. I thought it’d be fine til we got there, but…” He swayed a little and Dorian hastily steadied him. “Getting hard to stay awake.”

Dorian sat him down, kneeling beside him and carefully peeling his shirt away from the wound to inspect it. It was deep, though he’d tried to put pressure on it with a strip of cloth. The cloth was completely soaked through with blood.

“You need a healer,” Dorian said. “Bull, run ahead to camp.”

He heard Bull taking off, but stayed focused on Lavellan. He’d already lost so much blood.

“You should’ve said something,” Dorian said, anger masking his fear. “All the walking made it worse.”

“Everyone was so tired,” Lavellan said, his voice weak. “It wasn’t safe. We had to move.”

“Idiot,” Dorian said, but put a hand at the base of Lavellan’s neck and ran his fingers through the hair there. “Stay still. I’ll do what I can, but healing isn’t quite my specialty.”

That, and he was exhausted. It took all his strength just to call forth a little magic, and even that was barely enough to slow the bleeding. He could buy them time to wait for a healer, but not much.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, resting his hand along the wound and channeling what little magic he could, trying desperately to mend the torn flesh there. The wound was too deep, had already bled too much. It was like spitting into a bucket and hoping that filled it. 

Lavellan rested his head on Dorian’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Dorian’s throat tightened. Healing magic was not his strong point, but he refused to use his specialty on Lavellan. He needed to heal his living body, not raise his dead one.

Tav was backed against the wall, trapped between it and Astarion’s eager body. Astarion considered it for just a moment before deciding he was not going to take him up against a cold, hard wall. Not tonight; tonight, the bed would do just fine. 

Astarion grabbed Tav’s shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside carelessly. It didn’t take long for Tav’s pants to join his shirt, leaving him in just his underwear. Astarion gripped his hips tightly, spinning him around and shoving him roughly onto the bed.

Tav hit it hard enough to bounce up a bit. He flailed for a moment before realizing he wasn’t in danger of falling off, his eyes moving up to Astarion, surprise in his expression. He hadn’t been expecting that.

It was surprise. Not fear. Just Tav caught off guard by the sudden change from wall to bed. The surprise was already fading, replaced by that feral lust again.

It didn’t matter; Astarion’s mind snapped away from the moment.

He saw himself, surprised, a little frightened, looking up at a man towering over him on a bed just like this one. The lack of prep, the rough hand in his curls pushing his head down into the pillow, the bruising fingers on his wrists. 

He tried to shake the memory off. But he was still fully clothed, standing over a prone, nearly nude Tav.

Now he saw himself backed against a wall, a woman tracing fingers over his naked body like it belonged to her. Her lips on him, her nails scratching hard enough on his skin to draw blood. 

He’d asked Cazador not to make him go back. Begged.

“A perfect place to find a meal,” Cazador had said, that wicked smile on his face as he prepared to give the order Astarion could not fight back against.

Use his body to lure them in. Take whatever they wanted to do to him, so long as it got them back to Cazador. 

“Astarion?”

He flinched, pulled back to the present. He turned away from Tav, grabbing his clothes off the ground and throwing them to him. 

“I’m not in the mood anymore,” he said roughly.

“Okay,” Tav said, without argument. He pulled his clothes back on and stood from the bed. “Can I do anything?”

Astarion shook his head, crossing his arms tightly. Tav didn’t leave the room.

“Will you talk to me, or do you want time?” he asked.

Astarion closed his eyes. He hated that this man cared so much.

He refused to associate the one good person in his life with those tainted memories. 

“I’m…going to read for a bit,” he said.

“I have a good book I’m working through,” Tav said, and his smile eased some of Astarion’s tension.

“Fine,” Astarion said, putting his hands on his hips. “But don’t be bothersome, darling.”

“Never,” Tav said, stealing a quick kiss. 

Astarion watched him dig around for his book, his anger rising. He wished he could kill Cazador all over again. How dare that bastard take this from him, even in death? He wanted to make love - because it was love, not just sex - to Tav without all these dark thoughts. But it felt like his very being was tainted after years of his body being used against his will. 

Still, he saw those six Order assholes surrounding Vex after one caught her off-guard. He saw them forcing her down, leaving her helpless on the ground, attacking her.

He rubbed his chest. Reminded himself he could breathe, that his lungs weren’t collapsing under the weight of his own body. He flexed his limbs, feeling the easy rise and fall of his arms as he did so. 

“I’ve never seen you like that,” Vex said, slinging her arm on his shoulder and leaning against him. He shrugged her off, shaken by the sudden weight on him. She didn’t look offended, merely took a step back. “I totally had that under control, by the way. But thanks for the help. Made it quicker.”

Rafa glanced at the bodies, then back to Vex to verify she was just fine. “Ah, you know me. Always here to help. If you need a bunch of pendejos slaughtered, I’m your man!”

“Wanna tell me what’s really going on?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or will you just keep pretending you’re fine?”

He sighed, looking away. “Just…seeing them do that…reminded me of…You know. That day with Tediore. Watching my friends…” He trailed off and shrugged. “I don’t know. It took me right back to that moment. It made me so mad.”

“That happen a lot?” Vex asked.

Rafa shook his head. “Not so much these days. Just sucks when it does happen.”

“You’re good stuff, Rafa. Glad it didn’t make you bitter,” Vex said.

“I don’t know about that,” he said, gesturing to the bodies.

“No, it made you mad, not bitter. Mad is fine. Mad can be channeled,” she clarified. “You’re a good guy to have at my back. But I totally could’ve handled that myself.”

“Of course,” he said, giving a weak but sincere smile. 

Still, he couldn’t shake the memory of his own body working against him, and the horror of seeing what the Deadframe did to his friends. 

Vex was right, though. He refused to let it leave him bitter. He would live every moment to its fullest, and he would do anything he could to protect his new friends. No one else he cared about was dying on his watch, not this time. And when it was finally his turn…

Well. He’d cross that bridge when he got there.

“Okay,” Crosshair said, his mind running through strategies. “Risky plan, but best we can do under the circumstances. We need a distraction that keeps them occupied.”

Not his favorite plan, but he took out a thermal detonator and handed it to Omega. She looked horrified at the device in her hands.

“The warehouse back there, the one we passed on our way up here. Toss it in there and get clear,” he said.

“But what if-” she started.

“It’s abandoned. Droids only, no organic workers,” he said dismissively. As if he’d ask the kid to go blowing up innocents. “It’ll draw the troops’ attention. I’ll take out the skeleton crew they leave behind, and we grab our ship and go. They won’t be able to get back fast enough to follow us, and I haven’t seen any forces in the sky.” 

She looked back down at the thermal detonator. “You’re sure no one will get hurt if I use this?”

“Positive,” he said, already preparing himself for his part of the plan. “Go. The longer we wait, the longer they have to bring in reinforcements.”

She nodded and got up, running back towards the warehouse they’d passed earlier. Crosshair looked through the scope of his sniper rifle, relieved to see that the ships behind the troops hadn’t been disabled in any way yet. 

He waited calmly, not even flinching as the explosion tore through the quiet night air behind him. He watched the troops scramble to organize. The majority of them peeled off in a rush, leaving only a few guards behind to watch the ships.

Perfect. Crosshair counted only six left to guard the ships. He would make quick work of them, and they’d be on their way. He brought his finger to the trigger, aiming at the first.

“Pull your trigger and I pull mine.”

He spun, blaster in hand. A Stormtrooper stood there, blaster pressed to Omega’s head, arm around her chest and keeping her pinned to his body.

Crosshair slowly lowered his own blaster. Omega gave him a pleading look, and at first, he thought she was begging for his help.

And then he realized she was begging for forgiveness. She was guilty at being caught.

He should’ve known they’d had men in hiding. Should’ve come up with a better plan.

This was his fault, and Omega was paying for it.

The trooper pressed the blaster against her head with more force. “Your weapons. Toss ‘em here.”

Crosshair thought fast, but saw no way to keep his weapons and keep Omega alive at the same time. He slowly disarmed himself.

“No!” Omega said, struggling.

The trooper cracked her in the head with the blaster, leaving a quick, sudden cut on her temple. She yelped, slumping forward a little. 

“Stay still,” he snarled, placing the blaster back against her head. 

“I’ll go with you,” Crosshair said, putting his hands up in a sign of compliance. “I paid the kid to help me. She doesn’t have to die; she’s just a child.”

The trooper looked down at her. She was dazed from his blow, blinking rapidly as blood leaked into her eye from the new cut. She was a young, unarmed girl. He had no reason to suspect she was a clone, not if he hadn’t heard the news. 

Evidently, he hadn’t. He gestured, and several of his men came out of hiding, surrounding Crosshair. Crosshair did not fight as they restrained him, though it took all his self-control. 

The others would come for Omega after they didn’t return at their agreed time. She just had to hang on until then. She had some credits on her, enough to buy food for a day or two until Hunter and Wrecker picked her up.

Once Crosshair was secured, the Stormtrooper shoved Omega to the ground, leaving her ignored as he walked up to Crosshair.

“No!” Omega whimpered, trying to crawl forward to Crosshair. He ignored her, not bothering a glance at her. He couldn’t let them know he cared.

“Take him away,” the Stormtrooper commanded.

“Yes sir!” the others echoed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Omega trying and failing to stand. Concussed, most likely. But she’d survive. She could recover from a concussion, but not from a blaster shot to the head. 

Rafael scribbled a note of his own on the off chance he was wrong. He grabbed his coat, pulling it on as he left the house. Inari curled up stubbornly on the porch when Rafael tried to urge him inside. 

Abandoning that hopeless fight, Rafael quickly walked through the farm, hoping Kira was still awake. His boots crunched in the freshly fallen snow, already starting to harden in the cold. 

His thoughts of everything that could’ve gone wrong in the cavern began to spiral. It was so cold. What if he hadn’t dressed properly? What if a monster had gotten him? What if the ground there was icy like the ground up top, and he’d slipped? 

Rafael walked faster.

He could’ve cried with relief when he saw Kira and Mark talking outside her house. He didn’t know which cavern his husband had gone into; more people meant more searching power.

“Kira! Mark!” he cried, rushing up to them.

“Rafael?” Kira asked, raising an eyebrow. “Pablo said our order wouldn’t be ready until the weekend.”

“Wha- No. No, I’m not here about an order. Please, I need help,” he said, starting to feel a little desperate. What if he was already too late? He shouldn’t have waited so long to go get help. He fumbled in his pocket, taking out the note and holding it up. “He went to the caverns this morning and hasn’t come back yet.”

“Garden rake?” Mark said in surprise, eyes scanning the note. “He’s always handled himself well in the caverns.”

“I know something is wrong,” Rafael said insistently. 

“Grab our gear, Mark,” Kira said, her expression sharp. “Rafael is right; this isn’t like him.”

Mark hurried away to follow her order. Rafael could’ve cried with relief; they were going to help him.

“Get a weapon for Rafael too!” Kira called after Mark.

“Oh- Oh!” Rafael said, feeling foolish. “I was in such a hurry I, um, I didn’t…I didn’t grab a…I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Kira assured. “We’ll find him. Do you know which part of the cavern he went in?”

Rafael shook his head miserably. “Um, no. He didn’t say. B-But, he’s mentioned the fire and earth caverns more lately, so maybe one of those?” 

It was a lot of ground to cover either way. Forty floors per cavern, and only three of them to work their way through. 

Mark returned with a weapon and bag of supplies for each of them. Kira took charge quickly, leading the way down towards the caverns, checking her watch as they walked. It was getting late, and the temperature seemed to drop with each minute that ticked by. If something had gone wrong in the caverns, Charles and Yuri would be home by now, the clinic closed til the morning. It would take time to get any medical help.

They reached the cavern after what felt, to Rafael at least, like years. It took their eyes a long moment to adjust to the dim lighting inside, all of them careful as they made their way forward, cautious of any ice that could cause them to slip into the water. 

“We’ll split up,” Kira said. “I’ll take the fire cavern. Mark, try the water one, and Rafael, you check the earth. Before we go deep, look for any signs of him passing through recently. Broken rocks, signs of explosives, signs of combat…anything like that.”

Rafael went for the earth cavern. He’d been down there before to mine for material for the shop, so he was familiar with the place. There was an elevator inside that he could use to go down to certain floors and look for signs of-

“Oh no,” he whispered the moment his eyes landed on the elevator. “Kira! Mark!”

By the time they came running, Rafael was leaving over the elevator shaft, staring down in despair at where it seemed to have crashed. The cold. The damn cold. It must’ve caused the cords to break when the farmer used the elevator.

“We need to get down there,” Rafael said, his heart squeezing in his chest. It crashed a few floors down.”

Kira pulled dynamite from her bag. “Back up, you two.”

They bombed their way through several floors, Rafael feeling as though he were in a dream the entire time. This couldn’t be happening, surely. He’d wake up in bed, safe and warm with his husband curled against his side, no danger in sight. 

But then they hit the fifth floor of the cavern.

The elevator had tilted when it fell, catching the landing of the fifth floor and stopping its descent, though haphazardly. Rafael heard Kira and Mark yelling his name, the only thing that informed him he was already running for the crash site. 

He caught himself at the edge, looking into the elevator, feeling ill at the sight of his husband lying unconscious, blood matted in his hair, his arm at an unnatural angle, and his skin starting to go an unhealthy shade.

But his chest was moving. 

Rafael cried out his name, only Mark’s fierce grip stopping him from climbing into the wrecked elevator. He tried to struggle against the hold, but Mark wouldn’t budge.

“Rafael! It’s unstable! It’ll fall if we’re not careful!” Mark said, wrestling him back. 

Rafael had to get him out, though. He’d seen blood on the edge of the elevator; his love had tried to get out. With the angle it had crashed at and his broken arm and head wound, he probably hadn’t been able to pull himself out before falling back and losing consciousness. 

“We’ll get him out,” Mark promised. “But we need to be careful. We need your help. Rafael, he needs your help.”

It snapped Rafael out of his blind panic. He shot a frightened, helpless look at Mark before turning his attention back on the elevator.

It was an agonizingly slow process. They had to see how the elevator was being held up, then secure it with sturdy ropes to keep it from shifting. Mark and Rafael tied another rope around Kira and helped lower her in so she could get a rope around the farmer’s waist in case the elevator fell. Getting him up was difficult, because she didn’t want to jostle his bad arm, and they didn’t know if he had any injuries that weren’t visible. She kept his arm and neck as steady as she could while the two men pulled them both out.

“I’ll get Charles. Mark, you stay here and protect them,” Kira ordered, already running for the rope they’d taken down into this section. 

Rafael was only vaguely aware of Mark taking out his sword and taking up a protective position. He was too busy cradling his husband’s injured head, wrapping him in Rafael’s thick winter coat to warm him up. 

“I’m right here, baby,” he whispered. “You’re going to be okay. I promise. We’re getting you help, so just hang in there.” He laughed weakly, tears in his eyes. “I told you to get a warmer winter coat. I told you it was dumb to come into the cavern in just a sweater. Is that why you went after I left for work? You knew I’d force you into a jacket if I was home, huh? You idiot.” He was crying hard now. “You idiot. I love you. Please be okay.”

He put his hand on his husband’s chest, feeling the unsteady rise and fall of it. His love did not open his eyes. His skin felt so cold.

“I love you,” Rafael said, curling over him, like he could shield him from any further harm. “Please, please be okay. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’m so sorry. But I’m here now, okay? I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere, so you better not either. Come back to me, baby. Please.”

How long had he been stuck in that elevator for, injured and cold and probably frightened? Had he called out for Rafael? Had he waited for help to come?

Two hours. Rafael had wasted two hours before getting help.

“I’m sorry. Please come back to me. I’m so sorry,” Rafael sobbed quietly, lightly touching his head to the farmer’s bloodied one. “I love you. Be okay. Please be okay.”

“Thought you ran away,” Amon said as Rafa stepped next to him.

“Me? Never!” Rafa said, helping Amon drive back the crowd of enemies he’d managed to attack. “Mierda, you have yourself a fan club here?”

“I am a…big target,” Amon said. “But not an easy one, as they will learn.”

“That’s the spirit!” Rafa said, shifting to Amon’s back and firing away. 

They moved easily together, having all learned how to fight together rather quickly thanks to the circumstances. Vex and Harlowe were wreaking havoc on smaller groups of enemies, some who broke off to try their luck with the big crowd surrounding Amon and Rafa. 

It seemed, for a moment at least, they would make quick work of the horde they’d attracted. Rafa activated his Peacebreaker Cannons, tearing through the enemies trying to rush them. Those that managed to use their comrades as meat shields and slip by found themselves quickly dispatched by Amon.

But then his cannons needed to cool down. Rafa figured it was no problem; it’d given him time to reload all his guns as he cycled through them to shoot his way through enemies. He and Amon were doing well and keeping each other covered nicely. They’d taken out a good chunk of the horde. If they kept their focus, they’d have this taken care of in no time. 

When it happened, it felt like it happened to someone else.

He jumped up to get better aim at an enemy trying to hide after taking a bullet to the gut. He’d only just put his finger on the trigger when he felt something tear through him, the gun falling from his hands, his body jerked back with the force of whatever had struck him.

He hit the wall behind him hard, breathless. He tried to stand, tried to get his breath back; found he could do neither.

“RAFA!”

Amon roaring out his name sounded distant. But he couldn’t possibly have been knocked that far from him, right? Rafa tried to stand again. He coughed at the movement, and blood splattered against the inside of his helmet. 

“Oh,” he whispered. Not good, then.

He looked down at the spear piercing through his stomach. He reached behind him, feeling for the head of the spear, only to find it lodged into the wall, cracks spider-webbing out from it. He tested it, the material tough and unbending. He was pinned.

“Oh,” he repeated. Very not good. “Amon.” He coughed again, the movement making the pain in his stomach sharp enough to make his vision darken a little. “Amon, a little help, amigo?”

Amon had taken up a protective position in front of Rafa, keeping enemies and attacks from hitting his prone friend. Rafa raised his shaking hands and felt along the spear again, searching for a way to snap it off and free himself from the wall. 

He reached behind him again, got a firm grasp, and tugged. The movement snapped his vision into darkness.

When his vision came back, it was slightly blurry. Someone was near him, and he tried to raise his arms, prepared to use his Arc-Knives to defend himself.

“Just me,” Harlowe said. “Stop moving. You’re making it worse.”

She reached up and took his helmet off. Blood stained his mouth, his eyes drooping. She put a hand behind his head and forced a smile as her free hand felt along the spear for any sign of a weak point.

“You’ll be fine,” she said. “Can’t use a repkit til we get the spear out, but once that’s taken care of, you’ll be back in the fight in no time.” 

“I feel fine,” he slurred. “Never better. Let me at ‘em.”

“Amon and Vex are holding them back. Work with me so we don’t miss all the fun,” she said. “I’ve killed enough people to know a non-fatal wound when I see when.”

This was certainly not a non-fatal wound. She kept the smile on her face and the confidence in her voice regardless. 

“Okay, Rafa, new plan. Try to cut right here with your Arc-Knives,” she said, running her finger along a spot near the end of the spear. “I’ll guide your hands. I’ve seen you steadier on Shammy’s moonshine.”

“Hold my liquor better than I hold a spear,” he said, but managed to summon his Arc-Knives. 

Harlowe took his arm and positioned it over where she wanted him to cut. It took some maneuvering to make sure he wouldn’t cut her in the process, but she got herself into a safe position. The two brought the Arc-Knife down on the spear, the end resisting for a long moment but finally snapping off under the force.

Rafa sucked in a pained breath, head dropping forward. Harlowe caught his shoulders to keep his body still.

“Rafa,” she said, pushing his head back. “Rafa, wake up. Wake up!”

“Harlowe, that doesn’t sound good!” Amon said from where he was fending off a badass.

“Because it’s not,” she snapped. “Shit. Sorry, Rafa.”

She grabbed his body and pulled him forward until the spear was out of him, the tip of it still lodged in the wall. Rafa slumped, unconscious, into her arms. Blood soaked the front of his shirt, and more was leaking from the corner of his mouth now. 

She set him against the wall and fumbled for the repkit. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see something stuck to the lodged spear. She turned her head away, refusing to inspect and see if it was part of his clothing or part of his intestines. She administered the repkit, heard Vex yell out a warning, and spun with her gun in hand to take out the two Order members who’d broken through Amon and Vex’s valiant guard.

There was nothing to do for Rafa now. Either the repkit worked, or it didn’t. Harlowe rejoined the fight, because if any enemy broke through now, Rafa’s fate was sealed. 

“How is he?” Vex asked.

“Not good,” Harlowe said, falling into position beside her. “There’s nothing else we can do.”

Amon growled in frustration, but he had enough self-control not to completely lose his cool in a fight. Vex swore loudly and tightened her hold on her gun.

Vex looked over her shoulder at Rafa briefly. He looked like a corpse already, and only the faintest shifting of his tattered shirt told her he was still breathing. At least, for now.

“Let’s buy him time for the repkit to work,” she said.

“What’s that?” Kyrie asked, noticing that something had caught his interest. He held it up, and she smiled widely. “Nero’s dream journal! I told him to keep one. He didn’t understand what a dream journal was, though. He thought it was for your future dreams, not to track the ones you have when you sleep. He never did let me read it. I thought he threw it out, but it must’ve gotten packed up before he got the chance.”

Vergil had no such respect for privacy. He unclasped the book and flipped it open, squinting as he tried to make out the messy, childish scrawl. Kyrie looked like she might object, but then turned and busied herself with another box.

Most of the writing was boring, the spelling atrocious. Vergil could see why the child wouldn’t show anyone these embarrassing things.

“Dreem #10- beet Credo in a fite”

“Dreem #6- by Kyrie a neklis for her berthday (with my own MUNEE!!)”

“Dreem #17- tri evry ice creem flaver” 

Vergil nearly tossed the journal back into the box. But then he opened to the first dream.

“Dreem #1- find mom and dad. find famalee”

Vergil stared at the words for a long moment. All the childish dreams, and this was his top one?

He could’ve had a family. He should’ve. Why had his mother given him up? Why hadn’t Vergil known sooner? 

Would Vergil have bothered with an infant back then?

He honestly didn’t know. Perhaps Nero was better off with the family who took him in. 

Vergil shoved the journal back in the box and closed it up. He pushed it off to the side.

Kyrie looked over her shoulder. “Anything?”

“Trash it all,” he said gruffly, getting up and brushing the dust from his pants. “I’m going to get a drink.”

“Vergil?” she said curiously.

He glanced at the box again. That childish scrawl flashed through his mind - find mom and dad. 

Jon looked angry for a long moment before his expression collapsed into defeat and resignation. “I guess you’re serious if you, of all people, are willing to be silent all night.”

Nightwing smiled, just a little. There was no joy in it.

“How’s Jay?” Jon asked after a long silence. “I turned my phone off. I know he must be worried.”

It was just like Jon to worry about everyone but himself. “He’s worried, of course. Guilty, I think. You should talk to him when you feel up to it. But he’s with your parents right now.”

“Guilty?” Jon finally picked his head up, starting to rise. “No, it wasn’t his fault. I’m the one who told him to stay out of the fight. It wasn’t his fault Luthor-”

Nightwing caught Jon’s wrist and tugged him back down. “Jon, it’s okay. It’s okay. Your parents have him right now.”

“I…I just…” Jon looked so lost, so hopeless, so frightened. “I can’t be around them right now. Not knowing Dad can hear my heart racing, and that Jay can just run out through the wall and I can’t chase him. Not knowing I’m…I’m…”

Nightwing put an arm around him, pulling him in close. “Jon, I’m here. They’re here for you too, when you’re ready. It’s going to be a big adjustment. But you’re not going to be alone.”

He didn’t mention that Batman was already looking into ways to restore Jon’s powers. He couldn’t give him that hope. He couldn’t bear to see Jon crushed if Batman failed. 

“I’m useless now, Dick,” Jon whispered, leaning into Nightwing’s hold. “I’m not like you and your siblings. I haven’t trained for this. I’ve never had to. I don’t know how to be Superman without my powers. I can’t help anyone anymore.”

He was crying now. Nightwing put his other arm around Jon and held him tightly. Jon gripped at his arms, burying his face into Nightwing’s shoulder.

“I’m not faster than a speeding bullet, and I can’t fly, and I can’t shoot lasers out of my eyes,” Nightwing said softly. “But I still make a difference. Whether it’s saving a puppy being abused by some punks, or stopping the Joker from terrorizing the city. There are so many ways to make a difference, Jon. You’re not useless.”

Nightwing cursed Luthor for what he’d done to Jon. Luthor should just be grateful Superman had been too worried about his son to get revenge in the moment. 

“I want to stay positive,” Jon whispered. “I really do, Dick. But I can’t. I feel like I’m not really me anymore. I know he only took my powers, but I don’t know how to be me without them. Without them, I’m not the help I used to be to people. That kills me inside. And I know it’s horrible, I do, but I can’t stomach the idea of looking at Dad and Jay, knowing they have what I lost.”

His sobs cut off his own words. Nightwing brought a hand up to Jon’s head, holding him against his shoulder.

“Be sad, Jon. Be angry,” he said. “It’s me. You can let it out around me. I won’t judge you. Let it out.”

Jon did. He pushed his face further into Nightwing’s shoulder and screamed in frustration and agony. He’d lost himself, and for what? 

They both pulled their arms back and flung their rocks forward. Gustave’s splashed just a tiny bit farther out than Maelle’s.

“Ah,” he said, frowning. “That was yours, wasn’t it?”

She loved him so much in that moment. 

“Sure was,” she agreed, leaning against his shoulder.

She turned and put her arms around him, wanting to feel the familiar comfort he’d given her for years. Once they left this beach, they were back to their horrible mission and all the blood and death that came with it. She wanted this moment to last just a little longer, though.

He put his arms around her, holding her close. She smiled against his shoulder. Maybe he wasn’t her family by birth, but he’d filled the role of brother and father to her, guiding her through tough times and offering comfort when it was most needed.

She felt something wet against her chest. “Did you go swimming, Gustave?”

He did not respond. She opened her eyes, and realized the sun had disappeared behind the clouds. The wetness against his chest grew.

She pulled away, stuttered out a scream, and stumbled back so fast that she fell.

Blood coated his chest. His dead eyes stared out at nothing. As she reached for him, a wave snatched him away, the ocean suddenly fierce.

“Gustave!” she cried out, lurching.

Heart racing, she looked around. She was sitting up on her bedroll in their camp. 

Verso looked over at her with knowing eyes, but she covered her face and was relieved when he did not come to her.

It was not his comfort she wanted.

Her family was gone. How was she supposed to tell Gustave’s sister he had died? How was Maelle supposed to admit he had died because of her? 

She’d distracted him, so he hadn’t seen the attack coming. She’d been trapped, and he’d refused to leave her. 

Obi-Wan - no, Ben now - had played it over in his head during his many sleepless nights. It all came back to that wretched prophecy.

What a thing to force upon a young boy. To pull him from his beloved mother, stick him with a near stranger after the death of a man he’d come to trust and believe in, and tell him he needed to bring balance to the Force.

It was too much pressure. It left him too isolated from the others. 

Was that why he hid his relationship with Padme? Because leaving the Jedi Order would mean failing the prophecy that Qui-Gon had so believed he would fulfill? If Anakin had not had the pressure of the prophecy, would he have confided in Obi-Wan and avoided this entire mess? 

Ben didn’t know. No one would know, now. Anakin was dead, the Jedi Order had fallen, and the Sith had taken control. 

He should’ve seen the signs. They’d been there, and he’d ignored them. They all had. 

What would’ve become of Anakin without the prophecy?

Ben didn’t know. There was no way to know. Perhaps he would’ve died alongside his mother. Perhaps he would’ve gone on to be a famous podracer, buying freedom for himself and his mother and living a happy life. Ben liked to believe that; he could almost see Anakin’s triumphant smile and his mother’s adoring eyes in his mind. 

But then, like always, it went up in flames. He smelled burning flesh, heard Anakin’s screams, felt the oppressive heat of the lava all around him. 

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” Ben whispered to himself, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes until the pressure hurt and the images were forced back into his mind, left to lurk for later. 

Ben missed Anakin. He missed the fond exasperation Anakin’s shenanigans caused. He missed that confident grin. He missed the easy teamwork, the seemingly endless trust and bond of brotherhood they’d shared. 

He knew he would never have that again.

All he could do now was watch over Luke, and hope Leia was safe. He closed his eyes, looking out over the endless sand because despair was better than his memories. 

Kyrie’s mother came out, looking a little uneasy. Nero frowned, quickly thinking through his day. He hadn’t done anything that would get him in trouble today, he was sure of it. 

“Nero, that was a member of the Order at the door,” she said.

Now he was a little alarmed. Had they finally found out it was him who drew a mustache on the statue in the garden?

“They said…well, they said you’re being recognized for an award,” she said. “And that Sanctus himself needs to talk to you about the Knights. They’re impressed by your training in school.”

Oh. That made more sense. He was better than his classmates, that was no secret. At least when they trained in PE, a method the Order used to find promising potential Knights amongst the children.

“When do I gotta talk to him?” he asked. That part sounded boring. Maybe they could just mail him his award.

“Tonight,” she said, that uneasiness back. “It’s apparently the only time it works for him, because he’s busy starting tomorrow. He wants you to go to the cathedral now. But he wants you to go by yourself.”

“My friend’s brother had to go alone,” Credo said without looking up from his work. “It’s because it’s Knight business.”

“He’s just a child, though. I don’t want him walking alone at night,” Credo’s mother protested. “I wish your father was home. I don’t want you two alone, either. Nero, maybe you can wait until-”

“I’m not scared,” Nero said, jumping up. If he walked with one of the adults, they might use it as a chance to lecture him on his behavior yesterday. He’d only put glue on two kids’ chairs, and they’d deserved it., but the adults hadn’t liked hearing about that. “But you gotta help Kyrie with her homework, ‘kay? She’s not good at multiplying. She does it too fast.”

Kyrie nodded solemnly at that. Then she frowned at Nero. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Dad, Nero? He’ll walk you.”

“Nah,” Nero said, not ready to hear about how it was mean to glue kids to their chairs. Besides, if he was by himself, he could tell Sanctus that his adults wanted him home really fast, so he wouldn’t have to stay and listen to the old man yap as long. 

Kyrie’s mother nodded reluctantly. “Alright. But you come straight home after, okay? I’ll send him there to wait outside for you when he gets home, actually. Straight there, no pitstops. Got it, Nero?”

“Uh-huh,” Nero said, putting his homework back in his bag. “Can you write me a note for school? I didn’t get to finish my homework. I’ll get in trouble.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “Be safe.”

“Be safe,” Kyrie echoed seriously.

“I’ve walked alone before,” Nero said, heading for the door. “Sure, I’ll be safe. Bye!”

He slipped out the door, wondering why everyone treated him like a baby. He was almost eight! 

He walked the familiar, quiet streets of Fortuna. He hoped this award was something cool. Maybe he’d get his name read aloud at the next ceremony. Then maybe the other kids would think he was cool instead of a little freak. 

It didn’t take him too long to reach the Cathedral. He shoved the door open, pulling it closed behind him as he stepped in. Sanctus was talking with a man Nero had never seen before, so he made his way over to them. 

“Your, uh, Holiness?” Nero said.

“Ah,” Sanctus said, turning on Nero with bright eyes. “This is the boy, Agnus.”

The man next to Sanctus looked Nero over with an expression that made Nero take an unsure step back. “Yes. Yes, Your Holiness, I think you’re right. But a simple test with the sword will prove it.”

“Nero, we have a very special mission for you,” Sanctus said. “How would you like to help us resurrect Sparda himself?”

“Huh?” Nero furrowed his brow. “Me? I can’t be gone long. Kyrie’s mom said so.”

“Yes, Kyrie’s mother. A devoted woman. She will understand,” Sanctus said. He slid his gaze to Agnus. “He is raised by an adoptive family. His real parents are unknown. But he appeared in the city as a baby less than a year after we believe the son of Sparda was here.”

“Your Holiness, I b-b-believe we’ve found the answer,” Agnus said, giddy. 

Sanctus held his hand out to Nero. “Come with us, Nero. We have a very important mission for you.”

Nero was baffled by what was going on, but alarm bells were ringing in his head. Still…Sanctus was just a crazy old man. He was harmless. Nero could kick him in the shins if he had to and make a run for it.

“Okay,” he said cautiously, but didn’t take Sanctus’s hand.

If he were a little older, a little more world-weary, he would’ve left that Cathedral. He would’ve left Fortuna.

But he didn’t know what he was. He didn’t even suspect. He didn’t think the worst of everyone he met, yet. He didn’t realize how far the Order would go, not then. 

So he followed Sanctus and Agnus, none the wiser that they had managed to figure out his origins.